A WASTED LIFE

A wasted life! This sad refrain

Comes surging through my ears again;

There’s no escape from thee, though fiend;

Thou art borne to me on every wind –

A wasted life! A wasted life!

By day or night, no peace for me;

Still, still before me I can see

The fragments of the dear dead past,

Which I (Oh! fool) from me have cast

A wasted life! A wasted life!

I’ve tried to drown in lethean drain

This ruthless voice; but all in vain;

It comes with ten-fold force again,

And brings remorse to swell and strain

A wasted life! A wasted life!

From out this deep dark Stygian sea,

While vainly struggling to be free,

I look above, and pray that I

No more may hear that awful cry

A wasted life! A wasted life!

MELINDA KENDALL.

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sites 2c – http://www.special-dictionary.com/proverbs/source/k/kenya_proverb/

foto – izzy foreal at moody foods urunga

Petit Testament

In the twenty-fifth year of my age
I find myself to be a dromedary
That has run short of water between
One oasis and the next mirage
And having despaired of ever
Making my obsessions intelligible
I am content at last to be
The sole clerk of my metamorphoses.
Begin here:

Ern Malley

_______________________________

sites 2c http://www.motherlandnigeria.com/proverbs.html#WisdomAge

http://jacketmagazine.com/17/ern-poems.html

foto – repton railway bridge dec 09

Did you ever say to yourself, why did I say that? or Why did I write that? Well it happens to everyone. You don’t mean it but it seems to come out at times, by accident. Sometimes I wish I could pre-think about it, then realize what I could say. That is just plain wish-ful thinking, But I can say one thing about it all, if I am feeling guilt over what I said then that means I have remorse. That is a good sign since I believe that’s partof my Christian growth.

So the moral is: try to be understanding of the listener before you say something out of line/

she loved me completely. it’s the kind of love you just can’t find anymore, especially in big cities where cynicism reigns supreme and love is just another expandable good. i didn’t love her nearly as much. she was nether that intelligent nor pretty to warrant my complete love. so, i loved her partially. i loved her industriousness, her cooking, her truthfulness, her independence, her loyalty. i don’t know if it was the opulence of her adoration that made me believe that i could do just about anything and still return to ample supplies of her forgiveness. what is it about being loved so much that makes one lose respect for the person who loves unconditionally? is love better delivered in short outbursts, staccato-like glances, words, touches?

loyalty and trust is earned and finite. abundance spoils, corrupts and perverts. i slept with other women and one man while with her. i felt these were experiences i needed to have and i helped myself to them. she didn’t need to know. she was the dumb puppy, annoying in her naive loyalty, sticking around despite constantly being pushed away. i warned her. i told her i wasn’t the right kind of a guy for her. she didn’t believe it. she thought i needed love to heal. that’s what she wrote in her journal. she documented her pain, paragraph after paragraph, but believed that love would triumph in the end. my conscience disturbed, i resolved to love her. time and again. it never lasted for long. pity is not love, mercy is not love.

what have i learned? i threw away her love, her faithfulness, her loyalty and purity. like garbage. useless and meaningless. i finally withdrew completely and left her alone. that’s the most generous thing i’ve ever done for her. what do i do now? part of me wants to ask for forgiveness. but, i don’t deserve forgiveness. i wouldn’t forgive if it were the other way around. this is something i’ll carry to my grave. i know what i did, and i know now how much i hurt her. i look at wedding videos online and think of her. i wonder if i’ll ever be worthy of a decent person’s love. part of me says, no. never. and another part says, of course, one always has a choice. it is this duality (in me) i am trying to better understand.

are there absolute laws in the universe or is this entire construct purely arbitrary? i believe that there is no karma, no heaven, no laws of action / reaction. it’s all bullshit. one goes through life, wisely obeying the manmade laws, because the long arm of the law is the only real and enforceable law in the universe. people come and go. one treats them kindly, in a civilized manner, but never trusting completely. after all, they too are just like me. fallible. they may not hurt intentionally, but they’ll hurt. the end result is the same.

in the end, so what if i cheated on her? i simply didn’t love her enough to respect her, and neither did i respect her enough to love her. one just needs to keep on going and investing into oneself professionally, outpacing competitors and bringing home the bacon, ever-so-mindful of cash reserves. money in the bank is the only true freedom.

harsh but sincere.

I feel guilt every time I leave
Guilt that I’m not there
Guilt that you’re alone
I know that you’re miserable
And I wish I could help
But nothing
Nothing.
Nothing I do helps.
I wish I could erase your sadness,
But your only delight is to spread your suffering to those around
And I won’t have that
So I’m sorry
But I must leave
No matter how the guilt eats away at me

