Grey Shangri La

2011-03-30T11:51:00.007-05:00

A Poem For A Day in March

It's not new, but it's something that hasn't been read before at least.

How to Sit Quietly With Love

Well, it overtakes you, like laughter, gurgling.
Like swallowing water wrongly down your trachea,
a feeling you're going to drown-
you must cough,
and everyone knows you're choking.
You spit, spew and hack;
someone kindly slaps you,
hard, on the back.
It makes signs
pointing to your head and chest.
Some of them flash.
If, accidentally, you let a small sound escape,
only those paying attention-
which is to say, few-
will notice.
Now and then, you may touch it-
as you might a bruise -
just to see -
When you're alone, inking words or wind-walking,
let it rustle and slush, spin you round -
a pinwheel whirling through this world.
Otherwise, carry a bottlecap in your pocket
or a hairband on your arm,
and when you surge to let it seep,
just thumb the jagged edge flesh-deep
or snap
elastic band to tender wrist.
~Ali O'Rourke

"If you read the letters of the painter Van Gogh you will see what his creative impulse was. It was just this: he loved something - the sky, say. He loved human beings. He wanted to show human beings how beautiful the sky was. So he painted it for them. And that was all there was to it." ~ Brenda Ueland from If You Want to Write

2011-01-07T20:14:00.006-06:00

The Winter Ritual

It's that time of year again, folks.

No, not that. I'm talking about a more intellectual activity.

No, I mean, one that can actually be achieved by human beings. Normal ones.

Yes, you've got it now, I'm applying to grad school. Again. They say third time's a charm, right. Well, whoever said that had better be correct, or I'm going to hunt them down and take out my frustrations. And not in a leather and feather kind of way.

Many of you (ok, there aren't actually many of you reading this, but of those - ) many of my friends helped me decide which poems to submit for my grad school application last winter. I appreciate your help, readers of great, and otherwise, literature. I'll be applying again over the next few weeks. I'm not asking any favors of you this time, other than just send out good vibes, prayers, wishes, hopeful thoughts and the like in the direction of grad schools all over the southeast region. I probably won't post again until I've gotten the applications completed, so if you don't hear from me, don't worry - it won't be another six years. If any of you - if all four of you reading this - care to see what I'm submitting, comment or send me an email and I'll send you the verses that will, byallthingsholy, convince some higher authority-

no, I mean these guys-

to allow me to pursue my education and career. Ok, to pursue my dream.

And hey, if it turns out 2011 isn't my year to wallow in letters and fill my mouth and mind with the mellifluous music of professors of creative writing, well, I'll just keep scratching in the attic of ink and fibers, and try again in 2012.

A poet looks at the world the way a man looks at a woman.
~Wallace Stevens

2011-01-03T12:56:00.009-06:00

Beneath the Winter Moon
I Do Return Again

It's strange to see I haven't posted a blog in six years. All those social internet-community websites took up the space in my brain and time at hand (which wasn't much to begin with), and life changed so drastically that blogging just halted. I'd like to it to begin again. I'd like to start it over, in fact.

Except, I just read my initial post on this blog, my intentions for it, and I'm rather pleased to see that I still agree with my self - I continue to want this to be a refuge of light, a source of beauty, a good place to go to find something comical, a whimsical world where anything might happen; in short, an inspiration - even if only to myself.

So. I'm keeping the name - Grey Shangri La - and the general format, but I'm going to include some new items. A friend of mine blogs about her time volunteering. I'm going to include my volunteer time, photos of the silliness pervading the nearest space/time continuum, and encouraging quotes from people smarter (or at least more famous) than I am, as well as the usual poetry, reviews of movies, new crafts I've recently completed, recipes, observations, discussions about books and other mystical creations, as well as anything anyone would like to talk about. I need an outlet again, I guess is the point. So thank you, wander-bloggers, whoever you are.

"For once you have tasted flight you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skywards, for there you have been and there you will long to return."
~ Leonardo da Vinci

2005-11-22T19:58:00.001-06:00

Recently PUBLISHED... Yes, Yours Truly

In the most recent issue of The North Carolina Literary Review. Third time's a charm, right?

