Tuesday, November 11, 2008

The Loss of Peace

When I was a boy we called it "Veteran's Day" but were told it began as Armistice Day after the treaty signed ending World War 1 to hopefully keep future generations safe from the horrors of war by acknowledging peace and the sadness of violence.


This morning as I watched the news I heard a reporter say "It was once called Arm-miss-tiss (?- pronunciation from her) Day?" She questioned her co-anchor and that was SO fuckin' sad that she wasn't sure why we were commemorating (not celebrating) this holiday.


To some this is just the day mail & some utilities are not serviced wereas others make sure to remember thos who sacrificed much from their own lives for our freedoms.
All we can say is ... 'Thank you.'
Thank you.
Julian






November 11, 2008
Lest we forget




In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields… — John McCrae

Photos from
jeff.bowser, MissyV110, burwell, and amythyst_lake.View more photos tagged with “Remembrance Day” and “Armistice Day




Posted by Heather Champ




http://blog.flickr.net/en/2008/11/11/lest-we-forget-2/ - Please see the original for all the details & any other links pertaining to this day.

Remembering Today

November 11, 2008


Lest we forget



In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.


We are the dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved, and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.


Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields… — John McCrae


View more photos tagged with “Remembrance Day” and “Armistice Day


Posted by Heather Champ

Monday, November 10, 2008

Slightly un-Suicidal

Dear Friends,

This was written last week when I felt sorriest for myself about the loss of one of my former students being crushed and having no shoulder to cry on, knowing deep inside if it could happen to HIM, it could certainly happen to a buttwad like me.

Anyway ... I'm not killing myself nor worrying.

I vented so it'll all work out.

Ciao.



Julian

*****

Did I shelve my talent and hopes so long ago I can't account for them in any way except as a title? Have I finally made myself the miserable shitbag I loathed to be in life or am I just too scared to do anything? Has my life ended and I'm just a rotting husk of human being?

I placed many things in many graves ... and they're going to haunt me.

WHY THE FUCK DO I FEEL ANYTHING FOR THESE DEAD HOPES???!!!

WHERE'S MY DREAM, MY ALLEVIATION OF PAIN??!!

WHEN WILL I BE THE ONE FEELING JOY?!

WHY CAN'T I CRY HONESTLY?

Why can't I be happy?

Why not me?

Tell me ...

I'd love to fuckin' know.

All my memories and sadness taunts me with the lingering stink of failure. I can't tell a joke or make people happy and I can't know my own feelings to be true and honest any longer. I hate feeling so lost and sad, and so unable to tell anyone any thing - any goddamned thing. I can't even shout or growl or be cruel and hateful or angry.

Impotent.

That's the fuckin' word. I have no juices and no joy and no way to recover without aching to try slitting my wrist again.

They're sitting on the cusp of my ducts, but I won't let them flow. I have been harboring & hoarding all my own emotions and socil honesty all I can be is crude and barbaric.

It's easier to collect toys and comics that to talk to people.

It's easier to spend money than to make when everyone wants to take it from you anyway.

It's easier to lie than to tell the truth ... even to yourself.

Its easier to drink or smoke or get laid or fucked than it is to confess or admit anything.

It's so easy to point out the flaws but to stare at the Dorian Gray inside you is another.

I hate me. Personally I don't see myself being worth two hot shits from a diaheretic horse at Derby but maybe my own perspective is skewed. Maybe I don't see myself as others see me.

I'm always picked last unless there's a shit job - then everyone need someone like me.

The tears well up, but they won't rush out. The whiskey stings my senses but I don't know any other way to cope with myself or my own inadequacies right now. All I wish is that "In vino veritas" would keep to Wild Turkey also; or maybe that's for vodka.

I sat, trying to cry outside ... I wasn't able to get ahold of the little dog Brownie, and I grew frustrated. It's just another tic on the side of my mind gnawing at me, reminding me I have no control and no help and no way to be successful. If I can't control the little things what makes me even IMAGINE that a dream should come true for me? Why the Hell should I go on living today, even tonight?

Why shouldn't it all stop now ... a quick slit ... deep, sharp. A few painkillers and a little more whiskey and a warm bath, and like the old Roman senators, I slide on into never-was-to-be where I finally belong. There's some pain killers left from an old injury - 1000mg or so. I was told not to drive or operate machinery but fuck, those days are WAY gone. Gone when I was a man, not an impotent grousing monster mewling from his personal corner of abandonment.

I feel the seepage, like the blood trickling out of a closed wound, a little drama to the marauding sadness of the ecstacy of the injory ending so swiftly. Maybe a little more whiskey will help.

Maybe not.

Sliced toasted bread grilled with butter my dinner, and I hate myself, dessert.
I advise they listen. I can't talk - they'll never hear me nor I myself. There's a cacophony of unfueled sadness sitting on the ground, maybe needing a spark to send it to the moon, or to roast it to embers and finally be done with it. Ashes to ashes, bullshit to dust.

I've tried purging my toxicity, but noone wants to see that side of me. I have dark, evil sick fantasies that would either end in murder, rape or both. That or arson ... I liked that. Arson is wonderful gentle friend; the flames crackle, and if you're not directly connected and doing it for you and not profit then it can be quite satisfying and calming.

Noone wants that side of me.

Not even me.

(pause)

Can you tell the people you love & who love you how much you hate them? How you'd throttle them and hide their bodies if you could? Has it crossed your mind lately, this morbid thought and hateful notion? Even in the anominity of the internet, am I still nothing more than a gnat, a grain of sand as an irritant to be quickly washed away and forgotten.

