Scene / Seen

I'm a big Twin Peaks fan and this reminds me of the box car scene in both the television series and "Fire Walk With Me."  It was absolutely pouring rain when I took the photo of the old passenger car.
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As a seque, the show "Wayward Pines" sounds a lot like the old cult classic and has some great actors (including the M.I.A. Juliette Lewis).   Here is a shot I took of the Wayward Pines Hotel that I tweaked for that retro feel.  To quote "The Eagles,"  a person can check out, but they can never leave.

A Lost Soul

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About two months ago, I spotted this cat outside.  Actually, the agitated running and murmuling sounds made by Poe indicated that something was going on.  The cat bolted and ran on our first encounter.  She (as calicos are usually female), appears to be wild.  I noticed her watching as I interacted with the neighbour's tabby, who comes to visit me every morning when I get off work.  We have a ritual....I open the door and pet him on the head every day.  I left some food out for the calico, and peered out the window as she made her way over.  She's become more bold, especially as the weather has become more cold.  One day I had to leave out water, as she was trying to lick the ice.  The people in this area are very cheap.  They refuse to spay or neuteur their pets, yet their is an insane by-law that forbids more then two pets.  People will rat out their neighbours.  A dog can bark all day and all night, and that's cool.  However, more then two cats?  And the frau next door doesn't like you?  Yes....people do call each other in, as it's that sort of place.

Found Item ( A Gia Cover)

It seems that after the film "Gia," the model Gia Carangi became a cult figure.  There are people out there who collect magazines with her image on the cover.  As always, she was shot by Francesco Scavullo when she was booked for Cosmopolitan.
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(Cover shot by Francesco Scavullo)
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The film and biography relate how Gia was struggling when this picture was taken.  Given her past history with drugs and erratic behaviour, people were unwilling to book her.  Francesco Scavullo wanted to give her another chance.















.Cosmopolitan gave a brief run-down as to her interests.

Found Item (70's Cliche)

In the December l978 issue of Cosmopolitan Magazine, photographer Francesco Scavullo took shots of Bitten.  As he often did, he employed Way Bandy to do her makeup.  This look is Disco does Christmas.
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Photo:  Francesco Scavullo. Magazine:  Cosmopolitan

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One of the advertisements in this issue really stood out.  It's a male 70's cliche.
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Product:  Macho Musk Oil.  Found in:  Cosmopolitan Magazine

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It was during this era that a book hit the market, all about subliminal advertising.  The author had many photos of ice-cubes, in which he purported  to see various images and "bad" words.  However, you don't even have to look for the hidden meaning here; check out how he is holding the bottle of musk oil.  For the young neophytes, musk oil was "of the moment" in the 70's.    The hype around the product was that it would subconsciously appeal to women, in the same way that animals are drawn to the scent of others.  Again...subliminal.
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What other 70's classics are in this ad?  Have a look at the chain necklace.  There's the denim shirt, of course.  This stuff was not the premium denim we have  today.  Woe be the kid whose parents bought him/her Husky or Wrangler jeans.  The piece-de-resistance has to be the body hair.  Oh, where is Austin Powers?  The shirt is undone because it gets hot dancing at "54."   Speaking of dancing, consider the name---Macho Musk Oil.   All the better to think of the Village People and their hit "Macho Man."
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That Christmas, any white powder in the vicinity of the disco was most likely not snow.
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Now, to get you into that mood, here's a Disco Christmas song by Gladys Knight.
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Cats...where reincarnated supermodels end up ( they work it).

Poe posing.

The Screened Visit

Poe pondering.

Because it was there.

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Scene / Seen

Fence in the first snow.




How to Hide (Camouflage Cat)

Can you see her?  There's a cat sitting in this Idea chair.

                               

Found Items (The Flying Nun)

Does anybody remember the show "The Flying Nun," which featured Sally Field?  It made San Juan look exotic, as it was partially filmed on location.  We had that good witch Samantha Stevens on "Bewitched" and on this half hour program, there was a nun who could fly.  I guess all those Wright brothers needed was a properly shaped cornette.  (And bugger-off, auto-correct.  That's the name of that part of the clothing and it's spelled properly).  

