Cena do filme>>Um Dia de Fúria

Author: Jacob Marshal
Source: articledashboard.com

Duran Duran is back with their new album “Red Carpet Massacre [CD/DVD]“. Since their last album which was released in 2005– the hits “Astronaut,” “Red Carpet Massacre, dvd, [CD/DVD]” is the twelfth album which illustrates, dvd, their musical expertise. Of course this album has deviated, dvd, from their original music which was more synth-driven, dvd, and full of rock guitar flirtations. Rock guitar which was a prominent instrument in their mid-career period is least to be found in this album.
In a way, their new album can be said to, dvd, be a slickly polished electro-pop hybrid. It is an output of collaborative effort of Timberland,, dvd, his protege Nate “Danja” Hills and Justin Timberlake. The most prominent numbers of the album,, dvd, dvd, include ‘Falling Down’ and ‘Nite Runner’. This is a consistent album that is fun and enjoyable.

Along with the album, a special CD/DVD Edition is also launched in the market which features a special half an hour documentary highlighting details of the album. It also includes mind-blowing performances of guest artists like, dvd, Justin, dvd, Timberlake and Timberland.

Disc one of the album comprises exotic numbers like The Valley, Falling Down, Skin Divers, Tricked Out, Box Full O’ Honey and Dirty Great Monster. Its Red, dvd, Carpet Massacre, Tempted, Nite-runner, Zoom In, She’s Too Much are another numbers that have gained, dvd, wide popularity among the music lovers.

After their 1993 comeback with The Wedding Album, Duran Duran has proved to be much stylish and creative, dvd, in the Red Carpet Massacre. Perhaps it is the most aesthetic of all their creation. Most interestingly, instead of going for the new, dvd, waves of bands like the Killers, in this album we can find more original works of the vocalist Simon LeBon and other musicians like Nick Rhodes,, dvd, the keyboardist, and drummers like rummer Roger Taylor.

Red Carpet Massacre (CD/DVD) is sure to rock, because of its innovative and extraordinary music. Especially, the ballads like “Falling Down”, is quite appealing. With more of a hybrid kind of music, Duran Duran is in a way trying to create a sensation in the musical world.

It’s been a while and I still have not had the chance to edit the required quota of photos, plus all that ugly business at Anime.gr kind of took the fun out of it for a while. Oh, I will get to it eventually, but between work and all sorts of (rather useless, when you think about it carefully) information reaching me, I am seriously not in the mood at this time. At any rate, there is also much preparation to be done for COMICDOM’ s mega blog event, namely the Top 100 Comics of the ’00s (that is to say, the past decade), so the Japanese events stuff takes a back seat for the moment.

That said, I had a bit of time to catch up on some anime I have been downloading and storing with the prospect of watching “someday”. Well, Higashi no Eden (“Eden of the East”) caught my attention and has the added advantage of being limited to just 11 episodes. It tells the story of a group of NEETs (Not in Employment, Education or Training) trying to make their mark upon the world through their own company site and the crossing of their path with the mysterious Takizawa Akira and the Selecao (“The Chosen” in Portuguese) Project. It is an anime filled with rich dialog, conspiracy and the prevalent feeling that something is very wrong with Japan, which only a very select few know of. I must admit that one of the things that got me hooked was the opening sequence, featuring a great song by Oasis, “Falling Down”, which I am posting below for your enjoyment.

Higashi no Eden is a Production I.G. anime (of Ghost in the Shell, Blood+ and Blue Seed fame), so the feeling of mystery, foreboding, the unknown, coupled with weird psychology, are very prevalent. Having watched up to episode 8, I am worried about the story ending with 11 but there are also two movie sequels, Eden of the East: The King of Eden and Eden of the East: Lost Paradise, so I am keeping my fingers crossed for a delivery equally engaging with the story so far.

Check it out – it’s worth the effort,

Speedgrapher

Siden jeg begynte å gå på konserter i pure ungdomsår, har jeg alltid gått på den smellen at jeg tror at det bare er jeg som har skjønt at han der bassisten er kjempesøt. Jeg har nærmest giftet meg med ham før konserten er over. Og så viser det seg at 100% av jentene i lokalet mener det samme, og i baren etterpå er det kø med altfor fine jenter som vil snakke med ham. Så man lusker litt slukøret bak i lokalet igjen.

Det samme skjer fremdeles, dog på andre arenaer. Det er veldig sjeldent nå til dags at jeg føler at jeg har sjangs på noen i bandet. Men nå altså; skribenter. Og jeg har skrevet om dette før, men jeg har et sånt aldeles ustoppelig crush på Charlie Brooker som skriver i the Guardian, fordi han er smart og morsom og sur og sint i en finfin pakke. Og jeg tenkte at det nok var bare meg som tenkte på ham på den der andre måten. Den litt lumre måten, om man vil. Men neida! Her i sted søkte jeg på ham på Twitter (jeg sa jo at jeg hadde et crush!), og der altså, der dukker det opp massevis av pene, unge damer med like stort crush som meg. Bor i England gjør de også.

