Endorsement

In view of the disasters the past four years have brought to the world, metamorphosism.com whole-heartedly endorses this morning’s sunrise. What started out dark as night and deerless turned, in the space of just a few minutes, into a glory of pinks, blues, greys and greens so intense that if you painted them, you could only sell the painting in a furniture store, and no one tried to crash into me on the road today (in stark contrast to the fools let loose on the weekend).

And Beta was nice to me.

Light, again

One deer in a dark field this morning. Traffic was light.
Cold, cold and rainy. It felt almost like summer. The darkness shimmered, drawing me out, away from the back wall, towards the windows again.
When we were kids, we used to hold our hands in the icewater bucket when we were cranking ice cream in the summer, just to see who could stand it the longest. Yesterday, last night, I listened to Gamma’s Shakira CD all the way home.
The plot to a movie blossomed in my mind, starring Shakira. One-sentence summary: “Different enough from “Being John Malkovic” so they couldn’t really sue you.” And two short stories in progress developed a bit as well. Simmered. Bubbled in the crock pot of my head, with its matte no-stick surface.
This morning I listened to Shakira for a bit, then replaced her with the Clash. I thought about true love. I wonder whether the love of a parent for a child is the truest of all, because you don’t want anything from your kid, you only want good things for them. A partner, you want more sex from them or less sex, you want money or you want them to help out more with the housework or you want them to leave you alone or to say they love you. You want them to tell you more about their feelings or you want them to shut the hell up for once. Kids, all you want is their welfare maximised. You want them to study, but only because it will make them successful, and success you assume has a positive correlation with happiness.
And so on.
People who did not experience perfect love from their parents, or people who did: who is luckiest when they become parents, those who finally get a chance to create the perfect love they missed, or those who have half a chance of really managing it because they know what it is?
Only, does anyone get perfect love when they’re kids? Is any parent capable of giving the absolute love a kid needs? Are we all doomed to fall short?
Quarter-past eight in the morning and it’s still grainy grey out, drizzling and beautiful already.

You forgot Poland

I’m growing tired of the current title up at the top of this page, “You Forgot Poland,” and would like to change it, say (after listening to the radio on the way home yesterday) to “Lucky that my breasts are small and humble,” or (after listening to DePhazz on a sampler this morning titled “Bar Lounge Classics”) “Looks like time for that certain holiday.” Eventually it will change, sometime soon, but for now it stays since traffic has climbed by about 50% due to random innocent googleetceteraers coming by (repeat traffic has remained unchanged).

The only time I’ve seen a larger increase in traffic due to specific searches was shortly after 9/11 when the phrase “Bin Laden Jokes” ended up in a post somehow, and produced quite a spike.

Obviously, I have nothing to say today. The hedgehogs appear to be hibernating. It turns out that Central European hedgehogs are the world’s sleepiest mammals, moving my wife and me into 2nd and 3rd places. Also the turtle tortoise has hidden herself beneath some leaves in her box. My mother-in-law wanted my father-in-law to bathe the tortoise yesterday; luckily my wife caught them before they had disturbed the animal.

And so it goes. Wish I had a TV to watch the “final” “presidential” “debates” tonight. From what I’ve heard, the bar has been set so low for Bush that he somehow can’t lose. Scowling? Smirking? Confused? Defensive? Senile? Running amok? Cheating? Stupid or just brain-damaged? At least he didn’t reach into his pants and play with his poop.

It’s a sad world we live in.

Funny at times, but sad.

Bush senile?

Maybe it’s not just stupidity after all.

http://home.comcast.net/~blogitics/BushTenYrs4MB.mov

[via DailyKos]

[The video appears to have been moved to here: http://www.informationclearinghouse.info/video1019.htm. Thanks to Bigtime Patriot for pointing that out.]

Annihilating the ego

I made up a Buddhist joke while walking around on my lunch break, but it turned out not to be so funny.

I’m making progress in the ego-annihilation process, however. Basically, my ego did not exist yesterday. If by ego you mean that part of our brain that remembers to do things and otherwise organizes us. Yesterday I thought about an appointment I had in the evening so much, so continuously, all day long, that I ended up forgetting when it was and thinking it was an hour later and ultimately missing it. At home last night, I forgot to do every single last thing my wife asked me to do. How can a normal person forget so many things? No idea. I lay there in bed thinking, Ahhh, when she reminded me again. At first I thought, hell, I’ll just do it in the morning but it was too much stuff.

So I got dressed and did them.

Have I mentioned this already? I’ve been thinking about it ever since I read it quoted on someone’s blog. A Buddhist idea about not judging people, and how “judge” means not only condemning others or looking down on them, but also admiring or looking up to people.

It’s a fascinating idea. Ever since reading it, I’ve been all like, Bono, sheeyit, dude, and Mother Teresa? Nice wimple, baby.

Guest post, Mig’s turtle #3

tortoise
When fall comes and you want to hide, you must do this:
Choose the right place.
Go where it is quiet.
Go where there are sticker bushes.
Go where things are the color of your shell.
From above, my shell is the color of bark chips and dead rose leaves.
I can dig down a foot if the earth is soft.
Unfortunately, under the big rose bush it is hard and rocky after six inches.
Still, cover myself up with bark chips and leaves, and They can look for me all night.
Calling.
Shining their waning little AAA pocket flashlights and calling my name.
Go to hell, it’s autumn.
Even just six inches down, it’s temperate and quiet and peaceful.
What if one of them steps on me?
Mother-f*cker
That would suck.
But they’re not going to step directly under no rosebush.
If they do though…
But they’re not.
Their voices fade faster than their flashlight batteries.
They give up and walk off, their office clothes yellow with sunflower pollen.
It is dark and quiet.
It is night, and I am buried and hidden.
Mother-f*cker, put me down.
Sneaky bastard.
Go ahead, put me in the habitat.
I’ve found a possible crack, I’ll climb out tomorrow when you’re at work.
If I don’t fall over onto my back or get wedged in vertically like yesterday.
And furthermore: tortoise, fool. Not turtle.