caps

"Caps" manipulation by mc

ouch

Got back from the Doc's office and I'm still trying to recover from one helluva prostate exam -- damn. Anyway, the news was relatively good. Nothing too serious, just an infected prostate that should clear up after 30 days of an antibiotic med.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Starbucks Cup #127

"The morality of the 21st century will depend on how we respond to this simple but profound question: Does every human life have equal moral value simply and merely because it is human? Answer yes, and we have a chance of achieving universal human rights. Answer no, and it means that we are merely another animal in the forest." -- Wesley J. Smith Bioethicist and senior fellow with the Discovery Institute Check out his blog here

Shalom,
mc

limbo pt. II

Apparently roommate's job interview went well; he was drug tested (which he'll pass) and the results should be known in a week, wherein a second interview will be scheduled and an official job offer proposed. The interviewer gave roommate some vital offer details (pay, shift, etc.) but he didn't seem very impressed with the particulars.
I'm trying to take an unselfish stance on this issue but that's difficult. Ultimately, we have our own best interests in mind, so what will be, shall be.

Also, I have an appointment with my urologist tomorrow morning...Hoping everything will be okay, but again, what will be, shall be.

Shalom,
mc

limbo

Yesterday, roommate got a call from his prospective employer and scheduled an interview for today. Looks like my living situation is officially in limbo...

mc

space

"Space" photo by mc

and she turns away

And the mods are on the corner shooting the shit and she shifts in her seat -- a bus stop bench pasted with toll free numbers and the fading face of an injury attorney.
"Cold Hard Cash For Bloody Wounds"
She crosses her legs.
She inhales.
Exhales.
And she is beautiful.
A vintage dress (yellow) is wrapped around her thin body, pale skin and her small lips move in shapes of enunciation.
But I can't hear her.
Her chapped lips continue and she's an intellectual and everything she says is interesting and I want to digest and absorb the enzymes of her opinions, the nutrients of her thoughts. The sound of her voice is a brush bathed in paint -- and she's weaving a masterpiece.
She has difficulty making eye contact with her listener, and this is a sign of insecurity. Two timid pupils, dilated in the shadows of dying billboards, dash and dart as she speaks. Hummingbirds rattle in her retinas, erratic. Evading capture.
Her vowels, her consonance and those facial expressions -- shrouds masking something sacred and profound.
And I reach to remove her veil -- just a glimpse -- but I can't. The distance.
With her hands she speaks. Movements and expressions and her fingernails are short and unkempt (she chews them: a habit of anxiety) and chipping flecks of pink and I wonder, What does her fingernail polish taste like?
Dried cuticles and tiny hands and two fingers pinch a Camel.
And she inhales.
Exhales.
Smoke of tobacco and fumes of fragrance: The pesticides of beauty.
But I can't smell her.
The distance is great.
Then, suddenly, her body falls silent. Lips freeze. Wings fold. She has become disenchanted with the mods and their feeble words. A lexicon of swollen parasites and unworthy hosts, she disengages, turns away and somewhere, the temperature is falling.

I close my eyes and a prairie is our bed, constellations the ceiling. I pluck the freshest blade and ink her skin with invisible sentiments. With tip of green I trace the notes of fantastic melodies circulating under her skin and all the intellectuals are silenced, their minds emptied, and the lone agenda embraced is one of ineffable beauty and sex is a foreign concept and all hearts are strained from exhaustion.
She inhales, her chest cage expands.
And exhales, the cage contracts.
And there is no distance here.
I touch the pale petal that is her flesh.
Skin coats bone.
Blades of shoulders.
Elbows pointed.
Knotted vertebrae.
Perfect.
And I'm amazed at the infinite wonders of such perfect architecture. A magnificent structure breathing with neurons firing, a network tingling.
And for this brief moment we are larvae writhing in the milky womb of a dying star, our curdled hearts flush with beating blood and then --
Temperatures drop.
Light falls.
Hearts rupture.
And the prairie wilts. The fleshy blades of green now crusted flakes of brown crumbling and cracking and

I open my eyes to find the street corner empty.
"Cold Hard Cash For Bloody Wounds" and the attorney's frozen face glares into me and in the gutter,
Her dying cigarette sends up hopeless smoke signals.
But I can't read them.
I don't understand.

