i am rupert murdoch's private mistress.

i do not have a myspace, facebook, or any other sort of social networking account. word on the street is that one or more of my friends may have created a page for me on one of these sites. these are pages created by my fans who love me dearly, and wish to have their names dropped in my blog. not going to happen. this kid has no web dedications aside from this ever famous publication.

i don't want to support rupert murdoch in any way (aside from his occasional tryst), have no desire to waste more time on my computer, already communicate with friends on the level i can handle, am a closet neo-luddite, and find a delicious self-righteous gratification in excluding myself from activities everyone else i know does. oh yeah, being a self-righteous asshole is still rad!
furthermore, i don't have any "friends back home" who need to find me in the either.

i realize it is libelous to admit my affairs with my pet rupert, but it's only because he will never admit it.

so, am i a sociologist yet?

i don't actually care to answer that question. as many of my faithful readers know, i find these lines we draw between sciences and disciplines to be quite problematic.

i completed my final two courses to earn a "bachelor of arts in sociology with a minor in black studies" degree this afternoon. i guess i am officially graduated, although i am not attending a ceremony and my diploma will not be mailed to me until a few months from now.

supposedly i am excited. this is what everyone tells me anyhow. the truth of the matter is that i can not tear my mind away from getting into graduate school long enough to enjoy this moment. between finding a descent occupation to bide my time and waiting for the disappointing letter carrier's delivery every day i can not force myself to get excited about graduating. and it's not only that. the extreme devaluation of the bachelor's degree in our post-modern society is really getting me down. it doesn't have much of an affect on my getting a job. it is essentially portrayed as the new high-school diploma for people in my demographic, and we all know what those are worth these days. i'm so focused on the carrot at the end of the stick that i am missing sight of the process of reaching it. we call this progress, but it feels more like numbness.

then i hear how pessimistic and defeatist this all reads, and begin to realize that i don't need to let anxiety get the best of me. i'm going to enjoy this if it kills me! i worked my ass off for the past four years, and should be proud i found the top of this hill. four years ago i went to college because i wacked off my index finger and did not have any desire to work any longer. it was college or houselessness for this cat. no way did i believe it would last. i have the faith in phenomenon i would imagine an earwig to hold (not ten times their weight). i am more intelligent for it, more understanding, articulate, ready, and willing to chew through buildings. this blog will hopefully not be as celebratory as this thing gets (my countless readers know how i feel about internet activism and celebration). there should be a gathering and incinerating of various articles of furniture and clothing in the near future. this will likely be followed by some "i love you" and the reciprocal "i love you too" statements. or so i would only expect. for now this business should come to a close. i have big things to get in my mix of! that is not code for "diapers to change". although, that is also true. L'Chaim!

stop!

it will come and go, and i will miss it-
miss it because i am looking for something else-
or have no notion of what to be looking for-
likely because i give it a specific name before it exists-
i paint it before it is able to be conceptualized-
i listened to the cues of what i "should" be feeling-
and for the remainder of time in this life i will think it is in the future-
never wondering if it went by unnoticed-
it will-
the best day of my life will likely not be acknowledged-

(*&^%

as they said it would be, she traded her notebooks for foreign film collection and the newest of coats-

painted old walls to rename spaces and when dry applied a second and forth-

seeing old statues with pock marks galore, mold growing places we’d never explore-

she had a want to keep a fist in the air-

overlooked by the comfort of waiting room’s conditioned air-

Regarding: "Feminist Theory: From Margin to Center" by bell hooks

in her chapter on revolutionary parenting, bell hooks wrote about public ideals toward motherhood and love. she addressed the societal belief that every woman is expected to have a natural love for and connection with children. on the contrary, some mothers do not love their children, some fathers love their children more than mothers, some children do not love their parents, some people have no desire to relate to children in any way. hooks was writing about the sociology of love and emotions in this section, and made a clear point that gendered assumptions regarding children and love are often bias and false. the fact that you are related to someone does not enact love, nor does being a parent or child. some people feel love through the obligatory connection of blood relationships, some need time and experience to feel love for another person, and still others have their own personal parameters which create what they consider a loving relationship. as it is a bonding agent of some of the most intimate forms of social integration, i appreciate it when theorists address ideas of love in society.

