You are currently browsing the monthly archive for March 2009.

I dreamt of you

today

 

though I didn’t see your face

 

I knew

it was you

 

the number was seven

and it was bright yellow

Advertisements

So I bought this book, Lone Survivor by Marcus Luttrell (and quasi-ghost writer Patrick Robinson), on a whim in an airport bookstore. It’s clearly a tale of a major military clusterfuck in which everyone dies (except that one) so I thought, oh hell yeah. This is for me. I was meant to have this book.

 

The writing isn’t anything that you couldn’t see in a high school AP class or college composition, but the actual story seems to be a good one.

 

Except I have to wade through the conservative propaganda military bullshit (and Luttrell’s seemingly endless bravado):

  • “There are no other passengers on board, just the flight crew and, in the rear, us, headed out to do God’s work on the behalf of the U.S. government and our commander in chief, President George W. Bush.”
  • Referring to the established rules of engagement, which prohibit American soldiers from firing the first shot (unless the “enemy” has clear intentions of assault on troops). “That situation might look simple in Washington, where the human rights of terrorists are often given high priority. And I am certain liberal politicians would defend their position to the death. Because everyone knows liberals have never been wrong about anything. You can ask them. Anytime.” Rage when I read this b/c the only thing Bush says he’d do differently about the war is not have hung the sign, “Mission Accomplished,” so early.
  • Luttrell is intolerant of just the idea that every person on this planet is given basic human rights and is indignant, if not plainly outraged, that  the public and politicians would dare challenge the all-knowing military and its methods. Murdering everyone is clearly the answer. “This entire business of modern war crimes, as identified by the liberal wings of politics and the media, began in Iraq and has been running downhill ever since. Everyone’s got to have his little hands in it, blathering on about the public’s right to know. Well, in the view of most Navy SEALs, the public does not have a right to know, not if it means placing our lives in unnecessary peril.” Let’s not point a finger at the president, who might start a vendetta war that puts soldiers in harm’s way “unnecessarily.”
  • A joke: “I am not a political person.”

 

Sigh.

Forgive me for being an asshole

but honestly

this country was built on bullshit.

 

Living and dying for an idea

Freedom

Living and dying for a concept

Terrorism

Living and dying for nothing…

 

Patriotism. Belief in a war and your country is proof that you have been conditioned, your mind reprogrammed, and your self destroyed for the benefit of your government and/or your need to be righteous (or have an illusion of it).

 

Forgive me

I’m being an asshole

Because I believe in peace

Peace is an intangible

Respectable

Something to live and die for

Something

I live and I sometimes die for

Peace

of mind

literally…

 

Righteousness. I’m not sure how it happened but I suddenly find myself no better than anyone else, even conservatives. I have fought and struggled for liberty from and for myself, from and for my mind, convinced in my mission and unwavering in my conviction. I’m not sure how it happened but somewhere along the way I’ve become an ordinary asshole who instead of being enlightened is simply pretentious.

I’ve been told

Death Valley exists

And I live in it

Even if

Even though

I stayed

willingly

I came

unknowingly

 

I’ve been told

Lots of things

I already know

Home is

Where the heart is

Where death resides

in molecules and chaos

all around

 

A barely audible whisper. Come.

 

Death Valley welcomes you.

Yesterday, I took lunch and went for a light jog/walk around the old neighborhood I used to live by. It was a beautiful spring day. Like the ones I remember when I lived there. It was strange to be back in the same place and remember the version of me that when up the hill and down the hill so many times. Giddy up the hill, giddy down the hill. Crying up the hill, crying down the hill.  Numb up, numb down. Angry. Grieving. Content. Up and down.

 

I felt a sense of satisfaction and unease. So I think I’ll go back. Then, I think it’s not a good idea. Is there something to be conquered in remembering, in going over territory I’ve been over a hundred times or am I in danger of remembering too much and reverting back to that weaker person? Fuck yes. Or. Fuck. Yes.

 

For now I think I’ll try to think nothing of it.

On Tragedy

…a haiku by poeticgrin, 8/18/04

 

Weed in a taco

Broken swings, asses, and dreams

Satan’s spawn inside

 

 

Rotting

…not sure if poeticgrin or I wrote this one. It sort of sounds like me, but it’s on Bryan’s b-day, 7/30/96

 

Sinking deeper and deeper

 

The sand fills my mouth

 

Choking my screams

 

But I am not shrieking, screaming for anyone (except you)

No one would bear the bluntness of my harmful blow

 

I’d knock you over (WOP!)

Lecture me of right and wrong

 

What does it matter in the armpits of my hell?

 

So I’m drowning in the dry earth that bore me

 

Seems appropriate, though I’m not sure I agree

 

There is no hope on which I could lay the truth

 

So I shall die and rot with it

 

 

 

Lil Bit of Moonshine

…medicatedlady, 8/27/95 

 

There is no halfway

 

You can’t cheat a dream

 

No way, no more, nothing you can say

 

Work is harder than it seems

 

 

Truth is a wonder

 

There’s all the rhyme and reason in the world

 

No lies, no time to slumber

 

Just you, me, and perhaps little

Pearl 

 

 

 

*(Pearl from The Scarlet Letter)

 

 

Her words haunt me

in the same way

that Holocaust stories do.