mc

bits

Sister had an ultrasound last week...Looks like the end of November will bring a baby boy. She and fiance have settled on the name "Austin Bailey" and thus far, everything looks good. Mom has yet to email me an ultrasound pic but as soon as I receive it, I'll post it here.
May G-d continue to bless.
=======================
Roommate and I signed a one month lease extension on Friday. Apparently he wants to give his prospective employer another month to contact him before he gives up and agrees to stay here for an additional year. For month-to-month leases, our landlord charges an extra $50 per month (which roommate has agreed to pay, as he should), ostensibly forcing tenants to a one year commitment.
At least I know where 'home' will be for another month...We'll see what happens in 30 days.
========================
On Saturday afternoon I went on an extensive bike ride (with no particular destination) around BTown, snapping some pics along the way, some of which I'll post here (I posted "Signals" earlier today).
My ten-speed has been a priceless purchase. There's something freeing about hopping on a bicycle, pedaling away from my doorstep and gliding on the open road.

Memories of childhood and training wheels
Scraping concrete and a bloody knee
Tears, bandage and a mother's kiss
And you're pedaling again with sky and road reflecting in your eyes

Now I pedal on coughing streets of heat and expensive metals
Through dark neighborhoods, the sound of jubilation, radios, televisions and disputes
And I'm a million miles from 'home' and training wheels
Away
===============
Last week I finished the "Genesis" portion of The Torah. Simply amazing.
As I delve deeper into the sacred texts of Torah, the heart and soul are strengthened. If one allows the Holy Scriptures to enshroud the heart, mind and soul, he or she will discover the unexplored mystical dimensions that is Torah (the word Torah is derived from the verb "to guide" or "to teach").
I use "unexplored" because of an important rabbinic teaching that says there are 70 interpretations for every word in Torah -- and they're all correct -- and Jewish tradition speaks of four dimensions of meaning: the literal, the allegorical, the metaphorical and the mystical. Indeed.
Also, I've begun praying every night and every morning. Framing the day with a moment of meditation and prayer provide balance, focus.
The incredible sense of peace, tranquility and happiness that I've been blessed with is simply indescribable. As Jacob said in his prayer for aid against his brother Esau ("Genesis" 32:11), "I have been diminished by all the kindness and by all the truth that You have done Your servant."

mc

signals

"Signals" photo by mc

snap

While researching carnies earlier today, I stumbled upon photographer Jean Pierre Candelier's gallery of work. Never heard of him? That's probably because he's "new to the game" of photography, but his work belies this fact. What he captures on film can't be stated in words.
My favorite piece is "Trampoline."

Check out his BetterPhoto.com gallery HERE

mc
(Kate - Thanks for the broken link info; it should work now.)

The Immaculate

Chrome pilots scrape summer skies
While Lost Children swim in seas of daffodils and dandelions,
Blind youth
Escaped and unrestrained
Like tides of sparrows
Break across blue and
Crash into cumulus,
An impact of petals and feathers
An explosion of innocent laughter,
Their sound becomes entangled in the zephyr
Weaving immaculate patterns
Invisible
Beautiful.

Tangled strands of blonde
Tangled strands of brown
Strands washed in chemicals
Strawberry scented--

Strands

--Splash and flash
Gracing rays of light,
Aurora beams at dawn from above,
The yellow sun
The yellow blossoms
These are your sons
These are your daughters
Swirling virgins swelling spirits
Churn behind pupils of stained glass,
The panes reflect Eternity
Tiny beaks of vision
Scavenge for fragments
Food for the nest of memory,
Their memories are free
Their memories are clean
Absent of abrasions and broken hearts,
These are the unstained souls of raging symmetry
Untouched
Untainted
Their distance from the aged ordains them with unseasoned instincts
The proclivities of Righteousness
Escaped and unrestrained.

In seas of daffodils and dandelions
The Children sink
The Children swim
They rise.


Suspended above like Cosmic marionettes are the chrome pilots
Encased in silver shells
The pilots navigate skies of Moon, Star and sapphire,
Blemished souls wrapped in clean uniforms
Pressed and fitted,
Beings buried behind gears
Dials
Switches
Engines
Metals
They hide behind masks
Manufactured by the machines of time.

Their scarred blue hearts flutter
Busted blood vessels like broken spider legs give life to memory
And resuscitate the cold ghosts of trauma,
Boiling the belly of wicked desire
While frozen blood networks under the fevered flesh of sweat and wantonness
(He wishes he was there,
The soiled grounds of flashing filaments,
The carnival of flesh).

