Light

What I think of as Light
is nothing but a reflection.

The beacon's halo is so admirable 

from a distance,
so seemingly pure.
The light on someone's face,
making them shine in your sky,
is but energy from another source
bouncing back at you.

Light.

We hold it up,
are drawn to it,
follow it,
seek its source.

But we can't ever see the Light itself;
the surroundings it illuminates
are the proverbial trees obstructing the forest.

Stars shining on the stillness of the Bay at night
show only themselves against a smooth surface,
obscuring the life brimming beneath it.

I can't see the Light.
I can only see the things basking in it.

It's Here

The winter of my discontent. Or the discontent of my winter.

F. Scott Fitzgerald said, "In a real dark night of the soul it is always three o'clock in the morning, day after day." If a year were a day, the winter would be 3am for me, day after day.

It's cold, cold to the marrow of my bones. And I live in Florida! That's how big a wuss I am when it gets under 50 degrees. I tell myself to "suck it up and be a man", but the cold does something to me, deeper than the shivers. My feet and hands get so cold, and it's hard to think when my brain has icicles hanging from its wrinkles. My senior year of college, when I lived in an old house without central air or heat, I remember being certain I'd never really feel warm again.

But I did. Hemingway has a great quote about springtime in Paris, that winter lasts so long that you almost become afraid that spring won't make it. You begin to think that it won't happen, but one night you wake up and see the blossoms on the trees brought on by a warm wind in the night. Suddenly, when things are green again, I realize that I've thawed out completely before I knew I'd even begun to defrost.

So I have that hope to look forward to. Until then, it's cold. There are certain wintertime comforts, like family holidays, fireplaces and football that cheer me, but UGH, it's COLD. It gets colder after the World Series, and the absence of baseball exacerbates this feeling.

But it's still winter, and it's just beginning. My pre-New Year's resolution will be to seek every wintertime silver lining I can, to not just view it as the frozen hell I have to pass through before I get to the heaven of spring, but its own special time. Somehow, I may even come to embrace the low temperature and ignore the physiological effects it has on my body.

In the immortal words of Brett Favre, "It's mind over matter; if you don't mind, it don't matter."

My "Rights"

Revolution is in the air. Yay.

Someone, who isn't ashamed to say he is "very liberal" (thank you facebook for allowing us to properly label ourselves), made this statement to people who make a salary over a certain amount - "hush up... you owe us!" Um, yeah. Let me just show the whole thing so you can get an idea of the ridiculousness of this, not to make him look bad, but it saddens me that the majority of Americans agree with him.

(P.S. What pisses me off about these "open-minded" liberals is that you can't disagree with them at all or they'll label you a homophobic capitalist Jesus freak, or some other such nonsense")

I am not entitled to ANYTHING. I'm not entitled to freedom of speech or the right to bear arms - I'm not even entitled to sound mind and body! People who are born with no arms, did they have the right to a full set of limbs? Why is it, that just because I'm AMERICAN, I should feel like I have allllll these "rights"? Hey man, I've been to a 3rd world country where they don't have the right to police or infrastructure (how bout walking 3 miles on broken mountain roads to get to church?) .

NO ONE OWES ME ANYTHING. We don't have rights, we have blessings. We have grace. That's all. None of us deserves crap, but the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. He makes it rain on the just and the unjust. Time and chance happen to us all.

Don't confuse me with being ungrateful, I'm not taking any of this for granted at all. I'd like to thank the people who play Lotto for my education. I'd like to thank the people who buy gasoline for the roads I drive on. Oh yeah, my mom bought my car with the money her mother left her when she died. The police? Hey man, I run from them just like evvvverybody else.

Just read this crap, it blew my mind. Whatever, I have to go to orientation for community service. I told the judge I'd rather pay rent than my traffic ticket so she's mandating my benevolence toward our fair city, God bless her.



