Dark Matter

Twelve people, locked in a room, plow through mounds of evidence and testimony for seven days and determine that based on what was presented, they do not have sufficient evidence to find Jackson guilty of anything.

The rest of us, based on our superior intelligence, decide that they’re idiots, based on the coverage we’ve seen of the case from the media we indict regularly for being sensationalist.

God, I love this country.

I think Jackson’s a creep. I have an opinion about his guilt. I also think I haven’t got a clue if he’s really guilty or not.

The people entrusted to make that decision did have some clue. I have no idea what they were thinking; but I’m willing to bet they thought about it harder than any of us did.

this is interesting, from the childhood memories perspective. I never saw them play; one of the few big 70s bands I can say that about.

Pink Floyd reunites.

I now return to my depression and angst.

if you should be, and you’re not, and when you shouldn’t be, you are, you’re probably clinical.

this is not to say that depression is always clinical in nature.

sometimes, it’s just about plain old suckage and self-esteem crapola.

sometimes, it’s guilt.

and sometimes, it’s just the recognition that life comes with consequences that are not always pleasant, but which are unavoidable. that’s all.

that’s all.

sometimes, there doesn’t even seem to be a poem in it.

EDIT: Guess I was wrong on the last point. Goddamn sadistic muse.

Today I have been very busy finding things to do in the basement that kept me quiet, isolated, and cool.

I was told earlier today that lithium, my main maintenance medication, is in serious short supply and I had to go running around to get a prescription filled at a pharmacy that still has it. If you’re using it, stock up now; I’ve been told the supply restrictions won’t let up until the end of July. Manufacturer issues. Ugh. Scary.

Now, I am doing school work, researching the antifeminist undercurrents of the Red Scare of the 1920s.

In other matters: Thinking hard. Feeling my way ahead.

Too much to feel and think about.

A good week, professionally and otherwise.

Last night: the Broken Speech Slam, hosted by jbradley, was pretty cool. Neat venue in a coffeehouse/bar/alternative video store. Packed house. Some good poets in the slam, many of whom are now on my LJ friends’ list. Mr. Bradley was an excellent host.

I did pretty much a greatest hits set, since the room is unamplified:

Meta
No
Mission Statement
Punk
Getting Ahead
Conspiracy
fever
DIY

Good fun. Sold and gave away a bunch of books.

Flight home uneventful, except that upon landing we skidded aross the runway and the pilot had to do something kinky with the engine to get us back on track. Nothing was said about it, but I’ve flown hundreds of thousands of miles over the years, and this was definitely something out of the ordinary.

Home, naps, laundry, errands…and so to bed.

see y’all soon…

Full update later, including Scary Landing at Logan and Great Evening at Broken Speech.

Hello to all the new LJ friends I made last night…

Later, gators.

ARGH. No more information.

Time to stop.

I go home tomorrow…but not before making an appearance tonight as a feature at the Broken Speech Slam. Come down, come down…I need to talk to POETS!!!

Me at the end of today’s sessions: “Information overload…must have beer…”

I’m featuring at the Broken Speech Slam tomorrow night. C’mon down, O Floridians.

I return now to sweet slumber.

More of the same — heat, humidity, and demos of software for authoring courses.

I’m not a software guy, but I’m a damn good instructional designer. Some of these packages look good, some don’t. Pretty much like life.

I don’t talk much about the particulars of my job. I should.

Anyway — I’m on a Thinkpad at the moment and I hate the keyboard — feels cheesy as hell. So this will be short.

Options for the night: The ASTD party at Universal Studios on the NYC backlot, or poetry at Will’s Pub with valis429. Such a dilemma…

See you at the reading.

ETA: Fuckery. I’m too far with no car. Staying in to eat and, perhaps, drink a bit.

Love, Meester Corporate

It’s hot.

There’s humidity.

Corporate trainers are weird. Case in point: yours truly. I get geeked over seminars on e-learning.

I had a drink tonight with Ken Blanchard — for those of you who know the slightest bit of info about management books, he’s the fucking billionaire who wrote the “One-Minute Manager” books. He’s just completed a new one co-authored with a friend of mine from way back.

Yes, he paid. And for the record, a single malt Scotch takes more than a minute to drink.

More later — gotta go get food and be back in time for the Six Feet Under premiere.

this is how things are

there are places
where snakes wait
tails in their mouths
against the chance people
will stop pretending that
there is no proof
of the way they chase themselves
of the way each end
is in its beginning

this has been proved

but
it has not happened
in so long
it is as if
it hasn’t ever happened

people say
if it happened
where’s the proof
that it happened

when another snake
happens to eat
its own tail
it seems that would be
enough proof

instead what will happen
(what always happens)
is that people
not trusting that what happens
happens
will demand
plural and immediate proof
and it takes so long
for these things
to happen
and it only happens
in solitary moments
that
they will forget and deny
that it ever happened

yes
it takes
so long to prove
that what happens
to a snake and its tail
is what always happens

but now we are here
and here’s another snake
reaching around himself

this is how things end and begin
this is how it happens