This morning as I broke brown eggs to break my fast
White flecks of shell cut into the palm of my hand.
My red blood sizzled black as it hit the pan,
Reminding me of you:
Incubating death;
Taking poison to save your life.
I looked out the window -
A rabid dog was grooming itself on the front lawn,
Gnawing at its private parts
Even as it was foaming at the mouth;
The bizarre vanity of the doomed.
I blink and the image is gone.
Only a nightmare.
Just another nightmare
Under the bright yellow sun.

Glee: The Music, Volumes 1 and 2; The Wizard of Oz (70th Anniversary Ultimate Collector’s Edition) on DVD; Last Words: A Memoir by George Carlin, with Tony Hendra; maybe Ally McBeal: The Complete Series on DVD; and, maybe, The Guild: Seasons 1 and 2 on DVD.

and you, you bitch
with your prison guard keys
you followed me home
and you spat demands
in my face

stop! fall! lie! (lie)
silent. still. (still)
breaktheunfuckingbreakable

so i shot myself
in the head
in the heart
in the mirror

lips worn pale
drinking your poison
the taste of us both
on a sliver of ice

in the head
in the heart
in the mirror

and all i can think is
i am so out of focus
i am so out of focus

“A hater is someone who is jealous and envious and spends
all their time trying to make you look small so they can look tall.”
Maya Angelou, “Hater“

I used to be a hater. I used to look at websites of people who were doing creative things and in my head, I’d make fun of them. Who do they think they are? I’d mutter. How pretentious! How egotistical! Gee, I bet they are going to fail, and then they’d be really embarrassed.

Looking/Hating these people was a time consuming hobby. Addicted as I was to feeling smug and righteous, I sought my “hit” of hatred every day, sometimes multiple times. It made me feel better for neglecting gifts, for my laziness and lack of effort.

I don’t think it is any coincidence that in the past few weeks, when I have allowed myself to be more creative, the hating habit has stopped. I have no desire to tear these people down. In fact, I’d like to see nice things happen for them, just as I am starting to wish for nice things to happen for me.

Ben Franklin said something of the usefulness of vanity, but I don’t remember it.  Its logic, tongue-in-cheek as it may have been, didn’t fly with me and, therefore, didn’t stick.  I suppose it is, at least, useful in keeping one’s hygiene on the healthy side, but what does it otherwise do for one?  I can’t think of any way it’s been of benefit to me.  I’ve been using it to pretend I’m somebody else, and that hasn’t gotten me anything but confused.  Few of the images I’ve presented have been of my self:  “Who was that short-haired, clean-shaven dweeb?”  And, somehow, it’s easier to fool a mob than to fool one person.  I am not that person.  I fooled myself for much longer than I fooled Julie.  I try not to fool anyone now.  Vanity’s place is to make me feel good about myself, judged by my own standards.  If I find an audience in the mirror as I preen, I stop.  I hate it when Julie’s face floats up in front of mine, judging my appearance.  On many days it stops me from shaving, because if I’m not doing it for myself, I won’t do it.  My hair is my most strident display of my vanity because I know no one likes it.  Sometimes I don’t even like it, and consecutive good-hair days are a miracle.  It hasn’t been cut in a year.  It’s bushy and curly, and that’s just the way it is.

The confidence vanity might give me is an attractant itself, and being passive, attracts only what it should, as a flower does the insect to pollinate it.  The confidence is a projection of my true self.  What does it eventually attract?  The insect/flower relationshyip is sex, but of course that’s a much baser objective than that for which humans strive.  Is love the logical eventuality?  Is genuineness the attractant for that most human of needs?  Being genuine releases one from striving, from trying to discern and conform to the perceived standards of others.  It’s a crystal honesty.  Does vanity get one there?

In no particular order:

1. Fixin’ the hair.

2. Some very old-school wall stickers.

3. Myth: bathrooms are best painted pink, to flatter skin tones. I believe it.

4. This is one of my doodles. She’s a costume designer. See more here.

5. Should I wear black and white, or black and white, or black and white?

Special Guest Post by Zack.
—————————————
My wife is on drugs.  ON DRUGS.  I believe that she mentioned this the other day.  (Perhaps not the drugs part, but the sick part that precipitated the drug part.)  The result of said sickness has been a horrible hacking noise that emanates from her very soul as her body struggles to rid itself of the little bastard microbes that are currently afflicting her.