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The dialogue often made mention that  the sister only weighed 90 pounds and this may have been the aero-dynamic factor that caused lift-off.  Were the show made today, it would spin off into a storyline about her eating disorder.  Mind you, it would be impossible to find a female actor today without implants.  I suspect such top heaviness would only serve to ground our flying nun.  The ingenue of today would be more apt to tip over.

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Here is a page from within the colouring book itself.  What is the Sister doing at a Go Go bar and casino?  Surely they don't hold church bingos here?  No---Carlos was the sexy male lead who befriended the nuns.  Were the show to be remade, the Sister might have a secret side job here to pay off student loans.  Ratings
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In all likelihood,  the above scenario, in which our jaunty heroine and her cohorts make wine, would cause the "One Million Moms" to become more crazed then usual.  They'd  be apoplectic at the imagery.   (Note that the word whisky was written in by a naughty, jaundiced and obviously non devout artiste who coloured outside the box). 
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And   here is the hapless Carlos.  Of course, now-a-days, questions would be asked as to why the one Latino male is behind bars.  Trolls everywhere would be quick to point out that he was just another male, led astray by the shenanigans of some wily woman.

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The biggest question that I have, however, pertains to the logistics of the colouring book itself.  Since the habits on "The Flying Nun" were completely white, it makes for a pretty bland colouring book experience, non?  And if I recall correctly, that white crayon never did work properly.

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Scene / Seen

 

 

The Yellow Brick Road

Scene / Seen

  ********************           The Sound and the Fury      **********************

Found Item (The Partridge Kid with A.D.D.)

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Here is the cover of an off-shoot of Tiger Beat Magazine.  I've chosen to reprint an article about the missing Partridge kid---the one that was replaced after only one season.  According to hints given by Danny Bonaduce, it may have had something to do with his being a tad hyperactive, to use the parlance of the day.

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Best Served Cold (For B.M.)

....."They've sent us girls to do men's jobs."  Two decades later and I can still recall my shame and anger over that comment, as the supervisor stood and gave the shift briefing.  We were a test; the first group of recruits that required a degree.  Did I neglect to mention that we were almost all women, too?

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.....Now, here I was, all those years on, and I was the punishment.  I was to be Mr Grady in "The Shining," and he was the errant child that needed "correcting."  He was Ernie; Ernie's leave record was poor and he had been sent to work the night shift with me.  As with the cold war, they were hoping for some sort of mutually assured destruction and that we would both disappear.  They were wrong and had obviously not heard of detente.

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.....Ernie had been a Military Police Officer and bore some semblance to a friendly Uncle Fester.  An early draconian schedule that often switched us three times in one week during our sub-board had caused me to develop migraines and I was now the "night crew."  I was also the gimp who needed to be accommodated as a result.  On our first night together, Ernie pulled out his lunch;  the whitest bread ever, a slab of bologna with several cans of Pepsi.  I laughed and showed him mine...six cans of Diet Pepsi and strictly vegetarian.  We opened our respective beverages, popped a couple of Tylenol each and met our cans in a toast as we sat in the dust of the wood-shop.

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....."Lunch of losers," I said, a take on the Wheeties commercial.  It became a running joke.  Instead of the uncomfortable silence that they expected, we had a lot in common.  We'd both had a childhood partly spent in Europe.  He had a love of art galleries, kept hidden from the guys, and we discussed Milton's "Paradise Lost" as we crawled through an attic looking for hidden contraband.  I showed him my pathetic attempts at emulating Plath and he shared what he'd witnessed in the military.  Little did management know that I could talk World War Two for hours.  Our bond developed beyond the worlplace.  Ernie came to my house and brought his safety gloves with him.  He put them on and crouched on the floor to play with my cat, whom he called "My Boy," until the sweat rolled off his forehead.