Mr Edward Vincent “Ed” Sullivan. Born: 9-28-1901 Died: 10-13-1974

Ed Sullivan was weird. No two ways about it. He always had his arms crossed very tightly like he was hanging on to himself, controlling beyond apprehension, possessing a sailor’s salty vocabulary and the only talent he did have was that of making his audience believe he was the nice “Uncle Eddie”. In reality though, Ed Sullivan had skipped college but earned a rough and tumble Ivy League education in American show business, from the speakeasy cabarets of his twenties to his abortive radio and film career to – especially – his years spent producing sawdust-and-sweat vaudeville shows. He was a loner, he would isolate, get pissed at someone about nothing and not speak to them for months, sometimes years. He would cancel performances on the day of the show if the performer would object to his change demands. opera star Maria Callas refused to sing her famed interpretation of Tosca, Sullivan had made it clear: you’ll sing what I tell you to sing or your performance is canceled. The diva had met a bigger diva. He told the Doors to change the word “Higher” in “light my fire”, they reluctantly agreed but sang the original lyric anyway. Ed canceled their next six scheduled shows and would not shake hands with them when they left. He told The Rolling Stones to change some lyrics in “Let’s spend the night together” and they agreed and kept their word. However, every time Mick sang the “new” lyrics he would roll his eyes. This pissed Ed off. It was definitely Ed’s show or no show. But watching him every week I remember not only was he odd and bizarre but he knew something that the rest of us didn’t. As nutty and stubborn as he was, he kept that show running for 25 years. A photo run down ES lane wrapping it up with his top 5 acts of all time.

Morrison, I warned you and you double crossed me! No one gets away with doing that to me. Your next six scheduled shows are all canceled! Now get off my stage and scram!

We already did the Ed Sullivan show

Ed clearly not getting through to the young Presley, he's quickly becoming annoyed and considering canceling his performance

Those hips of yours Presley will not shake about as you perform. Am I getting through to you yet you thick-headed hick?

Now you listen to me Parker or whoever you really are, get your whole gang in here, I'll kick their asses. Then when I'm done with them I'll knock the dog-snot out of your brainless mug. Then, after I am warmed up I'll use sissy girl Presley here as a punching bag. He'll be so banged up when I'm done with him it'll be at least a year before he can perform. And to make sure I am satisfied when I'm done, I'll keep the cash I promised you. Now am I getting through to you two hillbillies? No hips!!! Shut up Presley.

Topo Gigio finishes a song & dance number to a standing ovation on the Ed Sullivan show. Ed was so annoyed that a rat could be admired by all that he had to walk back stage to avoid embarrassing himself.

Because Topo was in such demand, particularly to appear on the Ed Sullivan Show, he was now enjoying being on top of the world. Ed on the other hand saw nothing but a rat when he looked at Topo. Topo sensed Ed's aversion towards him. Topo took pity on Ed and sent him a card...

Oh Eddie, you cana kissa my rat's ass!

Ed was outraged by this and immediately planned his revenge. He detested the fact that the audience adored Topo Gigio more than they adored Ed himself. On screen Ed was loving and kind to Topo. He would even kiss him goodnight. But now this was it. He wanted nothing more than to get rid of that rat. Rat poison he thought, slow and painful.

Wrapping up the shew with Ed Sullivan’s top 5 acts of all time. Starting with…

# 5~ The Rolling Stones

Hey Mick, maybe you shouldn't have rolled your eyes.

# 4~ Victor Borge (Isn’t he that funny guy who spins a million plates at once?)

# 3~ Topo Gigio

Ed thought he was clever sticking Topo in the number 3 spot. He proved he wouldn't hurt a little mouse and that Topo was his pal. But a twist takes place, Topo didn't trust Ed anymore so he brought his bodyguard along with him to the show...

A break in the countdown ladies and gentlemen…

Where's Sullivan. I gotta message for him from Topo Gigio.

Continuing with the shew as Mr. Bengal waits comfortably sedated in the green room, we now bring you the number 2 act of all time, The Beatles!

Number 2??? Who can possibly be 1?

And the number 1 act of all time… The Beach Boys!

This is America, we love Topo and The Beach Boys. Oh, oh... one thing about Ed Sullivan, he can smell when a mob is about to happen and this one is only moments away.

Everyone is booing Ed, Topo and his buddy the big cat are running towards Sullivan, Keith Richards of the Stones sucker punches Ed from behind, Victor tries spinning plates to calm the crowd but now they’re a mob charging the stage, Victor drops his plates screaming and running, Jim Morrison drops in and says to Ed, “you’re so stupid man” and then leaves. The Beatles are cracking up and The Beach Boys are crying. Ed throws his hands in the air and takes a walk back stage. Here is a rare photo of Ed at the end of that day…

You get to do it all over again next Sunday Ed. Keep your chin up!

R.I.P. Topo Gigio Born 8-22-1945 Died 10-12-1974.

That’s funny, Topo died a day before Ed Sullivan passed away… way to go Ed!

Twenty four is not what society expects us to live till. A ripe old age, as most call it, is classified as around 70 years of age and this scale has progressively increased in parallel with the advancement in medicine. But when a person of a young tender age passes suddenly, it is often not taken lightly.

Recently I heard of the passing of a friend’s friend. I did not know him well. This news did not settle well with me. I am kind of shell shocked. I am not sure I have fully digested this fact yet. It is as if my subconscious is telling me it is not true. That someone of my age shouldn’t just pass into the afterlife. Our lives have barely started. We have barely passed from teenage hood. Adult hood was beckoning and with it a mirage of choices and endless opportunities to grasp.

Even the huge bounds in medicine cannot stop death. It only serves to prolong life and delay death. But the inevitable still prevails. I sometimes wonder what is the point of this life.