i honestly enjoyed this book, and have recommended it to several friends. It does not hold a definite answer to the centuries old issues of sexist oppression, however, bell hooks, in her genius way, writes a foundation to build further theory and active participatory movements on.

f8%dm3is:k = ?

so we don't just procreate, eh?
[in the culture i live in, at the time i am living in it, relationships are quantified based on a variety of criteria including: level of physical activity, shared ancestry, shared DNA, amount of time spent together, as well as many other quantifiable indicators.]

"intimate relationships", for folks born into the generation I was, are often initiated and perpetuated/bolstered through a variety of forms of sexual activity. all of mine have been. i recently discussed this point with a good friend, and we came to the conclusion that he simply didn't like this story, but could not deny it. all of the people either of us have been acquainted with, on a level which facilitated conversations concerning their relationships and sexual activities, fit into this generalization. clearly there are exceptions to this umbrella statement, but i am concerned only with the trend of a majority population of the generation.
as physical or intellectual attraction is the genesis of most "intimate relationships" it seems plausible that a more physical manifestation of that attraction would be the next-first-step. "the glue that bonds us" one might say. so what happens when the glue is gone?

in my parents generation, and even more-so those before, there was a hyper-real picture of what a person's life is supposed to become. the "american dream" if you will. much of the hyper-real (or fantasy driven) value system attached to this "dream" was rooted in patriarchal-monotheistic religious sets of values (coupled with a genuine fear of procreation). previous cultures created their "family" unit of social integration by means of arranged marriage, polygamous, polyamorous and endless other forms of "relationship" creating styles, as a means of integrating "families" and continuing the homo-sapien species. as our society is becoming increasingly secular (if only on the surface and outside of major politics) those values are of slowly declining importance. however, religion is only one of several factors affecting the shift in the paradigms concerning relationship building (nearly all of these factors were based on power, dominance, and control). possibly of greater importance is the advent of the incredibly magical cure, birth control. blessed is thy name! birth control saves lives! where the hell is the male version already?

so what happens when the glue is gone? if the relationship is bonded by sex, the sex is lacking, time for new sex? who knows? time for the relinquishment of monogamous controls and restrictions? possibly. time to find sex some place else while you find a new bonding agent for the relationship which was entirely based on sex from its inception? possibly. time to stop making a connection between sex and love? shouldn't that notion have come first? was the reason for attaching emotions to sex because it traditionally would have created a child and eventually a family? very possibly. do we have sex to create children and families in this generation?

postscript: i realize that there is a great deal of historical-context and fact missing from this little blog, but i feel that my million-strong reader base is intelligent and has no desire to read what they already know. furthermore, this rant is only mine. everyone deserves a place where they can feel confident.

7th grade "junior high"

it's not quite a hole, but it is pretty large.
more intentional, like an incision.
i can't see the bottom, which indicates that it has quite a depth.
not to make too much sense of it. it is just a space with nothing in it.
it has no time precedence, no non-spuriousness, and is on no level correlated.

there is however a thesis-antithesis-synthesis triad apparent in this space.
it may have began like a window: tectonic plate, rock shard, pebble, sand, and the melt.
or a glass of gin: grain, juniper berries, distillery, cask, bottle, frozen water, throat.
yes, gin is closer. i like the amalgamation essence.
it's definitely a creole.

what the fuck.
did it not just explain to me that it makes no empirical sense?
must it?
this may require more thought.
not everything is empirically describable.
some shit is just that.