Eric is quite sure that you will receive the lion's share of whatever wealth Barack proposes to share so calm down. If you are above the $ line hush up, you owe us! 10:35pm - 5 Comments
Haylee Slaughter at 8:43am October 29
I couldn't disagree with you more, and I'm young and poor. Rich people don't owe me anything.
Eric at 11:12am October 29
well then thank the poor tax paying people who paid for your education, pay for your roads, your police, your firefighters, your hospitals. I guess you think that they owe you everything because they have given it to you.
Haylee Slaughter at 3:26pm October 29
I never said I was ungrateful for any of that, nor did I imply that "poor tax-paying people" didn't have anything to do with the creature comforts that all Americans enjoy. I just meant to say that I refuse to feel entitled for any of it.
Eric at 3:43pm October 29
you are not entitled to infrastructure? to security? to education? you want to get everything for yourself that the government provides now? You are entitled to these things because we are part of a society, something folks on the right have never figured out. The idea that any of these people made it without help is ridiculous. while you think you are not entitled to any of it Wall Street has no trouble taking money off my table for their excesses and criminal mismanagement. Maybe that is the way to keep people down, don't let them think they deserve anything and keep it for the top.
Haylee Slaughter at 9:50am November 1
Eh, I'd rather pull a Henry David Thoreau. When this country finally destroys itself it'll be a survival-of-the-fittest scenario, and I'll be ready for "stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center" and I'll "wear leather clothes that will last you the rest of your life" and "climb the wrist-thick kudzu vines that wrap the Sears Tower." and look down and "see tiny figures pounding corn, laying strips of venison on the empty car pool lane of some abandoned superhighway." But as for now, I'm happy to have been born in a country where we take "givens" like infrastructure and education for granted rather than one of the 3rd world ones we feel so obligated to take care of. I'm obviously not into politics and don't claim to know what I'm talking about, but not being required to have a strong opinion either way is one of the things I value most about being an American.

I Have No Idea

I had somewhat of a Tyler Durden experience this summer: Suddenly I woke up and realized how much destruction I'd caused while I thought I was dreaming and rushed around at the end to make things right and still ended up watching the buildings crumble.

The technical term for it is "maniac."

I acted on impulse, motivated by strong emotions I no longer feel and it severely impacted a near stranger in a very negative way. And now I have an enemy.

Yay.

The bigger shame isn't me having an enemy, but how it affected this kid. He has evvvvvery right to say the hateful things he keeps saying about me, and I don't blame him for not being over it yet. I compleeeetely understand if he decides to hate me forever because the things I said and did to him are pretty much unforgivable to anybody but Jesus. He said some awwwwful things to me as well, but it's immaterial.

I thought I was in love and wrote a lot of inspired, heart-felt stuff about it (anything you see on this blog written in Hindu was about him), but that just goes to show how deceitful the heart is, because I honestly feel nothing but sympathy for him now. That may sound even worse, but it's so odd to see someone (all the freaking time) I barely spent much time with and know that my mere existence hurts him and pisses him off. He's like a ghost that I can't really look at or touch or speak to but the tension and anger is almost tangible. It's confusing too because my heart's memory of it is gone and I have to remind myself why I get such dirty looks from him. I am disturbed when I compare how convinced I was about how I felt for him and now, when it feels like it just switched off. It makes me think I shouldn't ever trust my own feelings again.

It was CRAZY. IIIIII was crazy (a "maniac"). There's a lot of things I could say that I "know" from what he told me about himself and from my own personal experience of getting screwed over similar to his (but not nearly as extreme), and maybe I'd be right about those things, but just analyzing the data yields this: someone I barely know hates my guts, and I gave him every right to do that.

I wish I could take it all back - not because I cared so much about him once, but because he's a human being. I tried to apologize and he wouldn't accept and I tried to call a truce for rugby's sake (the reason we still see each other all the time) and he wouldn't acknowledge that either, so technically my hands are clean. I forgive me and God forgives me, and this kid's resentment toward me is ultimately his choice. I can honestly say I'd rather we never met at all that have it be like it is now, but I have to remember that it is the way it is now for a reason. I thought I understood why back when I thought I loved him but it's all a foggy blur now. However I'm confident I'll come to understand what the situation means for my life and that he'll come to understand it for himself and have some peace about it as well. In 8 or 9 years...

Is It Enough?

Me: "Hold on, I want to give you this CD to remember me by."
Mordus: "Won't the memories be enough?"

Hmmm. This boy raised a good point. We had a memorable time together and I've looked back on it fondly a lot lately since most of my recent memories with boys are not so good. I think of him when I watch Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom ("boy Haylee, you sure know how to pick out a good couples movie") or whenever someone mentions the Cape Fear 7's tournament (where we met).