I also ponder whether life exists beyond the known. As our brains only occur within us, how can we be certain that everything that is happening around us is not a product of our imaginations? How can we be certain that life exists beyond what we know. We might see news about things happening on the other side of the planet, but how is that real? Can that not be a product of our imagination as well? It is like now, I am sitting here in my room typing away on a computer, no one else is here. My housemate is in her room, presumably doing the same, but how can I be sure? I have to walk out and take a look, but does it mean she only exists as a product of my actions alone? I know what I am saying is absurd, but I often have these thoughts. Is it possible that this whole world is the product of our own vivid imaginations and no more. If so, what is the point of this life? Why feel remorse, pity, sad or any feeling at all?

Countless questions I ponder to which I have no answer. When unexpected death comes, it forces me to take a step back and ponder life in a different light. What could I have done differently? I don’t know.

R.I.P.

Rejoice not over me, O my enemy;
when I fall, I shall rise;
when I sit in darkness,
the Lord will be a light to me.
9 I will bear the indignation of the Lord
because I have sinned against him,
until he pleads my cause
and executes judgment for me.
He will bring me out to the light;
I shall look upon his vindication. Micah 7:8-9

John Piper unpacks these verses for us:

Do you see this in verse 9? An amazing verse from God’s Word this morning!

I will bear the indignation of the Lord
because I have sinned against him . . .

There’s brokenness and contrition and remorse—”I have sinned against God! And I will not try to defend myself or in any way lessen my guilt. I will bear the indignation of the Lord. He has every right to be angry with me. I put my hand upon my mouth and my back to the rod. For I have sinned against the Lord of glory, and I am ashamed.”

But then look at the next two lines of verse 9:

. . . until he pleads my cause
and executes judgment for me.

There’s boldness and confidence and ruggedness—“God will plead my cause. God will execute judgment for me.”

I have sinned against him, and so I am broken beneath the his holy indignation. But this very God—this very same angry God—will soon plead my cause, he will take my side and vindicate me, and so I am bold in his grace. Broken under his indignation, bold in his grace.

What is so remarkable and helpful about this verse is that it keeps these two things so close together. Many of us feel that we can’t live this way—keeping these two things so close together. If we think of God as angry with us, we collapse in despair. If we think of God as gracious to us, then we feel there is no place for brokenness and remorse. And so today we tend to separate what the Bible keeps together.

The message today, then, is this: Let’s keep these things together! When we sin, let’s accept the indignation of God and not deny it or hide ourselves from it. But not only that: when we sin, let’s be bold and believe that this very God will soon plead our cause and vindicate us in justice. That’s today’s message: in your experience of God keep together what God has joined—brokenness and boldness.

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And, just so you don’t think me incapable of the same, here it is.

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The time has come to lay my ‘I was a bad-girl-card’ out on the table. Aren’t I Always?

The issue of cheating recently came up in conversation – Have I? The truth is Yes, I have. It isn’t something I am proud of, but I’ve done it. It was toward the end of a very long-term relationship with my son’s father. ***Woe! are the bored housewives, for they shall inherit the bowels of the earth – open-mouthed and gulping … (and then Die) – I don’t remember now, where I heard or read that little gem, but I never forgot it.) Well, that was me (though i never married him, or anyone else.) And it certainly does not validate, nor justify my actions – it never does – but even to this very day, I still can and do, find some small measure of justification in the back of my mind. Reciprocity comes to mind.

But, Cheating? I don’t even like the word. It was the -one- thing I solemnly vowed never to do, after being witness to my mother’s pain. How she stayed in such a futile and miserable marriage astounds me. How she forgave him, countless times, for his blatant philandering and womanizing ways I didn’t think I’d ever understand, until it happened to me. I fear becoming her. I understand her reasoning, and sadly, her commitment to her love for him. It’s complicated, but all I will say is that she was a damaged woman also. She was trapped and never found her way out. It was sad and sickening. He fucked her best friends, her sisters, the neighbors … and, bleh. It left me cold and disgusted, and turned solidly -off- to marriage for many, many years.

And I wanted to be as un-like them as possible.

*

I wanted what my Gparents had for 52 loving years. They were the only proof I ever had that love didn’t have to hurt. I need and wanted what they had – a deep and abiding love; true love. A love that weathered the storms that life brings. A love that doesn’t lay down to wither and die at the first sign of hardship, or trouble, or when the love-buzz wears off. A love that lifts, inspires and supports through the rough patches. They had a love that truly stood the test of time. And I want a love like that, and more. (kinks.)

I have to smile while thinking of the G-parents; ironically, he called her ‘girl’ and she called him ‘Daddy.’ I adore those memories of them. They had the sweetest love I’ve ever witnessed between two people, ever. I used to tell Poppie that when I grew up I was going to marry a man just like him, then kiss him on the top of his bald head. It was a very sweet time, with them – tender, treasured memories. I wish we’d had more time together, other than the first four years that they raised me, while my wayward mother was in reform school (where she met the soon-to-be step-father). If they’d been able to keep and raise me, I’d be someone else today. Not that I don’t like -who- I am, it’s -where- I am, and what -got- me here that provokes bouts of self-loathing and bitterness.