So she went to the doctor.  I don’t believe in doctors, but she does, probably because they hook her up with narcotics.

As a result of the visit, Sarah has been busy sucking back on a bottle of the world’s most powerful Nyquil and hanging around the house in a rather foggy disposition that is generally not conducive to NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month), the acronym that sounds phonetically much like the horrid noises emanating from her.

There has also been a general lack of enthusiasm for all things requiring effort,  and so I have been tasked with fulfilling today’s post.  This may actually have something to do with the fact that Sarah is ON DRUGS, and doesn’t quite realize what she’s allowing me to do with this most sacred of internet realms, but hey I’ll take what I can get.

The reality of the situation is that we’re basically old, even though we’re only in our twenties, and as I write this we’re already in bed. Sarah is right next to me pulling on my leg hair, something that typically irritates me to no end. This time is no different, and she continues to poke and prod as if I were some sort medical school cadaver.  She has lost her voice, her ability to type, her vision in her left eye, feeling in her right foot, and has developed early onset male pattern baldness, but retains enough of her spirited demeanor to pull my leg hair.

By now however I’ve learned to deal with it, because if I’m honest, its pretty much the only thing she does that bugs me.  She’s that awesome.  Even when she’s ON DRUGS.

The answers to all your questions about life, love and what colour to paint the bathroom will be answered at this year’s Vanity Fair show. Experts in anything and everything from makeovers and feng shui to astrology and flower arranging will be on hand to give free demonstrations, tips and advice. With hundreds of exhibitors showing off the latest in health, beauty and fitness and esoteric services there’ll be something to nourish mind, body and spirit.

No, this is not a new Obama campaign [although it would probably be a good one].

In 2007, America spent…

Thirteen billion One hundred forty eight million one hundred ninety two thousand seventy seven DOLLARS

$13,148,192,077 was spent on 11, 456,768 surgical and non-surgical appearance altering procedures across the country.

I am currently sitting at Lux Coffee, an eclectic place comprised of indie kids and professionals alike. In my curious observation of the individuals who were walking in, out and through Lux I was disturbed at how many masks I have been exposed to. I mean, I realize that vanity is a chronic problem in our culture but, this is absurd. I can’t even wrap my brain around a number like $13,148,192,077… the amount of “good” that could be done for the oppressed, struggling and needy is not just life changing rather earth changing. Since 1997 there has been a four-hundred precent increase in the amount of plastic surgery done in America. It is no longer just famous and rich people… it is the cashier at your local grocery store, your math professor, your local barista and you. One of the aspects of this problem that is very disheartening is that young girls don’t even have to watch television or read the tabloids to be influenced to be dissatisfied with their appearance, they simply have to look across their empty dinner table. Empty dinner table? Yes, at the empty seat where their mother should be but isn’t because she’s out acting like a child, again.

I personally think that media is doing an awful injustice to children and adults alike in regards to the manipulation that we all face, however, the problem is now working itself from the inside out… it’s hard to point blame to the media when parents are just as empty.

Our culture isn’t going to let up, any… However, we, as adults have the ability to fight for satisfaction. It would be a beautiful thing if we could look forward to being 40, 50, 60 rather than dreading it and starting a savings account to visually reverse time.

There, my soapbox is now empty, for today

p.s. here is the link that I gathered my information from http://www.cosmeticplasticsurgerystatistics.com/statistics.html [I obviously failed the "citing" part of english]

Outside the practically scripted structure of the library, the rules of my game of attraction change.  There is no search of interest in widening eyes or a head-dip.  There is only one rule, really, and that is to look good, and that’s all about the hair.  Shaving happens when I feel like it, clothes cover me, and I’m in good shape.  Hair is my vanity, and I’ll pay for the extra hot water it takes to wash and condition it now that it’s grown out, and for the detangler and oil.  If I feel I look good I feel good, and I’m the opposite of celf-conscious.  I don’t swagger; I just feel good.  If there’s interest, I don’t notice.