Poem on a Photograph in an Exhibit About Appalachia
Those are my knees from behind the porch pole.
Dirty, I know.
You don’t see my face – I’m turned to James Wilson-
he’s two and has to be held.
Mama looks skinnier than I remembered,
I guess we all do,
though I never thought we was thin—
with flowers in pails on the porch rail.
I do recall how the sun always shone off her skin –
she gave that to us.
Our shadows reached halfway to the steps.
The cats always curled around them, and us,
to get at the warm.
The picture was took summer ’fore I started school.
The porch smelled of bees and dust,
and, well, sweat of course,
and when a stranger came, of mint,
cause he wouldn’t know to walk around the small plant of it
just to the right of the first step.
I was scratchin a skeeter bite behind my knee,
the boys was watchin the dogs run,
starin at the photographer’s shiny car.
But Mama’s hoverin and holdin and fixin us
to be neat for him.
She’s not smiling but I remember her happy then.
I know she’d be proud now,
to see her flowers all there on the porch,
in the sun.

Quote: "When we deliberately alter our consciousness in any way, we're trying to find the Self. When the alcoholic collapses in the gutter, that voice that tells him, "I'll save you," comes from the Self.
The Self is our deepest being.
The Self is united to God." ~ Steven Pressfield, The War of Art

2005-05-01T22:11:00.001-05:00

Tag – Lit. You’re It.

I got tagged by Alix in Wunderland ~ a lovely thought from her.
Thanks, Alix!

~You're stuck inside Fahrenheit 451...
which book do you want to be?
I've always worried that I could never memorize word for word any book. But now, I think that maybe if I were limited to five books in my life - to sneaking them into my life like rare and savory lovers back in the day - I just might be able to memorize them. And the parts I didn't remember? Well, you know I'd make them better. So here they are:
-Paradise Lost by Milton: the best book I ever read for a college class. I adored this book; cried over it. Canonical texts rarely did that to me.
-The Time Travel Series by Madeliene L’Engle. This includes: A Wrinkle in Time, A Wind in the Door, A Swiftly Tilting Planet, Many Waters, An Acceptable Time. My favorites as a young person. My best friends from way back.
-And finally, since I won’t cop out and say one of Norton’s Anthologies, Good Poems, edited by Garison Kealor. Maybe it’s just the Midwesterner coming out in me, but I love this collection. The whole idea that began this book – reading poetry on the radio that regular people could (and should be able to) relate to – inspires and rivets me. Some of my favorite poets and poems can be found here, not a few that I didn’t know before I bought this book. It’s lovely.
-Ok, and one other adolescent lit series I couldn’t live without knowing: The Dark Is Rising Series, by Susan Cooper. I’d MAKE myself memorize all of them. I swear.
-Hell, I’ll just make it five for a nice number. How about Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Yeah, that’s perfect.

~Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?
I'm going to take this to mean a literary fictional character, rather than include anyone from film. As I said earlier in Wunderland, I have always been SUCH A DORK

that there are so many old crushes I won’t be able to list them all.
-Laurie in Little Women began the whole thing. I was so angry when Jo refused him that I refused to finish reading the book (for a few weeks at least) [5th grade].
-Mac from Eight Cousins and Rose in Bloom, also by Louisa May Alcott (I imagine few of you have read these – they are SO old fashioned). He’s bookish, nerdy, super-intelligent and ends up writing poetry [7th grade]. Do I really need to explain?
-I had a HUGE crush on Adam Wellington from A Ring of Endless Light. He was studying to be a marine-biologist and took the protagonist out to swim with dolphins and look at the stars. This boy, I was sure, was my destiny [9th grade].
-Barney Snaith from The Blue Castle. He’s perceived as a rougue (like Logan in X-Men: mmmmhhhmmm) and very misunderstood. All through my lonely (and not so lonely) highschool years, I dreampt of marrying this nature-loving, book-writing man. [Actually, L.M. Montgomery was very good at this – so many of her heroinnes’ lovers I desperately wanted to find in life – Gilbert Blythe, Teddy Kent – all of them intelligent, sensitive, trustworthy, sensual. On reflection I think Montgomery helped shape my ideal of manhood. Nerdy. I know.]
Finally, Griffin, from Griffin and Sabine. It’s not so much that I had a crush on him as it is that my sleeping-dreams of people I did not know awake became so much more frequent and intense – and the same people would continually reappear in my dreams. Like blogworld, except asleep and with less drama and more... love. Are they real? Does it matter as long as I’m learning from them or from the experience? I love the concept behind the little gems in this series.