But I don't have anything I can hold in my hands and close my eyes and sigh and let the mental images of us together take over my brain for a few seconds. And that's probably a good thing. He was hard enough to let go when I left, because his armor never tarnished for me since our time together was so brief. Plus he was just sweet. It didn't seem real at the time, even though I was more present in the moment with him than I ever had been with anyone else, no doubt because we knew the moment wouldn't last long at all. Having tangible evidence of the experience would confirm its realness for me I think, but why justify it when the memories should be enough?

Perhaps the bigger question is why I wanted him to remember me. I know that my main "love language" is gifts (the others being acts of service, words of affirmation, physical touch and quality time), so it was a token of affection. But I think deeper than that, and darker, I wanted to ingratiate myself in this boy's mind, and he isn't the only one. Artists and writers produce works to leave behind, maybe to validate themselves as worthy of being remembered. All artists are insecure about their art at times and I am no different. The songs I've written about boys are more about me than them if that makes any sense. Even when I thought I loved someone and had their best interests in mind, my motives were still somewhat selfish. Maybe I'm being too self-critical, I have a tendency to do that, but STILL. Ultimately I feel I wanted him to remember me because I knew I wouldn't forget him.

Anyhow, I do have some mementos that comfort me in this way: the afghan my great-grandmother Irene crocheted for me. My dad's old baseball glove I used in Little League that I still have. The Florida Cup trophy we won in 2002 reminds me of the glory days in college. All my old journals help me remember who I was and how far I've come and give me a glimpse into the workings of my twisted mind on a certain date. My rugby ball reminds me of my wonderful teammates in Raleigh.

Memories are good, but I don't want to live them again. I want to make new ones. But I'll wrap myself in my afghan and feel safe and loved just like when Grandmother was here, and be thankful that I have pleasant things to look back on. And if I ever finish one of the four or five songs I started to write about Mordus, I'll have that too.

WORLD SERIES!!

Okay, so I'm stoked because I just got back from watching the Phillies beat the bandwagon-Rays with my old college coaches (who're both from Philadelphia).

But I'm sad too: the World Series is the most intense sporting event imaginable (HEY - for you morons who say that baseball is "boring", you've failed to consider the fact that they're playing chess at 90 mph), but it marks the true end of summer. Baseball is so pure and beautiful in the hearts of Americans (who don't suck) because it reminds them of childhood and freshly-cut grass and playing catch in the yard with your dad and hot dogs and peanuts and lemonade and skinned knees. SIGH!

I just love baseball so much. When it goes, my heart grows cold like the rest of the winter world. Part of me hibernates until spring training. My Seasonal Affective Disorder has less to do with a lack of sunlight than it does a lack of baseball.

So I will relish this series! I am rooting for the Phillies because of my devotion to Kerri O'Malley and Gage Miller AND because I am a National League girl. HEY, I said I love purity, and the designated hitter is about as pure as a frat boy. The winter has its football and basketball, but baseball owns my heart, so excuse me if I'm blue until late February when pitchers and catchers report in the Grapefruit and Cactus Leagues.

But I HAVE THE WORLD SERIES RIGHT NOW!!!! And this moment is my life, so I will thank God for every pitch of my favorite game until the final out and wait as patiently as a child on a roadtrip for next year.

Dance With Me

I went to :08 several Thursdays ago and it reminded me of college when I used to dance there with my guy friends from the rugby team, like Pikachu, John Marvel, Diesel, and so forth. I loved it! They all made sure to dip me at least once because that's my faaaaavorite thing and I insisted on it. My favorite partner was Christian, an Australian #8 who said things to me like, "You're such a champion! You just get better with age!" He twirled me around like it was second nature to him - so much fun! He was a great dancer because he didn't take himself seriously at all and he clearly enjoyed himself.

Here's the best thing about dancing: it's 100% acceptable and expected to 100% submit to where the man decides to lead you, and that's the only way to do it properly. I loved in The Bell Jar where she gets kind of drunk and this "woman-hater" wants to dance with her and she says she doesn't know how, so he just throws her arms around him and says "pretend that you are drowning". It's not exactly like that, but to really dance with a man, a woman has to do the same thing Ted Williams said you had to do to hit .400 - "you gotta stay loose". Now "loose" has its unseemly connotation and all, but you just gotta relaaaax.