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....."The Vice Director was talking about you.  He's going to break the two of you up."  Peter told us there had been a poker game and that, for some reason, we had come up as a topic of discussion.  It couldn't have been good.  It was like hearing that the mean girl had been gossiping about you in the school washroom.  You might not know what was said, but you were about to become the social pariah.  It was your turn to be "it."  The Vice Director, Matt Bellow, was annecdotal proof that short man's syndrome existed.

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.....It didn't make sense logically, as we had been doing a decent job.  In fact, they had given us an award.  Ernie's attempts to meet with the Vice Director were rebuffed.  We knew that what had been discussed at the poker game had gone well beyond talk  of our shift pattern for overnight, I felt as though people stopped speaking to us.   Those I had once done things with no longer called.  My dance card, so to speak, was no longer full.  After having proved myself many years ago, I was now worse than a rookie, for I didn't even kow what I was defending myself against.  A letter was then circulated that the vast majority of the budget's problems fell on the shoulder's of the staff who needed to work specific shifts.  Just in case anybody forgot our names, they were published on the company's website.

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.....The Vice Director had a good friend....Short Man Number Two, a middle manager.  This guy was prone to wearing chains like a blinged out pimp.  I knew we were damned the day he nodded his head towards another boss and whispered under his breath, "He wants to eat you out."  Nobody would be this brazen unless they realized they were protected.  I felt like Anita Hill.  I'd never "ratted" in my life, so I kept silent.  It wasn't done in my job, even if the guy was an idiot.  I told Ernie and he sighed, for the hit squad was surely headed our way.

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....."If you can't do the job, you shouldn't be here," said somebody to Ernie.  Head Short Guy had started a rumor that the staff might lose the shift they liked bnecause of us.  After all, we were the source of all problems, right?  I had thicker skin than Ernie, for I'd been a girl once in my life and there is nothing so cruel as the playground tauntress.  Ernie, having been an officer and a gentleman had not experienced it.  At first he booked sick here and there and then he couldn't come to work at all.  Although we're encouraged to seek help if depressed, Health Services can and will remove us from our position for that very reason.  The proverbial Catch 22.

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.....Ernie would still come over to visit, but he was increasingly struggling.  His headaches had grown worse  and subsequently, his medication usage had increased.   My cat would sit and wait for the gloves but the game would be played with less frequency.  One morning, when I got off work, Lonnie came from behind and hugged me.

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....."I'm so sorry," she said.  Ernie had been found in his favorite chair.  I had been reading "Kaddish" by Alan Ginsberg that night and a line came back to me..." There, rest.  No more suffering for you.  I know where you've gone, it's good."   I went home and looked for the leather gloves, still in my cupboard, and the anger came.  I inserted my hands into them and thought of this gentle person who'd had to phone me when his own cad had passed away, for he hadn't  had the heart to deal with it.

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.....I could take off the gloves, but not my rage.  At some point it sequed into guilt and depression.  As a child I had always stood up to bullies, so what was different this time?  Everything in my life began to slide and tilt  like that old walkway in the Fun-o-rama at the P.N.E.  It became an effort to dress or shower.  Since I felt that everybody thought so little of me, I would not speak unless they said something first.  The shame never left nor the feeling that I should have done something to save my friend.  I  envied his escape as I flailed with my own quicksand.

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.....I think of the line, "it gets better," but I know it doesn't always work that way.  Not when the Vice Director gets a promotion.  Not when he can take his friend with him upon his transfer.  Not when Ernie's gloves continue to sit in my cupboard, unused.  Sometimes the bullies win.

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(At this point I have to write something about names having been changed, titles having been altered and this all being made up, right?)

Christmas Cats

For moi?

Wrap to Wreck
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A Christmas Corsage

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Found Item ( Racist / Colonial Textbook)

I like to pick up odd things here and there.  One of the items I found at a used goods store was part of an instructional series called:  "Lands and Peoples:  The World in Color. Volume IV (The Far East.)"   It was originally printed in 1929,  but this edition was from 1949.  There were some wonderful photographs in it, which is what caught my eye.   In fact, I had seen the same pictures of Tibet in an exhibition a couple of years ago at the Museum of Civilization in Quebec City.

