Let us pause in life's pleasures and count its many tears
As we all sup sorrow with the poor.
There's a song that will linger forever in our ears:
Hard times, come again no more.

It's a song sigh of the weary.
Hard times, hard times, come again no more.
Many days you have lingered around my cabin door.
Hard times, come again no more.

As we seek mirth, and beauty, and music light and gay
There are frail forms fainting at the door.
Though their voices are silent, their pleading looks will say:
Hard times, come again no more.

It's a song and a sigh of the weary.
Hard times, hard times, come again no more.
Many days you have lingered around my cabin door.
Hard times, come again no more.

It's a song that the wind blows across the troubled wave.
It's a cry that is heard along the shore.
It's the words that are murmured, beside the lowly grave
Oh hard times will come again no more.

It's a song and a sigh of the weary.
Hard times, hard times, come again no more.
Many days you have lingered around my cabin door.
Hard times, come again no more.

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

My Thanksgiving Visitor

I kid you not!!! Right here on my street, two hens, bold as brass. Talk about timing!

The Remote

I often think about you
when I'm lying alone in
my room with my mouth
open and the remote
lost somewhere in the bed

L.C.

At the heart of every story is a sound -- something so deep that it resonates like a pressure in your chest,... not merely to underscore the chases, clinches, climaxes, and transitions, but the sound that gives voice to an inner life -- it's soul, if such a thing can be said. Voices, that endow its images with a grace and tragedy no dialogue could ever express -- a dark and bloody heart, a love both overwhelming and destructive, the struggle for birthright. The melodies of an "old" place from which these people come from; and the sounds of the "new" place which come to represent families and ties that bind. [This sound] distills all these lofty conversations that are at once brooding and lush, redolent of both love and loss, and touches that secret place of awe.

Ed Zwick on the work of James Horner

jeanie, 10pm on her cell, gazing into my window "I'm outside,... how about a glass of wine?"

me, "I guess I could get my pants back on and open a bottle"

jeanie "the pants part is unnecessary"

a little ditty about papa wop

Soooo, my dear father, who is losing his hearing (which feels a bit like watching Beethoven go deaf), was summoned for jury duty. There was no way to get beyond the automated system to confirm attendance to, indeed, ask for exclusion based on a physical handicap, so off he went to the courthouse. Mother drove, she would want you to know that. He gets there and explains to the less than brilliantly lit bulb that was the reception clerk that he is hearing impaired. She hands him HALF of devise meant for such occassions. He accepts, still completely unsure of how half a devise will help him hear whether or not Bubba killed his wife with premediation or not.

NOW, as is my father's usual way of business, he becomes fast friends with the person, in this case potential juror, waiting next to him. My father is very engaging and likes to talk and so they get to know each other pretty well. He responds as well as he can and really does want to hear what you are saying. It is very sweet. They are finally, four hours later (mother would want you to know this as well, as she was waiting) filed before the judge for instruction. A some point, the judge says, "and who is it who has hearing difficulties". No one comes forward. He continues a bit confused, and a minute later, reiterates his inquires. THREE inquiries later, a light bulb goes off in the brain of the lovely person next to my Dad, who gives him a little nudge and says, "HEY, I think they might mean you". My father stands and says "yes?" (which is a typical response from my Dad, even when not addressed, he's just covering his bases). The judge asks him "sir, are you the potential juror the clerk tells me has difficulties hearing?"

to which my father responds:


"What?"

Good Luck my friend

Creation is a great wheel. It does not move without crushing something.

Victor Hugo

tell me if you see this

My mother has just said to me that they have acquired the complete works of Sir Laurence Olivier on DVD, and that they bought it so they could put it on, get me in my bikini and throw me in the pool.


Am I tired, or is the connenction vague to you as well?

notes from the guitar man

though i wear a guise of pure mayhem for the family dynamic, no one is whole and true: like Lacan surmised, we are born incomplete, many sided, in parts, and we integrate and present the part(s) that weather us through.

Ah this is a bore, huh?

so on to Gigi. I've named a guitar after you. Actually a bass. the white bass Lisa practiced on while here is refered to as George, and i've ordered on to be made for me similar; heavier wood, thinner neck for fast playing, looking almost identical to the untrained eye as the first. She'll be Gina. George is short for Georgeous, so Gina is a compliment to the beauty and pragmatism of the bass. i have no doubt I'll love her dearly.

“Acting is standing up naked and turning around very slowly.”

Rosaind Russell (my mother's favorite actress)

hanging on

Baby Gigi's eyes

How long do you wanna be loved,

is forever enough...

G and the Princess

tickling catastrophe in California

three glasses of Port and a side of honesty, thank you...

always found my way somehow,
taking the long way around...


dxcx

just quietly losing myself

She walks through the door
Like a tap-dance with death

What kind of fool is she?

No need to guess...

just call me...cat

Well I ain't got nothing.
But it don't worry me

I came to this life like a free-walking tree
No need to be tied, no need to be--

They call me Jzero

Well I ain't got nothing
And to nothing I belong
You won't find me right,
Yet you won't find me wrong

If you think about me,
Don't think too long--
Jus' call me Jzero.

Well I don't house no past
Never carried a key
My sun doesn't rise from under the sea

There is only one morning
Eternally...dee d'lee d'lee

William Butler Yeats

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams

Hafiz to the rescue

"The Sun Never Says"

Even After

All this time

The sun never says to the earth,

"You owe
Me."

Look What happens

With a love like that,

It lights the

Whole

Sky.

today...

working

what I read on my trip

from "LAMB" by Christopher Moore (thank you Ledica)

If you could cast yourself, which one of Bathasar's concubines would you like to be:

Tiny Feet of the Divine Dance of Joyous Orgasm
Beautiful Gate of Heavenly Moisture Number Six
Temptress of the Golden Light of the Harvest Moon
Delicate Personage of Two Fu Dogs Wrestling Under a Blanket
Feminine Keeper of the Three Tunnels of Excessive Friendliness
Silken Pillows of Heavenly Softness of Clouds
Pea Pods in Duck Sauce with Crispy Noodles,
or,
Sue

???

before I left for LA

today it was warmer

a snowman funeral

wind off the peak -- damn those powerlines