~The last book you bought is...?
The Foxfire Book #1 (a gift from JB). I am sooooooooo excited about reading all of this one (and the rest of them). I love Appalachian Lit.

~What are you currently reading?
...other than Foxfire and random poetry from day to day:
-Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi
-The War of Art by Steven Pressfield
-Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce (I have to read it in order to call myself an English teacher)
-In the Cherry Tree by Dan Pope
-futureproof by N. Frank Daniels (though it breaks my fucking heart)
-Steppenwolf by Herman Hesse (again, feels like I ought to have read this by now)
-Literary Trips edited by Victoria Brooks
-The Physics of Star Trek by Lawrence M. Krauss
Not to mention sooooooooo many others – probably six or seven more that I have begun since Christmas and sincerely hope to finish soon. As soon as I have a few weeks of summer I will be so much more informed. Or at least, more fulfilled.

~Five books you’d take on a deserted island:
1 The Random House Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary – with Bible thin paper amounting to 2230 pages. (This has always been my first choice for the whole deserted island scenario.)
2 The Complete Signet Classic Shakespeare – with notes and everything the bard ever wrote, and some of the stuff they just attribute to him (I’m WAY behind on my Shakespeare).
3 Some kind of huge tome on linguistics and languages of all sorts – from Gaelic to Japanese to Cherokee, from Welsh to Ebu to Portuguese; I want words.
4 Ok, now I’m going to cheat and say the most recent Norton’s Anthology of Poetry.
5 I have to cheat again and steal Alix’s idea: A photo album of all my loved ones. This would also include PLENTY of space to write in for my own mental health on said deserted island.

~What 3 people will you tag, and why?
With Blogs:
JB because he’s not around to ask in person and I think you all should know. Plus, I'll use any excuse to blog about him ;).
Lefty because he just seems like he’d have some interesting things to say (not that I necessarily think he’ll reply until the new blog is up and running).
Skrambled because I want to know what kind of stuff he reads.
Without Blogs:
Pilgrim, because I should already know his answers to these, and it might get him thinking about the real stuff again.
Carrie, because we are destined to live connected lives.
Bobbins and Thread, because I miss her.

Please, comment on the ones you like and dislike (oh you lovely critics). Ask me about them. Tell me YOUR favorites. Tell me if you post this quiz. I LOVE to talk about books. Seriously. [Did I mention my utter dorkiness?] Also, bonus points to name the sculptures/sculptor and bonus bonus points to name my desert island of choice pictured above. Even if you don’t have that much to say, just put the quiz on your blog. It’ll make you look smart.

And now, a totally off-subject Poem by Emily Dickinson, origianally discussed with JB about how apt a poem can be, even 150 years later. Brought to mind again by Skrambled Ramblings, and his Dickinson poem. I have altered it by one letter only, for blogworld (oh yes, My Pretties, I have been contemplating you):

288
I'm Nobody! Who are you?
Are you - Nobody - Too?
Then there's a pair of us!
Don't tell! they'd advertise - you know!

How dreary - to be - Somebody!
How public - like a Frog -
To tell one's name - the livelong June -
To an admiring B[l]og!

2005-04-30T10:21:00.000-05:00

Update on the 25 things
I color-coded the items in that old post (2 down) to let anyone who gives a rat's ass see which were true. Here's the code: Orange = False. Green = True. Lilac = A Half Truth. Items in brackets = Explainations.

2005-04-16T22:45:00.001-05:00

"Se La Vie," said the Old Folks,
"It Goes to Show You Never Can Tell."