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As I glanced at the prints, the accompanying captions were astounding.  This was not something put out by the K.K.K.  This was a series that would have been used for educational purposes.  It was replete with comments about how attractive some cultures were in comparison to the unattractiveness of others.  It discussed the born thievery of some nationalities.  I have included two examples:

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In this photo, the author describes the men as being lazy (Burma).

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In the next photograph, the very offensive word "c@@l#es" is used.  I would think that, since this version went into reprint after the war, and it was known at the time just how vulgar the word was, that no textbook would  use it, but they did so with impunity.

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I am glad to see that in many ways, things have improved.   There is no denying the fact that people continue to hold racist views.  At least the concept of colonialism, where an entire nation is perceived as being "less than" is no longer acceptable.  This sort of stuff is no longer taught in school.

(Photos courtesy of the book:  Lands and Peoples:Iv)---Editor in Chief-G Clewell. The Grolier Society

Cat Shaming

I knocked my owner's phone off the hook and she didn't notice it for over a day.
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I was trying to get onto the kitchen counter to lick plates when the incident occurred. 
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Today's Pet Peeve

.....Okay, maybe this annoyance has been going on for a while.  I love Youtube, but I wish they would fix their advertisement problem.  They claim that they are geared towards ones search history.  Then why is it that I kept getting a commercial for chickens?  I've been a vegetarian for over two decades and I've never looked up a recipe for that item.  Unlike many people who are vegetarian for health reasons, I am one on ethical grounds.  I won't wear leather or use silk either.  But, once again, I digress.   I merely want to stress the fact that I am the last person who should be on the receiving end of these ads. 

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.....The commercial was annoying, so I took it upon myself to go to their website and broadcast the Paul McCartney video on the evils of chicken production.  I never got the video again.  I was also on the receiving end of an infomercial as to the benefits of using a nearby divorce lawyer.  Odd, since I have never been married.  Never lived with anybody.  Never considered putting the cats up for adoption, even.  Where was this coming from?  Likewise the endless repeat of some used kids clothing store.  Perhaps somebody considers the cats children?

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.....The absolute worst, however, is the exercise belt that is on some ninth circle of hell repeat.  It comes on twice as loud as whatever I happen to be watching, and it comes on ALL THE TIME.  It stalls the program I am watching, which will then have to be refreshed and restarted. 
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 .....There's no way the product is believable, considering one of the spokespeople is a woman who has more silicone in her lips then my tires do.  In fact, she regularly makes every single list of stars who have ruined their faces with plastic surgery.  All I want to do when this stupid exercise belt comes on is hang myself with it. Although I went to my profiles and changed how my searches were used in terms of Ads, I still get the belt of torment  every ten minutes.  This in spite of the fact I have never looked up  sports  equipment.    Who knows?  Maybe they target people who've written about eating disorders.  If so, that's pretty twisted.  What I now do is log out when I want to watch videos, so that I am incognito.    The adverts may be in another language, but it's better then hearing that dreadful music again or "this is the button" and having to stare at Lisa's trout pout.

Scene / Seen

Light in the Forest

Seating Arrangement

Scene / Seen

Silver
(Via Rail passing through bridge)
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Today's Pet Peeve

When did this become a thing?   In the past two weeks I have encountered  the phrase "the big reveal" several times.  My grammar needs assistance.  That's why I purchased "The Chicago Manual of Style."  However, I learned as early as grade five that  the word "reveal" is a verb.  Don't use it as a noun unless you are describing  a specific part of a window or door.

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I want to reveal a secret.

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versus

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There will be a big revelation made on the show.

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See?   My teacher from fifth grade,  Mrs Nixon, thanks you.