Reality check, please.

i am having a hard time figuring out where to start with this review. i have written a few different sentences and then just gotten rid of them. its hard to know how to kick off something like this. the movie is brilliant. there is no argument there… and what it is saying is very important… but still… its hard to put my opinion of the film in words.

our main character, Michael Douglas in this film is both a down on his luck guy you feel bad for, and a man with sever anger issues. his furious tirade across a city is both justified and unjustifiable. every point he makes, every scream and every threat is justified. it is all true. companies do charge too much for anything. people are selfish. people abuse the small amounts of power their jobs give them. people can be bigoted horrible people. he is right that bureaucracy and greed have crippled not only the nation of America but the society of our entire planet. he is right. but he is also slowly falling down into a psychotic break.

that was what was so hard for me personally while i watched this film. i agreed with so much about the character… in a way i even identified with him. his anger at the convenience store clerk who spoke fractured English and over-charged for thing, his anger at the fast food employee and manager that abused their SLIGHT level power just to show that they could. i get that. and when he busts up the convenience store with a baseball bat i was there with him. standing in those shoes engaged in an orgy of destruction that we have all felt. that eightyfive cent can of soda isnt just overpriced soda, it is a symbol of the larger price jacking and hostile corporate takeover of our world. that coca-cola is a little icon of how we are all being bled. im with him there. when he demands his food the way he wants it at the burger joint, i was with him there. because in both instances… he paid. he just exercised a little justifiable anger. but as the film progresses, he falls down. hard. he is clearly angry at himself more than anyone else int he film. and again… i identify with that. he is angry at his ex-wife for leaving him and taking his child, but as can be seen in the scene where he watched the video of him yelling at his wife… he is more angry at himself for pushing her. he knows he has made mistakes. and he regrets them. but now he is too angry. he is too angry at the world, at himself, at his anger… he has fallen down.

Robert Duvall is excellent as the police officer in the same situation. both men are being bossed around, abused, and pushed into lives they cant and dont want to fit into. both men are taking the world’s shit and just plowing through it. and both of them finally turn around on the same day. both of them finally stand up. Robert Duvall stands up and walks away. Michael Douglas stands up and falls down.

i love this movie. i love what it means, i love how it is filmed, i love how it is acted, and i love how it makes me feel. for the most part. part of me hates that i can identify with the movie… but i guess thats also something i love about it.

{unlike most of the movies i review here, this one is not only still in print, but very easy to find. the film has been released on blu-ray in a wonderful package that you can find on amazon right HERE.}

Jeg kom hjem her på mandag etter å ha sett 2012, og prøvde og prøvde å skrive hvor grenseløst dårlig jeg syns den var. Jeg lovet til og med kinokameraten å blogge det sporenstreks. Men det gikk altså ikke. Ikke minst fordi filmen er så latterlig lang at jeg ikke var hjemme før etter midnatt.

Jeg begynte på et innlegg der jeg gikk gjennom alle de dårlige filmene Roland Emmerich noensinne har laget. Jeg begynte også på en relativt briljant analyse av hvorfor film er så uendelig mye dårligere enn TV om dagen. Men alt falt i fisk. Så det eneste jeg vil si er: Kjedelig, langtekkelig, latterlig og sist men ikke minst; snusfornuftige Hollywood-barn. Få ting kan ødelegge en film like effektivt som det.

Men fine effekter, det skal de ha. Problemet er at det var en time med exposition med de gørre ungene før det, og minst en time for langt etterpå. Den der halvtimen i midten med storslagne katastrofescener hadde egentlig holdt for meg.

Jeg gikk på jobben i går og sutret om hvor ille det var. Ingen sympati å få – sjefen min sa følgende: “Om noe er merket med “drit” og man så tråkker i det – vel, så er det vel ikke driten sin skyld. Dette får du selv ta ansvar for at du brukte penger på.” Som vanlig har han rett.

Seriously, it wasn’t his fault. He was drunk and being attacked the whole time. Walking ain’t easy when you are getting shot at.

Det er et kompetansemål (dette er 17. mai-ordet i norsk skole om dagen, kompetansemål er det elevene skal kunne, og det er livsviktig å lære dem det) i videregående skole, på mediefag at elevene i andre klasse skal kunne “gjere greie for arkitekturen til Internett”.

Kan du det? Eller viktigere; aner du hva de spør om her? Hva i alle dager mener de med arkitekturen til Internett?

Rage is everywhere – the roads, the workplace, the classroom, the home – everywhere.

Some people try not to lose their tempers.
Others thrive on it, and live their lives very angry about everything.

This is the top ten angry people.

10. The Reverend Ian Paisley.

How can a man so devout be so enraged by everything?