As another twist on another recent blogtrend I have seen floating around (I got this from Retarius): I am going to make a list. The typical list tells one hundred (self-perceived) truths about the blogger. In my version, it is going to be more like those get-to-know-you games in college, where you tell some truths and some lies and people just have to figure out for themselves which is which. And no, I don't believe I'm going to let any of you in on which are which. ~ Evil gg rides again.
Update: Orange = False. Green = True. Lilac = A Half Truth. Items in brackets = Explainations.
1. I was born with six toes on each foot. The extra toe-nubs were removed at four days of age. [My feet just look that way.]
2. At the moment, I have fifteen siblings. [Including steps.]
3. I have had a "letter" published in Penthouse. (The letter was a bit exaggerated, I admit). [I just like reading them.]
4. A thirteen year-old recently came on to me. It took me a moment to realize that that was what he was doing.
5. #4 was the only time I have been embarrassed so far this year (2005).
6. Tonight is the only time I have been bored so far this year.
7. I am very excited about my latest acquisition - a leaf blower. [I'm not excited about it.] 8. Andy Goldsworthy is my favorite artist.
9. There are at least three men in their 70's that I would gladly get to know (see the biblical definition).
10. I love listening to the sound of the highway in my backyard at night - it puts me right to sleep.
11. My daughter has five names.
12. One of my son's names is a number.
13. One of my cousin's names is a different number.
14. I was once mugged at machete-point.
15. One of my English professors in college slept on his floor even though he had rats in his house.
16. I once streaked the audience at one of the performances of our highschool musical "South Pacific".
17. I am acquainted with one of Willie Nelson's main "suppliers".
18. To this day, I must cover my ears with my hair or blankets when I sleep in order to make it more difficult for insects to crawl in and lay eggs in my ear canal or brain. [I did this for so long as a kid that now it is just habit.]
19. I love working with power tools.
20. I was the first female ever to accolite in my church.
21. I have been "the squirter" on hog-cutting day. [I've seen it done and I was invited to be the squirter but I politely declined.]
22. When I met Woody Harrelson, he thought I was going to mug him. [He had to remind me to give him back the stuff he asked me to hold. I was 14, awestruck and just forgot.]
23. I have traveled to 49 of the 50 United States. [Airports only not included my number is 34/50.]
24. I am a Rocky Horror Virgin. [I've seen it, in a theatre but I was never de-virginized.] 25. The only trouble I ever got into in highschool was for setting a girl's hair on fire (she was my nemisis). [I got in trouble for my high number of absences every year (around 40 each year). I didn't get caught with this one because my evil plan didn't work.]

There you go, the first installment of "You Never Can Tell."
Any guesses as to which of these beauties is true? Not that it matters...

"There is no spoon." - The Matrix

2005-04-12T21:43:00.001-05:00

Chew On This
Comfort Poem (and Books)

I'm very tired tonight, not to mention over-committed. So I am just going to post this, which made me cry on first reading, my favorite (so far) poem by Ray Bradbury. Yeah, that guy who wrote Farenheit 451. Plus about two dozen awesome books full of short stories and some novels, my top three being, in reverse order:

#3: The Illustrated Man. These short stories are all connected by the fact that some depiction of each is tattooed onto a carnie's body. And get this - they move. (Yes, I loved this one before I was old enough for ink.)

#2: Something Wicked This Way Comes. A novel about two boys - one light and one dark. Their names are Jim Nightshade and Will Halloway. Can you guess which one is which? This evil carnival comes to their small midwestern (read: girlgrey's childhood) town, and lures the townsfolk in. I won't give it away, but it is Fuh-reeeaaa-ky. I read this one every year during the month of October. Just talking about it makes me wish it was fall (the best season).

And drumrole please::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
#1: Dandelion Wine. Probably my favorite book *Of All Time* (said with God-inflection). This one is a novel about summer and childhood and being ferociously ALIVE. It, without fail, brings me comfort in a world that can seem very cynical. It makes me remember that I am still alive, a gypsy soul, sucking the marrow and relishing the sensuous; "a crazy creature with a head full of carnival spangles." Read it and tell me you didn't search for some ancient drug store that sold old-fashioned lime-vanilla ice. I dare you.

