THIS Rhett Butler Will Never Die

A deeply disturbing event has occurred in our community this week. A 15 year old girl disappeared on Monday. Immediately upon notice of her being missing a massive search party was formed (local Bay Area law officials) but also a large network of online social contacts were alerted to her being missing. At first, it was not disclosed that foul play was suspected, but neither was it disclosed that anyone was worried about her mental state and that maybe she had simply run away. Two days later (yesterday) it was announced on the news, around 1:30pm that the search had changed to a “recovery operation” and it was assumed that the girl had jumped off of the Golden Gate Bridge. This is when more facts started to come out. That a suicide note had been found at her home. Her bicycle had been found abandoned at Crissy Field in San Francisco. I think the timline they created suggested that she went to school in the morning, as usual but left early. There was a snapshopt shown on the news of he...

if you let them. i remembered, just for a few moments yesterday that back in the 90's i had this fascination with the concept of (higher) consciousness, and the advancing of it's powers through meditation techniques that would bring accumulations of white-light astral power into your actual physical body. light bodies was what a lot of new agers were talking about back then. pure light. you wanted to become it. it was not only holy, it was what -=god=- is. well, i don't think that way, or live those ways anymore. i got blasted with so much of the power of white light consciousness through my practices of siddha yoga (repeating incessantly the names of god) and all the rigmarole confused with the lifestyle of an ashram community in the bowels of Oakland (i don't know how ANYONE survived that maelstrom of psychic and physical intensity) that i'm not sure how i am still alive. or how any of those people (us) are still alive. or what the others did after the fires of ...

it won't happen though. i have one lame excuse worth getting drunk for. The Queen of England is trespassing in Ireland this week and I was hoping to be able to sit down for a pint with someone to talk some treason. I never argue politics or religion with anyone. well, i never argue anything with anyone. That would require acquaintances to carry on conversations with. I feel wells of discontent in my belly about the epic event happening in Ireland this week though. If I had continued to live in Ireland over the past 30 years I think I may have become a political discontent of some sort. Even if it would only have been through my writing. I hate what the British have done to the Irish people for nearly 800 years now. When I found out a few months ago that my family heritage actually descends from British royalty and that it's unknown whether I have any Irish blood in me at all, it gave me a new sense of desire to be a retroactively repentant soldier eager to do whatever I could t...

tá an cailín sin i really like. ach ar leith aigéin na difríochta dúinn agus i amhras orm ach go beidh muid ag súil go hiomlán riamh a súl a fheiceáil. i faire seo a thaispeáint go bhfuil mé aréir beagnach bliain d'aois amach tar éis thart ar 20 nóiméad toisc go bhfuil ceann de na haisteoirí uafásach i ndáiríre, ach tá an scéal ina dhiaidh sin déanta suas le sé ... agus go maith, scáinte sé ar oscailt fissure ndoimhneacht na mothúcháin i mo chroí. i Chaoin crua agus painfully ó áit ar mian leo agus ar iarraidh grá cosúil nach bhfuil i Chaoin in am an-fhada. an cás ar an scéal a tugadh isteach le lánúin phósta le páirtithe a bhí 39 bliana d'aois éagsúla. agus bhí siad go hiomlán i ngrá. anois tá an seó seó an-óg ar líonra teilifíse teaghlach atá dírithe, ach ar an bhfíric go bhfuil an togra ina dtaobh outlandish scéal seo ar fad a bhí ballsy mar ifreann. ar cheann de na constaicí i smaoineamh ann in aigne an cailín mé a chnagadh ar é go bhfuil mé 22 bliain níos sine ná mar a...

i used to love to read the Book of Ezekiel, imagining what a prophet actually looked like, wizened and withered by life in the desert and overwhelmed by the voices of God. and what things he actually did to bring about the summation of his life; being swept up into heaven in a whirlwind. surely today someone would simply interpret that to be being blown away by a tornado. something that happens annually anymore. regardless, i refer the old man and his ecstasy because i'm in a bit of an ecstatic whirlwind myself right now. my artistic projects are in a pretty hefty full swing and i just hope that i can physically endure the stress that my body needs to endure to achieve all the things i'm aiming to complete. the end of last week was "weird". a model that i was supposed to photograph on Friday just vanished. we had last communicated online over the preceding weekend and confirmed that our plans were solid, and that she was "in need" of the $50 i was going ...

it's been an interesting few days, weeks... seeing things inside my eyes, hearing things inside my ears. there is a flow of a sort, and some continuity, some completion of ideas, a lot of progress actually and not a whole lot to complain about. still, i have a feeling that i am not entirely in my body and it's like i flitter around my self, sometimes landing and realizing i'm me, and other times not. for instance, today i've been in "eyeball snapshot" mode... seeing photographs everywhere, all day long. situations, configurations, assemblies that constitute the mechanics of a memorable moment in time. the nice thing is that i don't feel upset with myself for not capturing these scenes with an actual camera. even though i have a camera with me and could. there is just a little bit of disconnect from the feeling of essential need to prove that i was there, that i saw, that i created. i did see it. i did feel it. and if it's only a memory in the film re...