The contrast of such a healthy love shared by my Gparents, and the destructive life of my mother and step-father confused me terribly and in some ways, irrevocably, when it came to the dynamics at work. I’d go so far as to say that it fucked me up pretty good. I am still trying to reconcile my maso-nature with my need for intimacy and deep love, as well as needing emotional, psychological and physical pain that is cathartic.

There is the very strong possibility that I may never find what I truly need and want, but I’d like to believe it is still possible.

When I ponder marriage though, I come to the understanding that it has never been an issue of the matter of a fear of commitment, no, it has always meant a fear of ‘entrapment,’ learned from my parents. Over the years, I’ve gotten past this feeling, but from time to time, it re-emerges.

Which brings me back to the point …

Infidelity. Disloyalty. Unfaithfulness. Cheating – It always brings lots of pain, eventually. For me, it did.

I never believed myself capable of it, until the wrong circumstances and factors aligned themselves. And I most certainly won’t go into why others do it. I can only speak for myself, and what pushed me. Oh, there are always alternatives in retrospect, of course, but experience is often the teacher of life’s most difficult, pain-filled and hardest-won lessons and I had to find that out, along with all the other lessons. I learn everything the hard way, don’t ya know.

I will say this: It is a mistake that I, personally, will not be repeating.

First of all: I could and should have demanded more from my ex after I became ill, which I failed to do. I became extremely unhappy, unfulfilled, exhausted and quite miserable in what would later turn out to be not only some of my darkest days, but there were worse days to follow. Serves me right.

However, on a positive note – I did tell him what I -needed- from him and then, afforded him the time and, allowed him to make his own choices, without coercion. I gave him no ultimatums, in order to force him to choose. I simply waited to see what he would do, then made -my- choices.

With enough time, he hung himself, and I proceeded to destroy what was left of – us.

A major contributing factor was that he was never home and never emotionally available, not really, but even that is not a good enough excuse. I could say that it was due to the fact that I was mostly alone; trying to raise our son and run a household, work, attend college full-time, etc., and he was always away – working, but even that leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I could chalk it up to his being gone for several weeks at a time, and how the weeks had a way of turning into months, and how I waited – faithfully. And waited. And … And that was OK, I understood and accepted it; we decided that it had to be that way, but the disconnect grew old and I grew weary.

When I got sick, it changed everything.

Up to that point, I had a full and busy life. I contented myself with my son, work, school, friends and I’d recently moved my mother from Atlanta, to live near me after she got sick, so I could care for her – but my own illness changed my priorities. I was running scared, frightened of being without my partner during that time, and when I truly needed him, he wasn’t available for me – or his son. I found that deeply hurtful and totally unacceptable, after devoting my life to him and his success, and delaying my own education, so I could work to help support our family.

Actually, if I’m honest, we had been growing apart and distant for many years prior, for the above stated reasons – but the underlying issues were now glaringly obvious and building to a climax. It wasn’t long before it all came crashing down.

It was serious.

I was mourning the fact that my son still needed me (he was in his early teens at the time). I felt robbed and, I was frightened and alone. I learned very early on in life that you don’t discuss, dump, or talk about your problems. Suffice it to say – I went through a lot of changes; emotionally, mentally, physically and spiritually. And doing so without the help and moral support of the very man who said he ‘loved me.’ Nope, just alone, with a weight I could barely contain, let alone manage. It was a burden I could not and -would not- lay upon my son, my family or friends. They knew I was ill, just not -how- ill, and I behaved as if it was no big deal. I was dying inside.

I managed the masquerades – Until I couldn’t stand it any longer.

I became acutely depressed, extremely withdrawn and increasingly more reclusive. I found the true meanings of self-destruction, self-sabotage and rage during this time. Then I simply snapped – I was out of control. I began making a rapid succession of very poor decisions that would prove to negatively impact and alter my life, forever. I was bent and pissed off at the world. I began to create a life and interests outside of, and apart from the ex. I kept the part-time job, then took an additional job; tending bar at night, where I met the man I would later become ‘involved’ with, and quit school. I never made it back.

It was an awful time. I went from being everyone’s rock, to being their greatest source of concern and worry. Everyone noticed the changes in me, except him. How could he? He refused to even acknowledge my cry for help. I was the nurturer, the caregiver and handled everything that was thrown my way. Why wouldn’t I manage this to? – is what I’m sure he thought. And I suppose, that after so many years together, he thought I’d never leave him. He was wrong. I was a bitter, depressed and angry woman. I was a sad, scared and lonely woman. Much to my disgust, I finally succumbed to drinking and drugs, after many years of being clean. I prefer to convince myself that it was to cope, but it was a cop-out.

And I didn’t bother to hide it.

He still didn’t see the shift. Maybe I wasn’t asking for help loudly enough, or the right way, or maybe I ought to have cried, or maybe it would take losing all my hair and become skin-and-bones for him to notice. We didn’t know how far the illness had spread at the time. Who knows, but from day one, I went to every oncology appointment alone. I’d had enough.

There were tough choices to be made. a) I could stay in a vacant relationship and my son would see me deteriorate, or, b) I could end it and send my son with his father, and he would be spared the agony of watching my demise. Hmm, what -does- one do after signing a DNR order?