His reign of 37 years as leader of the Democratic Unionist Party in Northern Ireland featured countless terrifying rants against everything from terrorists to the Pope, who he referred to as “The Antichrist.”

Here’s some clips of him in action

9.

Roy Keane

Another Irishman, this time from the Republic.
The Man Utd midfielder was well known for being a bit angry.
Famous moments include his massive fall-out with Republic of Ireland manager where he said “You’re not even Irish you English c**t, so stick it up your b******s.”
Not sure it makes much sense, but it’s very enraged.
Other highlights include the horrific tackle on Alfie Inge Haaland, which he later admitted he did on purpose after a bust up in a previous game.
He also always used to try and fight with the equally angry Patrick Viera of Arsenal.

Here is the aformentioned tackle.

Not technically a real person, but he used to get well lairy when he was outsmarted by Bugs Bunny, to the point where he’d pull out his guns and start blasting.

Here’s some of their antics

7. BA Baracus

BA, standing for BadAss, used to become incandescent when faced with his A-team colleague Howlin’ Mad Murdoch and when anyone tried getting him on a plane.
However, when faced with milk before a flight, he lapped it up and instantly became unconcious.

Here’s some examples

6.

The Incredible Hulk

You wouldn’t like him when he’s angry,

Damn right, he becomes massive, green and develops an unusual skill of jumping miles.

Bruce Banner’s alter-ego the Hulk was seriously angry

This is the classic 80s cartoon intro

5.
5.

The Ultimate Warrior

One of the greatest wrestlers was famous for two things, his incoherent shoutings and rampant steroid abuse.

Here’s an example of his work

4.

Trevor off Eastenders

The mad Scot who little Mo eventually clobbered with an iron was a seriously unstable chap, whispering in his scary accent before exploding.

Here’s a scary scene with Trev at his most evil

3. Trevor Brennan

Strangely another Trevor, and one you probably won’t have heard of.
Trevor was a rugby player well known for a short fuse on the field, one day, playing in France, some abuse from the crowd led to the Big Irishman wading in the crowd to attack the gobby spectator, thus earning himself a life ban.

Sadly there don’t seem to be any videos of it, but it was likely to have been spectacular.

2.  Mike Tyson

Where do we start? Prison, ear-biting, brawls, mental tattoos, Tyson is a man who lived in a perpetual world of extreme rage.

We know he was one of the greatest boxers ever, but boy oh boy was he driven by rage.

Here’s the famous ear-biting of Evander Holyfield.

1.  Number one is William Foster from the film Falling Down

The mild mannered unemployed defence worker just decides to lash out against the world in a spectacularly violent and oh-so angry way.

The breakfast scene is a classic.

Sitter og gjør mitt beste for å se gjennom NRKs dokumentarer om murens fall. Noe som tar dobbel som langt tid som nødvendig, samtidig som jeg bare får med meg halvparten av innholdet. Det bufrer og bufrer, og når det ikke bufrer så fortsetter lyden mens bildet henger.

(Update: Noen ganger stopper filmen helt av seg selv og begynner fra begynnelsen igjen…)

Den der bufresketsjen blir bare mer og mer aktuell, dessverre. Kan vi ikke bare løse dette snart?

The “I want breakfast” scene from Joel Schumacher’s excellent 1993 film is probably the one most people remember, although there are funnier and more powerful scenes (I’m thinking of Michael Douglas’s first encounter with the Hispanic gang members, or his visit to the army surplus store).

I’m sure the reason this particular scene is so famous is that every person in the world who has ever eaten at a restaurant where there are pictures of the food on the menu can identify with it.

What makes it memorable for me is the outrageous scene-stealing performance of Dedee Pfeiffer (Michelle’s younger sister) as Sheila the Whammyburger waitress. I wonder whether she was asked to play the part this way. Anyway, just watch her.

LAKE HAVASU CITY, AZ — Marvin Pendergast, a former police officer who retired only two days ago, was killed in a boating accident near his new home in Lake Havasu City.

Pendergast spent over 30 years working for the Los Angeles Police Department, serving most of his years as a detective belittled by the majority of his coworkers. Pendergast was known best for chasing down recently unemployed and divorced middle class white men rampaging across the City of Angels in search for answers and retribution for their failed lives, often with Pendergast shooting the individuals at Manhattan Beach Pier.

Pendergast did inexplicably reach retirement, however, and moved with his wife to Lake Havasu City, the couple’s planned retirement spot. Pendergast bought a yacht as per his retirement plan, but never learned how to operate waterborne vessels properly as even he himself fully expected to be a corpse before retiring. Tragically, his inept boating skills caused the accident as he careened the yacht into the Parker Dam.

“When his retirement was coming up, [Pendergast's coworkers] were always joking that he’d die before he was able to call it quits,” said Detective Sanchez, an officer who worked with Pendergast over the years, and who also constantly put cat litter in Pendergast’s desk drawer. “Once I heard he died only two days after retirement,” Sanchez continued, “I was like, ‘Oh, I guess nobody ever thinks about that too much.’ Still tragic, I guess, but not as tragic.”