Scott D. Covey: To one of the Dead Cities

Scott D. Covey: To one of the Dead Cities:     There are still areas in Russia that are forbidden to tourists. But then those areas are pretty much forbidden to locals too. Some ar...

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In my blog, I've mentioned my friend Scott before.  Well, I have to say that I miss him.  You see, Scott decided that he'd had enough of the "Bleak House" and opted  to make a major change in his life.  If you read his blog, he will tell you why.  Scott wrote a moving account of his recognition that he had PTSD.  Knowing him, it was probably a very hard thing to concede.  He met Inga, who I consider one of the greatest catches a guy could have.  She's also become a great friend.

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Being open to new ideas (or maybe it's ADD), Scott and Inga decided to take a chance, sell their stuff, and head to Russia.  Despite all the warnings about imminent disaster that the papers broadcast in this part of the world,  they packed up and left.  He has been blogging about being an English speaking only (though trying), Canadian in Russia.  He contrasts what the media tells you with his experiences.

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He's a born raconteur and I hope he starts to work on his second novel soon.  If you're unfamiliar with him, he wrote "Grey Redemption" a number of years ago.

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I've reposted this blog, as this was a place I had not really heard much about.  It's an interesting read and you should check it out.

Scene / Seen

Book Review "American Sons: The Untold Story of the Falcon and the Snowman."

Maybe it's my OCD or perhaps my continuing interest in research.  I'm never satisfied until I know more...I want to find out what's beneath the story.   I had read the earlier book on an espionage case from the l970's that was later translated into the film "The Falcon and the Snowman."  Were they out yet?  How did the story end?  When I checked into it, I was happy to come upon a great blog and even more thrilled to see that a book was coming out.  Of course I ordered it.

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"American Sons:  The Untold Story of the Falcon and the Snowman," written by Christopher Boyce, Cat Boyce and Vince Font is the product of the insight and labour that only a well working team can produce.  Yes....that's actually one of the main characters listed on the author page.  This really is a first hand account.

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This book goes beyond the initial recounting of the tale.  It immediately draws the reader into a heart-felt and fascinating account of events.  This is the story of how a person survives a place where it is easiest just to turn off all feelings.  It's about the support that somebody needs to hang on.  For really, the system is designed to supply programs to people who often need basic education and life skills.  What about somebody who has gone to good schools and is very bright?  What if the "crime" was one of a belief in challenging a system that was wrong.  This is very current, given the revelations by Snowden.

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Not only is this a great read in and of itself, but anybody, such as myself, who has an interest in politics, penology, and current events would especially enjoy it.

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Just think about how times have changed from the l970's until now.  Then imagine being in a place where you are basically frozen in time and then suddenly having to go out into that world.  How many people could handle it well?   Where to begin?  In this book, Cat Boyce was one of those forces.  Her side of the story is here too.  Therefore, the book "American Sons:  The Untold Story of the Falcon and the Snowman" has a human dimension that isn't often heard in the telling of such memoirs.

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Check out the book, and if you want to know more (like me), read the blog.

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http://thefalconandthesnowman.com/2014/12/14/the-official-book-trailer/

Control and the holidays





I make the same promise each year; that I won't be so caught off guard when the holidays arrive.  Like many things in my life, I used to be on top of it.  I had lists and deadlines.  It's all gone to hell, as I revert to my "all or nothing" thought patterns.  If it can't be perfect, why even bother with it at all?  It was the same  mindset I had years ago when it came to food.  If I even went a smidgeon of a calorie over the little alotement I allowed myself a day, a binge would be eminent.  It was a wasted day.  A day of not bothering to shower or making an effort.  A day of eating and counting and lamenting.

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At the moment I am reading the book  "A Million Little Pieces" by James Frey, wherein he recounts his stint in a rehab facility.  It seems that this thought pattern isn't an unfamiliar one to many.  It struck me that this could explain the "first step."  It's not an easy thing for many of us to concede that we can't be  in control.  We don't want to hand power over to anybody.  However, if we were so great at maintaining control; of being on top of things,  we wouldn't be in the mess in the first place, would we?

