Last Night's Musical Composition

18hours 

There's some hint of Siouxsie and the Banshees, as well as other early 80s postpunk acts.

There will probably be a week of mixing, and composition corrections, but I like it. Arpeggios are vastly underused in most music.

Tune I reworked

Away.

Walters' Rules of Wrist 7-26-2011

When you act like a loudmouth douchebag, and/or a bully in a public place you become "That Guy". Your friend, even if he's trying to dissuade you in your actions, is "The Other Guy". Don't expect gratitude: he was probably happier to be anonymous.

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You don't get to decide others' opinion of you. If your view of yourself doesn't jibe with their view of you, one of you is missing something. If you object to their opinion then doing more of what formed their opinion is probably not going to change it.

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If your opinion of yourself is solid then their opinion of you shouldn't matter to you.

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If you can't remember how much you had to drink at any given time in the recent past you probably drink too much.

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If you can't allow your friends to hold their own opinion you don't actually want friends, but acolytes.

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Expecting people to "Know Better" isn't always fair. Tell them. They may have been raised by coyotes, and have no reason to suspect that they're bothering you. If you tell them and they don't care that's cause to walk away.

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No matter how much someone cares about you, being turned into "The Other Guy" is too high a price to pay for your company.

My Message to the Orange Muppet...um...Speaker of the House

I have rarely been so disappointed in an address by a public official. Sir, you sounded clownish as you firmly held to the Tea Party line. The American people WANT COMPROMISE. We do want tax increases on the wealthy. Tea Party polls are the only ones that will show otherwise.

It has been apparent for months now to any thinking person that the congressional Republicans only want to embarrass the president, not to solve any problems.

How is that patriotic? How is that in anyone's interest?

Making the president look bad, and causing him to lose the next election will not give your party any better ideas to fix the problems that were largely caused by your party.

Instead of trying to get out of blame do something worthwhile. Come with some ideas that don't make it harder for the poor and easier for the rich.

Rush Limbaugh doesn't have the answers; he makes $100,000,000+ a year making some Americans afraid of other Americans. His interest is not America's interest.

The Tea Party may have gotten many of your colleagues into office, but they have no useful ideas.

All I ever hear from your party is a dogma of Don't Tax The Rich (Oops) Job Creators, or They Won't Create Jobs. You know what? They have low taxes, and aren't creating jobs.

So I'd like to thank you for reaffirming my suspicion that your party doesn't care about the country.  If there was no Fox "News" you'd have no media speaking for you at all.

In my lifetime I have not voted for one Republican. It used to just be because of the unwillingness to disavow the Religious right. This Tea Party/Limbaugh foolishness is just making it worse.

Lincoln and Ike must surely be saddened.

I Want a Raven

Those who've read A Game of Thrones know that Lord Commander Jeor Mormont has a raven that sits on shoulder and says...things. (Those who haven't read it also know that now.) Some things are innocuous like "Corn?" when it's hungry. Other things not so much, like "DIE! DIE! DIE!" after the man details the possible outcome of a mission.

Doing some research I found out that ravens can in fact be taught to talk, in a mimicking sense. They imitate other animals, including people.

I want one. I want a big black raven to sit on my shoulder, and say...things. With my tourettes this could be AWESOME. Some things I would teach it to say, others it would just learn.

When it was hungry I'd teach it to say "Porn?", and being a bird it would have no manners, so if it was ravenous "PORN! PORN! PORN! PORN!"

If it was with me in the last week we'd both be ticcing "Cock". This would, of course, stay with the bird, even after my tics change for the season.

"Porn? Porn? COCK!"

There's a Woody Woodpecker cartoon that I'm quite of, where a stuttering wolf from Florida somehow gets saddled with a baby billy goat. I haven't seen this in 20 someodd years, but I can't forget lines like "Heah now. Have some Moo-Cow Milk, Milk, Milk, Milk", or "Take a chaw on that Billy Boy, Boy, Boy, Boy."
Imagine my raven hearing the name Billy, and before someone could say "Joel" this bigass black bird squawks "Boy, Boy, Boy, Boy!"

People would of course want to approach my bird, at least in moments when it was being calm, because that's what people do to others' animal companions. They'd probably say the usual shit they say to parrots, and it would go badly for them after that.

"Who's a pretty bird?"

"Twat?"

or

"What's your name, pretty boy?"

"FUCKER!"

If my bird and I spent any time with a certain gay friend with a crude sense of humor I could imagine someone saying "I'm going to go get some paint", met with "HOMO DEPOT! HOMO DEPOT!"

Watching episodes of 'House' with me would lead to

"ASS! ASS! ASS! ASS!"

We could even have a little call and response. Say I encounter a douchebag.

Me: "Douche!"

Bird: "BAG!"