Now that Julie’s back, outside the library is where I’d rather be.  With a weekend between us, it was easy writing that first paragraph .  Now I consider shaving the evening before the new week begins, and her face floats up before mine as the reason to shave.  So I won’t.  It didn’t stop me from washing my hair, though.  My rebellion in that arena is not having it cut.  I know no one at work likes it.  The next time someone says my hair looks good will be when I cut it short.  They can hold their collective breath.  I’ve spent enough time trying to impress the unimpressable.  It’s time I impressed myself–and anyone else who can appreciate me as I am.

Jump on board for this movement…’If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do?’ (Psalm 11:3)

“Because we honor justice and the common good, we will not comply with any edict that purports to compel our institutions to participate in abortions, embryo-destructive research, assisted suicide and euthanasia, or any other antilife act; nor will we bend to any rule purporting to force us to bless immoral sexual partnerships, treat them as marriages or the equivalent, or refrain from proclaiming the truth, as we know it, about morality and immorality and marriage and the family. We will fully and ungrudgingly render to Caesar what is Caesar’s. But under no circumstances will we render to Caesar what is God’s.”

We are now averaging 61,852 visits a day.

We have such huge sites as Glenn Greenwald’s Unclaimed Territory (Glenn Greenwald!), John Araviso’s Americablog, Jane Hamsher’s Firedoglake (Firedoglake!), Wonkette (Wonkette!) and Wizbang!.

We are closing in on Pharygula and Power Line, but I think it’s going to be hard to pass them, and I’m wondering if this run is hitting ceiling.

61,852 X 7 = 432,964 visitors a week. We are the equivalent of a weekly magazine with 430,000 readers, but I can’t think of any offhand.

61,852 X 31 = 1,917,412 visitors a month. So we are the equivalent of a monthly magazine with 1.9 million circulation, but I can’t think of any of those offhand either.

Keep in mind that print media often includes pass-along readership, so they often increase their readership by 2 or 3 times circulation on that basis.

It’s like my whole life has been a dream
until now.

In one unassuming moment,
I kicked over an invisible domino
and set a whole new world in motion.

A spiritual precipitation.

But part of me is afraid
that I’m really just going insane.
And another small part of me
thinks I’m just being vain.

Still, most of me is
unconcerned
with giving this a name.

For better or for worse,
my senses are awakening.

#5. French Provincial Inspired Flip-Up Vanity – The style of legs on this would be a queen anne/ cabriole leg. It has a french edge along the bottom, with French knobs, and a surpentine front. Just stunning and gorgeous. I lined it with vintage white embossed wallpaper. ooooooooh laaaa laaa

#4 Heart table by Bombay… Messed up when I got it. Solid mohogany, and gorgeous when it left my shop…

#3 Girls Bed painted hot pink and black – so so so cute. This bed went with a black and pink set with gold hardware. Just really unique and didn’t have the cheezy hand painted look. It looked manufactured that way. Would have been even cuter with zebra print bedding.

#2 Authentic Antique Childrens Armoire. This was one of my favorites because I found it in a pile of junk and i just fell in love with it. It was an antique umbrella and cane holder with the flip up lid, and I added a closet bar for a little girls bedroom. It made me reconsider never having children because with this armoire it would be worth it.

And the #1 Best Piece of Furniture Ever Created is the :  Drexel French Provincial Dresser with HIDDEN DRAWER!!! Serpentine/ Bowed front also… OMG. the hidden drawer made this piece truly magical .I wanted to sell it for a million; but alas, I’m always offering the best deal.

This chain letter was sent to me and I thought I’d pass it along for conversation.