The chrome pilots scrape summer skies searching for Deliverance,
A crack in cloud of porcelain
A loophole in the Sun
Erasure

The chrome pilots sift the stars of untamed horizons
Searching for a reprieve from the wounds
The scars
Etched by time and human experience
The scabs of overexposure

And over

And over
Distant frontiers
The strains of a requiem waft on the zephyr
Then float and freeze to the grounds of graves,
The place where bodies hide
From the other side of time,
The aged solemn figures are dressed in black
Their flesh seasoned by the years
Stand aside
Silent.
The damaging realization of comprehension:
The tears leave trails on the faces of mascara
(And she is a beautiful mourner)
And he stands numb
His chiseled face a dry stone
(Only in the shadows of empty rooms does he weep)
The warm bodies mourn cold vacancies
A bed
A chair
An absence
A space
Empty.

The homes are quiet
Only the fences separate the silence,
The curtains are ghosts
Skimming the breeze of open windows.


And entangled in the zephyr,
Beautiful,
Are the sounds of the Lost Children,
And the Children are drowning
And the Children are swallowed
By undertows of yellow
Dandelion and daffodil
The Children sink
The Children swim
They rise,
And from the yellow seas of abandon
They are clean
And they are untainted
Escaped
Unrestrained
The Immaculate.

mc

damn

"Crazy" by Gnarls Barkley is one of the best songs I've heard in quite some time and their recent performance on MTV's ridiculous (and I don't mean that in a good way) 2006 Movie Awards puts them over the top.
This is the epitome of a kick-ass performance. Oh, and Borat's (AKA Ali G, AKA comedian Sacha Baron Cohen) intro is pretty sweet, too.
Go here to see the psychedelic-Rorschach music video for "Crazy."

mc
{Big ups to AA for hooking me up with the Gnarls a couple of months ago}

thom

Below you'll find a link to a recent Guardian Unlimited interview with Radiohead's Thom Yorke. He touches on the future of Radiohead (and the planet -- yikes!), his upcoming solo album The Eraser and other activist/rock star topics.
Selected bit: Yorke says he feels hypocritical for playing big arena gigs because of the "environmental impact" of such performances.
(For the sake of full-disclosure, I should state that I believe "global warming" to be a cyclical phenomenon and not a planetary crisis.)

Read the Yorke piece here



mc

idle

I feel small.
Insignificant.
Surfing the web, one finds numerous blogs, MySpace pages and other personal sites. Digital pages filled with words and sentiments from faces. Faces connected to other faces. Old friends, acquaintances, associates and co-workers.
Faces.
Bodies.
Networking.
Moving.
Destinations await. Physical and emotional landing pads. Institutions present certificates and congratulations. Men give rings and ask questions of matrimony.
And he says to himself, "I want to do something with my life."

Somewhere, I'm standing on a sidewalk while vehicles, passengers and pedestrians pass me at 500 miles per hour. Blurs of color, flesh and steel.
And I'm still.

Picked up the Sunday newspaper today. Flipping through the pages I reach section F, "Lifestyle." Pages two and three are dotted with black and white photos of happy couples. The pictures accompany wedding and engagement announcements. Young people with smiles as bright as fresh billboards. Young people with futures of home improvement loans, mortgages, smiling children and sunshine vacations. Achievements like tall statues stand proud in their past; their future is a promising garden.
Destinations reached.
Destinations await.
I say to myself, "They're doing something with their lives."
And I'm here. Still.

What have I accomplished?
There are no framed certificates dressing my walls. My desk isn't adorned with photographs of a smiling bride and fresh faced children.
Truthfully, I'm not looking to 'achieve' those things but many measure one's worth, or success, by his or her degree, job or family life. I suppose those things help establish one's self; a foundation is grounded and the American Dream can begin, the home with white picket fence is right around the corner.
Mr Upward Mobile says, "I want to do something with my life."
I ask, "Why must that desire be satisfied through the acquisition of products? Why this fascination with social status?"

One might ask: If attaining a degree or starting a family has never been a desirous goal, then why the aggravation?
The answer: An inferiority complex.
I don't want my intelligence discounted because I lack a college education.
I don't want to be slighted because my job title is "bus driver."
Even though I disagree with greater society's image of a 'successful' person, I allow that disjointed concept to affect me, hence the inferiority complex.
I have dreams.
I have goals.
I have feelings.
I have thoughts.
I have love.
And I am a human being.

"Remember this: The people you're trying to step on, we're everyone you depend on. We're the people who do your laundry and cook your food and serve your dinner. We make your bed. We guard you while you're asleep. We drive the ambulances. We direct your call. We are cooks and taxi drivers and we know everything about you. We process your insurance claims and credit card charges. We control every part of your life. "We are the middle children of history, raised by television to believe that someday we'll be millionaires and movie stars and rock stars, but we won't. And we're just learning this fact. So don't fuck with us."
Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club

Somewhere, I'm standing on a sidewalk while vehicles, passengers and pedestrians pass me at 500 miles per hour. Blurs of color, flesh and steel.
My face reflects in an office window and a voice asks, "What are you waiting for? Tomorrow's regrets are today's fleeting dreams. Act."

mc

huh?

This video features a "preacher" from a public access program, and it's one of the most bizzare, hilarious things I have ever seen. Kinda creepy, too. To paraphrase the late Hunter S Thompson, If the Nazis had won the war, the world's preachers would be like this. This is the Sixth Reich.

Check it out here

kimmel

Perhaps the only redeeming quality of Jimmy Kimmel Live is the "Unnecessary Censorship" segment. Check out these hilarious bits:

1. Unnecessary Censorship

2. Best of Unnecessary Censorship

'eliminated'

Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, the leader of al-Qaida in Iraq, has been killed in a US airstrike. al-Zarqawi claimed responsibility for countless attacks and was believed to be the mastermind of the August 2003 bombing of the UN headquarters in Baghdad.
al-Qaida in Iraq received international coverage after the internet posting of US contractor Nick Berg's beheading. The video, titled Abu Musab al-Zarqawi slaughtering an American, was posted on the group's website in May 2004.


Stories of interest:

• Iraqi Prime Minister: "al-Zarqawi eliminated" Go here for the story

• Nick Berg's Father "Sad" Over Death of al-Zarqawi Go here for the story

• al-Zarqawi's Family: "We're happy because he's a martyr and he's now in heaven" Go here for the story

• Another al-Zarqawi Relative: "God willing there will be 1,000 Zarqawis to fight the Americans" Go here for the story

evolution

I'm a big dead fat fish, beached on a sandy coast of expired TV Guides, seaweed and dirty styrofoam coffee cups. My work schedule has been cut substantially and most of my days have been spent on the couch, drifting in and out of consciousness, the warm television screen flashing infomercials, baseball games and documentaries of dead events, people and places. Dead. Like me. On this couch.
I've tried to take the occasional bike ride but lately the weather hasn't been cooperating. Damn humidity.
Over Memorial Day weekend I went to Hometown to visit mom, dad and sister; I hadn't seen them since Xmas.
The late afternoon and evening hours were spent with dad. His usual short temper was a quiet ghost and I enjoyed the time spent with him; it was a very fulfilling evening.
Earlier that day, I visited mom for a few then made my way to sister's place.
There was something troubling about the time spent with them. I don't know...The first couple of hours at mom's were good but as the afternoon aged, the jovial mood seemed to deteriorate. Mom is concerned about stepdad; she fears his unusual memory problems are early signs of Alzheimer's.
The goodbye scene with her was particularly troubling. We hugged, exchanged 'I love yous' (which felt genuine) and I walked to the front door. Standing there, we said our goodbyes, but something was amiss. My body, my mind were heavy. An unsettling ghost filled everything: the room, our words, my lungs. The goodbyes felt forced, mechanical. It was as if some ugly reality was pervading all time and space, yet we refused to accept its existence.
With knees of jelly I struggled to walk to my car. I tried to shake it off and tell myself, It's all in your head. But that didn't work. I didn't feel like a son leaving his mother's home; I felt like a visitor escaping the house of a distant friend whose relationship had been stained by time, broken beyond repair.
I attempted to align myself as I drove to sister's place but everything was crooked, estranged. Was it me? Or was it them?
Writing about my time with sister is especially difficult because of her situation (or is it mine?). She's pregnant, engaged and happy yet something has changed in our relationship. This shift became abundantly clear while I visited her. I should be ecstatic for her; she's free of addiction, she's with a guy that treats her well, she's doing what she loves (pet grooming) and she has her own place. I don't know...Perhaps I expected things to turn out differently. I guess I never expected a pregnant woman living in a trailer park to be my sister. I know, I know...That sounds pretentious. Despicable. Ugly. Sister and I were raised (before the divorce) in a upper-middle/middle class neighborhood and our parents worked hard to maintain that lifestyle but, I don't know...
Anymore, I'm not sure what to make of my early years. As I age, the facade of my childhood continues to erode, layers keep peeling away like some neglected billboard advertisement, revealing a hodgepodge of colors, experiences. Now, I treat my childhood like a film: the people you see on the screen, the words the actors relay, well, that isn't reality. True reality occurs behind the scenes and out of the camera's view. Only in the shadows of a darkened soundstage can people truly be themselves and when you're a kid, you have no concept of life off the 'stage.' Mommy and daddy are superheroes, their capabilities infinite, their inabilities nonexistent. But as you age you realize that they're human beings. With flaws. Cracks. Skeletons. Just like you.
Aging has also made me realize that a part of me stopped developing, or maturing, once mom and dad divorced. There are aspects of my identity that still seem rather childish, unrefined. Perhaps this post is about a man struggling to accept that I'm not the only one getting older...Maybe I'm emerging from my bubble of suspended animation...Maybe I'm finally comprehending the true realities of time, age. Old family movies flash a little boy striving to be the constant center of attention, literally pushing sister out of the camera's lens so that I could be the star (how did this affect sister's psyche? how has it affected mine?), the sun at the center of my own universe. Perhaps that crooked desire is why I've never been able to maintain a romantic relationship. "But what about me, baby?...Tell me you love me, baby.... I need you here with me, baby....I wish I wasn't so codependent, baby."
But I digress. This post isn't about me. This is about sister. This is about family. This is about change. This is about the people I know -- and love. This is about them -- changing. But I'm not changing with them...I don't know...I suppose the grown child doesn't change with his or her family, that's not the way it works. He or she is supposed to start a family of their own. Plant fresh seeds. Start anew. Perhaps this is why I'm having difficulty accepting sister's happiness. Read that again: I'm having trouble accepting sister's happiness. How ridiculous is that? Because her happiness doesn't fit inside my definition of happiness, I can't accept it.