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This is a bad time of year for many.  People get stressed and whatever they do, if they're prone to doing it, it will be "too much."  Too much food or spending.  For others, there are endless parties with excuses to drink.  Those of us with a propensity  to indulging need to realize our triggers and accept that the world isn't black and white.  We can't fix it all and it isn't our fault if it doesn't work out.

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There exists a contingent of people who get decidedly passive agressive during this time of year.  They are the yard nazis who keep track of the fact that your lights don't quite cut it.  They'll remember that the same bulb was burnt out last year and requires...fixing.  At this point the bubble over my head has visions not of sugar plums, but of The Shining, and how Grady "corrected" his family. 

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The worst offenders are a subset of women who, once upon a time, were the mean girls.  The bows have to be "just so"because it's the package and outside that count.  I have a theory that these women are just as competitive as their male Wall Street Cohorts, but this is how they indulge their one-upmanship.  Their tinsel has to be the straightest and shiniest.  It's not about the conversation over dinner, but that it's more memorable then their sister-in-law's.  These women are quick to point out the joy of the ugly Christmas sweater, as it hides a multitude of sins.  It's at this point that they'll give a sad smile and pat your sweater...yes, the best red one you have and put on in complete earnestness.   Your one concession to getting into the holiday spirit, now that alcohol and blintzes are verbotten.

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Every neighbourhood has their "old guy" with an encylopediac knowledge that he wants to share.   Oh no, not of anything interesting.  He can tell you everything wrong that you're doing with the shovelling of snow.  He stands at the end of his driveway, shovel in hand, like one half of "American Gothic."  Heaven help the dog that pisses yellow snow in his yard.

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Yes, for us control types, rebellion via an eggnog too many or allowing a Halloween pumpkin to fester is tempting.  Just stick an elf  hat on the damned thing.  You're not getting me, Stepford Santas.  A little anarchy is good; a reenactment of Sid and Nancy is not.

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It's like walking on ice.  We need to be mindful and cautious and we'll make it.





The Bookends of the Bleak House

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They gather each night; nervous, stamping.
The two of them, lean ebony twins.
In their weary detente their leery paths cross.
Awaiting my bag and the treasure it holds.
Shadowy sentinels at Buckingham’s gate.
One on either side,
The Bookends of the Bleak House appear.
Thus coined, we make our trade.
They concede their five minutes of freedom
While I pull forth the contraband cans.
One tin each, for they don’t share well.
The first ritual in a night of rounds.
My shift of checks and locks and  exit signs.
On summer mornings I will see them as I leave.
Black cats, drugged by the sun.
Impaled on the blades of light.
Bloated as vampires post feast.
They stir and return to their lair as day shift arrives.
I retreat to mine.
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(Written about the feral cats at work)

A Patches Update

Patches is now up there in age.  Unlike me, he has lost weight in his older years.   I believe that his hearing isn't that great.  However, his vanity persists.  Patches  is a vain cat.  I think he attends to his skin care more than Madonna and his "cream" of choose happens to be sweet potatoes.  He also puts oatmeal and curry to good use.  Here's a shot of him settling in for a nap.

The Thirty Pound Cat (and he's all mine)

I know...I know.  I'm giving a cat update, as the beasts used to have some fans.  Chester has, alas, gained more weight.  In fact, were I living in the United Kingdom, he would tie with the record holder.  I had to translate what two  stone something meant, and it equaled thirty pounds.  The Daily Mail informed me that the fattest cat in England had the same weight as mine.  As Chester has short hair, it isn't as obvious.  I never meant for it to happen, but he's a rescue and won't stop eating.  He's still lovable.

Views....

The Unexplained---Ghost Tours of Quebec

 

.Two years ago, in September 2012, my friend and I went to Quebec City.  We decided that we wanted to see another side of the city---the dark, hidden, side.   While walking in the  Lower Town, we had spotted a company that provided ghost tours in English and French.  We opted to give it a try.

