THIS Rhett Butler Will Never Die

i hope i will never fully understand why this song moves me so deeply... no matter where i am when i hear it, in a coffee shop or in a traffic jam, my heart cracks open and a river of emotions flow. (just be sure to turn off the Last.Fm player in the right side panel before you start this song!) Pretty bird with feathers falling Pretty as a lady calling For her pink and midnight lover As she stares into the water And a yellow moon is rising And there can`t be no disguising That the pretty bird is dying With a silver arrow lying at its side Rivers of blood, oceans of tears, life without death, and death without reason To the whole United Nations, To your greatest expectations To the moment that you realize As a dark figure slips from out of the shadow Pretty bird closes its eyes, pretty bird dies Another pretty thing dead on the end of the shaft Of the Zen Archer A man in parts forgotten With an outlook that is rotten And an attitude to match it Finds re...

Cemetery Girl Poems by Daryl Darko Barnett & Gracie Carthey | Make Your Own Book if you order a copy now (March), be sure to use the coupon code 20PERCENTBLURB to get 20% off your total order.

i watched this film again this afternoon. perfect rainy Saturday afternoon fare. only problem is that it is such powerful fodder for maturing the infestation of my already smoldering fire of soul-discontent. this was probably the 6th time i've seen this film in the past 6 months. from earlier posts, you may recall that i felt this film offers inspiration for the current phase of the novel i am writing. seeing it again today felt like a flashback to November when i was entrenched in the nanowrimo fury. but today new emotions were stirred, different takes on old wounds were flared. i'm not a misogynistic spirited man, normally, but lately feelings of distrust, loathing, regret, and disdain for the workings of the female wiles upon men have been curdling under my skin. the one thing that has happened in my own life recently is the ways that women feel no concern about making men wait for them. the only real interaction i have with female people in the real world, be it onlin...

i wish i could afford to stay in Puerto Rico for more than the 7 day whirlwind visit i'm making next month to attend my son's wedding. i've never been anywhere tropical. and i haven't been off the North American continent since 1984. i'm reading Hunter S. Thompson's "The Rum Diary" now to get a little more in the mood for this upcoming, opportunity...  the following passage spoke strongly to me and i want to expand on my thoughts about it. "Then I saw two figures clinging together near the reef. I recognized Yeamon and the girl who had come down with me on the plane. They were naked, standing in waist-deep water, with her legs locked around his hips and her arms around his neck. Her head was thrown back and her hair trailed out behind her, floating on the water like a blonde mane.  At first I thought I was having a vision. The scene was so idyllic that my mind refused to accept it. I just stood there and watched. He was holding her by the wai...

not sure where to start, where to start, not sure, start, where, not... too many things, bit of a manic flood of emotions; fatigue, desire, boredom, whiplash, cracked mirror, muddy footsteps, lost cat, lost cat, lost cat... too many voices in my ears but none of them are saying anything that grabs me. it's all a buzz of whispers, crisp yet faint, misunderstanding what should have been said in exactitude. the moon is shining brightly, full somewhere in the spacedom tonight, but it's shine is sterile because the moon is dead vacant. there is no light in the moon. it's all a myth. our whole perception of reality is nothing more than myths that can't even blow in the wind because there is no air on the surface of the frozen moon. what good is that? we love to look at the moon, but she is nothing more than a frigid bitch. anyway, something pissed me off yesterday but it took until today to really fester and come up with a reason to want to rant. i really hate the comodific...

Some ideas about the influence of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on my Cemetery Girls photography project and story telling. The roots of my ideas of Cemetery Girls genuinely were buried in my subconscious, going back to memories of visits to cemeteries with my mother and grandmother during summer vacations in Ohio when I was a young boy. That is the very first place this idea came from. During the years of my deepest depression suffering from the troubles of being treated for bipolar disorder I spent 5 years in a cocoon of hibernation (it was really agoraphobia mixed with being over medicated and mis-medicated). That is when I became a devotee of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. During the years of first run episodes and when reruns went into syndication I watched a minimum of 4 hours of Buffy episodes every weekday. My schedule rotated around being awake in time to watch Buffy. This seriously went on for at least 5 years. I loved the story. I loved the characters. I loved the mythology. The s...

woke up just a short while ago, and not even coming out of a dream the very first conscious thought to surface in my mind was memory of a young woman that i briefly encountered when I was a student at UCSC back in 1998. her name was unusual, Guru Inder , given to her by hippie parents that had raised her while living on a Sufi ashram somewhere in the Santa Cruz mountains. she was one of those people that stick out in your mind, the first week of classes, as someone that is attractive and seemingly intelligent and you throw out a hope that somehow you'll get into a class that she's taking and that maybe you can become friends. well, two years after i had first seen her during the beginning events at the anthropology board to get all the students and professors acquainted, she faded into the mist of the student body and we never had a class together. not until my very last quarter. i had taken one other class by this professor, Steven Feld, a class in ethnomusicology and he h...