Dark Matter

First off:

Recommend to me:

1. A movie.
2. A book.
3. A musical artist, song, or album.
4. An LJ user not on my friends list.

Copy and paste with your answers in my comments. Then copy and paste the questions in your own journal.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I went to see “Jacques Brel…” on Saturday night.

In the play (revue? show?) is a song called “Marieke” which is a meditation on loss of a loved one in war. Heartbreaking.

Most of the songs are translated from French; this one song includes lines in Dutch and German and French. No need to translate.

This got me thinking — it has always felt to me that certain languages seem more effective at delivering certain emotional states than others. For instance, French to me has always seemed amenable to expressing a sort of bittersweet longing that we don’t capture well in English.

This is not at all to say that other languages are incapable of a variety of nuances — far from it; and I certainly don’t want this to sound as if I’m stereotyping the speakers of a given language, because that’s not what I think I’m getting at.

I think this is a sort of version of the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis that language affects thought — that the words used in a given language can affect what the speaker of that language thinks. It’s the old “12 Inuit words for snow” legend: that because the words are there, the characteristics are more visible.

But I don’t trust myself here…I’m curious:

1. Am I merely projecting American attitudes?

2. Am I totally full of shit?

3. If I’m not: what does English do well at?

Seems like time to do some event recounting.

THURSDAY: Went out after work to see Seren Divine’s last Worcester feature before she moves to NYC. A good set, lots of backpages stuff. I’m going to really miss Seren — we’ve always been close, sharing lots of poetry experiences together and becoming good friends in the process.

FRIDAY: Work, then eat sushi and hang out at home.

SATURDAY: Went to Boston to see “Jacques Brel Is Alive and Well and Living in Paris”, which was fun and a good excuse to get together with friends and eat great Indian food and plan for our fall trip to Portugal and Spain. Three couples, two weeks, a jones for sangria, fado, and flamenco, and anniversary/honeymoons with any luck (Dan and Mike are planning to get married before the trip as long as the Massachusetts legislature doesn’t fuck with the SJC decision, and Annie and I will be celebrating our 20th anniversary…)

SUNDAY: Hang in Boston, come home, hit the sack early (Sorry Asylum, I just was too tired).

Today: Work. Work. Work.

More later.

Captain Kangaroo died.

So did Ann Miller.

I feel really, really old.

Been thinking a lot about linkage:

of

globalization to Westernization to corporatization to commercialism to conformism to cross-cultural imperialism to ignorance of cultural literacy to reduction of indigenous cultures to inroads made by media conglomerates

to

the trivialization and co-optation of genuine feeling and spontaneous art

to

the pop-cultural primacy of the Holy Greed Ghost, haunting the world for so long and so hard

that

it now only takes one second to reach out and touch anyone you know and therefore the speed of connection reduces the need to consider its impact

while

millions remain locked away from the means of connection, health, justice, peace, freedom, and voice

just as

million of others do not understand the difference between their definition of poverty and the truth of most poverty

which

renders them incapable of seeing the Other: the person
they might have been except for
accidents of birth

And if all this ends up sounding like
a Slam Poem
And if all this makes you want to say
that it’s just too much to deal with

then

get out of here and
buy the thing that makes you forget
it has been said

I haven’t slept for about 36 hours now…I think it’s about the re-introduction of Prozac to the drug regimen, and I think it will wear off, but…

I couldn’t watch the State of the Union last night because I couldn’t sit still long enough to concentrate on it.

I used to be able to sit and make connections among the crap he spewed and see how it all fit because I was so up on everything.

Now, I just wanna scream.

And I’ve got another day of the 2 day class I’m training tomorrow. Which is why I’m not around much right now.

Thank God I’m working with another trainer, who knows what’s going on and keeps me on track, bless her.

I really am ok, maybe even a bit better; still it’s the teeth grinding side effects of this shit that get you.

Grrr…

I have a confession to make.

I have barely been following the election so far, beyond a vague and disorganized support (read, checkbook support and comments at lunch) for Kucinich.

I know this makes me a bad person. Or at least, a typical American.

It’s also so unlike me. I’m one of those guys who has a huge activist background, and involvement in electoral politics was always a piece of that.

Truth is, I haven’t been able to focus for longer than half an hour on anything in so many months, I feel like I’m completely out of the loop.

This is disturbing to me. It reminds me of the combination of circumstances that made me drop out of my Amnesty International work years ago, when I couldn’t do much more than focus on my navel and my sorrow for more than a few minutes at a time.

My therapist, knowing this, has asked me if the general air of dread in the country has contributed to my depression; she even is pushing the idea that I’m undergoing some kind of delayed reaction to the stress I dealt with on 9/11 and in the weeks following, especially all those weeks of “travel education” (read: grief counseling/shouting matches) I ran for all the folks here at work who lost friends and colleagues. Sessions I wasn’t really qualified to run, but which I jumped in and did like a good soldier, because, you know, I’m like that.