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That evening we met at a pre-arranged spot.  Since the locale t was in front of both an ice-cream store and a maple syprup dealer, it was hard not to sin.  But, as usual, I digress.  At the stated time, a man showed up wearing a white shroud and carrying a lantern---that had to be our fearless leader!

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I won't detail the tour itself, but I will say that it was highly entertaining and that Michaeal, our host, managed to offer gruesome details as we accessed buildings normally closed to the public at this time of day.  It turns out that he had a background in theatre, and his voice was both emotive and carried well.  It was so effective that we had several people stop us and ask about the tour as we went along the cobblestoned streets.

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The last stop was in a church and it is here that this photo comes into play.  Michael told us of the cholera epidemic that hit the city; of the people who were suspected of having died on this very spot.  At the end, he told us that we were free to take photos, as long as we did not use flash.  I'm ever the practical person and I took a few pictures, mostly to humour our guide.   My friend M was to the right of me on the church  pew and two fellow tour goers sat to my left.  I clicked as I pointed my Fuji towards the front.

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I didn't look at them until I got home.  They were as expected....black, black, black...for the church was in complete darkness. Michael had extinguished his lantern at the end of his tale.   Then, suddenly, something showed up as a hazy red blotch in one photo.  The picture I have included with this blog is the one that followed it.  No retouching has been done.   This is how it came off the memory card.

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Even though I am a sceptic, there is no denying that there is an image of what resembles  a woman in a very odd, glowing green.  Something appears to be coming out of her mouth.  I see, in an off-yellow, what looks like an arm with a hand and five fingers. 

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Michael had told us that, over the years, several people had reported the presense of a woman in the church.    He also related a story about a woman who had been  the victim of the cholera outbreak  who perhaps wasn't really dead when she was quickly buried (so as to prevent the disease from spreading).  You see, she had narcolepsy and was prone to "fits" of passing out.  They weren't as good at detecting the dead in those days.

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Odd photo. 

 



I've Neglected the Blog

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For some time now, I've neglected a lot of things; one of them being this blog.  There have been many reasons---a complete computer crash, my migraines, but mostly, it's work related.  My doctor suggested to me once that I have PTSD, but I denied it.  That's the generic assessment for people like myself.  I no longer function as I once did.  I'm not sleeping more then an hour or two a day, and by "day" I mean that very thing.  I don't sleep at night.  I've lost all contact with anybody I once knew.  It's hard to write when the only thing one feels is an overwhelming

sense of profound failure and anxiety.  Somewhere  along the

line I got so good at turning my feelings off that the switch won't  come back on.   It serves me well  at work to have a poker face, but it doesn't  translate  beyond the Bleak House.   Some people get Botox---some of us are just frozen.

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I feel guilt for not seeing people and keeping in contact, but I can't.  There are days when merely getting dressed and showing up for work takes all that I have.  I wasn't always like this.  Maybe one day I'll write about the cause.   In the meantime, I need practice.

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The Pause that Refreshes

The Fifty Cent Poetry Book

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/I found the poetry book in the clearance bin.
Your book, Dan.  From Jean.
Once you'd underlined passages and turned down pages.
And now, here it is, with Jazzercize and Wham.
That strange smell, a  C.S.I. cross of cat lady house and moss.
What path took it here?
Your notes, still visible in the margins.
Did your love of verse die, or did you?
Your belongings piled into a box without thought,
With texts deemed of no value.
Or did age make you lose interest in words,
With the every day hit of those beat-down blues?
The baby, the bills, gutters and grass...
Was  Jean  an old lover, discovered at last?
Fini avec Jean.  Avec poetry. With the escape to Paris.
What books interest you now, Dan?
The mundane mechanics of fixing a toilet?
Or do they beckon you yet;  does Lord Byron still tempt?
Like the ice cream hidden, but not forgotten.
Should we ever meet, Dan, I have your book.
My own passages marked, along with yours.
We can escape together.