Weblog 71
June 17, 2007~ 12:15am
Saturday morning I'd been reading in bed, it was still 'darkish' outside- and I had a sudden yen for the microwavable Aunt Jemima pancakes that were in the freezer. I got out of bed, and made my way into the mostly dark hallway and started down the steps (which were totally in shadow) and my bare foot made contact with something 'rubbery' as I put it down on the very top step and began to bear weight.
Yes, it was Beethoven, my 18 year old cat, sleeping in a place that I can only call 'lethal'. He made not a sound- horrible as it was to see him spinning like a top, bouncing off risers like a log- I was able to grab onto the railing just as my foot slid over him like a misplaced barrel. He bounced and rolled down the whole staircase sideways. I thought I surely must have crushed some bones or ruptured internal organs or something, but no- he was fine. This is about the third time this has happened, and one day it's going to be both our deaths, I just know it.
Cats are mostly bird bones and lots of hair, and are seemingly crushable, like this origami cat, if you were to step on it. So fragile, and yet so unkillable--- it's amazing to me, the tortures their bodies seem to be able to withstand and get by unscathed.
Not so I fear this 55 year old body-- out of shape, and with slow, s-l-o-w reflexes. Can't tell you how often one or the other of mine have run directly under my feet as I am walking, and it's a wonder I haven't broken my neck or back thus far. Mostly at this stage of the game-- and perhaps it's that murky 'middle, having come to a dark wood' that Dante talks about-- mostly, I've come to resent them. They are messy, demanding, pesty, untidy lumps to live with, who will careen unexpectly, and threaten life and limb.
I do know there is nothing quite as sickening in this world than to bear full weight with bare foot, on a cat. Yuck! So I've written two poems to work the experience out of my psyche and put it safely away.........until next time.
My End
One day, I feel certain
they will find me
at the bottom of the stairs, eyes staring
into the nothing
I'd just left, a dead cat
under me,
the reason for the fall, the death, the gradual
decrepitutde
of a life lived
as half
life now,
the all of it
covered in fur shed,
hair-balled neglect, the dead cat shortly
before, trying to purr, to peel out under me
as he did
when my foot
made contact, sent him rolling
down the steps, bones breaking
like waves
against a shore
where nobody
dipped their feet, where neighbors
clucked their tongues and pointed to the unswept
needles
crowding out the lawn, and every dawn
grew paler
with the years, we will lay there
till somebody
calls the cops. Comes in
with a mop and a bucket,
says, "Fuck it.
What a mess."
and this one:
Cat Piss Barometer
Things, some things
can be
forgotten about that don't speak volumes
in
and of themselves. Not so
with a home with
cats
in it. A person
neglient
about cleaning,
should not keep cats, is one thing
I have learned after almost twenty years of doing so, and oh, it shows.
June 17, 2007~ 2:55pm
We watched "Flags Of Our Fathers" last night. While it seemed amazingly accurate (from what I could find online in original pictures of the 'burnt, pork chop' island and its invasion)- I found the impact of the film suffered from the back and forth jumping between the Bond Drive that resulted from the Pulitzer Prize winning photo, and the horror of battle.
I am sure, like so many who watched it, the one question that remained at the end of the movie, was "What happened to Iggy?" Iggy (Ralph Ignatowski) was a buddy of the main character who disappeared from a foxhole and his body discovered later- a sight which haunted the main character all his life. Online, I was able to find the answer, since there's a lot of specific information out there, and yes, it's unimaginably- horrible. What puzzles me, however, is Clint Eastwood's response to that question in interviews:
Q. Iggy’s death is horrific. Were you tempted to show it on screen?
A. I just read a medical report on him and it just said that he was obviously tormented in some way. It was quite graphic in fact and nothing I’d want to show on film. But he did disappear and everything happened the way we’ve got it. But we couldn’t show that.
Now, had this been a typical, old 'John Wayne version of Iwo Jima', yes, I could understand this rationale, but this is a film that has graphic portrayals of violence- it's an "anti-war" film in the truest sense because of the butchery and human devastation that's shown-- and indeed, we are shown Japanese bodies practically unrecognizable after blowing themselves up with hand grenades rather that surrender.....what makes this different?
