Images from the past
It is simply amazing the number of images that are available online. The website
Flickr has made it possible to store great numbers of images online for free, and you can store even more for a small price. The image above belongs to
dcwooten. I never tire of looking at his stream of vintage male images. In addition to the beautiful images of men relating to each other in interesting and affectionate ways, there is witty commentary from his viewers. This photostream has plenty to offer.
Liz Phair has no equal
I was listening to a song today, a song I know well, but strangely the lyrics hit me in a profoundly personal way. I know it is lame to post song lyrics, but I am doing it anyway.
Fire Up The Batmobile Lyrics
by Liz Phair
Fire up the batmobile cause I gotta get outta here
I don't speak the language
And you gave me no real choice
You gave me no real choice
You made me see that my behavior was an opinion
So fire up the batmobile cause I gotta get outta here
It's the mouth of the gift horse, I know
But I gave it my best shot
I gave it my best shot
I gave you the performance of a lifetime
So I hope you all will see
There just isn't a place here for me
I look around and feel like somebody must be fucking with me
I just can't take any of you seriously
And I can't keep keeping myself company
Fire up the batmobile cause I gotta get outta here
Big shoulders block the view
You can't get your money back
You can't get your money back
You can't pretend that "isolation" is the same as "privilege"
So I hope you all will see
There just isn't a place here for me
I look around and feel like somebody must be fucking with me
I just can't take any of you seriously
And I can't keep keeping myself company
Dark waters
Life lived in darkness, behind closed windows sealed tight against the cold.
Outside, trash blows in the night air beneath purple neon signs and headlights.
Giving up everything to be alone,
tied to this place by a single string,
waiting for things to change.
Floating rather than swimming.
River or lake this metaphor?
Stone Arch Bridge: Mississippi runs clean and calm.
Walt Whitman Bridge: Schuylkill meets Delaware's foul industrial flow.
The City of Lakes and
The City of Brotherly Love.
Not my brother,
he dwells in the Windy City.
I trace his waters,
crawling out of the Great Lake.
Chemical companies line the riverbank.
Those chemical waters pollute my beloved river at the Gateway to the West.
Flowing past Crescent City devastation, defeat and stink surround her.
Miles away, I lie in the shadows of a man I love and a bridge I hate.
March is the new November
In November I participated in the National Write a Novel Month and I had the goal of writing 50,000 words in a single month. I fell short of that goal an in the end wrote about 41,000 words, but for me it was still a success on many levels. Today is March first and I am pledging to myself to have the same motivation that I found in myself in November to write. Not being the most goal oriented person in the world, I am going to write up my daily totals here, and I will leave a paragraph or two here that I have written that day as well.
At 12:30 AM I am ready to write. I have the Aimee Mann playing in the background, and a freshly made pot of green tea in my thermos. On to the adventure. Wish me luck.