I don’t know the answer. I do know that half serious job offer in Toronto is looking good.

At any rate, the new drugs do seem to be having some mild effect at the moment; I’m trusting that will pick up shortly, increase with the rising dosages, and my concentration levels will come back up to speed.

Then I might be able to partake in democracy and debate more readily.

Imagine that: political fervor renewed by prescription.

Don’t you wish it was that easy? I know I do.

The punk anthology I just received for Christmas includes a book with the usual critical puffery.

In it, however, is this observation: that when “punk” considered itself a “movement”, it allowed for a great range of individual styles and expressions under its umbrella; but when it began to act like a “genre” it ossified, and you end up with pop punk and Maximum RnR fanaticism.

It strikes me that it’s not the most original insight, but that doesn’t make it less valid; it also strikes me that you could comfortably insert the word “slam” in place of “punk” and not damage the truth of the statement too much.

Updated, as it was on the slam list earlier today.

This is a REPOST, with a couple of significant edits, of an earlier post regarding submissions to the Worcester Review’s performance poetry edition, scheduled to be published and available for February of 2005. I hope it answers some of the questions I’ve received backchannel.

PLEASE discard any previous communication, as this one has the most current information. I am bolding the changes for your reference.

Again: don’t hesitate to e-mail me for more information, forward this anywhere you think it needs to be seen, and PLEASE SUBMIT!!!!

T

Continue reading

I’ve got the new medications right in front of me.

No major changes…for now; dosages adjusted and a shift in timing…for now; a plan to ramp up slowly over the next 4 weeks with existing meds. The new guy is cautious, wants to tweak existing things to see the result and work from there.

But once we see how that goes…there may be big things in store farther down the line. My diagnosis has shifted from cyclothymia to bipolar II, with the emphasis increasing on the depressive side of the cycle; and that implies a shift, eventually, toward Lamictal, Zyprexa, and Depacote.

Lovely. More weight gain in store.

On the other hand, the new doctor is really really good…and surprise, he’s made a specialty of really getting the link between creative ability and this illness. Has read all the various memoirs and books of essays, and runs a group for depressives in creative fields.

I’m still scared, but I think this bodes well for the future.

Here we go:

1. The trip down: quick and uneventful. Left Framingham at 1:30, and was comfortable ensconced on a bar stool at the club by 5:45. That included 2 stops — once for coffee, once for pisscall — and half an hour trying to find a garage that had room for me.

2. Everybody and their distant relatives showed up! aurorabell was a great host; mstegosaurus was there, as was loudpoet, dura-luxe, new lj friend lordrexfear, half of twosnoos behind the bar, Taylor, Roger, Lynne, Oscar Bermeo, Fish, Edward Garcia, Eric Guerreri, Rich Villar, George McKibbens on the door…wow. Much drunken revelry ensued…

3. The open mike was s’alright. A Japanese film crew was filming it for some sort of documentary. Taylor’s new poem about high school history class fantasies was pretty funny…ditto Shappy’s searing political screed on George Bush and Star Wars. (I kid here, I’m a kidder…it was damn funny, though.)

4. The set I did was short and a real mix…

Getting Ahead
Song of the Twirling Accountants
Cindy Moses
Suicide Notes
Political Art
DIY

and it was pretty well received, I thought. Great sound system, and a cool experience…really enjoyed myself.

5. The slam was…a slam. With all that entails. I leave it to others to chime in.

6. Oh, it was SO good to catch up with these people, most of whom I haven’t seen since Nats!

7. The drive home: a bit slower, but similarly uneventful.

Thanks everyone who came out…let’s do it again!!!!

I’m in great mood…because of course last night but also because today is NEW MEDS DAY!!!

I feel something akin to hope again.

I’m home, everyone.

More tomorrow.

T

Gotta post the column for Friday and hit the sack…

see all ya’ll from NY tomorrow night…and the rest of you, I’ll hit this again on Friday.

Wish me luck.

T

also known as aurorabell, you get to see me as I truly am:

Scary.

In the next 48 hours, I must:

— post this week’s column this afternoon
— host my SPEAK reading tonight (c’mon down, the theme is “the dark”)
— finalize my set for Urbana tonight after the reading
— teach a class tomorrow morning, 9 till 12:30
— drive to NYC (ALONE!!! thanks, everyone… ;-D) tomorrow afternoon
— do a kickass feature at the BPC at 8:00 tomorrow night
— drive back to MA, alone

You’ll forgive me if I run…

This is why I hate this condition:

http://www.playbill.com/news/article/83750.html

If he is gone, he’ll be another notch on depression’s hilt.

Dammit.