Something to think about.
I haven't come up with a satisfactory answer. I just wanted to throw that question out there. It seems that such a film, 'shows all'- or shows so quickly the viewer cannot form a good, lasting impression of what they've seen, or shows none of it, and merely implies through dialogue, etc. This film did not choose any of those options. Could it be possible, that since this one man has a definite name and individuality, with relatives still alive, there was a reluctance to make that known -- or is it something else?
Is it possible the Japanese are still 'other' to us, or perhaps to those of Eastwood's generation-- even though he made a sequel to this film showing the other side? Perhaps because the second film was so totally alien and even subtitled, it felt more distanced, so that we can, for a few hours, 'become' the enemy- but in a traditional film showing Americans fighting and dying, this is not possible?
As I said, something to think about. It still puzzles me. Probably always will.
June 17, 2007~ 9:00pm
No, I haven't forgotten it's Father's Day. My dad died in 1988, so it's been a while since I've celebrated. Even within my own nuclear family, I was already divorced by that time, so homage to the husband has not even played a role in many, many years. Yet each year, my thoughts fly back again to visit that hole that's never filled once the dads are gone.
June 18, 2007~ 9:45pm
I've been doing a lot of work in this blog tonight and browsing the net (hey! check out Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad Pictures 8! Added that)-- and I happened upon a mugshot of Frank Sinatra- (complete with number underneath that well-known, cocky face of his, which should be captioned: Wanted! Man who sang off key all of his career and made
off with billions!) LOL!!! I guess you can tell I'm not a terribly big Sinatra fan.
But what I've always found to be the most astonishing part of his phenomenal success, is the fact that- let's face it- he was one homely sucker. Why all those bobby-soxers went ga-ga is beyond me, and always has been. I mean, he's just not good-looking. Tonight, I realized it was mostly because of how OUT OF PROPORTION his facial planes and features are in reference to one another. Here. Let me show you what I did...
I took that mug shot and simply "rearranged" 'where' the damn features should be on his face in order to be more proportional and pleasing- and really- the guy on the right is the Sinatra that should have been causing a bit of a fuss among the heavily-girdled and petticoated crowd of the 40's-
I raised his eyes (they are too low on his face), I raised his lips (they have that 'simian' distance between nose and upper lip) and I raised those damn ears. That's it. See what a difference?--almost, well, almost handsome, by God.
Now, if he could only sing....LOL! (Actually, I do like some of his numbers: Luck Be A Lady Tonight, That Old Black Magic, and that sad one he sang near the end of his career about the seasons of his life......those were pretty damn fine.) The fella shoulda had a 'face' to go with it. Too bad.
June 19, 2007~ 5:00pm
A day of heat and damp, intermittent showers, lots of haze, but better by far than the skillet that was yesterday--felt like a Ball Park frank that was ready to split. The unheard of week here in Pittsburgh with sunshine every day for the last 10 or so- (except for the boomers and hail last Tuesday evening) is a rare thing. Already, the lawns are beginning to dry and yellow. I would imagine those little plots of grass and flowers were happy to see the precipitation on and off throughout the day, but what everyone dreads is rain that makes it hotter in the summer, and more humid. If we can believe the weatherman, today is supposed to bring cooler air overnight and a lovely tomorrow. We'll see......
Yesterday when I was downloading the fun stuff, I came to this wonderfully haunting picture. It just about defines fear for me. What do you think?
It looks like the loneliness is alive....see those shooters growing up out of the roof? (Reminds me of my gutters here- lol, yes- they have 'sprouted'). Maybe some people look at this and see abandonment, desolation, vulnerablity... that little spindly shack out there all by its lonesome.
My fear comes from imagining what might be IN THERE, maybe WITH ME, if I were to magically become trapped in a picture like in the old Rod Serling 'Night Gallery'.
To me, this place looks- not abandoned, but inhabited- by something truly frightening and probably loathsome. If you became stuck there, there'd be no way to get help, or anyone who'd know of your predicament. That's what this picture says to me: TRAPPED- and HERE, of all the GOD-AWFUL PLACES.
Maybe in looking at the picture with these thoughts in mind it could be a job, a marriage, an addiction- any dark place in a life where there are things you can't seem to escape, and there's no road. No way out.
But I do love its moodiness. Whoever the creator is of this wonderful image, I found your work online- and it took me places. And that's what really fine art does-- so thank you, even if the trip is not a place you'd want to send postcards home from, it was a definite journey. You made a world. And there it sits.....waiting.
June 20, 2007~ 7:30pm
Nope. All I did tonight was browse around. My favorite quote of the day? "I'm against picketing, but I don't know how to show it...." LOL! (That gives you an idea of how profound are the thoughts running through my head today.) I've been consumed with trivia and fun...and oh, look!....she's made a MAD PICTURES PAGE 9! Hope y'all are resting easy this evening. The weather is so splendid here in Pittsburgh, I have a "settin' on the porch, enjoyin' the ev'nin" sort of mood. And that's a good thing.
June 21, 2007~ 8:00pm
My son is on his way home, driving in from Arizona with his 3 boys and wife, Nicki. They've reached St. Louis today, and are settled in for the night- home tomorrow! Wheeeee!!! I'm so jittery, all I could do to amuse myself is make a MAD PICTURES page 10! (That takes my mind off everything....like the fact that I did no cleaning this time because they never came to the house last year anyway. LOL!!!)- and all I ended up accomplishing is knocking my knee out for a while....(any excuse for sloth.) If they do happen by, I'll just tell the grandsons that this is like a big old, 'haunted house'-- cobwebs and all, scary, insane KILLER cats......lol......and an eccentric hag who rules the roost and bars the door to all visitors unless they happen to be tow-headed, and look good enough to eat! Yah....that oughta do it. Also, poetry boards are mighty dumb these days. They're full of --"oh my, I got my heart ripped out and shoved up my ass" kind of blithering, self-pitying nonsense. No kidding....everywhere. It's an epidemic. Cripes sakes.
***
(Return To Weekly Archives)
Saturday morning I'd been reading in bed, it was still 'darkish' outside- and I had a sudden yen for the microwavable Aunt Jemima pancakes that were in the freezer. I got out of bed, and made my way into the mostly dark hallway and started down the steps (which were totally in shadow) and my bare foot made contact with something 'rubbery' as I put it down on the very top step and began to bear weight.
Yes, it was Beethoven, my 18 year old cat, sleeping in a place that I can only call 'lethal'. He made not a sound- horrible as it was to see him spinning like a top, bouncing off risers like a log- I was able to grab onto the railing just as my foot slid over him like a misplaced barrel. He bounced and rolled down the whole staircase sideways. I thought I surely must have crushed some bones or ruptured internal organs or something, but no- he was fine. This is about the third time this has happened, and one day it's going to be both our deaths, I just know it.
Cats are mostly bird bones and lots of hair, and are seemingly crushable, like this origami cat, if you were to step on it. So fragile, and yet so unkillable--- it's amazing to me, the tortures their bodies seem to be able to withstand and get by unscathed.
Not so I fear this 55 year old body-- out of shape, and with slow, s-l-o-w reflexes. Can't tell you how often one or the other of mine have run directly under my feet as I am walking, and it's a wonder I haven't broken my neck or back thus far. Mostly at this stage of the game-- and perhaps it's that murky 'middle, having come to a dark wood' that Dante talks about-- mostly, I've come to resent them. They are messy, demanding, pesty, untidy lumps to live with, who will careen unexpectly, and threaten life and limb.
I do know there is nothing quite as sickening in this world than to bear full weight with bare foot, on a cat. Yuck! So I've written two poems to work the experience out of my psyche and put it safely away.........until next time.