 

She said

No

I don’t want to open my eyes

it splatters everywhere

death death death.

 

Her words remind me

one doesn’t have to see the smoke

to smell the ashes.

It doesn’t have to hurt

for me to like the feel

of shallow skin torn from deeper depths.

 

Not all cuticles run so deep

but removal

makes the edges of my being warm.

 

I might go to professionals

who tinker and snip

but I don’t wish for nails that are better kept.

 

I wish for jagged, uneven splits

to be savored and fantasized about

to be at climax torn.

This rambling post and accompanying whinge is 762 words so I understand if you do not want to go through it all. I’ve underlined the important parts.

 

To answer Patrice’s question. I do not laugh on laughing gas. If left to my own devices, I get nice and high. My endodontist (sounds fancy but he basically does root canals for a living) was cheerful and nice and said “shit” a couple of times this morning. He sort of reminded me of a rambunctious and rednecked Jimmy Buffet. When he touched a nerve it hurt, so he gave me another shot. I wish he would have quit talking so I could float, and I’ll admit sometimes I just tuned him out and would grunt to make him think I was listening. I hate when dentists crack jokes, because a polite person feels the need to smile and when they have your mouth in oral stirrups, it’s very difficult and somewhat painful to go through the motions. They advised me to hit the ibuprofen for a few days, so I went and bought a stockpile at USA Drug. They said to call if I needed something stronger. I wanted to tell them that it would be fine for them to proceed with the dispensing of “something stronger” as I’m running low on narcotics (I ended up taking half a hydrocodone the other night so I have only have one half of heaven left). As a side note, he said I had a “weird” jaw, which was music to my hypochondriac ears. I wanted to ask him more about it and the possible horrific effects of having a weird jaw, but his large hands and instruments prevented me. Then, I forgot about it. I wonder if it would be inappropriate to call back? Was he kidding? Sometimes sarcasm is lost on me. Bryan sometimes has to enlighten me.

 

How to get sexy lips. Genetics are a factor, but one should just go with what they’ve got. Apply Blistex. Put on lipstick. Add a sheer lip gloss and ta-da! This is what they do on the commercials. You think that just lipstick will do it, but you can’t neglect the lip gloss for that ultra-sexy shine.

 

I am pretty sure the day will be better than Tuesday. At least I know other people are having worse days. I saw this truck slip on wet streets and sideswipe a red car. It appeared to be a minor incident so I politely merged into traffic and went on my way. Also, I will be getting my hair highlighted and I think it will be cheaper than I expected. My Entergy bill was $60 cheaper this month, too. My cell phone bill will be roughly the same because I have this ringtone fixation going on.

 

My aunt is wheezing again and she feels generally bad. She has pneumonia. She has emphysema. She was in ICU last week for breathing problems. Everyone was up in arms last night because they heard she had pneumonia. I was impatient. I’d like to say: “Look, assholes, she didn’t just get pneumonia—she’s had it for days and days. If you bothered to come visit, you’d be able to tell what’s what. Her condition isn’t necessarily any worse than it ever was. She’s fucking near death always.” So this is nothing new. Her white blood count is still flat. Her stomach has been upset for a few days so she has refused to eat, which makes her weaker. Last night, I coaxed her into eating part of her jello. It was a start. I made her promise me she’d take her breathing treatments (she doesn’t like them). My aunt J came down and it is beyond me why she didn’t force my aunt to eat something. I sat and held her hand for a couple hours last night and finally got sad about her situation. I resent my family so much. She knows nobody wants to come see her. The ones that do basically want something from her—money, pills. My mother comes to visit but she’s worn out, absolutely, completely worn out after she visits because she won’t stay at my house. She stays all night at the hospital. To make matters irritating, my mother said she saw my cousin and his wife in Wal-Mart and the wife said nothing to Mother. Mom thinks my cousin’s wife is jealous because my aunt talks about my being her rock to everyone and the wife thinks her husband should get credit. He does, bitch; my aunt considers him like a son.

if we’re talking strictly preferences

at the moment

I think I’d like someone who I was only marginally into to someone who I was all-consumingly into

oranges to apples

discontent to happiness

nothing to something as something is exhausting

odds to evens

right to wrong

left to right

sleep to consciousness

flip-flops to school marm shoes

laundry to dusting

dusting to washing dishes

facebook to myspace

status updates to formulated pleasantries

pizza to sweets

everyone else to me

SOB with me

Blog Stats

  • 29,482 hits

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 49 other followers

EMAIL ME

at MedicatedLady@yahoo.com, loria29@gmail.com Or Facebook Me: www.facebook.com/loriataylor3

CopyScape

Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape
%d bloggers like this: