The Depravity Rainbow

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

It's Probably Me

It's Probably Me Lyrics
Artist: Sting
Album: Ten Summoner's Tale

If the night turned cold and the stars looked down
And you hug yourself on the cold cold ground
You wake the morning in a stranger's coat
No one would you see
You ask yourself who'd watch for me
My only friend who could it be
It's hard to say it
I hate to say it but it's probably me

When you belly's empty and the hunger's so real
And you're too proud to beg and too dumb to steal
You search the city for your only friend
No one would you see
You ask yourself, who could it be
A solitary voice to speak out and set you free
I gate to say it
I gate to say it, but it's probably me

You're not the easiest person I ever got to know
And it's hard for us both to let our feelings show
Some would say I should let you go your way
You'll only make me cry
If there's one guy, just one guy
Who'd lay down his life for you and die
It's hard to say it
It's hard to say it, but it's probably me

When the world's gone crazy and it makes no sense
There's only one voice that comes to your defence
The jury's out and your eyes search the room
And one friendly face is all you need to see
If there's one guy, just one guy
Who'd lay down his life for you and die
It's hard to say it
I hate to say it, but it's probably me
I hate to say it
I hate to say it, but it's probably me

http://www.lyricsdepot.com/sting/its-probably-me.html

******

Tonight ... I almost held the gate open to let my big blonde labrador retriever go wander off into the night. As I hooked her leash I wondered, "Do I love her if I let her go free or do I love her by trucking through all the feelings I have and the self-loathing I imposed to care for her?"

I'm scared of my feelings ... I'm scared of the Truth inside me: that there IS no truth inside me.

That I am a vacuum, empty & devoid of anything intrinsic or human, and I am nothing more than floating debris now and forever.

Or ... I'm just scared of looking inside me.

The scumbag.

The liar.

The backstabber.

The racist & pervert, deviate and jackass.

The degenerate.

All he needs to do is wander away.

- wander away.

~ j ~

To Sir ... Fuck You

Disclaimer: I am in a bad mood so don't confuse my mood for anything more than the nonsensical ramblings of a malcontent angry with the statement of the standards of education. Moreover, I am angry and saddened that a good teacher has been crushed. And, I can see this is the standard of today and the future, and I think it's time to leave Texas and make my dreams rise or fall in California. And, if you read this & think I am subversive, just know I found all this shit on-line - nothing home-made or taken from restricted reading. It's COMMON KNOWLEDGE - except my opinion.

As of 11:01 pm Tuesday November 04, 2008 the United States ushered in an era of change with the introduction of it's first African-American President Barack Obama.

And as of 1525 hrs. today I heard that a former student of mine lost his teaching certification due to a fight in the classroom. When I knew him as a 16-year old linebacker for the local high school football team and later as an amateur boxer and then as a certified teacher with a degree and excellent credentials, I always beamed. The excellent boy became an exceptional man & a teacher. I couldn't have been prouder if he were my own.

He didn't drink as I do; more than likely he doesn't fantasize about which ass to crack like a walnut or a virgin in a porn gangbang. He's super-decent, kind and warm and always sees the upside. When I heard that he's not teaching, I was mortified. Knowing him as well as I do i wanted to cry a little inside and wish for a change in his life. He's working with a charity organization, and is still completing his Master's in education to hopefully go back into teaching or maybe into teaching in the college classroom showing future-teachers what fuck-up's can cross your paths and ruin your career and hopes and dreams.

According to him, the student attacked. He defended himself and the student bounced off his muscular body falling to the ground and cracking his head open in the recoil. That was just a condition of the attack by the student; you charge a brick wall and you're gonna lose.

When I told Mrs. Losoya, she was nonplussed, and said "Well he was stupid to keep the kid and let him get into an attack. he should have sent him to the vice-principal's office and been done with it."
I bit my lip to keep from saying "You're living an ungoddamned realistic situation."

Some schools don't have the small-town, neighbor-to-neighbor mentality that she's used to. I almost said something until her husband Xavier just asked me to walk our dogs together.

"She doesn't mean it Jules", he said as our dogs did their business. "She's used to being in control and having support. She's never really been in an out-of-control brawl like you or I have. Don't worry."

I came in to write my feelings, and to contemplate that my application for student teaching is at the local horse-shit university, awaiting my introduction or my rejection.

I came into teaching for two reasons:

- I failed as an artist & writer.
- I need money.

Now I am beginning to rethink the idea of money and teaching.

Maybe it's time to leave Texas for good. One major bonfire ... a few presents and some bar-be-que made of my old journals and sketchpads and art, and WHOOSH! A phoenix rises anew.

I have included the idea of a song called "To Sir, With Love" about a man who takes a teaching job waiting for a chance to be an engineer/architect in the UK and works with kids in a slum bettering them by showing them a positive image and role model. Sadly, that's a media insincerity that is best left for the silver screen or Disney to handle.

Those days are gone gentle friend ... and I don't think I should be a part of teaching now.

That's my gripe for today.

Thank you for listening ... love you.

Julian

-------Lulu - To Sir With Love Lyrics -------

Those schoolgirl days, of telling tales and biting nails are gone,

But in my mind,I know they will still live on and on,

But how do you thank someone, who has taken you from crayons to perfume?

It isn't easy, but I'll try,
If you wanted the sky I would write across the sky in letters,

That would soar a thousand feet high,

To Sir, with Love

The time has come,

For closing books and long last looks must end,

And as I leave,

I know that I am leaving my best friend,

A friend who taught me right from wrong,

And weak from strong,

That's a lot to learn,

What, what can I give you in return?
If you wanted the moon I would try to make a start,

But I, would rather you let me give my heart,

To Sir, with Love

http://www.stlyrics.com/songs/l/lulu8154/tosirwithlove284741.html
http://www.celebrific.com/jessica-alba-voted-most-favorite-substitute-teacher/ - Favorite substitute
http://www.neogaf.com/forum/showthread.php?t=156331 - Scared substitute
http://californiateacherguy.blogspot.com/ - excellent blog about teaching

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Today's Paranoia

Two Conspiracies for Today - Voting Day

Today is Voting Day in the United States, Nov. 4, 2008 and the polls are open for the final battle between the candidates, John McCain & Barack Obama, and tomorrow morning the world will usher in a new era of social and political change.

And I don't mean like FDR or JFK may have with programs for the poor and assistances to bring social efforts to enpower everyone - I mean we're looking at people rioting, screaming in fears, unmitigated violence and misery and sadness.

Fear!

Riots!

If McCain wins, then we're in fear that he may die in office and Palin is going to be the most chaotic & incompetent person in politics since Dan Quayle.

If Obama wins, then he's going to make sweeping changes, reforms and (possibly) live under a target-sight, as per the racist idiots who planned to rush the country with attacks on his life.

I cast my vote, and I was strolling through the flea market after wandering the gravesites of my long-lost friends, and was told that if the elections go bad, we could fall into martial law and immediate barcoding for all citizens.

And then come the 'End of Days' and the Time of the Beast.

And this comes from other Christians.

THAT'S what scares me the most.

Tomorrow morning ... change will happen no matter what.

All we can do is hold our breath & pray for the best.

Thanks for listening.

Julian

p.s. "Are we on our way to 2012? I hope not ... "

Monday, November 3, 2008

More Blog Silliness

Okay so I was a little bored tonight & made some more stuff ... at this website:

http://www.cineyou.com/en/ - On the results above I SWEAR I did not rig or suggest anything to the website.

http://www.whatfame.com/en/ - How Famous Will You Be

http://www.couplar.com/en/ - Ideal Partner

http://www.paintingx.com/en/ - What Painting Are You?

And they all come from here - http://generatorblog.blogspot.com/

And to find all the links above start here ...

http://www.pawukon.com/?a=&c=nl&lang=uk&d=&m=&y=

The Day After the Dia ...

Dia De Los Muertos

I went to a gallery showing last night at a trenoid place in West San Antonio; it's near enough to the old bad neighborhoods to make it risky but near enough to a police window-front to make it the show you could take your kids to, even if you're not Bohemian's or gypsys. So you could walk 'in the darkened streets' without fear of a mugging. It was dimly lit for ambiance, and to use candle power for the exhibit, which should be more interpersonal as a show. It was a shrine exhibit for Dia De Los Muertos, or Day of the Dead in the calendar of the church. Halloween is October 31st, All Saints Day i November 1st, and Day of the Dead (Or Dia de los Muertos) falls on the 2nd of November. The day is a part of the Catholic-ization of the New World when Spain moved people here in the 15th century. As the priest saw the rituals of commemorating and celebrating the dead they decided to incorporate instead of intrude or eradicate the ideas so the day was born.

In central Mexico & many parts of the Latin-American world you can find HUGE celebrations going on, which include cleaning the grave, bringing flowers, and reminiscing about those who've left this world to be with God or the Ancestors (or whatever your particular belief is). Around the world there are many ways to celebrate and remember but this is particular to me since I live here & am Hispanic of birth.

So I see all these shrines, some amazing, like the artist who drew out a 'calavera' (Skull) on the floor using just natural ingredients like cactus, salt, corn meal, black beans and such, to one made on with one picture and a half-dozen wilty flowers done at the last second. but all the rest hung in between, most very personal and some very blase, made up of little silly things like Billy dolls & a sign saying Andy Warhol, as if we couldn't understand the inept idea of Andy's sexual & sensual nature in his art.

What took me was that in the morning I awoke with my neighbor Mr Losoya, who was walking his little dog, Brownie at 5:30 a.m. She was up crying like a fiend and needing to be let out and I heard Blondie, my big lab agiated (or wanting to join in) so I met him in the back yard and I told him what today was for me. He smiled, and both dogs romped and ran, chasing each other & emptying themselves of whatever was inside.

"Do you know where I can get some cheap flowers Xavier?" I asked.

He looked at me puzzled: "Why? Seeing your mom? Maybe for my wife for her bad cooking?"

We laughed then I said, "No, I always take them flowers."

"Aaahh ... it's Dia today; not just daylight savings time."

I smiled in the glow of my Maglite and called my dog back to me; sadly he had to chase his for a few minutes until I offered Brownie a treat and she came back to be leashed and stay inside. After breakfast & a little time to check e-mails & scribble a few lines for my term paper I found a chance to leave and hope the cemetary was open, or at least the gates popped where I could slip in and say my prayers.

Joe died when I was 20 in 1987, a suicide for a tormented mind that wouldn't be still or calm, no matter what or why or how. Alcohol, risk, lust, love ... nothing mattered and he always felt useless. Nothing anyone would ever say would keep his mind tranquil and he died at his own hand.

She was 18, barely and in a car with someone she loved. They missed a turn and crashed, dying hours later of torment and bodily anguish. I cried for her; even when I low she always brought me up. And though 20+ years have passed since that awful night, I kept thinking, 'If I haad just stayed on the phone a little longer with her. Then she'd be alive. She'd of gotten to be a mother and a wife, a lover and a poet, a singer and a college graduate, and yet ... I felt as if it were in my hands, her destiny.

I can't control destiny or fate any more than I can make the breeze stop or the ocean leave the sand dry. I can't wipe away the tears and stop my own heartbreak.

Or can I?

I was thinking about how I used to spend the day in the past, which began with church, then flowers, and finally a night in either a local strip bar or roaming drunk trying not to fall over 3-d installations made my poseur artist who can call a chewed wad of gum on vellum paper "introspective" and "artistic" and ask for $3500 for the piece. Always, after the tears, came the clarity of mind and the desire to drink and drown my despondency in beers and chicken wings remains.

I did see one thing: art is always going to be a possibility in my life, no matter what I do or where I go.

It makes me smile a lot thinking about the possibility since I am a goon, a weirdo, and a person dying to make his dreams come true. I go from the hopes of being a loser to being a winner, and I found a few little items on the net to make me smile.

So I am going to make a little change day by day and moment by moment.

And I'm not gonna cheat myself of that.

Blessings & thanks for listening,

Julian