My End
One day, I feel certain
they will find me
at the bottom of the stairs, eyes staring
into the nothing
I'd just left, a dead cat
under me,
the reason for the fall, the death, the gradual
decrepitutde
of a life lived
as half
life now,
the all of it
covered in fur shed,
hair-balled neglect, the dead cat shortly
before, trying to purr, to peel out under me
as he did
when my foot
made contact, sent him rolling
down the steps, bones breaking
like waves
against a shore
where nobody
dipped their feet, where neighbors
clucked their tongues and pointed to the unswept
needles
crowding out the lawn, and every dawn
grew paler
with the years, we will lay there
till somebody
calls the cops. Comes in
with a mop and a bucket,
says, "Fuck it.
What a mess."
and this one:
Cat Piss Barometer
Things, some things
can be
forgotten about that don't speak volumes
in
and of themselves. Not so
with a home with
cats
in it. A person
neglient
about cleaning,
should not keep cats, is one thing
I have learned after almost twenty years of doing so, and oh, it shows.
June 17, 2007~ 2:55pm
We watched "Flags Of Our Fathers" last night. While it seemed amazingly accurate (from what I could find online in original pictures of the 'burnt, pork chop' island and its invasion)- I found the impact of the film suffered from the back and forth jumping between the Bond Drive that resulted from the Pulitzer Prize winning photo, and the horror of battle.
I am sure, like so many who watched it, the one question that remained at the end of the movie, was "What happened to Iggy?" Iggy (Ralph Ignatowski) was a buddy of the main character who disappeared from a foxhole and his body discovered later- a sight which haunted the main character all his life. Online, I was able to find the answer, since there's a lot of specific information out there, and yes, it's unimaginably- horrible. What puzzles me, however, is Clint Eastwood's response to that question in interviews:
Q. Iggy’s death is horrific. Were you tempted to show it on screen?
A. I just read a medical report on him and it just said that he was obviously tormented in some way. It was quite graphic in fact and nothing I’d want to show on film. But he did disappear and everything happened the way we’ve got it. But we couldn’t show that.
Now, had this been a typical, old 'John Wayne version of Iwo Jima', yes, I could understand this rationale, but this is a film that has graphic portrayals of violence- it's an "anti-war" film in the truest sense because of the butchery and human devastation that's shown-- and indeed, we are shown Japanese bodies practically unrecognizable after blowing themselves up with hand grenades rather that surrender.....what makes this different?
Something to think about.
I haven't come up with a satisfactory answer. I just wanted to throw that question out there. It seems that such a film, 'shows all'- or shows so quickly the viewer cannot form a good, lasting impression of what they've seen, or shows none of it, and merely implies through dialogue, etc. This film did not choose any of those options. Could it be possible, that since this one man has a definite name and individuality, with relatives still alive, there was a reluctance to make that known -- or is it something else?
Is it possible the Japanese are still 'other' to us, or perhaps to those of Eastwood's generation-- even though he made a sequel to this film showing the other side? Perhaps because the second film was so totally alien and even subtitled, it felt more distanced, so that we can, for a few hours, 'become' the enemy- but in a traditional film showing Americans fighting and dying, this is not possible?
As I said, something to think about. It still puzzles me. Probably always will.
June 17, 2007~ 9:00pm
No, I haven't forgotten it's Father's Day. My dad died in 1988, so it's been a while since I've celebrated. Even within my own nuclear family, I was already divorced by that time, so homage to the husband has not even played a role in many, many years. Yet each year, my thoughts fly back again to visit that hole that's never filled once the dads are gone.
June 18, 2007~ 9:45pm
I've been doing a lot of work in this blog tonight and browsing the net (hey! check out Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad Pictures 8! Added that)-- and I happened upon a mugshot of Frank Sinatra- (complete with number underneath that well-known, cocky face of his, which should be captioned: Wanted! Man who sang off key all of his career and made
off with billions!) LOL!!! I guess you can tell I'm not a terribly big Sinatra fan.
But what I've always found to be the most astonishing part of his phenomenal success, is the fact that- let's face it- he was one homely sucker. Why all those bobby-soxers went ga-ga is beyond me, and always has been. I mean, he's just not good-looking. Tonight, I realized it was mostly because of how OUT OF PROPORTION his facial planes and features are in reference to one another. Here. Let me show you what I did...