It took an illness to see where his (the ex’s) priorities lay and what I had -enabled- for so long.

It had taken many years of wanting to exit the life we’d built, to ultimately reach the life-altering choice of trying to find comfort in another man’s arms (whom I went on to have an extremely unhealthy and dysfunctional relationship with, for close to four years, thereafter ~eyeroll~ SEE PREVIOUS POST). It took that same life-threatening illness to propel me into that mindframe. But, I still made that move, while still entangled with someone’s life.

I made choices based on terribly faulty reasoning. And I still feel guilty, but only about my son.

Would I do it again? The answer is NO. I expect fidelity and loyalty – and that is what I give in return. I learned the hard way that it isn’t that I made the inappropriate choice, and for all of the wrong reasons; or the right ones, as it were … it was about having to live with the guilt and taint of what that choice leaves in its wake.

After his indiscretions – I never trusted him again, and my love was never the same for him afterward. So, why would I ever expect him to feel anything but the same for me? I didn’t. I did exactly what he had done to me. And I wanted out. I felt that the reasons were valid, but cheating was the poorest choice I could have possibly made, to ensure that happened, and with the most painful results for everyone involved. And worse? He would have never known, had I not told him. He trusted me that much – he knew that I wasn’t built that way, after knowing some history. And I was aware of that. I have a conscience. I had to tell him the truth – otherwise the weight of guilt was just too much.

I knew then, that it was done and over. If not for him, certainly for me.

Oh, people do it all the time, it’s no big deal. It’s just sex, it doesn’t mean a thing. Get over it.

There was no getting over it for me. And would actually make things worse, if that were possible. Often, it simply sets the wheels of vengeance in motion: A vicious, destructive and never-ending cycle. And I couldn’t live with that. Always wondering when the axe would fall, again.

No relationship can withstand the absence of trust, communication and honesty. We all know that. And, I will never again be involved with a man I do not trust. I want the person who shares my life to trust me to. I can’t let go, wholly, and give the deeper parts of myself when there are doubts, for either of us. We lose power in doubt. I’ve been there a few times. It pollutes matters and makes it incredibly difficult to build anything worth suffering, or working for. It is crushing to mean so little to someone who claims to do everything they do, either for you, or because of you. And then blames -you- when things go wrong. It amounts to a lot of pain and heart-ache for very little return on your investment.

I’d rather be alone.

Some folks never appreciate a damn thing until it goes away. I am a woman who needs someone who is present in the relationship, not someone who wants me most when I’m on my way out the door, or only until the love-buzz has worn off, or a man who wants me and whomever else he can conspire and copulate with. I just cannot live that way. Been there, done it, refuse to do it again. Call it what you will – insecurity, selfishness, jealousy, immaturity, inferiority – I really don’t care. I choose to have a man who nurtures and supports me. A man who loves me, wants me – needs me; sees value in me. I want to feel safe, and be free to be myself, while giving everything possible to ensure his happiness – our happiness. I don’t ever want to live in half-lights, or half-truths again. I cannot stress how much that means to me. Mayhaps, I am just a romantic fool, but I want to believe in love again. I may not believe in forever, but I want to.

Some of us actually -do- learn our lessons. We learn to value what is real and true and meaningful.

If a man involved in my life needs more than one woman, he need not be a coward, or a liar and a fraud. All he need do is be honest and tell me – maybe some other arrangement can be decided and everyone can be happy. Honesty and trust have a way of being two sides of the same coin.

Then again, maybe not, but if you -lie- to me and cheat, or both, or either, you can rest assured – it will be the beginning of the end. I favor and savor a different type of pain.

Most will find that I can be quite objective and fair, when approached with the truth. I can even be fun and open-minded – imagine that. I don’t ask for more or less than I’m willing to give.

And wow, I used an awful lot of words here, just to state the obvious, but I want to leave no room for mis-understanding.

Besides – How can a -part- of someone be enough for me, when -all of me- isn’t enough for them, hmm?

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I was told my choice of words were inappropriate and lacked any kind professional courtesy or human compassion. After all, we do have certain rights in this country. One for example is freedom of speech. So when Ben Crane and Charles Warren said the things they said about Tiger Woods they have every right to. It’s the choice of the person whether they want to exercise that right or not. For example, when Ben “CB” Crane called Tiger a Fake and a Phony he was exercising his freedom of speech. He also has a right to have his very own opinion. So instead of just omitting the words I have been encouraged to refrain from, I think there are like 17 or somewhere around there, I have decided to rewrite the entire story. Now since then and now there has been a lot more information coming out about Tiger. I read this morning that there are 7 confirmed mistresses. 7, as in Seven. Like a weak. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 & 7. Help me understand something about this. First of all he’s married to a beautiful woman with two young kids, great house, plays golf for a living, has his foundation, takes time to demonstrate golf techniques for the public, his endorsements, filming, interviews, hitting at last 1,000 balls a day… then he has to eat, sleep and find time for his family. When on earth, no HOW did he find the time for 7 additional women? Think about it, I don’t care who you are and how little sleep you can get by with, 24 hrs is still only 24 hours. There is only so much you can do. And I have to add now that this whole “privacy” thing he wants so that he can work things out better be changed to asking for “forgiveness” from everyone this has affected. Tiger is someone that every guy who golf’s wishes they had a fraction of his talent. I’ve personally stood 10 feet away from him watching him hit out of the box. It was so fuc… ooppps, that’s one of the words I can’t say, it was so darn cool watching him just crush the ball. He is no “swing at 80%” kind of golfer. He’s more like 150% and still work at hitting it harder. This cat can play man. Then the fans that follow him are interesting. People typically gather around an area like the green for example and wait for them. Tiger comes walking down the fairway and he has a lot of people behind him cheering him on. And with this he finds a way to block it all out showing nothing but his intensity. This could literally be behind him for good and it would be a shame to see him show up at a course, barefoot, no shirt, slugging a beer and lighting a cigarette. When I look at this photo of him walking down the fairway, head down and the fans way off behind him all walking in the other direction I hope this is not his destiny. If it is though, the only mug he can point the thumb at is himself. He screwed up. He screwed up everyday of the week! Earlier today I commented that Kobe Bryant has won the MVP award, a championship ring and is being offered and booking endorsements all since the rape charges were filed against him. The reply I got was; “Yea, but Tiger should have known better” Man, truth doesn’t get any purer than that!

