August 26, 2004 at 10:35 am
(meme)
With quizes I found linked on Leann’s site! Woo!!
Destruction. Yes, you’re my kind of person. The
world is ending huh? That’s it, time for some
FU@KING FUN! MAN THE GIANT ROBOTS! LETS SEE THE
HORIZON BURN, BURN, BURN!
How would you survive the end of the world?
brought to you by Quizilla
*burp*
“Which Random Irish Gaelic Phrase Are You? ”
Go n-eithe na peisteoga thu
Go n-eithe na peisteoga thu - ‘May the worms eat you.’You’re one sick bastard. When you die, you’re going to to a very warm place. That is, if you don’t already run it.
Comments
August 24, 2004 at 12:15 pm
(life)
TGP and I are in escrow on a house. Woo! It’s purty, and we’ll each have a room of our own to write in. And plenty of grass in the backyard for a puppy and a jacuzzi. And a sacrificial altar… erm, firepit to keep the puppy out of while we’re roasting marshmallows. And lots of rooms to christen in a most non-Christian manner. Hee…
This feels different. Last time I bought a house, with my ex-husband, there was an enormous amount of anxiety and distress. Maybe because I’ve been through it before, and maybe just because I’m different and doing this with a different person, I’m not worried about it. My biggest issue at the moment is how long I’ll have to wait before I can get the desk of my dreams in my office. Might not seem like much, but I used to have a desk just like that when I was at UCSB and the ex raised such a stink about getting moved into a second-story apartment that it was World War 3 or give up the desk. I never forgave him. Our marriage was full of things like that. We all have to make compromises for each other, but there are some things that you should never be asked, or ask, someone you love to give up. Never again. Not with TGP. He’s different, and I’m different, and neither of us will ever ask the other to give up something they love. Not even for love.
Comments
August 21, 2004 at 7:26 pm
(life, writing)
NB: I didn’t write this post - it was written by another Kerry, a dear friend who periodically posted here - he’s an artist and has an amazing giant brain that runs rings around the rings of Saturn and those zoomy quantum trails that quarks leave in their wake.
I just started teaching an art history survey course at a community college. This is the survey that races like a souped-up rice burner from the caves of Lascaux (30K years ago) up to the gothic period (1200s or so). Although I’m an artist and (long ago) weathered this subject matter as a student myself, to teach it is something else again. This is grokking at a new level.
And in my grokky state, being in that prehistoric point of the course, and sneaking in my political reading on the side, I’m finding that figuring out how to make students care about marks on the walls of a French cave made so long ago provides a fresh look at the immediate urgencies in my own life.
Bluntly, for myself it means that nothing matters except what you pass along, or leave behind, that might help another lost soul make sense of the black madness around us all. That might mean throwing oneself even more passionately into the exterior tumult of the moment, or it might mean stoking the fires of personal passion by withdrawing from the outerworld altogether.
The bison on the walls of those ancient caves are long dead, as are the humans that made their pictures. Something mattered enough to them that they crawled into the darkess underground and left a record of…something. It’s unlikely that they thought of anything beyond their moment as they rendered those leaping, running beasts, but they made them just the same. Not a message in a bottle, but in a cave.
So now I’m left to reflect, what is in my life that would impel me to a like effort, a like record of my experience?
Comments