o how i love the interwebs! (pt. 2)

David Lynch has his own television station -- only on the Interwebs.

David Lynch is on Twitter.

David Lynch animated and directed the video for "Shot in the Back of the Head," the latest single from Moby. Wait for Me, Moby's ninth studio album hits 30 June 2009.

David Lynch directed my all-time favorite film -- The Elephant Man.

four days

I took two snapshots of Google's swine flu map; the infection's international progress over a four-day period is pretty remarkable.
(A purple marker designates a confirmed or probable infection; pink is a suspected infection; yellow is negative; and fatal cases have no dot.)

short: new mom

You used to sing to your mother every night. Your mother: she was only forty-three when she was stricken by some rare form of brain cancer; and your mother: she was only forty-five when her spirit surrendered to the cancer. Her body remained, however. Blood still circulated. Her chest rose. Her chest fell. But her spirit had been exorcised from her body by that ravaging disease and the life-sustaining drugs. The gravity that forces waves from the ocean was indifferent to your mother. She was as lost as a ghost voided of attachment. "Just gone," your father used to say.

But you sang to her anyway.

As she lay there under sheets starched white, you would sing a lullaby improvised and her body… her slowly vanishing body was powered by machines and tubes and her solemnly still face always abided to the words and melodies that your 23-year-old lungs emitted.

So you sang of empires in the sky…

So you sang of angles and love…

So you sang of a memory that shall never die…

So you sang of death and life, spring blossoms and the winter solstice…

You sang as the sky swelled with the sun and sang as the stars forfeited a cratered moon. You were convinced the lullabies penetrated the haze that surrounded her. You saw something in her eyes. An indiscernible word found itself on her lips when you sang of death's sacred kingdom. And despite the final judgment cancer had given her, you found yourself occasionally disregarding the undeniable and believing she might pull through this.

"Just gone," your father used to say.

And so you sang. You closed your eyes and sang about your first fall from your My Little Pony bicycle. Your knee was scraped. Blood dribbled from your elbow. And tears dotted the pavement under your tiny body. Your mother was there with a kiss for your cheek and a bandage for your elbow. She consoled you, and you just wanted to go home.

And this is what you sang about until a monotone pitch rose from your mother's bedside. Just gone.

Two nurses tended to your mother. Of course, there was no saving her. Cancer had finally won. So you left the room and took the elevator to the hospital lobby. As you exited the elevator, a middle-aged man and little boy waited to board. On strings from the boy's hand floated brightly colored balloons – someone was a new mom.

It was a warm July night and the mosquitoes were biting and the kids were cruising with music blaring. You walked alone down the sidewalk with a head awash in memory and thought. Perhaps you were trying to recall the final words of the lullaby you were singing before she passed. Perhaps you were thinking about the last time you heard your mother laugh. Or maybe you were thinking about that old photograph on your dresser; the one of your mother in her wedding dress in 1985. She looked so young, so happy, so free of the burden she would ultimately bear many years later.

You don't remember what you were thinking during those despondent hours, but you remember stopping somewhere along the sidewalk and looking up at your mother's hospital room window. You stared. You waited. For something. For a signal. For some manifestation of deliverance. It never came, of course. (Faith disappoints eternally.) But you realized why your father had buried the memory of her long before she actually passed. It was easier that way; when she finally died, it wouldn't be so difficult to deal with. Wrestle with the demons while they are still alive and you've won most of the battle.

"Just gone," your father used to say.

xx

we're not scaremongering / this is really happening

Most media outlets are milking the potential of a swine flu epidemic for maximum effect, so it is difficult to gauge the severity of the infection, especially considering that many suspected cases are simply assumed to be swine flu. The mayor of Mexico City, where the infection is believed to have originated, has canceled "hundreds of public events from concerts to sports matches...to keep people from congregating and spreading the virus in crowds." Also, soldiers and health workers are patrolling Mexico's capital looking for infected people and handing out surgical masks.