Oh, by the way, you want to see the other 16 words I can’t say anymore? Next writing

he's given her 5 million so far and the lawyers are still counting

He'll be carrying this look for a long time now.

It's like looking into a crystal ball

There you go, you can say a prayer anytime about this mess you got yourself into.

Advice to Tiger; do whatever you have to do, but under no circumstances whatsoever take any advice from either one of these two guys...

うぶんたん 第１話 ubuntuって何？ ubuntuはパソコンのOSです。Operationg System. WindowsやMac OSと違うのは、ubuntuがオープンソースであること。 すなわちフリー、無料で使用することができる点です。

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KRm3Tu4afms&hl=en

We can have shit ass good days and we can have shit ass bad days. Unfortunately yesterday was the latter for me. I have woken this morning weary and tired eyed.

It’s not  circumstances that determine whether we have a good day or a bad day, its how we choose to react. Yesterday a series of events tested my character and bought my flaws to the fore. An unproductive meeting about work prospects. A 45 minute phone call to my telephone provider and transfers to three different departments ending in no real resolution of my service difficulties. Running late for my training session do you think I can find the car keys..why are the never in the dish specifically for my keys (hmm perhaps because I never put them there). At training the humiliation of my trainer pulling my shorts down to just above my pubic bone, sticking her finger in my gut to make sure that I am activating my muscles. All I can think about is the embarrassment of my stomach on display, wanting to slap her hand away. Trying to learn a new series of exercises having to continually look at myself in the mirror hating what I see. Back home trying on clothes for a forthcoming holiday that I haven’t worn since last summer, only to discover that nothing fits…

Eventually I surrendered to my type A side and allowed that voice to replay the failures of the day in my head. “You are fat, haven’t lost weight, still haven’t got a job…” on and on went the litany of complaints until I just wanted to smack it in the mouth. I could have stood my ground and shouted it down. All I had to say was “forget about outcomes it’s the process, it’s the process. I believe in me.” Instead I chose to be a victim and allowed my self-doubt to hold me hostage.

I wish I had wallowed alone in my self pity last night. I probably would’ve slept it off and no harm would’ve been done. But no. I allowed my self saboteur to lead me further astray. Like a truculent child I decided to seek comfort from a friend, expecting him to “kiss it better” and “make it go away”. After listening to my tales of woe, he did wave his magic wand but it was not the one I was expecting. He chose laughter. This was no mean feat as I imagine he probably saw the appeal, as I had earlier, of a good smack in the mouth.

He was gracious despite the difficulties of his day and tried to humour me. However my bruised ego couldn’t handle this and rather than stepping  hand in hand into the lighter side, I chose to swirl my cloak of pride around me and pouff I was gone.

Self indignation makes for a lonely bed fellow nor is a gut full of remorse conducive to a good nights sleep.

Today is a new day and it will be a shit ass good day because I will choose to make it so. I will willingly eat my serve of humble pie knowing that my friend will serve it warm and with compassion. I like it best sprinkled with a dash of cinnamon and accompanied by a dollop of cream (low fat of course).

Enrichment lesson No 20. Rely on our friends but never take them for granted.

new! old! vintage! rare! long thought lost but unearthed JUST in time for the release of richard rushfield’s new hampshire college memoir, in which it is shown that campus-wide lynch mobs wanted my head on a pike & had to settle for a written apology stuffed in each and every mailbox… and only because the environment at that time was not safe for releasing a video such as this. now, everyone has matured & gotten a sense of humor & everything’s all better. but really i am very sorry for helping (by standing in the woods?) to allow an environment to flourish in which mass hysteria ran wild and people were swept up by groupthink and turned into sheeple and they weren’t happy at all.

So I read this week that there is proof that young offenders are far less likely to re-offend after simply being made to say one word to their victims – sorry. A technique known as “restorative justice”. The psychological effect of actually making these scallywags admit they were wrong (and with any luck feel genuine remorse) is clearly deep enough to have a long-lasting and profound impact on their very being. Fascinating.