The more I think about this the more awesome it sounds. If I lived somewhere that I could have pets I be tempted to try it. Unfortunately I don't.

And with birds being excitable Market Square Day could be like a limping, winged tourettic convention, each influencing the other to greater depths of compulsive crudeness.

Bird: "Porn? Porn? Porn? Porn? COCK! Twattwattwattwat! ASS!"

Me: "Fucker."

Bird: "FUCKER! FUCKER! FUCKER!"

Me: "Shut it, you noisy twunt!"

Bird: "TWUNT! TWUNT! TWUNT! TWUNT! {quork}"

Cop: "Sir, your bird is drawing complaints."

Bird: "TAINT!"

Me: "Cunt. Oh shit."

Cop: "WHAT?"

Bird: "TWAT!"

Alright, that outing wouldn't end well at all, but it makes me laugh to picture it. Yes. I have a 13 year old's sense of humor sometimes. But dammit, I want a raven.

A Critique of Modern Swearing

This is the piece that I read at Beat Night, July 21, 2011, which seems to have caused someone to unfriend and block me on Facebook.

I hate the way we swear, either in oath or curse. This is no social criticism, but an artistic one. In exasperation even Jews and Atheists will say “For Christ’s sake!”
           “For Christ’s sake, will you hurry up?”
            If you don’t care about Christ why would his sake matter? That’s like saying “Take your time”, almost hipsterish in its useless irony.

            When I swear so it’s by something that matters to me:
           “For the love of fucking would you hurry up?”

For an oath people say “So help me God” or “May God strike me dead…”

Just words from most people. Your oath needs collateral, to be backed by a currency more stable than air:

“If I lie may my vocabulary evaporate, and my manly bits wither like paper in fire.”
            For short: “By my cock, it’s true.”

At the very least one should swear by deities one actually believes in.

“By the Almighty Murphy’s hairy and pendulous man-boobs, I tell you true!”

            In general people don’t consider the meaning of the words they say. Even when using clean language to be unkind, we get it stupid. Men will call each other “woman” to suggest inferiority and worthlessness. That’s stupid. I love women, so if a man is worthless he couldn’t possibly be one.

That calls into question other commonly abused words of insult: “Pussy” means coward? For the love of fucking, I love pussy, and hate cowards, so they can’t share a word.

            Unfortunately I’m having to give up my favorite Anglo-Saxon word based on this logic, but that word could get me burned at the stake or gelded in the US, though I use it the UK manner in place of Asshole. Yes, the Cunt Word is fading from my usage. So is twunt, a Neologism of obvious origin.

That brings me to my final point about swearing. When swearing AT someone we intend to unbalance them, to disarm them through shock or anger. How can phrases we’ve all heard do this to someone who isn’t stupid?

            There’s a Northern Irish comic book writer named Garth Ennis with such a gift for rhetorical crudeness that I will often forget the plot of story, as I mull the meaning of a phrase.

“Shower of Cunts! You’re a shower of fuckin’ cunts!” said one of his characters. I felt clubbed in the head by this, and surely would have surrendered in any argument with the author. All I could think about was how I couldn’t extract a real meaning for the phrase, and that it fit perfectly to the tune of the Addam’s Family theme. (The band joined me with finger snapping for a brief rendition of the theme.)
            People will say “Fuck you” when angry.

            “No thanks, I’m seeing someone.”

            Or “Blow me.”

            “Nah, I prefer innies.”

            But if someone said “Fuck your mouth in the ass!” I’d have no reply.
            Off the rack phrases are powerless, and words have meanings.

So, by the briney rumpled foreskin of Poseidon, & for the love of all that’s fuckable think before you cunting swear!

My friend Amy died this morning

This was a woman who, in addition to being younger than me, was an eminently better person. She was kind, and thoughtful, forgiving, and fun. She was ravaged by mutating cells, that changed parts of her body into foreign, harmful tissue. She had cancer.

In all the memories people have shared of her "Coffee and a Cigarette" were as ubiquitous as they were in her life.

I am having a stereotypically masculine reaction to this event: I am angry. I can't stop seeing the imbalances in life, the randomness.

Why is it that someone who did only right by people is dead, after a terrible, wasting illness, yet there are others alive who do nothing but steal, lie and manipulate, who berate, and demean others.

I was offered news of my ex-wife today. I refused this. I don't want to know about her unless her life has fallen apart.

I suppose I'm directing my rage against someone who gives offense by their choice. Being angry at cancer is useless; ire at Amy is foolish.

My ex chooses to be a liar, chooses to ignore her own patterns, chooses to use others. She knows she does it. She said as much to me. I hate that she has friends. I hate that her life isn't one endless karma-bath. She has never done anything good for anyone without expecting something in return, even if it's years later.