Amanda Pendergast, the victim’s wife, stated that she fully expected her husband to be dead before retiring as well. “The day after he retired I was sort of relieved, sort of disappointed,” said Amanda. “I’m not actually too upset right now because I had been mentally preparing this for years. I even had a new love interest set up for my husband’s tragically timely death which is now somewhat less timely.”

Captain Yardley, Pendergast’s officer in charge for many of his final years of service, called his death “unavoidable”. “Sure he was able to escape death’s cold grasp before he retired,” Yardley reasoned, “but this obviously threw the universe out of whack. Policemen dying right before they retire is both a rite of passage and completely out of everyone’s control.”

Yardley questioned if Pendergast’s death was actually an accident or if Pendergast was ultimately murdered by “the creepy Thanatos-premonition thing” from the 2000 film Final Destination.

Yardley reflected on the greater relationship between all policemen and dying before retirement, saying “We all [police officers] know that when we sign up, we’re not just here to protect and serve. We’re also here to die tragic deaths before we complete out legacy of work, usually immediately after sharing our long-thought-out plans for our golden years with a younger partner, likely in the squad car before what is thought to be a ‘routine’ traffic stop, or perhaps at a diner that is, unbeknownst to us, filled with assassins hired by the mob to kill the lead detectives threatening said mob’s existence.”

While I don’t have the deepest respect for Joel Schumacher, the man who put Batman in a coma, everyone always reminds me of Falling Down, his one free pass movie, the movie that everyone loves him in, and the one movie where he didn’t seem to fuck it all up with his odd sensibilities. It’s a cult classic, a searing indictment of American values in the 90s, and I can’t think of anybody who hasn’t loved it to death after they saw it. So, after watching it again after quite a number of years (that’s the unofficial trend of the week, I see), I can say that I appreciate Falling Down, and I think it’s one of Schumacher’s best, but I don’t think it’s the best thing since sliced bread.

As with many stories of its ilk, Falling Down begins with a day that might not be as bad as any other day, but it sure feels like shit when you’re living it. A fellow named William Foster has had a really bad day. His ex-wife had a restraining order put on him, his job has let him go, it’s the hottest day in what seems like forever, and he just can’t take it anymore. He walks out of his car, leaving it behind, and makes a journey across LA to break the restraining order and attend his daughter’s birthday. Along the way, he will will violently break all the rules that his life has been held up by, and he will oppose with some heavy-duty firearms anyone who stands in the way of a hot LA day redeemed. Simultaneously, we find ourselves with only one real hero in the town, a barely standing old cop who is the only real thing willing to put an end to William’s pissed-off nerdy tirade. Will our police officer hero be able to stop him in time, or is William going to get what he wants? And is the police officer even our hero?

It is an emotionally complex film, more so than it perhaps even realizes. There’s something very melancholy about the pathetic Foster, from the moment he steps out of his car and you see him abandon the constraints of normal life. It’s a joyless spree of violence that offers not even the illusion of happiness or euphoria that proceeds any act of self-liberation. His acts are not acts of anger, these are acts of acute confusion and disbelief that life can steer so wrong. And his rival in this blind struggle is Prendergast, an officer belittled by the force, his superiors, and even his wife for his old age, his refusal to curse or lash out, and his tendency towards patience. He also has an emotional struggle throughout the film that is far from Danny Glover’s close-to-retirement Murtaugh in Lethal Weapon. This man is beat down, struggling to maintain a feeling of potency even as everyone around him mocks his zealotry towards this mysterious crime-wave. There’s more to this than meets the eye, and if anyone is willing to look past the slightly-worn “fuck society” sentiment used here as some sort of knee-jerk reaction to 90s ennui, then you’ll find that these characters are, if anything,  fresh and lively.

And the acting is pretty good for a Schumacher film. Michael Douglas is a wonder as William Foster. His maniacal intent is cloaked behind a deep emotional connection to his daughter and a stinging regret of a failed marriage. Even during his violent assault weapon-fueled soliloquys, he is tinged with something that really approaches empathy with me. It is a tribute to Douglas’s ability that he can make a man like Foster not only likable but charismatic! We want him to succeed; almost. And Robet Duvall is amazing as everyone’s favorite put-upon officer, Prendergast. I remarked in my Colors review what a pro Duvall was, even with his patented Poker Face on. Here, he arguably does even better as Prendergast, a character with a little more depth. He’s truly one of the best, and this is another good performance from a man I’ve gained a lot of respect for this past year. Barbara Hershey is the weakest link of the three leads as Beth, Foster’s ex wife. She’s a bit too soft for what I think the character calls for. She needs more fire under her feet, a little temperature boost to make her really shine. Compared to Duvall and Douglas, Hershey doesn’t really carry all the weight she should, and she should be carrying quite a lot as the caretaker of Foster’s daughter, who is the linchpin to the whole thing.

