they called it Common Sense

"That there are men in all countries who get their living by war, and by keeping up the quarrels of Nations, is as shocking as it is true; but when those who are concerned in the government of a country make it their study to sow discord, and cultivate prejudices among Nations, it becomes the more unpardonable." ~ Thomas Paine

Giants 16, Eagles 3

Seriously, I don't know if I've ever had a better night in my life. Even the bad shit was ok, because we won. Fuck Yeah!

for Molly

Kardia Chartis

I have never been where you have been,

so I looked to the land for signs of passage.

Over mountain trails of memories, through

forests of time I tracked you.

Each time I thought I couldn’t go on my eyes felt

the pull of your gravity.

I know my journey to find you is nothing compared

to the travails you faced to get where you are.

When I finally catch up you are weary, and have fallen

prey to time and circumstance.

You grow more disheartened with each step

along your path.

I am here now, though, to tell you that your

days and nights should shine with hope.

Your magic could keep the sun in the sky

and cannot wither under the weight of life.

I will be your guide when you need me; to lead you

home I need only follow the map of my heart.

9.25.07

manic

Who knew Taco Bell could break your heart?

it was 1:30 in the morning and I was reading The Great Shark Hunt in my bed
I suddenly developed a powerful lust for chicken wrapped in pita
maybe it was the story of Reuben Salazar's murder and Oscar's rage that sent me overboard
all I knew was that I was bound to eat, and taquitos were the priority

I made the ride in no time; over the empty streets
slick with dew and the specter of autumn
I even wore a hoody to keep my spine from shaking off the impending chill
the facts of the case:
3 chicken taquitos and a medium Sierra Mist
seven bucks and some change
and I recognized some friends in the car behind me
I chatted with them by phone while I waited for the guy to change the syrup on the soda

zipping home, and there well before the place would have closed at 2
but I don't like eating in bed, so I hope on the computer (yeah, that IS supposed to be hop)
LiveJournal imparts a few tidbits like:
my journal password is too easy to hack, and 
I don't have an account that lets me post polls any longer, and
your birthday is coming

you closed your journal two years ago. about six months after we broke up for good.
worse than that, you deleted any trace of its lifetime as though you were trying to hide from me and all
the other people who knew that part of you
but the computer knows your birthday is coming
less than a month now, and just a few weeks after the anniversary of my sister's wedding
the place where you had too much liquor or dance or joy to keep your finely tuned guard up any longer
and told me that you were falling in love
the place and time when I last knew pure happiness, and hope for the future
the last hurrah of us, since you left me less than three days later

you told me that it didn't matter how we felt, because we were too different
and it would never work
and I tried for almost a year to move on, finally just raging against the dying of our light
and said goodbye.
no woman since has made a dent to compare with your damage. no promise of love or sex or joy
or hope has conquered what you never promised, but simply gave
but here it is, fall again. and your birthday is back from the digital dead.
I was sure I was over you, but who knew taco bell could break your heart

What??

I was just informed that I cannot be hired as a server at OUTBACK STEAKHOUSE because I have visible tattoos on my forearms.

I have experience in the restaurant industry dating back to 1992, including every front-of-house position for which there is a title. This means I have been a busboy, a host, a server, a food runner, and a bartender. I have worked in customer service (without complaints, and certainly without dismissal) for most of my adult life. I have even risen to the position of bar manager and supervised others in a service environment. 

None of that even came up. My qualifications were not even inquired after, my resume not even glanced at. Once the manager saw that I had tattoos, I was simply told that could not possibly do the job of carrying a Bloomin' Onion from the kitchen to the table. Apparently I would reflect badly on the company.

To my knowledge, this is the first time in the 15 years that I have been tattooed that I have been denied employment due to my tattoos. I have worked for the State of NJ in an office setting and they didn't blink about the tattoos. I worked in the art department of a large city newspaper, as well as the customer service area of a Kinko's computer services center. I worked in two chain restaurants and two privately owned bars, none of which gave my tattoos a second glance. Not to mention the fact that the US Army granted me Top Secret clearance during a background check ten years ago, and earlier this year I was deemed good enough to serve as a Mercer County Sheriff's Officer after yet another background check.

According to all current employment law, this is well within the company's right, and I suppose when I really think about it I can't be all that mad. I believe that people should be able to hire and not hire whomever they please. I just cannot fathom that in this day and age, when 25% of the American population in their 30's has a tattoo, and close to 40% of the people in their 20's do, that this is actually still an issue.

Maybe I'm just not facing reality. Let me know what you all think. Would your waiter/waitress having a tattoo negatively impact your dining experience? Ask others you know as well. I really wonder how much this matters.

compost

When I feel down on myself, I exhibit a strange behavior. I mean, it's not strange as seen in the context of someone who is truly depressed. Someone who is approaching the ledge (so to speak) of suicide. For that person it might make sense. In fact, it's one of the warning signs.

I am not suicidal. I have a big problem with suicide. Except in cases of an otherwise horrible, or prolonged agonizing death, I feel it is a coward's choice. So rest assured that I am not thinking suicide. But back to the behavior.

When I'm feeling like I feel right now, that is to say, when I feel despair, I want to get rid of things. I want to delete things online, I want to sell things I own, and I want to trash things that hold only sentimental value. There's been more than a few times in my life when I've thrown out like a dirty tissue something that held a precious memory. Then I'll be fine again in a day or two and immediately regret what I had done. I don't know where this comes from. I suppose that part of me still clings to the ideal of an attachment free life, the buddhist dream of knowing and living true impermanence. Perhaps when I get like this is when I most need to feel that things don't last, that "this too, shall pass." That makes the most sense.

Another possibility is to get rid of the evidence. Evidence of why I feel this way in the first place. To distance myself from past mistakes, and to clear my record. A fresh start without for a fresh start within. If the girl hurt me, why wouldn't I throw out all the reminders of her? If the job (or leaving it) was a mistake, why hold on to the proof that I was ever there? If I've done a wrong, why not just clear the hard drive, or the cache, or the remote server, and move on like it never happened?

I'll walk through my life as a big magnet, erasing every shred of tape, distorting every signal, until there's nothing left in the past to link me to all of this, this shit.

Of course, like a magnet, I will somehow manage to attract other things along the way. I like that part too. Too much, in fact, to really delete, or dispose of what matters most. 

The scraps will find the pole that pulls them in, and I'll start to save once more, only to cycle around and delete again.

I'm Tired

I've grown tired
of trying to be the devil you know.
Helping you hide your lies from yourself,
keeping the mirrors from the faces you show.
It's a waste of my time,
good minutes after all the bad ones done in,
to prop you up for punishment and
paint the target on before they begin.

I've grown tired
of saving your world all the time.
The cape is choking the life out of me and
I don't even think the boots are mine.
There's no room for mistakes
because you are a constant fucking victim of living.
You tie yourself to every track where
the trains that come are the least forgiving.

I've grown tired
of shedding light and finding clues.
Surveying the scenes of your latest crimes
for a six pack of beers and a case of the blues.
And it's not even like it helps
because you're just as innocent as you are guilty.
You'll never say please or pleas when you should
so you'll never end up where you're supposed to be.

4.2.07
manic