I hate the way death affects me, leaving all nerves raw, all scabs picked. I started thinking about Amy, and all the good times with her, and I started to well up. I couldn't take crying. So I'm angry.

I saw a car downtown with a confusing collection of stickers

From left to right we have an Obama campaign sticker, a Bicentennial US Flag, THE STARS AND BARS (The Confederate National Flag), and a Union Jack.

I'm guessing the sticker next to the Honda emblem means they have two kids, a baby, a cat, and one child they use as a hackysack. But that's not important.

They voted for Obama. Okay. They're patriotic as well. They have a British relative, or active anglophilia. Okay.

But they're flying the Sesesh Flag, the "We Don't Need You, Yankee" flag, the banner of the House Divided. 

I'm unable to reconcile this.

Rule of Wrist 4-19-2011

There are two common motivations for studying psychology/becoming a shrink:
Trying to figure out what's wrong with one's self

or

Trying to figure out what's wrong with others.

The latter presumes that one's self needs no figuring out, meaning there's no chance of identification with most patients.

Rule of Wrist 4-17-2011

People too often say "He's my friend" about someone who is, if the facts are analyzed, not even vaguely their friend.

Friendship is a two way street. Someone who is your friend does things for you for which you are grateful. And it has to be something more than entertaining you.

If all someone does is make you laugh on occasion, but costs you money, and time, and stress without any reciprocation then perhaps they are not your friend; you are theirs. They are just someone you care about.

Rule of Wrist 4-15-2011

Your own experience is NOT a complete understanding of anything, particularly politics, society, or economics.

A Frightening Thought For Those Sane Enough To Appreciate It

What if your happiness was merely a symptom of insanity?

Walters' Rules of Wrist 04-06-2011

Expecting yourself to accomplish things that you are incapable of is not just foolish, but cruel.

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Unfair expectations of self lead to equally unfair expectations of others.

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Religion creates unfair expectations in supposing that we are divinely created and choose to act like apes, leading to great disappointment.

Science says we are apes. Therefore when we choose to act divinely it should come as a nice surprise.

I like science.

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(For 90% of humans) You are nowhere near as awesome, nor as awful as you think you are. If you were either you would be much further in life. Perhaps not in a direction you want, but further.

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Being willing to die for something, whether it be love, family, principles or patriotism is NOT a grand measure of devotion. It's impressive, don't get me wrong.

HOWEVER, what lives dies. Including you. You can't get out of that. It takes no special effort, or decision on your part; wait around and it happens.

A greater measure of devotion is a willingness to kill. Killing alters a person permanently, and for the rest of their days they will have to live with that act. Some do so well, others not. But it can't possibly leave you the same.

Dying's easy. Killing takes will.

An Unassailably Perfect Week.

Last week was perfect. Except that it didn't last quite 7 days. But it was so excellent that it couldn't even be derailed by...

Well, that can wait.

The week started on Tuesday with my birthday. My birthday used to be my favorite holiday. Christmas, Halloween, New Years all as meaningless as Arbor Day.

That is until 2006. Four straight birthdays were ruined, one by accidental physical illness, 3 by untreated mental illness, not my own.

I had actually given up on my birthday. I wasn't only not going to celebrate them, but wasn't going to acknowledge them, they'd been so poisoned.

No longer keeping company with the one who ruined the day I decided to let it happen. I was flooded with birthday wishes. I was warmed, and cheered, and felt loved.

I had only 2 wishes for the day itself: 1) that the day be as stressfree as possible; 2) that I spend the evening with my lady, Andrea.

Scored on both.

I'd some small fear that someone with a knack for ruining my good mood would try and inflict themselves upon the day, but that didn't happen.

What did happen was I had exactly the time with Andrea that I wanted. No, there will be no details. But it was wonderful. And...vigorous.

It was such a perfect time that I no longer had any of the fear of feeling I'd been experiencing for months. No longer was I afraid of deep emotion or knowing that I felt such. It was like waking up healed. I had a heart, and it was so full...

Those who've known me a long time can imagine my surprise in finding that I'd been shielding myself from emotions, but after the events of last fall I shouldn't have been surprised at all.

These months I've had this wonderful woman, and I finally could feel about her how she deserves.

(As of this writing I've still been nervous/shy/cryptic/(too)subtle about actually saying a certain phrase to her, but baby steps.)

The whole week went this way, with creativity, and exercise, and her, and her ridiculous dogs.

There were conversations with friends, and good times in general.

Then Saturday and the Supermoon. Andrea and I went to the beach to see it, and she got some awesome shots of it. It was a rare occasion for me in that I didn't experience a moon-triggered manic; I felt serene, and happy.

That week I spent every minute I was with Andrea looking at her, and feeling utterly full of love, grateful to be with her, wanting to touch, be touched, wrap around. It was rather awesome.