‘Sorry’ is an undeniably powerful word. One that the majority of humans just can’t find it in themselves to say. And yes, I am as guilty as the next man. Who, incidentally, sat to my right on this train has yet to apologise for breaking wind a moment ago. So, in an uncharacteristically self-indulgent fashion, I’d like to take this blog as the ideal opportunity to do just that. Not break wind, but apologise. Right some wrongs and all that.  Well, *clears throat*, here goes.

Sorry Jenny McGee for, 27 years ago, letting you take the blame for breaking your parents’ crystal decanter (and six matching glasses…and the toilet seat). It was me. I did it, during several silly fits of anger induced simply because you wouldn’t sleep with me that night.

Sorry to Constable Atkins of Greenhill police station for calling you a ‘Big Faggot’ some 17 years ago. It was only because I was jealous of your uniform. That and the copious amount of ethanol I had consumed that night.

Sorry to my lifelong friend Malvin Davis for not writing as much as I should and for pretending I’d broken both hands as a valid excuse. The only thing I had broken was my promise.

Sorry to my long suffering Mother for not arranging for Father to be sectioned earlier. And also for walking in on you both once during coitus. If it is any consolation, the event has permanently scarred me emotionally, mentally and occasionally physically. The deranged expression on Father’s face as he thrust himself into you will haunt me forever.

Sorry to my beagle Darwin for pretending to throw so many sticks for you to fetch, only to drop them behind me and cruelly laugh at your confusion, sometimes for days.

Sorry to Rosa my housekeeper for getting you to knowingly do menial tasks like only cleaning the black keys on my piano and the flaky bits between my toes. Also for incessantly mocking your absurd accent.

Sorry to Nelson my newsagent for not having the right change, and always having to break a fifty. And for calling you ‘blackie’.

There. That really does feel a lot better. Better late than never. And I really hope my victims are reading this, as I’m sure they’ll take comfort from my sincerity. Especially Darwin.

Oh and would you believe it, flatulent Floyd next to me has finally apologised for his earlier foul gaseous exchange. See, that wasn’t difficult was it? You odorous Geordie urchin. Ah. I think he may now be reading what I’m typing and didn’t care for that last comment. He is now rolling up his sleeves. Time to cut this blog short I’m afraid people, until next time. Sorry!

Somewhere out there, John Madden is doing two things: kicking himself for not staying in broadcasting to watch Brett Favre’s incredible season with the Minnesota Vikings; and eating a turducken in honor of Brett Favre’s amazing “return” to football.  The thing these two do NOT have in common…Brett Favre forgot he is a 40 year old man!!!

I heard a rumor that after seeing Kurt Warner make the super bowl last year and coming sooo close to winning it, it gave ol Brett a little hope. It gave him a little something! The Minnesota Vikings are ranked 3rd overall in both ESPN and Yahoo Sports NFL team ranker.  Not only do they have a Hall Of Famer taking snaps, but they have a Pro-Bowl back in Adrian Peterson, and one of the most suffocating defenses in the league.  Expect this team to go deep in the playoffs with their REAL test coming in the NFC Championship game in New Orleans.

Wow, what IF Brett Favre was able to win another ring? Can you imagine what all those sorry Packer fans would be feeling?  That would be a picture worth a thousand words…

“Which way from here
I’m caught up in the pages of my mind
And it’s not so clear
But it seems the hurt is way too much this time
Cause I see a vaine look in your eyes
Tell me, do you see the same, same look in mine
Sandpapper kisses, papercut bliss
Don’t know what this is, but it all leads to this
You’re gonna leave, her
You have deceived, her
Ooh just a girl

Now here I go again
She said I’ll break her heart again
She plays the fool again
She said I’ll break the rules again
Though I disagree
She thinks she knows me more than me
It’s so hard to see
What this voice keeps telling me

Ooh just a girl with featherweight curls
To expose all she knows you play like tease
Just a Girl with featherweight curls
To expose all she knows you play like tease
You’re gonna leave, her
You have decieved, her
Ooh just a girl” (Stephen Marley – “You’re gonna leave”)

It’s yet another one of those moments: night. You only actually realise how fucked up you really are deep down inside when you try to make a God damned list of the positive things you posses and the only thing you can write under that column is “cutting down from 1 and 1/2 packs of cigarettes to just one per day”. If you decide to balance this with the fact that you were able to write so many on the negative side that you needed to flip the paper, then you really have a problem on your hands.

You’ve let go of everything that defined you: the partying, the smoking, the rum, the poison, late nights in bars, hangovers…you name it. What did you keep from your old self? The pain, remorse, regrets, promises, rehab and a bunch of memories more or less blocked out. And what do you do when all of these come out? You break down again, just how you do every fucking time. It’s Pandora’s box for God’s sake! Every little word, gesture, scent triggers a stream of consciousness, a chain reaction which renders you useless, obsolete and apparently with no chance of recovery. But each time you get up, you regain your composure, you shake the dust off and you face the music, again and again. What can you do to change this pathetic manifestation? At least the poison and the booze seemed to have made you numb…you don’t even believe that anymore. You’re advised to let go. But how can you let go? What’s left of you? Cynicism, some form of hate, sarcasm, irony, the ability to fake a smile, a so called reason and again pain, remorse, regrets, memories, promises and the incapacity to put all of those things into words.