Did you surpass 30 sadly? Has the glimmer of the old dreams tarnished on the shores of sand and waste disposed recklessly, ruining the beauty of being great and wonderful now replaced with mediocrity and haste, complacency, and insecurity? Do I feel beautiful? Is a tank beautiful, or a rifle? Like me aren't they tools, needing always to be complete and being left empty as husk, ruined and defiled when the ammunition is spent and the war ends?

I'd rather be a sword, an extension of the warrior. Carved, intricate, gleaming, touched ... not just an edge or a rapid thrust, but a symbol, a use and eventually, a plowshare.

Anything good in my life I fuck up royally. Any truth I twist to my own misery plan or to hide whatever shit-sandwich I am currently feasting on in this life. All I can ever be is the louse, the scumbag, the embarrassment, the disappointment. And even in moments of elation or triumph, they're never enough.

Was 40 the way you're always going to see life, as a wag of a rat as the blood trickles out of you drop by fuckin' drop? Aren't you always on the outside looking in, wishing it were you wanted ... chosen, not just taken because maybe you can't do any better than mediocre? And don't you hate disappointing those who never expected a lot anyway and got less than that from your fucked-up cranium and blackened soul?
Are you ready to contemplate lonliness? Emptiness?

Death, or maybe just a real expressed emotion? A honest thought?

I wept a little while softly sing from Elton John's "Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word", and I don't know if they're true to my feelings or if they're just a reaction to my fleeting feelings of failure and the allowance of Wild Turkey snippets in my thoughts.

Or maybe it was "Tiny Dancer" ...

Fatigue creeps in and I just don't care to have an honest feeling. They don't matter to anyone but me and even I grow tired of my own whining and indecisiveness and bullshit.

I'm not gonna die.

Just sleep.

But sadly just not long enough for it to be satisfying.

I never felt alive though I've done some stupid & risky things.

Maybe I've been dead inside too long. Salted earth that no seed can make purchase of soil or toil.

Maybe this is my Hell.

My absence of Love, from God or security or family or friends.

Maybe it is time to leave.

(pause)

Tomorrow morning I'll be at school in the morning loathing all I am doing.

Always tomorrow ... even for death.

Ha ha ha.


~ j ~

--------
Artist: Skid Row
Song: Quicksand Jesus
Album: Slave To The Grind 1991


She caught the melting sky
It burned but still the winter passes
by and by
To the other side
A slow parade of wind
That blows through trees
That wilted with the season's children
Are we saved by the words
of bastard saints
Do we live in fear or faith
Tell me now who's behind the rain
A maze of tangled grace
The symptoms of ?for real? are
crumbling from embrace
But still we chase..the shadows
of belief
And new religion clouds our visions of
the roots of our souls
Are we ashamed of our own fate
Or play the fool for our own sake
Tell me who's behind the rain
What do we need where do we go
When we get where we don't know
Why should we doubt the virgin white
of fallen snow
When faith's our shelter from the cold
Quicksand Jesus I'm so far away
without you
Quicksand Jesus I'm so far away
without you
Quicksand Jesus I'm so far away
without you
Quicksand Jesus I need you
Quicksand Jesus I belive you
Quicksand Jesus I'm so far away


http://www.kovideo.net/lyrics/s/Skid-Row/Quicksand-Jesus.html

------------
Artist: Winger
Song: Headed For A Heartbreak

Yeah
Morning came and I was on my way
When you reminded me
I had too soon forgotten
It was you that set me free
Yeah, you were here when I came
You'll be here when I'm gone
So don't be waiting on love
Because I'll be waiting to ramble on
Headed for a heartbreak
Headed for a heartbreak
Darling, don't wait up for me
Tonight I won't be home
You've become a stranger
I just got to be alone
Don't need nobody on my side
To know the plane I'm on
So don't be waiting on love
'Cause I'll be waiting to ramble on
Headed for a heartbreak
Headed for a heartbreak
Headed for a heartbreak
It's not a mistake
Don't you think I can feel the pain
I walk away
To live again
Headed for a heartbreak
Headed for a heartbreak
(Don't make me hurt you)
Headed for a heartbreak
(Well I don't know_______)
Headed for a heartbreak
Don't you think I feel the pain


http://www.kovideo.net/lyrics/w/Winger/Headed-For-A-Heartbreak.html

---------

Artist: Corey Taylor
Song: Bother


Wish I was too dead to cry
My self affliction fades
Stones to throw at my creator
Masochists to which I cater
You don't need to bother
I don't need to be
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on
I won't let go 'til it bleeds
Wish I was too dead to care
If indeed I cared at all
Never had a voice to protest
So you fed me shit to digest
I wish I had a reason
My flaws are open season
For this I gave up trying
One good turn deserves my dying
You don't need to bother
I don't need to be
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on
I won't let go 'til it bleeds
Wish I'd died instead of lived
A zombie hides my face
Shell forgotten with its memories
Diaries left with cryptic entries
And you don't need to bother
I don't need to be
(I dont need to be)
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on
I won't let go 'til it bleeds
You don't need to bother
I don't need to be, yeah
(I dont need to be)
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on
(once I hold on)
I'll never live down my deceits

http://www.kovideo.net/lyrics/c/Corey-Taylor/Bother.html

So I Was Bored Again ... ~lol~


http://wigflip.com/saywhat/ - above caption image dialogue





http://www.festisite.com/money/ - isn't this what you want on a $10 spot? ~lol~
And thus I was here again .... ~lmao!~
- and this is one of my favorite sites: http://www.redkid.net/generator/sign.php
Blessings,

Julian

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

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 ... "