P.S. So he has a thing for carnivals. So sue him. -gg

That Woman on the Lawn by Ray Bradbury

Sometimes, gone late at night,
I would awake and hear
My mother in another year and place
Out walking on the lawn so late
It must have been near dawn yet dark it was
The only light then in the gesture of the stars
Which wheeled around in motionings so soft
They took your breath to see; and there upon the grass
Like ghost with dew-washed feet she was
A maid again, alone, quite singular, so young.
I wept to see her there so strange,
So unrelate to me, so special to herself,
So untouched by the world, evanescent, free,
With something wild come up in cheeks
And red to lips, and flashing in the eyes;
It frightened me.
Why should she wander out without permit,
Permission saying go or do not go
From us or any other…?
Was she, or My God, wasn’t she our mother?
How dare she walk, a virgin, fresh once more
Within a night that hid her face,
How dare displace us in her thoughts and will?!

And sometimes even still, late nights,
I think I hear her soft tread on the sill
And wake to see her cross the lawn
Gone wild with wishing, dreaming, wanting
And crouched down there until dawn,
Washing her hair with wind,
Paying no mind to the cold,
Waiting for some bold strange man
To rise up like the sun
And strike her beauteous-blind!
And weeping I call out to her:
Oh, young girl there,
Oh, sweet girl in the dawn!
I do not mind, no, no. I do not mind.

2005-04-08T08:00:00.001-05:00

In Honor of My One-Month Blog Birthday
A Small Experiment

I found this interesting little experiment on a cool blog called D S Projects. It is a brave twist on the dorky blog quizzes out there:
I want everyone who reads this to ask me three questions. Any three, no matter how personal, private, or random. I must answer them honestly. In turn, you have to post this message on your own journal/blog/site and you must honestly answer the questions that are asked of you. [I am interested to see how many takers are out there.]

"Do not do what you would undo if caught." ~Leah Arendt

"No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself, and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be true." ~Nathaniel Hawthorne

"Rather fail with honor than succeed by fraud." ~Sophocles

2005-04-07T21:34:00.005-05:00

A Pedestal of Abalone Shell

I am posting a poem I wrote several years ago. This one actually got picked up by a literary quarterly called Appalachian Heritage. It even won some kind of annually awarded prize (though sadly, the prize was not loads of cash).

Mollusk

The smell of you in a darkened room is of
oysterless shells picked today from beach;
deep healthy soil;
a field in rain.
My palm on your vulnerable abdomen
sticks slightly and I reel,
so gone
my tongue must press briefly to your shoulder
that I may see if you are salty
as the perfect olives I have in past eaten
and you are all that I relish with taste of crushed pearl.

2005-04-05T21:35:00.002-05:00

Comfort Food... Er, Comfort Film

I am going to post on several movies that I really LOVE. These are movies that I watch over and over and over and over again. I do this with books too, but I'll save them for some different posts.
This first one is a movie that I hope all of you have already seen. If you've seen it once or twice, go buy it. If you own it, go watch it. If you have never seen it, PLEASE, go get it RIGHT NOW (or make it #1 on your Netflix list). This movie comforts me to no end. I am listening to it even as I speak.

"Dad, You were never dying." "But I'm gonna live!"
Isn't this how most of us feel most of the time?
I can't really explain the beauty of this movie to you if you have not already seen it. If you have already seen it, you don't need me to explain.
There is a beautiful soundtrack, including Dylan, Lennon, Elliot Smith, Paul Simon, The Rolling Stones (with one of my favorite Stones' songs), that Snoopy/Peanuts music, and Nico, singing "These Days." Some of which are included on the cd:

I think I will someday even go so far as to someday make my own soundtrack for this movie (and I am generally too lazy to make my own mixed cds - that's what boys are for).

There is a pet falcon named Mortichai for God's sake - how much better can it get?
The Royal Tenenbaums is about the ways people connect - or fail to. It is full of icecream shop illuminations (the scene in which, I always, without fail, weep). This film is full of gentle lies and gentle truth, deceit, love, the parent-child structures we never escape, and good old-fashioned incest (almost).
Essentially this movie is about Family. YOUR family. MY family. (Did I mention JB's family?) It's about knowing that no matter what, there is always a family out there more fucked up than yours is.
And it's about how forgiveness is an absolutely nesessary element in every. single. life. It is also about how nearly every one we are connected to is part of our family, and thus, worthy of our love and compassion. How we all miss the comforting parts of being a child. And how even those childhood moments were never so comforting as we wished.
All that un-cheesy sappiness is perfectly interspersed with lines like these:
"Let's shag ass."
"You poor Sucker. You poor, washed up, Papa's boy."
"Don't listen to me. I'm on mescalin - been spaced out all day."
"What happened to you? You used to be a genius. At least, that's what they said."
"I've missed the Hell out of you, my darlings."
"You gotta brew some recklessness into them."
Granted, Wes Anderson is a genius. But in my opinion, this is his opus.

