THIS Rhett Butler Will Never Die

i bought a ticket to this concert about two weeks ago on a whim. i had just stumbled upon the music of Joanna Newsom and after watching a few youtubes of her fell head over heels in love with her. when i got to SF last night, due to a swing in moods due to my meds, i was in a depressive slump and was on the verge of not even attending. i actually texted 3 people i know who live in the city offering my ticket to whoever could show up in time at the Warfield to claim it before the show began. one person responded and arrived in time! turns out that seeing her boosted my spirits and she talked me into seeing the show myself, which i went ahead and did. (weird side note: i asked the ticket-takers if it would be okay to switch my ticket with someone; literally, let her walk in and i would walk out the door. they said NO, but in this instance because of the story i told them (i had a bad day, as did my friend - she attended a funeral in the morning), they'd allow it - but NOT to tell...

i did not attend Coach Marshall's memorial service. not in person, at least. i genuinely sense that my presence was preferred to be absent by at least one person there, Son Halliday. why he would have any sort of long running resentment against me for nigh on 40 years is something that exists only in his mind. a little recent back-story that i can share; about 2 or 3 years ago a woman that attended Monte Vista at the time we were all there, a close friend of the Halliday girls, a woman who's name escapes me right now - found and contacted me through Facebook. she struck up a very personal conversation asking about how my life had been and told me very personal facts about her life, including the harsh reality that she had lost the life of a young daughter. after introductory niceties were over she got to the point of why she was really contacting me. Coach Marshall had been put into a nursing home up in Sacramento and was lonely. the kids were all too busy to both, take car...

i wrote something, probably too personal - as usual, for Coach Marshall's online guest book and the moderator, one of the Marshall kids seems to have chosen not to display it. i submitted it on Friday and i thought that maybe it was because of the long weekend. they were just not paying attention to submissions... and that may still be the case. i dunno. thing is, now it's got me in a tailspin about attending the memorial on Friday. if they dissed me over what i wrote, maybe that means they don't want to see me there, and i don't have enough power of personality on my own behalf to go there alone. i don't know anyone that will be there, except maybe Linda Silva, but i haven't heard from her in ages. i guess i could call her. anytime i've called her in the past it usually takes her about 3 weeks to respond. i'll probably still go anyway but just slip in and sit in the back row so i can leave as quickly afterwards as possible. if anyone had cared to contac...

we were just hanging out for the afternoon and i decided to take her by my cemetery in Danville, you know, the one where I hang out all the time alone. i've never taken anyone there, as a friend, to just hang out with. (of course i had my camera with me...) but while we walked around i observed the way she acted and what interested her, and before i knew it she was acting out in manners very similar to ways that the young woman in my novel acts. the photos in this set were unplanned and unprompted. since she is my writing partner, i'm sure she'll want to revisit the cemetery and explore the place more to help motivate me to finish writing my story. that this strong of an experience occurred and i did not rush home and start working on the novel just shows how deeply receded it has fallen into my subconscious, yet again. i believe that my meeting her, and am now focusing on only wanting to photograph her (and not any more new models) is a mechanism for me to get back on tr...

Obituary ANDREW MARSHALL    |    Visit Guest Book "Coach Marshall" Andrew Stephen (Steve) Marshall May 16, 1930 - May 14, 2012 Resident of Danville Beloved Father and Husband, longtime resident of Danville, and retired school  teacher  at Monte Vista High, Steve passed away peacefully at the age of 81, with his family by his side. Steve as a young man, served in the Merchant Marines, and started out "as low as you can" working his way up to a licensed Marine Engineer, from 1946-1951. When he came home from the sea he worked night jobs, so he could go to college to earn multiple degrees, a BA from Pomona College in 1964 and an MA from Claremont Graduate School in 1965. He went on to become a beloved teacher and coach at Monte Vista High School for 35 years. At the young age of 40, Steve became paralyzed from the waist down. When they told him he would never walk again, he simply told them that they were wrong. Through th...

nous avons ce test, nous faisons les uns aux autres en ce moment, une épreuve de force si vous voulez. et je ne sais pas pourquoi nous le faisons ou qui est le gagnant sera. Je lui demande de prendre des photos d'elle-même porter des articles que j'ai acheté pour elle. parfois elle le fait tout de suite, sans plaintes et d'autres fois, elle semble non plus oublier, ou tout simplement refuse plaine, parce qu'elle «peut». et j'ai l'impression d'avoir le droit d'être insistante qu'elle fais ce que je demande, si je continue à demander jusqu'à ce qu'elle se conforme. mais ensuite elle se plaint que je suis "guilting son" et ce n'est pas drôle, mais j'ai toujours la louer pour sa beauté ... c'est un jeu étrange. Je lui dis que je vais renoncer à demander. si elle ne me donne pas une photo après une demande, je ne veux plus poser une deuxième fois et qu'elle suffit de savoir que si je ne demande pas à nouveau, ce n'est...

i’m glad she wrote what she’s thinking in such/much clearer terms on her journal, but this is so crazy that we talk to each other through so many layers of subterfuge; via emails, text msgs, innuendos, and so few direct real time conversations... it’s the modern age where we have the quickest means of communication available to us in the history of the world, but the meanings of our hearts and minds are only becoming more confused because it’s so multi-leveled and tiered. why are we playing these games? here i am hyperbolizing and hypothesizing for the sake of hearing my own voice, but i’m not saying anything. i just want to hear her voice. even if there are gaps of silence while we struggle to find the courage to say what it is we really are feeling. the emotion in our voices when we are weak and struggling to bear the truth is what is real about life. words on a screen are flat and bloodless.