Wednesday, April 21, 2004


Two-month hiatus....

Now that the porn industry's gears are grinding (grinding, grinding) to a halt because of the HIV scare, it seems I'll have about 2 months to work on other projects.  The top priority is to continue lifting weights & jogging 5k as much as possible so that when the shooting starts up again, I'll be able to cash in on my 6-pack abs.  (Right now I'm working on tearing down abs #7 & #8, since they're the ones that hang over my belt.)

Six loads of laundry so far this week, and I'm still not quite finished with it all.  No wonder housewives kill themselves.

The music I've been writing lately has been some of my favorite.  Finished one song Monday, and began an even better one that afternoon.  Looking forward to having my grading (60 5-page essays + various late assignments) completed so I can dive back in.

Monday, April 12, 2004


Today I held my breath for such a very long time.

Monday--a morning of extreme yin followed by an afternoon of extreme yang.  I remain indecisive about whether my life is perfectly balanced or bipolar.  Sending out my CD to Norm Hines, the creator of Caelum Moor, makes me feel on the verge of something.  Sonia's site is worth a visit, and a purchase [missing URI].  Snatch up her art before she gets too famous!  Emma Goldman rules ... in a anarchical sort of way at least.  Just finished watching a 90-minute documentary about her life & work.

Dear President Bush:  Here's the memo you've been waiting for:  You will not receive a memo with the exact time & place & means of the next attack.  So do your fucking job.  Shalom.

Now excuse me as I do mine.

Saturday, April 10, 2004

If my father were to die today

If my father were to die today, I would not want to make amends. Nor would I ask for forgiveness (having done nothing wrong save attempting to save myself from his many abuses). And I would not in the least be interested in a tearful apology. The only thing I would ask is that he leave this world with no regrets. The amount of disappointment he had for me was matched measure for measure by my own disappointment in him. The fact that he waited this long to die only mocks my futile appeals for his death all those years ago. I've moved on from that time. Don't regret those nosebleeds, those fists full of hair, those black eyes, those punches and slaps and all the names called. I am who I am today because of them. The universe took those "minor irritations"—as if I were a mollusk—and transformed them into something like a generosity of spirit. I will survive because I did survive. And I will love myself more than Thou. We shall all reunite in the dust that is this planet. So do not rage (anymore), raging man enraged by every-fucking-thing. Slip into that sleep of nonbeing. And hold nothing back because nothing ever held me back. I will not regret never knowing a father's love as you should not regret never knowing a son's. But that's only if my father were to die today. If I know anything about this calendar of recovery, however, tomorrow will be different.

Friday, April 9, 2004


Wedding day wishes to one of the great loves of my life.

Hung somewhere on the door to my mind:  gone swimming with my inner coelacanth.  I'm tired from lack of sleep and too much food undigested in my belly, and the damn commercial call that came when I was on the verge of a sound sleep.

Stephen returned last night bearing gifts from the desert:  wind-bells from Arcosanti.  I long for the desert landscape almost as much as I long to be near the sea again.  Despite all the dangers in the world, I will myself to travel yet again, far from the lulling safety of North Texas.  Here the most dangerous animal is the angry driver and a "bitey" mama cat.

Greetings & warm wishes to Tetsuya & Jacek:  may you love the road you travel together as much as you love each another.

Thursday, April 8, 2004


Tomorrow is Good Friday, but today isn't so bad either.  If all goes well with this entry (and the subsequent few), then I'll use this new platform (for which I am paying but under utilizing) for my blog.
This morning we spent over 3 hours listening to our National Security Adviser tell us how even though our government was doing everything it possibly could be doing to protect us, it was still waiting for a memo with the specific time, date, and place of the al Qaeda attack before doing anything to protect us.  In honor of this "poor, colored girl from the South," I hereby christen her Anaconda Lies, Queen of the Partisan Snake Dance.  Don't let her hypnotize you too with her snakey voodoo twitching and side-winding.

Last night--when the night seemed so full of possibilities--Shayne & I were hijacked by Scott (of the double-T) and forced to endure bad service and an unpleasant atmosphere at Trinity Hall, Dallas' own version of an Irish pub, but without all the ambience any "foreigners" might give it.  He was worth every penny we left as a tip.  At least the whiskey was good & strong.  And the night ended with much less possibilities.

May the Universe intervene and rescue the Japanese hostages in Iraq.  This I humbly ask.