-fr

_____________________________

Ed McMahon died last week.  He was a great entertainer, but prior to his radio and TV accomplishments he was a Marine Corps pilot in WWII and Korea, earning six Air Medals and attaining the rank of Colonel.  After his Korean service he was subsequently promoted to the rank of Brigadier General in the
CA Air National Guard.Farrah Fawcett died last week after a long career in Hollywood as an actress.  After she was diagnosed with cancer, she became an activist for cancer treatment and devoted her last remaining years encouraging people to seek treatment.  She documented her plight on film and used it to encourage others to stay positive and upbeat despite their diagnosis and suffering.Michael Jackson died last week.  He was perhaps one of the great entertainers of modern time.  He will also be remembered for his eccentric lifestyle that included sleeping with a chimpanzee, living in a carnival-like atmosphere at Neverland, his fascination with Peter Pan, and his numerous masks and costumes.  He also admitted to finding pleasure sleeping with young boys and paying out millions of dollars in settlements
to the families of these boys despite being acquitted by a court on one allegation of sexual molestation.

Today I entered into the realms of wankdom and let me tell you … I feel less of a man.

And what you may ask was the great leveller?

A fully automated Sunshower … Aye! Me! In a bloody sunshower! … Crivvens!

Whoa! Hang on a wee minute … Before you turn away sniggering “Poof” under your breaths – hear me out … I have an entirely justifiable reason for this act of vanity.

In less than three weeks time I will be in the Yucatans blistering sunshine surrounded by loud bronzed Americans – now I don’t mind sticking out in a crowd or anything – but they Mexican con artists will eat china white gringos like me alive so I’m told … So if I can at least tonally blend in with the throng I may not be seen as such an easy target and avoid being robbed or raped or murdered … Maybe even all three!

And that’s the reason, so there!

No! It’s got NOTHING to do with feelings of inadaquecy or embarrasment at my ivory flesh … And No! It’s got nothing to do with people looking at my holiday snaps and thinking “whats that awkward looking ugly white thing doing in a pair of speedos?”

IT’S FOR SAFETY REASONS OK!

As for the actual sunshower – the missus kinda talked me into it.

Needless to say she accompanied me to the place to give me helpful advice in as loud a voice as possible just incase any people already in a booth needed to know that the skin analysis machine recommended me to have a 20 minute session …. Fuck Me! … Seriously.

I opted for four minutes.

So I got in the booth … Alone thankfully …. Stripped off … Got into the upright sun shower cubicle … Closed the door and waited.

Suddenly there’s blinding light and heat and just as I’m marvelling at the sight of my own genitals from below for the very first time in my life from the mirrored floor there is a voice … No! … It can’t be! …. Bloody Zane Lowe! …. They’re piping Radio 1 into this tomb of light!

Jesus Christ!

Join me next week for the back, sack and crack jollity.

The missus has probably booked it with this guy …

Ho hum.

Aw the best.

Once upon a time, there was an island where all the feelings lived: Happiness, Sadness, Knowledge, and all of the others, including Love. One day it was announced to the feelings that the island would sink, so all constructed boats and left. Except for Love.

Love was the only one who stayed. Love wanted to hold out until the last possible moment.

When the island had almost sunk, Love decided to ask for help.

Richness was passing by Love in a grand boat. Love said,
“Richness, can you take me with you?”
Richness answered, “No, I can’t. There is a lot of gold and silver in my boat. There is no place here for you.”

Love decided to ask Vanity who was also passing by in a beautiful vessel. “Vanity, please help me!”
“I can’t help you, Love. You are all wet and might damage my boat,” Vanity answered.

Sadness was close by so Love asked, “Sadness, let me go with you.”
“Oh . . . Love, I am so sad that I need to be by myself!”

Happiness passed by Love, too, but she was so happy that she did not even hear when Love called her.

Suddenly, there was a voice, “Come, Love, I will take you.” It was an elder. So blessed and overjoyed, Love even forgot to ask the elder where they were going. When they arrived at dry land, the elder went her own way. Realizing how much was owed the elder,Love asked Knowledge, Another elder, “Who Helped me?”

“It was Time,” Knowledge answered.

“Time?” asked Love. “But why did Time help me?”

Knowledge smiled with deep wisdom and answered, “Because only Time is capable of understanding how valuable Love is.”

Source: Qisas.com