There are some flaws. it’s not exactly consistent. The message has an opacity that is either all-encompassing or lazy, and I don’t think this is terribly intentional. Some of the settings are unnecessarily harsh towards Foster, especially the breakfast scene shown above (like a fast food restaurant manager wouldn’t let you tea-bag him for a positive review on your comment card!) and I often get the feeling that LA was a pathetic parody of itself rather than the semi-realistic mirror it should have been. But it’s still good. It’s an exceptional movie with some real power behind it. A lot has to be said for the lead actors, and even the near-graceful approach Schumacher uses for such a bold indictment of society. It’s got a lot going for it, and while I won’t go to sleep tonight with visions of Foster dancing in my head, I’m still surprised and found it to be a little better than I remember it. I give Falling Down 8 1/2 tea-bagged fast-food restaurant managers out of 10!

Stay up with me as I cram in a review for one of my favorite films of all time! Jin-Roh: The Wolf Brigade!

From Rotten Tomatoes: 24% Rotten (Average Rating: 4.3/10)

Consensus: Unnecessarily violent and unflinchingly absurd, Law Abiding Citizen is plagued by subpar acting and a story that defies reason.

That quote sums up my feelings exactly. Here are some more choice words on this (wretched) film:

“Law Abiding Citizen is such a lazy action-drama underachiever, it seems unfair to target stars Jamie Foxx and Gerard Butler for bringing their C game.”

And finally,

“Law Abiding Citizen could be the movie of the year, but only if you’re a big fan of stupid.”

In honour (spelling for you, Kate) of the one-year anniversary of D4’s Halloween extravaganza, I thought I’d share this morsel of drunkeness, which immediately reminded me of our house.

Injured in a Slip and Fall Accident  -  Kullmann, Klein & Dioneda, Attorneys

LAW OFFICES IN:  ST. CHARLES, MISSOURI

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 Home and hospital visits are available.

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DJ Kid Kaio est un dude de Netherlands,  je sais pas pentoute ou sais mais, je sais que ce mec torche!

Space Cowboy Ft. Chelsea Korka – Falling Down (Kid Kaio Remix)

Suzanne Vega – Toms Diner (Kid Kaio Remix)

I’ve been going through the Old Testament for my Bible reading these days.  Last night I was in the book of I Kings, in the passage where King Solomon dedicates the temple of the Lord.

That’s when I came across a couple of verses that seemed especially familiar:

When the priests withdrew from the Holy Place, the cloud filled the temple of the LORD.  And the priests could not perform their service because of the cloud, for the glory of the LORD filled his temple.

                                                                  — I Kings 8:10-11

I realized that the reason why these verses rang a bell is because I’d heard this passage used many times as scriptural support for the practice of “falling out under the power”  – you know, what happens when a preacher “under the anointing” lays hands on someone?

As I’ve said before, since leaving Charismania, I’ve thought a lot about that whole “falling out under the power” experience.  It’s something I’m not sure I’ll ever fully come to understand.  I know that something was happening to make my knees buckle and force me to the floor when Pastor Smith (not his real name) or one of his visiting ministers placed his hands on my forehead.  I’m still just sort of mystified as to what that something was.

Was it the literal power and presence of God Almighty Himself?

Pastor Smith would have had us believe that that’s precisely what it was – that because Pastor Smith “proclaimed the Word” and had an “anointing,” he had the ability to dispense God to his audience.  He frequently referred to himself as “a conduit” of this power.

And he used I Kings 8:10-11 as scriptural support for this practice.

But here’s the thing that struck me as I read in I Kings last night:  in that passage, it is clear that when the presence of the Lord filled the temple, it was so strong and so powerful the priests themselves were rendered unable to stand.

The priests themselves were unable to maintain control of their actions.

Let’s look a little closer at what this tells us.

Something important to keep in mind is that the priests would have been highly motivated to maintain control of themselves.  No matter what your views on God’s unchangeable nature, it is a biblical fact that He appears to have interacted differently with people in the Old Testament than He interacts with us today.  In the Old Testament, people could be killed on the spot for failing to follow God’s guidelines – even if they did so accidentally.  We don’t see a whole lot of unexplained deaths these days in church.  But in Old Testament times, different guidelines seem to have applied.  In Old Testament times, people related to God through the “old covenant.”

Since that was the case, I’m thinking that the priests doing their duty in I Kings would have been highly motivated to pay attention and be sure they followed every last letter of the law.  I think they would have done all in their human power to remain standing, at full attention.

That tells us that the authentic “presence and power of the Lord” is something so strong, something so unspeakably glorious, that no one, not even the most highly motivated individual, is able to withstand it.

Yet when people “fall out under the power” in today’s Charismaniac circles, lots of people are capable of remaining in full control of themselves and their faculties.

The individual who is purportedly dispensing the “anointing” or “power” remains in full control.