Quote: "I've always been considered an asshole for about as long as I can remember. That's just my style. But I'd really feel blue if I didn't think you were gonna forgive me." "I don't think you're an asshole, Royal. I just think you're kind of a sonofabitch."

Quote: "Hmm. Can't somebody be a shit their whole life and try to repair the damage? I think people want to hear that..." The Royal Tenenbaums

2005-04-01T19:56:00.000-06:00

Dyn-O-miiiiiite!

~Napoleon refridgerator magnet~

No time for a long post today, but as I explore blogworld more I keep finding art. People make a lot more art in general than I thought (or maybe bloggers are just the most creative types of people - you little artists you!). And I thought to myself, "Self," that's what I thought, "You could put some of your art and even your crafty-dealies on the blog." "Ooohhhhhhhhh, what a fun idea, Other Self." [I don't think this counts as multiple personality just because there is a conversation going on in my head.] So, last post there was a poem (art) and this post there are some stinky little fridge magnets

I like to make when I'm bored and sick of technology in general. Which, BTW, I can send you the directions for making them, for all you funky crafty kids out there.

~James Cagney and Errol Flynn~

~Cyndi Lauper (who I once had the pleasure of meeting), John and Olivia, Barbara~

"A flippin' skit?!?! ...Pedro, just listen to your heart. That's what I do."
"If you vote for me, all your wildest dreams will come true" ~Napoleon Dynamite

2005-03-24T22:50:00.001-06:00

You Mean, Coitus?

Take this quiz to find out which character you are from the film.

MAUDE

Does the female form make you uncomfortable, Mr. Lebowski?

DUDE

Is that what that's a picture of?

MAUDE

In a sense, yes...My art has been commended as being strongly vaginal. Which bothers some men. The word itself makes some men uncomfortable.

Vagina...

Yes, they don't like hearing it and find it difficult to say. Whereas without batting an eye a man will refer to his "dick" or his "rod" or his "Johnson".

DUDE

Johnson?

~From The Big Lebowski

2005-03-22T17:45:00.001-06:00

This Beautiful Loser

Now, much of the time when I bring up L. Cohen, even to English majors, they don't know him. This is because he is more well known as a musician than as a poet. I had known L. Cohen as a poet for many years before I ever heard his voice (a fact I am still somewhat, strangely, proud of).

Had my youngest child been a boy, I still insist that her name would have been Cohen.

A Kite is a Victim

A kite is a victim you are sure of.
You love it because it pulls
gently enough to call you master,
strong enough to call you fool;
because it lives
like a trained falcon
in the high sweet air,
and you can always haul it down
to tame it in your drawer.

A kite is a fish you have already caught
in a pool where no fish come,
so you play him carefully and long,
and hope he won't give up,
or the wind die down.

A kite is the last poem you've written,
so you give it to the wind,
but you don't let it go
until someone finds you
something else to do.

A kite is a contract of glory
that must be made with the sun,
so you make friends with the field
the river and the wind,
then you pray the whole cold night before,
under the travelling cordless moon,
to make you worthy and lyric and pure.

~Leonard Cohen

2005-03-17T21:28:00.001-06:00

Not Just a Holiday For the Lush in You:
O Ruairc of Breifne

[The Family Crest]

When I was little I had this huge green and white button that read, “Kiss Me I’m Irish.” I loved this button and would wear it whenever possible, regardless of whether or not it was St. Patrick’s Day. My mother’s father used to tell stories about all these different ancestors we supposedly had and their various amazing feats. Between the Cherokee chief’s daughter and the Irish warriors, I never really believed any one of them completely. But I had decided that it wasn't really important whether or not the story had actually happened; just listening to him tell it was purpose enough. So, imagine my surprise when I go to Ireland and find a book about the family that bred my mother.