think of england

as a young person i looked up to my elders and longed to be thought of as an adult. thought people would take me more seriously. as an adult i regularly look back and wish i could re-experience parts of my childhood. it's a simple concept that comes up all too often.
i live in a society which has no formal "right of passage" for either gender. because it is not pathetic enough to assume there are only two genders! we often treat women like they are children, devaluing their millions of essential contributions to society, until they are at a life stage where they are no longer able to produce offspring (menopause). after this stage the cultural norm is to devalue women ever more by making them appear to be crazy in everything they say and do. i call bullshit! women are the only reason anything happens for any of us, and we should all have the utmost respect for them. this pagan is pissed!
i'm not sure what the right of passage is for men, but there is a point in their young lives when they gain an unearned respect which only grows with age. men in modern western cultures have an ascribed status of power and control which they have no need to even acknowledge. most men go through their entire lives using their unearned power to its fullest extent and never thinking of why the power dynamic exists. on this i also call bullshit! this pagan is pissed! there is no plausible reason a person should be able to control others, and particularly not through means of power they don't even take the time to understand.
i realize that this is also a simple idea, but i needed to vent and have no illusion that anyone actually reads this stream of consciousness anyway. nor should they i suppose.
the juice of juniper has kissed me once again, and i enjoyed every morsel of that embrace. FUCK OFF DOMINANCE!!!

"look at my hands" J.K.S.

someone called me charming the other day. what an incredibly endearing and uplifting thing to say to someone. honestly, it felt like a unicorn-laden-rainbow-enema for my soul.
i do not interact with any large number of people, and choose to place a weighty amount of importance on the folks i do get a chance to spend my time with. not sure if i'v written this before but as people go i'm quite an awkward one. for quick example, as a wee lad, i asked the person i went on my first date with if i could hold her hand while viewing a film. shortly there after she dumped me because i was too prude for her taste.
i believe my friend simply flung this compliment in mid sentence and has no idea what affect it had on me, but it will make my week and some.
i'm painfully awkward for a good reason. it has forced me to make intense relationships with the folks i find comfort with. thanks amigo!

life should be a series hugs

a bath is just like a hug, only it touches you entire outer self, a small piece of the inner, and there are no bony jabs or questioned intentions. yes my friends, a bath is a full body hug. this sentence should be spoken in a monotone, with a pitch drop for the last two syllables. and no freud, it has nothing to do with my family and their or my sexual desires. who gave that guy so much credit in the first place?

i've been taking a bath nearly ever other day this winter. not because i don't care about wasting water, and not because i am soiled from the long days toil. there is nothing even remotely utilitarian about this bathing I'm into.
if everyone has a vice, this is currently mine. nothing feels better than a crazy hot bunch of water along with a good book. other than a crazy hot bunch of water, a great book and a glass of bubbles.

I bath because it's a bloody frigid winter, because i drink an awful lot otherwise, because it feels like it is mine, because i am awkward, because i have a lot of homework, the train is late, the check was mailed, relationships become sower, because seeds don't always catch on, because people don't always mean the same thing, and most of all because it feels better than anything else i do just now.

and another thing. what is this business that my skin is somehow water proof and simultaneously composed of 70% H2O. i officially choose not to believe that line any longer. what do these physical (hard) scientists know about the workings of the world anyhow? social "soft" and fuzzy) sciences are where it's at, and i am calling this waterproof story a social construction of reality. those bath molecules are intermingling with my molecules and having a circus for the tub.

could someone please bring me a towel?

a tablecloth

if you continue to go on about anything and more-
blink as if the world already had a soda-
spill pure intelligence and chuckle as it falls to the floor-
be my lost and found for the second first time-
it will still end up on the floor-
this is a tendency of very heavy things-
for once, we are not to blame

off to class!

at coffee with a friend yesterday the question of work experience came up. i told her about the jobs i have hated and why i decided to attend college. this reminded me of something incredibly important.
i complain a great deal. i'm a nerd, and i whine about many things that are likely entirely irrelevant to the general population of the world. i even complain about school: wishing i had a day off in the week to relax, coveting the day i can make money instead of borrow it, and carrying on about visions of nights without homework. it's quite romantic.
as often as i may complain about college, i love it. i have the opportunity to learn something new every single day of my life! at this point in my academic career i even have the chance to create and convey my own thoughts. most importantly, i have a soul. i can feel things dans mon coeur. i can appreciate people and the world around me. i could not do any of these things to any noticeable level when i was working the jobs i have hated. many of my friends who work full time can not say the same about themselves. the irrationality of rationality, or what ever it can be called, i am going to stay in college until i find an occupation which is sufficient to allow me to learn every day as i am now. this idle mind crap is for suckers. i've already been a sucker once in this lifetime, and will not be enlisted for a second tour. i'm going to class now!

some western style haiku

you forgot
flames look
like flowers

earth is changing
and you
are at a traffic-light

give color
in place of second
chance endeavor.