Since I've discovered G-d, I've become so much more aware -- of everything. But discovering G-d is not only a discovery of the Eternal, but also an exploration of one's self, and as you explore who you are, you discover and repair the broken pieces, and as you ascend, it's important to stop for a moment and look below. It's crucial to note your spiritual evolution but it's also vital to understand that this progression is not a finite process. It's a constant process of self-alignment. The beginning is absolute but the ending is unattainable, and one's eyes, along with his or her heart, should always be open.

mc

! apocalypse update !

Well, it's a seasonal but humid 81 degrees at 5.05 pm EST here in B-town with no sight of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse...Stay tuned!

Grandfather, who is 6' 6", turns 66 on 6/6/06 -- Check out the story here

============================================

Oh, and happy birthday to me (btw, my birthday won't be official until 8.47 pm EST, which was the time of my birth)!!!

mc

06.06.1978

Twenty-eight years ago today, yours truly, mc, was born. Special thanks to 'the real mc' for the birthday greeting! Oh, and today is also National Yo-yo Day -- seriously.



On this day in...

• 1799 -- Patrick Henry, American revolutionary, gets what he asks for -- death (kids today simply know him as the "Give me liberty or give me death" dude)

• 1944 -- World War II: Battle of Normandy begins. Code named D-Day, 155,000 Allied troops land on the beaches of Normandy in France. More than two months later, Paris is liberated in what remains the largest seaborne invasion in history

• 1949 -- Robert Englund, actor (played Freddy Krueger in the Nightmare on Elm Street flicks), is born

• 1962 -- The Beatles audition for EMI

• 1967 -- Paul Giamatti, actor (you might know him as "Pig Vomit" from Private Parts, Sergeant Hill from Saving Private Ryan, Harvey Pekar from American Splendor, or Miles Raymond from Sideways-- one hell of an actor), is born

• 1969 -- The first Internet connection was created when network control protocol packets were sent from the data port of one IMP to another

• 1972 -- David Bowie releases the kick-ass The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars

• 2005 -- The Supreme Court rules that users of "medical marijuana" can be prosecuted for violating federal drug laws, regardless of their doctors' advice. Sorry, kids. (Today's gratuitous Mr Show reference: "Yeah, my doctor says I need medical marijuana to get high.")

mc

30 seconds...

Flipping through the dial, I came across the 30 Seconds to Mars video The Kill. I had no idea that Jared Leto, the actor (Requiem for a Dream, Panic Room, American Psycho among others), was also a "rock star" (he's the lead singer of the band). It's a pretty cool song although the band and the video's director (Bartholomew Cubbins) are treading on sacred territory with the Stanley Kubrick/The Shining thing. Nonetheless, it's a pretty cool video.

Check it out here

mc