I haven't had such a run of days in a long time, and never have they come with a certainty of their rightness. I've always had nagging doubts, about whomever I was with, or myself, or someone else.

Now, nonesuch.

So. Sunday night. We are in the middle of...A Moment. My phone goes off. It's The Thing I Used To Be Married To. She with her psychic ability to call at just the wrong time. For no good reason. Not going into every Inspector Clouseau detail of my handling of the ringing; suffice it to say the Moment was ruined.

But not the week. A few minutes of anger, and annoyance, and once I'd burned it off it was done.

I went to bed and tried not to cuddle too much, as Andrea had work in the morning. But laying there next to her, I slept soundly, and without nightmares. Another welcome change.

M-O-O-N that spells lycanthropy

I've long had a mythology about the moon and my life. The fact that I can start of saying it's mythology says something about the passage of time, and that I am not the eye-liner-sporting, Bauhaus-shirt-wearing, drawing-witch-symbols-on-my-leather-jacket ball of self-congratulatory nonsense that I once was.

The whole myth I have about my relation to the moon is wrapped up in some odd facts about my family, specifically my mother and her line:

1. We are allergic to silver. She told me this many times, but I had to prove it to myself because when you're 17 no one knows anything but you, especially not your parents. I got my ear pierced multiple times at once. I started with a pair of gold studs just in case she was right, and finished with 3 silver ones a few days later after being made fun of for the gold. Within a week my ear was infected to horror movie standards in spite of meticulous hygiene, and my immune system had been erased leaving me with pneumonia that kept me out of school for a month. "I told you we were allergic to silver". I told you so. Thanks mom. 

Since then I've limited my contact with that metal, but found that the allergy is quite real, if uncommon. In the US, anyway.

2. We are extremely carnivorous. We eat red meat in amounts that make other people cringe, with definitions of "fully cooked" that cause arguments with other people. When I was a teenager I developed a craving. This was beyond the munchies of the pot I'd just smoked in the living room; this was a full on, belly-rumbling, must-have-it need: meat. Now. There was only a package of raw hamburger. I started to drool a little, probably because I was stoned. I tore a small hole in the plastic wrap that could be closed leaving no evidence, and got myself a small ball of ground moo-cow. 

It. Was. Heavenly. I took one more chunk, this time salting a it little, and closed up the package. 

For years I would snack so, ground beef, steaks, what have you, only taking moo-cow raw, having enough sense to avoid pig and poultry. But I kept this secret from people. I knew it was a little...off.

Until I came down stairs late one night and found my mother eating raw hamburger straight from the package. I was miffed because that's what I was coming for. She startled as though caught in a terrible act. Attempting to steal back some dignity she looked at me and said in a perfectly normal manner "Christopher. Would you like some?"

I continued the eating of raw moo-cow until about 30 when I could no longer put down the fear of pathogens. That's not to say the craving isn't there, but rare will suffice, rather than raw.

3. We, being bi-polar can become beasts. While both of my parents have a frightening temper it's only my mother's that ever made me fear for my safety. Apparently my temper is quite the same, though my standards for reaching that level are much different. 

I've even noticed that different phases of the moon produce different moods for me, or that different moods coincide with the phases. However you need to read it.

My conclusion when I was young: we were werewolves, of a bloodline diluted by mixing with humans for so long. Now I tend to think of the perfectly reasonable medical explanations for these facts, and am content with them.

I mention my personal mythology to emphasize that lunar activity has long held a significant place in my understanding of my life. Now:

Super Full Moon on Saturday.

This has some major fascination for me. The last Super Full Moon was a week before I turned 21. That was the beginning of some serious awfulness, as the legal sanctioning of my alcoholism mounted my depressive tendencies to sire a Monstrous Depressive Episode that lasted years. Even after the initial depression lifted the self-destructive self-medication continued until I was 30.

From 21 to 30 was a period of my life marred by moments of extraordinary darkness. I won't detail any of them right now; I'm just amazed I never succumbed to them. There is still some major rubble marking my path in those years.

What has this to do with the moon? Rationally, nothing. In my magical-thinking, hypersensitive-to-certain-patterns mind quite a lot. Whenever an event similar to one that began a period of time occurs I see it as the possible closing of a circle. Even if that event didn't cause the time period, even if it was mere coincidence, I can't help but ascribing it magical significance.

Regardless of the presence, or lack of magic, such thinking makes me reflect on my life, and really take stock of it. I look back now on some of the things I did in the aforementioned time of my life and can honestly say that I know better, that I would not do these things, that I would make better decisions, that I would not be so childish, or beastly.

I was a frightened, selfish boy in man size. This moon signals that I have transformed from that, and that the time for blind, needless destruction is well over. The darkness has lifted, as signaled by the rise of this moon.