In her mother
she spoke softly
all of the sea.

It’s not a mellon
but a captured place
we sleep now.

Why are there
now no longer
footed pajamas?

Cryptic sleep
talking of antique
typewriter key stroked.

L'chaim and every last rail spike (plus du poetry)

what a fortnight could devour if we let it
how you divulge the things I masticate in fear
every wrinkle your face takes pride in gives glee for

Astrid with your steady eyes inside my still shaking child’s hand
you ate the wall I masquerade my life behind and shit a pillar for too many a goddess to count

had it right, the baby, my lover, the rest to come
had your accuracy smashed the teeth of this city
endless effort left for picking up the pieces and continuing the track

Say Astrid, was that a focused action
or did you accidently predict the point I would bolster and come clean

another abstraction I know I should recall
your entrails polished publically for proof and reconciliation
it took a nation in the past

it took Astrid less than sixteen hours

morning's slow roast (yet another poem)

He knows nothing of her lovers from abroad, and she’s not at liberty to disclose-
just a fresh copy of the “Times” is happiness in his wilted hands-
her cell phone has worn a grove in her left earlobe that well resembles Lake Michigan-
its won one could say-
a technological struggle for sentience, long overlooked-
she’s originally from a petit mountain town in the icy northern reaches of Manitoba-
in a near-by city a “famous person” who goes by the name Timothy once said,
“turn on, tune in, drop out”
neither of them subscribe to that idealism-
nor any tame rendition thereof-
on the contrary, both toiled long to reach their coveted strata-
neither can hear the rushing life of spring-
the pair together have more capital than the U.S. state of Mississippi-
they may have lost the smile for looking at other people-
each other included-
but they’re very sorry for that-
what they have now is to combine and hold still-
breath in and feel it for the first time in years-
she remembers his mother’s maiden name
the two are on their way to the beach

cochlea follicles

a good number of my close male friends are loosing their hair at a lightning pace. there are three fellows in particular who have obtained either the triple-V forehead pattern or the halo of skin on the rear head deal. i have not yet come to this physical change in any way, nor am i likely to ever experience the growing of skin on my head.
in trade i have developed some fairly serious hearing loss issues which are slowly beginning to have a negative affect on my life. recently, i have been working with a group of students on a content analysis research project. We are analyzing mainstream and alternative written media biases in portland. this process has given me the opportunity to get to know some new people in my social research course. i have also had the pleasure of realize that i can not hear what people are saying to me as well as other people seem to hear the same conversation. this learning process does not play out so well when you are trying to get to know folks. most people tend to have it in their hearts to repeat themselves once, and may smile with a second repetition. after the second try, people often become annoyed, and reevaluate the relevance of their statement or inquiry. following this is likely the reevaluation of their relationship with me. this situation has lead me to the ever pathetic act of pretending I hear what someone has said to me. in order to skip the trouble of repetition i simply nod my my head and hope for he best. not a great plan, but it's all i'v got for right now. some day a hearing apparatus will be necessary...if ever i have health insurance.
the ultimate reason behind all of this hearing impairment has been entirely worth the recent consequences. the first loud music concert i attended was Varuca Salt and PJ. Harvey at age thirteen at the gorge @ gorge, washington. i was with my best friends (love you both!) in the warm northwest summer's sun, had a bit of the drink, and began my lifelong legacy with loud music. a couple of years later i joined a band, and have been crammed in small rooms playing music as loud as possible ever since. it is those twelve years or more, three bands, cramped poorly ventilated practice spaces, and a genuine belief that earplugs make me sing poorly that lead me to murder a god portion of the army of follicles in my cochlea. i'm quite confident that i would be less pleased with the hair loss my male friends are experiencing than my condition. at least i get to tell a fun story about my hair loss. all they have is genetics.

Waltzing Matilda

yes, this song has such a degree of folklore buildup that it was awarded its own museum, Waltzing Matilda Centre in Winton, Queensland. this is not the point.
it's been south pole cold in portland the last few days, which has made it difficult to take penelope beatrice out into the world to learn. she is a sponge for the observational knowledge of our world, and can't be hampered by the frigid winds. maybe the mail person was in fact the late Ernest H. Shakelton , returning only to sire a daughter with his curiosity of a puffin. or is this just how children are?
people don't include stories or even a folklore legend for that matter. it's all untraveled trial by crying. or is it fire?
alas, we have been riding the max downtown to the end of fairless square, only to walk across the red bricks and ride back to where we came from. along the way we are privy to some unintentional easy dropping and the occasional conversation. the ease dropped info can truly span the gambit: work relations, drug relations, breakfast plans, sex plans, and even conversations with no apparent listener present.
as for the conversation part, it all generally revolves around penelope beatrice and what she looks like. as i understand it, once you become a parent your brains and heart turn to shit and no one wants to talk to or about you any longer.
the best part of all of this is watching folks search for signs of penelope beatrice's gender or sex. most people don't know what to call her, and i love watching their discomfort in trying to get around the gendered portion of their comments. it has given me conviction to help her remain as androgynous as possible. i think the key is to teach her the joy of observing the reactions of others as they try to find a culturally appropriate way to approach her in conversation.
if nothing else, this experiment will give her something to talk to a therapist about in the future, and we all know therapists are experiencing a shortage of childhood scars to mend.

!does bird a as

.whistler a not if nothing am i
.thing a have each we said is it
!thing my is this

C'est tres bien!

"so like i met her right, and she was like totally normal and really nice", said the clown. it has always seemed odd to me that so many people i talk with have this notion about celebrities being different than anyone else just because folks know their names. we attach nearly the same level of importance to "famous people" as we do to female breasts in western culture. also, both are equally used to fuel consumerism. the bubble bursting truth is that breasts are just tissue that some people have and celebrities are just people who were in the right place at the right time. get over it already.
so that is my take on that. given my ideals regarding "the popular ones" i typically take the liberty to talk with them like any other person. in this i have found a flaw in my thinking. if the particular celebrity is a songwriter or creator of something personal there may be a different connection between myself and the person. not to say that celebrities are different people at that point, rather that there is a different relationship dynamic. i recently met jeremy enigk of sunny day real-estate at a show. i intended to talk with him after the show and tell him how i greatly enjoy the music he makes. the issue is that, having listened to his music since puberty, i feel a personal connection with him as a person. this connection has never actually been made. it was the first time i met the fellow and i found myself telling him very personal things related to his song writing. in this way i was not at all treating him like any other cat on the prowl. sorry jeremy. i will now not be blaming the many gin & tonics i gulped, as they had no say in the whole mess. i recently made the switch from cerveza to booze, and have yet to understand the quantity coefficient.

diagram sequential (a prose poem of sorts)

she spoke ever so eloquently-
a story of babysitting little brothers in her older sister's hand-me-down dress-
drink the water that's run through some seven seas, millions of generations, and a field-
studying francais to know the tongue of ancestors she wishes she was-
history as a second acquisition with the legs of a whale-
but legs would sooner ascend Everest than atop the threshold of her swimming pool-
"this whale will not", she proclaimed, "return to the salty waters have grown fallow"-
it's truly intellect and the discovery and creation of new knowledge that keep legs a walking-
the story she told was of a stick in the spokes-
broke the lynch-pin and sent life a nice letter-
it may be the best drink she has ever drank, but she knows where that water has been-
where the water is headed is of great importance-
a vow to never return is intended to stand firm-
a sunset never photographed lit a fire pink puddle in the drive