I took that mug shot and simply "rearranged" 'where' the damn features should be on his face in order to be more proportional and pleasing- and really- the guy on the right is the Sinatra that should have been causing a bit of a fuss among the heavily-girdled and petticoated crowd of the 40's-
I raised his eyes (they are too low on his face), I raised his lips (they have that 'simian' distance between nose and upper lip) and I raised those damn ears. That's it. See what a difference?--almost, well, almost handsome, by God.
Now, if he could only sing....LOL! (Actually, I do like some of his numbers: Luck Be A Lady Tonight, That Old Black Magic, and that sad one he sang near the end of his career about the seasons of his life......those were pretty damn fine.) The fella shoulda had a 'face' to go with it. Too bad.
June 19, 2007~ 5:00pm
A day of heat and damp, intermittent showers, lots of haze, but better by far than the skillet that was yesterday--felt like a Ball Park frank that was ready to split. The unheard of week here in Pittsburgh with sunshine every day for the last 10 or so- (except for the boomers and hail last Tuesday evening) is a rare thing. Already, the lawns are beginning to dry and yellow. I would imagine those little plots of grass and flowers were happy to see the precipitation on and off throughout the day, but what everyone dreads is rain that makes it hotter in the summer, and more humid. If we can believe the weatherman, today is supposed to bring cooler air overnight and a lovely tomorrow. We'll see......
Yesterday when I was downloading the fun stuff, I came to this wonderfully haunting picture. It just about defines fear for me. What do you think?
It looks like the loneliness is alive....see those shooters growing up out of the roof? (Reminds me of my gutters here- lol, yes- they have 'sprouted'). Maybe some people look at this and see abandonment, desolation, vulnerablity... that little spindly shack out there all by its lonesome.
My fear comes from imagining what might be IN THERE, maybe WITH ME, if I were to magically become trapped in a picture like in the old Rod Serling 'Night Gallery'.
To me, this place looks- not abandoned, but inhabited- by something truly frightening and probably loathsome. If you became stuck there, there'd be no way to get help, or anyone who'd know of your predicament. That's what this picture says to me: TRAPPED- and HERE, of all the GOD-AWFUL PLACES.
Maybe in looking at the picture with these thoughts in mind it could be a job, a marriage, an addiction- any dark place in a life where there are things you can't seem to escape, and there's no road. No way out.
But I do love its moodiness. Whoever the creator is of this wonderful image, I found your work online- and it took me places. And that's what really fine art does-- so thank you, even if the trip is not a place you'd want to send postcards home from, it was a definite journey. You made a world. And there it sits.....waiting.
June 20, 2007~ 7:30pm
Nope. All I did tonight was browse around. My favorite quote of the day? "I'm against picketing, but I don't know how to show it...." LOL! (That gives you an idea of how profound are the thoughts running through my head today.) I've been consumed with trivia and fun...and oh, look!....she's made a MAD PICTURES PAGE 9! Hope y'all are resting easy this evening. The weather is so splendid here in Pittsburgh, I have a "settin' on the porch, enjoyin' the ev'nin" sort of mood. And that's a good thing.
June 21, 2007~ 8:00pm
My son is on his way home, driving in from Arizona with his 3 boys and wife, Nicki. They've reached St. Louis today, and are settled in for the night- home tomorrow! Wheeeee!!! I'm so jittery, all I could do to amuse myself is make a MAD PICTURES page 10! (That takes my mind off everything....like the fact that I did no cleaning this time because they never came to the house last year anyway. LOL!!!)- and all I ended up accomplishing is knocking my knee out for a while....(any excuse for sloth.) If they do happen by, I'll just tell the grandsons that this is like a big old, 'haunted house'-- cobwebs and all, scary, insane KILLER cats......lol......and an eccentric hag who rules the roost and bars the door to all visitors unless they happen to be tow-headed, and look good enough to eat! Yah....that oughta do it. Also, poetry boards are mighty dumb these days. They're full of --"oh my, I got my heart ripped out and shoved up my ass" kind of blithering, self-pitying nonsense. No kidding....everywhere. It's an epidemic. Cripes sakes.
(Return To Weekly Archives)
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