The most chilling aspect of this whole story is the what-if scenario: What if the infection were 10x more lethal then it is believed to be? The act of canceling a concert and giving a child a mask would seem completely futile, wouldn't it? How would the world's governments respond? The answer: not quickly enough. Not because these institutions lack initiative, because there are too many of us transporting from city A to city B, from state C to state D, from country E to country Z. You get the point. And if you don't, watch Danny Boyle's 28 Days Later.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Google's real-time swine flu map (a purple marker designates a confirmed or probable infection; pink is a suspected infection; yellow is negative; and fatal cases have no dot.):


View H1N1 Swine Flu in a larger map

just a few things

I did not visit Bloomington Hospital's Behavioral Health Center as I had hoped. Class and associated work kept me busy for much of Thursday and Friday; however, I completed most of my work for the remainder of the semester, so I will certainly visit the Center this Thursday. The unfortunate aspect of visiting the clinic is I won't see a psychiatrist until July. You walk into the clinic (no appointment needed), your needs are assessed and an according appointment is made. I doubt I'll be classified as high-risk (i.e., risk for suicide, self-injury), so I'll be scheduled with most everyone else, which means I won't see someone until about July.

I'm determined to find an alternate medication. The old habits are back: impulsive behavior, disturbing and irrational thoughts, binge eating, poor sleeping and a hair-trigger temper. The positive component about my current mood is I'm aware that I'm in a funk; I'm practically powerless to change my mood, but at least I'm conscious that this is abnormal behavior. My irrational thoughts are very bizarre, because if I put the dysfunctional thoughts on paper in black and white, I can literally see just how fucked those thoughts are, yet something happens inside my brain, the process of logic and reason gets mutated and I disregard what I see and, instead, believe what I feel, or more precisely, what my brain thinks it feels. Does that make any sense? Probably not.

You know, I'm aware that I have wronged some people. I think everyone has fucked over, albeit accidentally or otherwise, one or two people in their lives. Maybe you didn't realize the full impact of your actions until it was too late; or perhaps passive-aggressive tendencies made you short ____. Whatever the case, there are a few people I have wronged, and I feel great shame when thinking of these individuals because the motives for my actions were not evil or deceitful. I will not craft cunning excuses for those actions; however, I do believe that a certain amount of grace should be granted to me when I have apologized for my irresponsible behavior, especially when this person literally went out of her way to empathize with me during a stressful time. Perhaps my apology was insufficient. Maybe my very correspondence was repugnant.

Speculation blossoms best in the shadows of silence.

xx

it's official

Just watched the latest episode of Breaking Bad and it's official -- Breaking Bad is the greatest show ever. I reached this conclusion as I watched the ending credits; it's during the show's final seconds that a preview of next week's episode is played, and guess who is about to become a member of the Bad crew? The Bob Odenkirk! Ha! It appears he's going to play a defense attorney.

Breaking Bad: the most awesomest show on the television box.

what the fuck happened to you? you used to be beautiful

I talked to sister last week. I told her I wasn't mad at her… wasn't disappointed. Just lost, which is why I hadn't talked to her sooner. She told me about her four days and three nights in jail… details I cared not to hear. Not because I wasn't concerned about her during that time, I simply found it difficult (and still do) to comprehend how things had reached that point.

Talked to mother last week, too. Our conversation was one of the more heartbreaking exchanges we have ever had. "If you're unsure about having children, I would tell you not to have them because you just don't know how they're going to turn out," she told me, sobbing. The remark was an obvious acknowledgement of sister's realities, and when I heard her say those words, that cautionary statement, I wasn't listening to my mother – I was hearing the words of a tired woman, someone else's mother who had smoked countless cigarettes pondering infinite what ifs. What did I say? What could I say? Now more than ever I, along with mother, father and stepfather, realize that sister's circumstance – her life, for that matter – will never dramatically improve. Sure, there might be incremental improvements, but such progresses are sure to be fleeting. And this is what mystifies me and mother. She, or her husband, has no desire to improve her situation; she is seemingly content with scraping by (barely) in a [winces] trailer park. Are my comments too harsh? Maybe heartless? What about you? Do you feel indebted to your parent or parents? Do you have some innate sense that compels you to better yourself, show yourself as a happy, independent adult? Does sister lack this drive? I don't know… maybe mother and I should focus less on our version of happiness and center on sister's definition thereof. (I think that's ridiculous, but I needed a spice of Pollyanna.)

Giving some serious thought to visiting my local hospital's behavioral health center tomorrow or Friday. Of course, I would prefer to arrange an appointment with a psychiatrist who has his or her own private practice, but my attempts to do so failed. (Technically I do have a psychiatrist with her own practice, but I don't feel she has my best interests at mind, which is why I'm going through the arduous process of finding another psychiatrist.) Of the nine doctors in my insurance network, three operate a private practice (none of which are currently accepting patients); the remainder work through one of the two local mental health clinics and only see patients who are referred through one of those centers. And a bureaucracy is born, which is why I detest said mental health centers. My encounter with Bloomington's Center for Behavioral Health (since renamed Centerstone) was not a pleasant one. In fact it was quite disturbing. I spent a day at Meadows Hospital… I've already blogged about this shit… Anyway, if there is one branch of hospital care that should revolve around one-on-one care it's mental health, and when you're dealing with a mental health clinic, or a behavioral health center as they are commonly referred to today, this invaluable one-on-one contact is lost within the bureaucratic machine. At this point I'm looking for a second opinion; I feel that my medication isn't working as well as it should… maybe there is something better, more adequate for my situation. I realize that a single pill or combination thereof won't be the remedy for all my problems, but, again, maybe something exists that can alleviate the crashes that I experience every three or four months.

I don't know… it's late… good night and

good luck.

xx

doodle of a landfill queen

She always found diamonds
hidden inside
the eyeballs
of disposable idols

hot box

My beloved Scion xB is nearly five years old, and I love it just as much as the day I drove it off the Toyota lot (definitely DO NOT like the updated body of the second generation xB, by the way), but a new vehicle from Nissan has given my eyes reason to wander. It’s the new Honda Element-Scion xB-inspired Cube. (Oh, and the new Kia Soul? Fail.) Just like the xB, the Cube offers a variety of accessories, which allows the buyer to put his own personalized touch on the Cube. Check out some pics.

collage

A little something I put together earlier this evening...

Full-size image thumb:

moving on

The Internets never cease to amaze me, or, more precisely, the speed and power of the (seemingly) only media that matters – the social media of the Web. Perhaps you saw the disgusting videos two Domino's Pizza employees posted earlier this week on YouTube. You know, the videos that, among other things, show a pizza dude sneezing on food, placing cheese that was nestled inside the toasty cave of his nasal cavity on a sandwich, and expelling "lethal gas" on salami that was placed on said sandwich. Yum! (The videos were later pulled, but on the Internets, nothing ever dies, and the DELETE key is only a state of mind. You can view the vids HERE.)

In just a few short days the two now ex-employees were arrested, charged with felonies, and, aside from having their mugshots plastered on the Web, are looking at a possible civil lawsuit from Domino's Pizza. But the real damage occurred to Domino's Pizza's reputation. As more companies are realizing (excerpt from this New York Times article)…

Social media has the reach and speed to turn tiny incidents into marketing crises. In November, Motrin posted an ad suggesting that carrying babies in slings was a painful new fad. Unhappy mothers posted Twitter complaints about it, and bloggers followed; within days, Motrin had removed the ad and apologized.

On Monday, Amazon.com apologized for a "ham-fisted" error after Twitter members complained that the sales rankings for gay and lesbian books seemed to have disappeared — and, since Amazon took more than a day to respond, the social-media world criticized it for being uncommunicative.

That's all for now… I've got a hankering for some Domino's!

-----

When JRo visited me five or six weeks ago, I remember telling him how good (mentally) I was feeling, something like, "I haven't felt this good for a long time." I also recall feeling a twinge of doubt because I could feel a shift slowly forming inside somewhere, as if the tide were about to turn. Since his visit, the tide has been turning, albeit gradually, and news of sister's arrest has pushed me, forced me into a dark corner.

When I enter these phases, all is not dark. There is the occasional glimpse of light, of happiness. (AG, if you read this, when I texted you I was feeling OK, I really was.) As today wore on, the more I contaminated things between L and me. She spent most of the day working on a school assignment, but I needed her, I wanted her attention. See, these phases are especially dreadful when a significant other is involved because I become extremely needy; I want, I need to know that someone needs me as much as I need them. You can imagine how much stress this can cause between two people. But what you cannot imagine is the futility and hopelessness that fills me because ultimately, I must suffer alone. I know that sounds like some melodramatic bullshit, but you need to understand that, in this state, everything is inflated. And I must go this alone because few people can genuinely say, I understand what you are feeling. But that isn't what I want to hear. I don't need empathy. I don't know what I need right now.

Which is why I had to leave, L. You were losing your patience, and I wasn't feeling wanted.

I'm going to bed. Definitely not looking forward to work tomorrow.

xx

sans gravy

'Flu' forces Billy Bob's band to cancel Canadian tour

from the AP — Billy Bob Thornton's band has canceled the rest of its Canadian tour after the actor compared the country's fans to mashed potatoes with no gravy in a testy interview that caused a sensation online.

The Boxmasters opened for Willie Nelson on Thursday in Toronto, where they reportedly were booed and met with catcalls of "Here comes the gravy."

A note posted on Nelson's Web site Friday said the Boxmasters were canceling the rest of their Canadian dates "due to one band member and several of the crew having the flu."

The cancellation came two days after Thornton made world headlines with a belligerent appearance on CBC radio's "Q."

The actor apparently didn't like that host Jian Ghomeshi started the interview with references to Thornton's Hollywood career.

Thornton refused to answer many of Ghomeshi's questions directly, mumbling: "I don't know what you're talking about." He later said Ghomeshi's producers had been told ahead of time not to talk about his film career.

Thornton also had some unkind words for Canadian crowds.

"Canadian audiences seem to be very reserved," he told Ghomeshi. "We tend to play places where people throw things at each other. Here, they just sort of sit there. And it doesn't matter what you say to 'em. ... It's mashed potatoes but no gravy."

Before his Thursday night gig, Thornton tried to clarify those remarks, saying he loved Canada and his "mashed potatoes" comment had been aimed at Ghomeshi.

"It seems as if when I say something, it's in the news," he told the crowd, referring to his bizarre interview.

The audience immediately began booing, according to media reports.

"Boo all you want," Thornton told the crowd, "but I want to say something. We're really happy to be here, but I need to say something. I talked to this asshole yesterday."

Media around the world delighted in the story. Entertainment Weekly's Web site ran the headline, "Billy Bob Thornton: What's his problem?"

there's a storm gathering

The same group that helped overturn gay marriage in California -- the National Organization for Marriage -- spent $1.5 million on the following ad. This ridiculous piece of propaganda comes as two states, Iowa and Vermont, legalized gay marriage earlier this week. (Psssst... New York, New Jersey, Maine and Rhode Island are considering legalizing gay marriage, too. And California's Supreme Court is discussing the legality of Proposition Eight. The gays are taking over the world -- all in the name of equality! Nooooooooooooooo!)

All I want to know is, What the fuck are these people talking about?



Oh, and Billy Bob Thornton is an asshole. Major asshole.

holden

Talked to mom yesterday (Tuesday)… Apparently sister was arraigned on two charges (one felony – possession of a controlled substance – and one misdemeanor – driving under the influence) Monday afternoon and posted bond afterward (her husband picked up the tab). She spent three days in the clink; mother, father and her husband refused to bail her out sooner, feeling that the time behind bars would sober her – literally and figuratively.

I haven't spoken to sister. Wouldn't know what to say or how to say it. What do you say? What can you say? Earlier this evening I had an imaginary conversation with her – inside my head, of course. It was a short conversation because I fell apart after I said how bad I felt for her, because I know she doesn't deserve any of this. She's a victim of her addiction. I know how much she loves her son, and a sober sister would never subject that boy to such anguish. I'll talk to sister sooner rather than later… just have to let some of this settle.

I never thought I would experience such dislocation, such a separation from the life I envisioned as a little boy. Never thought my parents would divorce. Never thought sister would become a wounded addict. Never thought I would battle the poisonous demons of mental illness. (I struggled to type "mental illness"… I suppose denial is a deathless deceiver.) I've thought about the future; a time when mother and father have passed on and only sister and I remain. I try not to think about that future, but if I can't escape the thoughts, I prefer to see the future backlit, so only shadows and silhouettes are visible. The less detail the better.

xx

Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.

Holden Caulfield