You know what you are…you’re just weak. You can’t express sorrow, you can’t say how sorry you are, you can’t express any of your feelings right. But you can quantify them by the goose bumps you get, the coldness that revolves around you when you’re in such a state and the frosty drops of sweat on your forehead, the blurry image and the lack of control in your limbs. You’re lost in a hole where you can’t even imagine how daylight looks like, or any type of light for that matter. You’re told to get up and fight, but you know you’re able to get up only to receive another knock-down. In a way, it’s better you can’t see this. You can only imagine it, but then again do you even want to do that? Or are you too afraid you’ll have the same reaction as mine? Do you think you’ll do the same, act the same? I say you can easily walk in my shoes and nobody would notice the difference. But you’re to afraid to admit it, let alone do it. You’re just to scared to seem human, again. You’re afraid of the pain that might occur, but you’re overlooking what is sure. You’re able to notice my crocked tie, but you fail to see the pole in your eye. I’m sorry I don’t know you anymore, I’m glad you don’t know me.

You’ll just keep avoiding this subject, as much as you can and as much as it’s humanly possible. Sure, you’ll just pretend you’re ok, you’ll try to talk about it, you’ll keep feeling like every single time you try to spill shit out you’re at a fucking psychiatrist that clearly thinks you’re insane, but knows he’s just a step away from your condition. I’m afraid that not even Papa Freud would have an answer for your case, my boy, because the kingdom of heaven was in her hands and you’ve kicked yourself out of your own happy-place. At least Lucifer waited until he got expelled…You, on the other hand, found some sort of redemption, but he might have found something more important, something that you now lack: a peaceful soul.

A client of mine asked me an absolutely fantastic question!  She asked the following ~ If there is no hell on the other side, is there remorse?  Retribution of any kind?

The reason I love this question is that is speaks to one of the more controversial aspects of our culture, hell.  No, I do not believe there is a hell.  Not because I think that it would be easier or because I want to be let off the hook for stealing that pencil in third grade.  I believe that hell does not exist because I have never heard, seen or experienced any type of reference to it with all my communications with people and guides on the other side.  Point blank answer from guides when I ask them if there is a hell is “no”.  My guide actually chuckled at me when I asked him.  With time and discussion, he really opened my eyes to the fear tactic that lies behind the concept of hell.  How else are you going to get your followers to behave?  If you were diligent enough, you could even search through historical data to see how the concept of hell was created by man and has been altered by man over the years.  How could that be?  Man cannot change a structure on the other side.  Small example of this… it was just a short time ago that the Catholic Church decided that there would no longer be purgatory.  I would love to meet the gang that decided that one!

Enough said about that, let me step off that soap box for a moment and get back to the point of remorse.  What I experience most often when a loved one is connecting with someone who is still here on earth is not a sense of “I’m sorry” or “I’m guilty” but more a feeling of “I wish I didn’t do that, but I can see that it was necessary for you on your path and for your own personal growth” or “I am saddened that I had to play that role in your life and I wish I wasn’t the one to inflict that pain on you.”  People who have crossed over to the other side do not dwell on regret, they see their life in a bigger picture and understand that they affected people in particular ways, some negative.  But here’s the key, they understand and can see why things happened they way they did.  They are looking at it from a larger perspective, from the higher good you could say.  Remember, all negative events provide us with gifts.  They are learning tools and lessons.  Recently a cop killer was shot and died instantly.  Some feel that they would have preferred to see a cop killer suffer for years in jail for what he did, especially if there isn’t a hell for him to go to.  If there isn’t a hell then the cop killer got off easy right?  Here is the moment of opportunity to see the event from a broader perspective.  Someone killing a cop, or anyone for that matter, is a horrific thing.  People respectfully will suffer through that event.  But, it is a shift in the paths of all those who knew the killer and the victim.  It is a lesson, a painful lesson, but a lesson.  In the end, the lesson and the paths that develop from that negative experience are much more important than the killer being punished.  The definition of retribution is punishment that is thought to be morally deserved.  Retribution in my mind is not needed.  What is needed is the welcoming of the lesson, no matter how difficult it may be.  I have been on the receiving end of some really harsh experiences and they have served to make me who I am today.  After I take the necessary time to feel the painful effects and heal, I can be grateful for the people and/or experience that inflicted the pain on me.  I do not feel they require retribution.  I think they just require time to heal and time to forgive and accept.

This thought processes may go against the cultural ideal, but it is how I see it.  No matter how horrific the act, it was needed to mold someone’s path.  I respect the pain it brings and do not feel that we should simply accept an act such as that, but I also see the gift behind it.  This is not a position of acceptance, it is a position of welcoming challenges and bettering my path as events present themselves.

One more thought on this… from what I’ve experienced of the other side I will say that people don’t get off scott free.  When you die you do have to review your life.  You do have to witness what you’ve achieved and where you’ve failed.  You are submersed in the pain that you inflicted and you are gifted with the deepest understanding of what you did.  This is where your soul experiences regret.  Imagine for a moment that cop killer holding and feeling all the pain of all the people he affected when he killed that cop.  That is the other side’s retribution.