O’Roark is our family name. I am going to sum up our story, in honor of St. Patrick’s Day:
Tighernan (pronounced tear-nann) O’Ruairc was the chieftan / king of Breifne, a small part of Ireland. It’s 1122. He woos and marries the daughter, Dervorgil, of the High King of Ireland. They are both strong-willed and fiery-tempered. There is a lot of fighting among the chieftans (though no one argues the position of the High King). One chieftan, Dermot MacMurrough, joins forces with some others to fight O’Ruairc and “kidnap” his wife. Somehow the little lady finds time to pack her furniture and livestock (wink wink, nudge nudge). Turns out O’Ruairc could be a little heavy-handed. So Dervorgil saw her opportunity and left him. Well, maybe old MacMurrough wasn’t all she had hoped (know what I mean?) and she goes back to O’Ruairc. The boys continue sparring back and forth, time after time. MacMurrough just can’t seem to whip O’Ruairc, and he is running out of people to help him fight. He has been beaten AND humiliated by this one clan. He is desperate. So he goes to England, then Wales, to find warriors to help him fight O’Ruairc. The Brits are plenty anxious to conquer new lands and achieve new riches. Thus begins the British Invasion of Ireland in 1167, to be followed by the conqueror “Strongbow” in 1170, who slaughtered so many sons and daughters of Ireland. O’Ruairc was betrayed and murdered; beheaded at what he thought was going to be a parley. The British gained control of the country, and to this day... well, you know the rest.
Grandpa couldn’t have made this stuff up! O Ruairc of Breifne by Betty Mac Dremot is the book it came out of.
Thomas Moore, the 19th century poet, even wrote a (rather tedious) poem about them, called “The Song of O Ruark, Prince of Breffni.” I hope you enjoy the three generations of modern Irish (and German, Native American, British mutt) princesses in the pictures. That’s our story - an entire line of stunning women, worthy of invading small countries over.

"...I am all at once what Christ is, / since he was what I am, and
This Jack, joke, poor potsherd, / patch, matchwood, immortal diamond,
Is immortal diamond." ~ Gerard Manley Hopkins

2005-03-13T12:43:00.001-06:00

Spring Fever

So several of us have been discussing libido for a few days now. It is Spring after all, and a Bacchanalian revelry would be mighty appreciated right about now. Again. Hold on...

"The flesh yearns to converse with other flesh."

Ok, I’m back. As I was saying. Libido. It has been argued on various blogs around here that men are taught to be ashamed of their desire. That men in general exert MORE self control on a regular basis than women. Some people (who shall remain nameless) have even gone so far as to say that it is almost excuseable behavior when men cheat on their wives, because the male libido is so much stronger. “It’s biology!” they cry. And I’ll agree, most men are horn dogs. But the point so many of you are missing is WOMEN ARE HORN DOGS, TOO.

“What. The. Fuck. Ever!” I hear you men shaking the rocks in your heads. The reason this is such a well kept secret is this: If men are truly taught to be ashamed of and hide their desire, women are taught not to have any desire at all. It just isn’t ladylike. We aren’t supposed to be really hungry, really drunk, or really horny. Follow along...
As a child, I began – er – pleasuring myself at an early age (probably too early). As I got older, I did not know any other girls who did this. If they did, they sure never talked about it. Neither did anyone else talk about or portray adolescent girls masturbating.

I knew that boys did this regularly. You couldn’t be a bus-rider in jr. high without realizing that boys really liked to whack off. But the subject of girls doing it never came up. Never. In sex-ed class, they never mentioned the hormonal dreams I was having. In the media I never saw a movie that implied girls masturbated too. My father never said, “You have to watch out for your own hormones. The boys are all going to be trying to get one thing. And you’ll want to get some too.” My mother never suggested regular masturbation as a method of keeping my likelihood of pregnancy and disease to a minimum. I never saw (or knew existed) a single porn magazine for women (and frankly, there still aren’t any good ones for us – let me know if I’m wrong about this). I felt like a freak my whole life before college when I finally met another girl who talked about masturbation and sex and how that was all we thought about most of the time (M, Berea just wouldn’t have been the same without you).