That said, let me emphasize that I am talking about ballroom-style dancing to old standards sung by Nat or Frank, not using music as an excuse to dry-hump in public. Just wanted to make that clear.

Here's the hardest thing about dancing to a slow song with someone you really dig: getting through the whole song without kissing! It's neat when the song is over and you stop moving and you're looking up at him and he's looking down at you and you both know you want to swap spit but inevitably the next song is obnoxious and ruins the mood. But you both still know. And OHHHH, having your cheek against his cheek and feeling your hand in his hand. So rare. That completely does it for me.

I've been listening to "Slow Dancing In a Burning Room" off of John Mayer's Continuum album, and OH it's so sexy! I hope my next romantic experience involves dancing to that song, or at least having it played in the background. Haha, I would say that, considering the fact that the song is about the last stage of a relationship before a break-up.

Comfort Food

Aaaahhhhhh. We all have our choice.

For some, it is mac and cheese. When it's made just right, with the noodles all plump and covered with a layer of almost burnt cheese on top at a church potluck, I could go for that.
For others, it's chicken pot pie. Now I gotta tell ya, I had some homemade CPP at my old coach's house and his wife Miss Stevie, an authentic British lass served it up, OH MY GOSH, I had some for lunch the next day.
For others still, it's cake. Gross.

But my FAVORITE comfort food EVER will always be ramen noodles. Yeah yeah, say what you will, $.17 a pack, but WHATEVER! It's good and consistent and warm and quick. I like to dress it up: a little chopped celery and onion, lots of black pepper (to counteract the ridiculous amount of sodium in the flavor packet), maybe some fresh cilantro if I have it (haven't for a while since the little plant I got at Ward's died. oh well).

OH how I love ramen noodles! I like to pronounce it "ray-men". There's all sorts of flavors out now but I like the classic chicken variety. I'm eating some right now, in fact! Got home from a hard night at work (playing music at my weekly gig at Calico jack's, ohhh such a strain!) and watching the Red Sox WIN WIN WIN Game 5 by scoring 8 runs in the last three innings (!!!!!). It seemed the perfect way to cap a perfectly exciting baseball game.

And watch STAR WARS!!!!! For whatever reason I was in the mood for Episode IV, maybe because I'm new to refereeing and feel like young Skywalker:
"But I was going to Toshi Station to get some power converters!" -Luke
Eh, I'm not as much a whiner, but he's my role model just the same.
Has anyone else noticed that cremation is the burial method of choice in the Star Wars trilogy?
Jedi Mind Tricks are so cool. Obi-wan's all cutting that smash-nose guy's arm off and looks around like "who else wants some of my light saber skills?"

ANYWAY, why do people eat comfort food? Why is it comforting to eat something that makes you feel like crap an hour later? We tend to go after this stuff in the winter months, and I understand the "waaa I'm cold" factor, but HMMMM, allow me to stretch to make a connection.

We all have a void to fill, right? In my humble opinion, I think God made a God-shaped hole in all of us and we attempt to fill it with all sorts of shiny things: pancakes, Sam Adams, credit cards, or in my case, boys. We never get satisfied because we're trying to fill it with junk instead of what it was meant to be filled with. See, I'm a line-walker. I like talking to cute boys, admiring my own reflection in their eyes and all, talk a good game, and then when it comes down to it, I always go home alone because I KNOW it isn't worth it. Ohhh but I teeeeeter on that line, and sometimes I actually consider doing something stupid (a kiss is stupid enough to stir things up), but remember how not worth it it would be. But man, when a kid gives me his attention and laughs at my ridiculous negative-game charm, I get my ego stroked. I'm not gonna lie, it's that simple.

Does this mean I'm seeking the male version of ramen noodles? "Good and consistent and warm and quick" that I can "dress up"? Uuuhhhhh... Well, I dunno if I want something I could get a dozen a dollar for. Then again that pretty much describes the boys I generally hit on. But I obviously don't want to eat ramen noodles everyday for the rest of my life!

I dunno, who cares? I'm tempted to draw a metaphor back to relationship crap because I'm a living organism like everything else crawling on this planet and I have a biological imperative like everyone else and my programming leads me to connect that with monogamy. Whatever. As weird as I am, I'm still a human being.

I want a light saber.