And so do the “catchers,” those big guys who follow the minister and break the falls of the people being prayed for/ministered to.

Last night it struck me that this passage in I Kings absolutely does NOT provide any support for the practice of “falling out under the power” as it is practiced in Charismatic circles today.  If anything, I Kings 8:10-11 would prove the exact opposite - that whatever is causing people to fall down these days when the minister touches them simply CANNOT be the actual “power and presence of God.”

If the GENUINE power and presence of God were “in the house” (as Pastor Smith was fond of declaring), then  all human flesh would bow in response, just as the priests in this passage from I Kings were forced to do.

There would not be anyone left standing.

Not the catchers.  And certainly not the pastor himself.

It suddenly seems terribly obvious that God Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth, does not manifest himself as some sort of “force” that is dispensed at the will of human beings.  The fact that Pastor Smith chose when, where, and how he’d “lay hands on people” – in other words, when, where, and how the (supposed) power of God would be dispensed – would put God at the control and mercy of Pastor Smith.

The Bible shows us that such a notion is absolutely ludicrous.

What I did to my ankle the other day. (More attractive ankles can be seen at www.dangling.com, a foot fetish site. I have no financial or other interest in this site, other than to amuse you.)

It’s a beautiful autumn day in New York and I have a sprained ankle, bruised kneecap and scraped shin. I can stump around the apartment, distressing the cats who don’t like ceding right of way to the disabled, but am relying on my dear husband for meals and cat clean up duty. He came up from Florida to help yesterday afternoon and promptly fell asleep. Now he’s out buying hamburger rolls and pickles and I’m trying to keep my ankle and knee above my heart.

I did the alphabet exercises for my ankle, looked at photos of other people’s swollen ankles on the Internet for comfort, and thought about medical care in the 18th century. (Something I’ve been reading about, unnconected to the Health Bill in Congress.) All those septic limbs.

Last night as we watched TV, Charles grew concerned about a brown stain on my armpit. He worried that I was getting a relapse of a skin disease I had 25 years ago that made the skin under my breasts turn brown.

We eventually figured out that this stain was chocolate. I have a bad habit of eating chocolate bars in bed and since my apartment is very hot, it gets messy. After licking it off, Charles suggested we start a company making dolls with chocolate-squirting armpits. I’m sure there are lots of kids who would like this, but the parental sell might be more difficult. How disgusting. How unsanitary. How fun.

Then, with thoughts of skin diseases still trickling through his mind, he asked what I would do if he lost his job (with its attendant health insurance). I replied with a question as to why he hadn’t clipped his nose hairs lately. This made him testy.

“I’ll get sick and languish,” I said. “Or not. What do you expect me to say?”

“I don’t know. I just wondered.”

I’ve given up worrying. I have a deep core sadness about how my life has worked out on a number of fronts that keeps me from caring as much as I used to. I don’t believe in giving up, not when I have it so easy compared to 9/10ths of the human race, but here’s a part of me that won’t wake up anymore. I try to pretend that part is merely on sabbatical. Maybe it’s true.

But maybe it isn’t. Maybe I need to take action. What’s the right course? Where’s the splinter I need to remove, the hope I need to nourish or extinguish? My gut instinct is to put myself aside (put writing, which is so solitary, aside) and work with and for others but the residual effect of 25 years of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome is that I have very little stamina. I’m not as actively sick as I once was, but it’s hard to keep up with other people. Sometimes it’s hard to even listen. Their busyness makes my head spin. I’m also of course, very used to being self-involved, even though it’s so terribly boring.

Philip said the other day (as we were having lunch, right before I sprained my ankle on the way out of the restaurant), “You need a lot of help.” He added, “That came out wrong.”

No, it didn’t. I do need help and I’ not too proud to ask for it anymore. (Well, less proud.) I just don’t know whom to ask for what.

Dreamsong 65

A freaking ankle crabbed his blissful trips,
this whiskey tastes like California
but is Kentucky,
like Berkeley where he truly worked at it
but nothing broke all night—no fires—one dawn,
crowding his luck,

flowed down along the cliffs to the Big Sur
where Henry Miller's box is vomit-green
and Henry bathed in sulphur
lovely, hot, over the sea, like Senator
Cat, relaxed & sober, watery
as Tivoli, sir.

No Christmas jaunts for fractured cats. Hot dog,
the world is places where he will not go
this wintertide or again.
Does Striding Edge block wild the sky as then
when Henry with his mystery was two
& twenty, high on the hog?

--John Berryman

AGE

Most explicit--
the sense of trap

as a narrowing
cone one's got

stuck into and
any movement

forward simply
wedges once more--

but where
or quite when,

even with whom,
since now there is no one

quite with you--Quite? Quiet?
English expression: Quait?

Language of singular
impedance? A dance? An

involuntary gesture to
others not there? What's

wrong here? How
reach out to the

other side all
others live on as

now you see the
two doctors, behind

you, in mind's eye,
probe into your anus,

or ass, or bottom,
behind you, the roto-

rooter-like device
sees all up, concludes

"like a worn-out inner tube,"
"old," prose prolapsed, person's

problems won't do, must
cut into, cut out . . .

The world is a round but
diminishing ball, a spherical

ice cube, a dusty
joke, a fading,

faint echo of its
former self but remembers,

sometimes, its past, sees
friends, places, reflections,

talks to itself in a fond,
judgemental murmur,

alone at last.
I stood so close

to you I could have
reached out and

touched you just
as you turned

over and began to
snore not unattractively,

no, never less than
attractively, my love,

my love--but in this
curiously glowing dark, this

finite emptiness, you, you, you
are crucial, hear the

whimpering back of
the talk, the approaching

fears when I may
cease to be me, all

lost or rather lumped
here in a retrograded,

dislocating, imploding
self, a uselessness

talks, even if finally to no one,
talks and talks.

--ROBERT CREELEY

Jeg får ikke helt til den der skolen altså. I mitt litt naive hode har jeg trodd at skolen var som før, men det er den jo ikke. Og jeg likte skolen før. Jeg innser jo selvfølgelig at det henger sammen med at jeg var skoleflink, men altså; det er nå en gang sånn at noen er voksne og skal fortelle elevene noe de ikke vet fra før, og noen er unge og trenger å lære om verden. Trodde jeg.

Men det er jo ikke sånn der ute nå for tiden. Nå skal man bare være flink til å komme opp med utrolig kreative ting de skal gjøre på de bærbare PCene sine hele tiden.

De har ikke prøver, de har “vurderingssituasjoner”. Prøver virker visst ikke lenger, er man enige om.

Og når man har praksis og sitter bakerst i klassen og følger med så ser man jo at på PCen sin er de på Facebook hele tiden. Noen spiller Doom. Og kanskje to stykker gjør det de skal. Det er bare så sjukt deprimerende det hele, at nå tenker jeg at jeg ikke kan være der og være del av et undervisningssystem som gjør norske elever så faglig dårlige som de jo er.

Og så kan det jo hende at man har litt uflaks med hvor man har praksis, hva vet jeg. Men det at det konkluderes at elever ikke kan følge med på vanlig undervisning i 45 minutter og at man derfor må komme opp med undervisningsopplegg som er som en dag hos Stig og Stein med lek og moro, noe jeg forøvrig har vært utsatt for på jobb og som er rent HAT fra min side; det er ikke en skole jeg vil jobbe i, altså.

Jeg prøver å ikke slutte på dagen hver eneste dag, men det holder hardt. Jeg har jo gjort det noen ganger før i mitt liv, hver gang når jeg har våget meg over i en jobb i staten. Og jeg burde hørt på Stranger, som prøvde å minne meg på når jeg luftet denne ideen om skolen, hvordan det har gått alle de andre gangene jeg har begynt å jobbe i staten; innen tre måneder har jeg gått i raseri. Men lærer man? Neida! Hvilket jo er ekstra deprimerende når man prøver å gå inn i et yrke der man skal lære andre noe, når man selv åpenbart ikke lærer en dritt…

Argh!

Powers Party Poster

Powers played a party recently and shit got weird. First of all, we are very happy that the house was packed with people. Second, we met some very cool people. Third, the cops came to break up the party. However, every time the police came, we told them it was a mariachi band playing down the street that was drawing all of the complaints… and they bought it. After disrupting our set on 4 separate occassions, they finally blasted in and kicked the kids having the most fun out. Many people came back a half hour later and we finished what was left of the beer.

Anyways, Kyle got drunk and fell over alot. Good times, friends!

Oh, and thanks to the people who stole our microphones. Fucking cowards!!!

This still counts as Wednesday, right?

So, I think I’m going to switch that to Thursdays.  It works a little better for me, and gives me more time to prepare these things.  And now, the plot begins to thicken…DUN DUN DUNNNN.

        African proverb: “The ax forgets, the tree remembers.”

        Maya Angelou, Even the Stars Look Lonesome, 1997

When I left home for Fort Collins, Colorado at twenty I was running away.  Running away from my trauma, my memories of places, memories of the faces that had become blurred, and the history of a life that (at the time) I didn’t want to remember or own.  So, I went half way across the nation hoping for geographical healing and what I confronted was everything I left behind.  First, subconsciously, through painful mistakes, symptomatic responses in overdrive, and a very unhealthy and volatile relationship.  Then, intentionally, when two and a half years into my “new life” and many falls downward I realized that my demons, my ghosts, and my life didn’t disappear just because I did. 

I remember sitting in my first trauma therapist’s office and her making me do what I now know to be “The Empty Chair” Technique from Gestalt therapy and just crying all the tears I had been holding in for the person I was before my trauma, for the person I had become after it, and for all of the unnecessary years of guilt and shame I had bestowed on myself.  It was a first step on a very long journey that continued to include falling down, but at least it didn’t involve any more running away. 

Six months after the afternoon in that office I moved back to New Jersey—to confront myself and my memories in the place from whence they came.  I realized once I stopped hiding inside myself I no longer had to hide externally. 

On the brink of my move to Florida (just a few months ago) I wanted to make sure for myself that this was a move forward not a fleeing situation.  I find myself very attentive to my own self assessment—making sure I am making conscious decisions for viable reasons so as never to fall back into the trunk of my own car on the road of my own life again.  Most of me knows this will never happen, but the intellectual part of me just wants to think it through anyway.  I realized that in coming back to my hometown and confronting the faces and places that had haunted my mind I had been made free to find my home again.  Not home as a place on a map but as a space in my heart. 

I found home in my family, my friends, the new memories I created, and those I could let go of by confronting them.  I found home, most recently and most poignantly, in marrying my husband:  marriage being something I never thought I would do—some for feminist precepts that I held to tightly, but ultimately deep down I think I had cultivated a pervasive fear of trusting someone that implicitly with me—mind, heart, soul, and body. 

I found home in this past year in the most intimate way I could—In a family of my own, in love that gives all and allows the heart to receive all, and in learning in another that I could completely trust myself.

I realized in assessing my Florida move motivations that this physical move was essentially just shifting to another point on a map; the real move was a move forward to a life with my family of two plus (now) THREE dogs and an embracing of whatever is to come without fear. 

Trauma is like falling to the bottom of the deepest ravine or being pushed off a cliff’s edge into a frigidly cold ocean.  It is the hardest thing to climb out of and it takes all the strength you may have and often then a bit more than that.  You create new strength and new muscles you never had before in the process and it leaves you with a new sense of fearlessness.  Once you have seen the bottom of the coldest ocean and fallen from the highest peak the rest of life’s problems pale in comparison. 

Do you have weak points?  There are moments.  No one is impervious to life or feelings or memories.  There are moments when I wake up with a startle or I jump when someone comes up from behind or get a chill when I see a man leering at me, but they are identified and moved beyond—they are not paralyzing and immobilizing like they once were. 

 I don’t see shadows in my room every time I open my eyes or sleep with the lights on or numb out, block out, or space out to avoid the pain.  I do not fear life, fear love, fear touch anymore.  I do not hyperventilate and shake from some unknown triggered memory.  I do not hate my body (most days J).  I do not categorically hate men.  I do not wait for the day when the other shoe will drop or anticipate my world falling out from under me. 

I can move and move on without carting all that past pain around with me.  I can talk about healing from my own perspective as well as from my “therapist” chair.  I can, when hard days come (quoting, randomly,“Sex and the City”):  “Breathe and reboot.”  I can find my center, find my quiet mind, find my yogic self that can take life in.  I can let the past go enough so that I can keep breathing, breathing deeper, and breathing in this new life, new move, new dog, and whatever else is next. 

I will never run away again.  And I will keep remembering to run without fear into my future.

          Experience is not what happens to you;
          it’s what you do with what happens to you.

            Adlous Huxley

* MY STORY to be continued tomorrow with the post “Full of Sound and Fury: A Survivor’s Tale”. *

life is full of challenges.

and why shouldn’t it?
the world isn’t built for us and life do not evolve around us.
there will be people that we like and dislike, and some things will go better than others, there are things we wish to get and not have, and things we want away but stick with us.

life will not be perfect for us, because it comes as a full package and it comes with ups and downs.
life will not be perfect for us, but we can rise to each and every challenge, and thrive on those moments and shine.

so life’s most important lesson isn’t to avoid falling, but how to pick ourselves up after each of it.

with every fall, it is either because of us or others, and we can complain both ways. but to be able to go beyond complaining and be the first to recover and move on, is the difference between the weak and the strong. there is only one life and it is short, we can mourn and dwell and complain, find fault and point fingers all day, but at the end, life happens only once and time doesn’t rewind. to dissect the details and hand out responsibility of fault is fair, but to thrive on the fall and make yourself stronger is brave.

So to the ones that just fell, admit and accept it. Say aloud to yourself that you just fell, that you could have done better, that there were things you didn’t know, and tell yourself that’s okay. because you are still here. whatever that doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and because you are not dead, you are already stronger.

you will not know how many more times you will fall before you reach your own definition of success, but you can know how you will deal with them. people can and will challenge you. people can and will take things away from you, marks, awards, medals, bragging rights, the like. but what they cannot take away from you, is who you are. what they cannot take away from you is the respect and pride you have for yourselves.

life’s lessons often come in disguise as defeats, but you can always be proud of yourselves because only you yourself know how far you’ve come. it’s nobody’s business to define success and failure for you. shut them up. write and define your own life.

warriors do not look back to see what they have left behind and how far they are from home, but instead, they look forward and see what they can conquer.

be a warrior.