When I finally got old enough (and brave enough) to buy porn, I bought men’s porn. Just for the record, I don’t even like porn in general. It sort of turns me off sometimes – the un-reality of it all. It’s just so unlikely that my refrigerator repairman will come over at the exact moment I am getting in the shower – AND that he will be remotely attractive (and have a fully loaded – pistol). The one time I bought Playgirl, not only did I have to go to the huge, chain bookstore down the street to even find it, I felt like a complete weirdo as the fat middle-aged woman at the check-out frowned at me over her bifocals. It was more embarrassing buying Playgirl than it had been buying Playboy! WTF?! I’m sure the lady at the counter thought I was a nympho. Which brings me to my next point.

Do any of you know the word for a man that is addicted to sex? Nymphomaniac only applies to women. So what is the male version? Nobody? I didn’t think so. It’s called satyriasis or Don Juanism. No really, that’s what it’s called. Now somebody tell me the word for a guy who is slutty. No takers? There just aren’t as many derogatory words for horny men because it is assumed that is the natural state of being for men. The only one I could find in my Oxford Dictionary of Slang was “tom-cat” which dates back to 1927, which is probably the last time it was uttered.

So here’s my question: Do you all honestly believe that men have it harder (she said “harder”) than women when it comes to controlling themselves? We know they cheat more. Is that because they want to cheat more, they are biologically programmed to cheat more, or society is more permissive about their horniness and sexuality? Is it really that unusual, ladies, to be ravenous about sex? I’m putting it to you. I already know what I think.

“I like it too. It's a male myth about feminists that we hate sex. It can be a natural, zesty enterprise.” - Maud in The Big Lebowski

2005-03-10T20:24:00.002-06:00

Reinstilling My Faith in Childhood

Today while I was suffering through the practice run of my state - wide standardized tests, I was using a bitch's zonk board to complain that my students had finished their tests early and were driving me crazy. The harpie suggested that I hold a drawing contest for my seventh graders to pass the time (at least for a few minutes). The competition asked them to draw a scene from their wierdest dream. The prize: Winner could choose any item from the snack machine and I would buy it for them (hey, it's a teacher's salary). I figured that it would be a popularity contest, and it very nearly was. There was a three-way tie between the two most popular boys (N and A) and one average girl (B). The girl's drawing and explanaition were funnier - she had the whole class laughing - but I still thought one of the boys would win. At the very last minute, B's drawing had two more votes than the others. I told Voldemort's wife and company that I would post the winning picture, and I am proud to do so, because the kids proved they were more committed to art (of a fashion) than to popularity. Sometimes they actually make me proud.
The above dream scene portrays B making a lettuce and cheese sandwich, which then comes to life and runs up the stairs.
The drawing below is my personal favorite, not only because D's dream of a hand rising up out of her filling bathtub is creepy, but also because of the Ebony and Jet magazines on the back of the toilet.

So, here's to my inner-city seventh graders spending time creating instead of destroying. Proving (no surprise) even the project kids like to make art and need their Fine Arts funding (don't even get me started).

"...to paint a picture or to write a story or to compose a song is an incarnational activity. The artist is a servant who is willing to be a birthgiver." ~ Madeliene L'Engle Walking on Water (one of my favorite books)

2005-03-09T07:48:00.001-06:00

In the Beginning

In keeping with this week's theme, an article about the birth of our very own solar system. Turns out we're even more special than we thought. It may also explain why we seem to be so prone to violence in this here planetary system.

"Every beginning is a consequence. Every beginning ends something."

2005-03-08T17:46:00.001-06:00

Awakenings

I thought as my inceptive post that something beautiful and reminiscent of birth would be appropriate. Hopefully this will be an outlet where I can "put something in" on a regular basis. I intend for this blog to be not only a cathartic haven where I can vent or exalt over whatever moves me; but also a happy list of sorts, wherein at least once in each posting a beauteous moment will be offered up to you, revered reader... well that's the gist of it anyway.

"In the beginning, it is always dark."

"Whenever a thing is done for the first time, it releases a little demon." Dave Sim