Empty Window

The small, banal task of taking the air conditioner out of my bedroom window turned into a romantic remembrance, albeit a sentimental one. During the hot summer months my room, and to a lesser degree my entire flat, is sealed tight. The hum of the air conditioner drowns out the sound of the wind in the trees, the rumble of thunder, and the back-stoop conversations of my neighbors. During the summer what I miss the most is the sound of the rain. Such maudlin soft-heartedness! Judge me not too harshly.

Last night I got to listen to the rain while I lay in bed, for the first time in months. The ground is dry and crunchy and rain is so badly needed. You could almost hear the dry earth and yellow grass drinking in the soak. Every so often, the wind would blow some of the wet into my window and onto my naked legs. For reasons that are unclear to me I became very emotional. I thought of how the world has changed since I was a kid, but at the same time it hasn't changed at all. You may have noticed that, as well. The older you get, the more you notice that, despite all the changing technology, the broad strokes (and many of the finer ones) are exactly the same. The best part about technology is not having to mess around with rabbit ears on the television anymore. I sort of miss the rotary phone, though. It made using the phone more of an event. Cell phones. At times I really hate those fucking things.

I was a strange child, no doubt about it. I was the class clown to some of my friends, but I was also very withdrawn. Clearly, humor was used by me to deflect attention. I'll never forget something that happened with my father when I was around age 12. There was a commercial on television about helping the homeless, and when they showed a guy living on the street I said, "That's going to be me when I grow up." My father, of course, told me that that was crazy. He probably thought it a strange things to say, which it is. But even back then I knew that I wasn't made to flourish in this world.

Last night, something made me cry as I listened to the wind and the rain. Sometimes when I'm alone I withdraw and sink deep into myself, and it's like I'm the last person alive. Or the first. When I'm in that mindset, I often find something that moves me deeply. At the age of 35 I can say that I've had a good life, better than I deserve. I still look forward to the end, but something about the end feels like the beginning all over again. I sure hope I'm wrong about that. In the meantime, I'm going to sit and pat "Toulouse" or "Impy" in my lap and listen to whatever comes in that open window. The world goes by and I listen and watch and am happy to stay out of the way. Sometimes I feel strongly compelled to get involved, especially politically and especially when I was younger. Less so now, to be sure. Perhaps the day will come when I can contribute something real and good to the passing world. Right now, however, I guess I'm fine with being the poor, crazy, bastard who lives on the second floor of a brick building near Boston.

How nice it would be to take my eyes off of my own gravestone, and the stones of those I love, and enjoy, or at least experience totally, the moments that I'm in right now. I think John Lennon once said, "Life is something that happens when you're making other plans." But when one is as focused on existence itself as I am, you don't really make other plans. Life passes you by nonetheless.

When I was a young lad I thought about the bad things in life so much, I couldn't take my eyes off of it. Every awful murder and atrocity I read or heard about stayed with me. I was fixated on the worst of what we could do. At times, it made me physically ill. I remember pounding my head on the wall and saying, "Get out of my head!" The thoughts were so awful. The question I couldn't get away from was, "How am I any different than X." The "X" of course represents the person behind whatever savage abomination was on my mind at the time. The universe doesn't care if I'm kind and compassionate and aspire towards reason or if I'm a psychopath hacking up children in my mother's basement. Because I didn't have god as a kid (atheist at 9) I had to make my own peace with how cruel and nasty the world can be. Particularly the people in it. I think part of the reason that I hate myself so much is because I'm a human being, and I know very well what human beings can do.

I despise capitalism, too, but can understand its elegant appeal. The helotry and despondency, not to mention environmental devestation, caused by poorly regulated capitalism is easy to overlook in our global economy. The people suffering are way over there. In the meantime, I can get cheap tube socks and lead-encrusted toys on sale! Capitalism sickens me, but the people who make up the capitalist economy aren't bad people, they are just part of a bad institution.

I'm timid, methinks, mostly because I don't like what I see in the world. And what I do like I can get from my girlfriend, friends, brother, father, and the rest of my family. The few I talk to, anyway. And that open window, with the sounds and smells and wind and rain...my back row seat to the world passing by. What a spectacle. Hopefully, before I croak or fling myself out an open window, I'll do something good for someone or something. Not that anyone is watching.

Explanations And The New Deal

What we have here, ladies and gentlemen, comrades and fellow travelers, is my 300th post on Zeitgeist Expatriate. Methinks it a good time to finally explain what "zeitgeist expatriate" actually means; I get that question often. The term "zeitgeist" comes from the German language, it's a noun and it means, "The spirit of the time; general trend of thought or feeling characteristic of a particular period in time." Paranoia about terrorism is part of the zeitgeist right now, obviously as a result of the terrorist attacks that happened six years ago today. Uncertainty about the future, because of the economy, elections, and (of course) the war is part of it, as well. But it's so much more than that. It's a great word, which is why I used it. Second only to schadenfreude, another German word that means, "To take pleasure in the misfortune of others."

Expatriate basically means to leave your native country and take up residence in another country. So all Zeitgeist Expatriate means is that I see myself far removed from the collective consciousness of my fellow human animals. My mind, for good or bad (mostly bad) does not paddle down the same stream as my neighbors. Hell, I don't even have a cell phone. Politically, my outlook is quite outdated. I should have been around in the 1930's. A 35 year old New Deal Democrat/Democratic Socialist is quaint these days. Perhaps, as bridges keep collapsing around us and our infrastructure crumbles, people will paen for the days of the CCC and WPA. But I digress.

It was sure nice to see Clare again. She looked healthy and happy, which is something I wish for all my peeps. Linda and I went to a Red Sox game last night and it was just outstanding. Yawkey Way, the smell of the over-priced greasy food, the perfectly manicured field, and Linda cuddled up by my side...a perfect night. I'm in my element in the city, riding the "T" and negotiating the bums. She does virtually all of the driving, which makes me feel a bit useless, so it was a nice change that I got to guide my sweetheart around this time.

I haven't written much about the General Petraeus spectacle in Washington. Our continued presence in Iraq is pre-ordained, and for a very long time to come. I'm in a sort of political coma until the next president. Political activism is about a LOT more than who is president, but this administration (with a few allies in Congress) has frozen us in place in Iraq. I'm at least thankful that Bush and his minions are too busy to do any more damage to the health care, the environment, education, you name it. Lame Duck City. So much damage is already done, though. If you have any doubts about how despicable this administration is, just go back and read the Bankruptcy Bill passed a couple of years ago. Methinks it represents perfectly everything that is wrong with these people.

Here is a press release for the Freedom Rally on Boston Common. It's one of the largest marijuana legalization protests in the country, second only to Seattle.


For immediate release
For more information contact:
Attorney Steven Epstein 978-352-3300

Captain Parker's "Stand your ground" is the theme for this year's Freedom Rally

Saturday, September 15, the Massachusetts Cannabis Reform Coalition/ NORML will host its 18th Annual Freedom Rally at the Parkman Bandstand on Boston Common beginning at noon. Click here for a list of featured entertainment and speakers.

"After almost two decades the third Saturday in September is known throughout New England as the day for the Freedom Rally," said Steve Epstein, an attorney, who has been involved in organizing the event since its inception. "This year we return to the Parkman Bandstand while the parade ground is being restored."

Tens of thousands of people will peacefully assemble on the Common to protest marijuana prohibition. Some may choose civil disobedience by smoking marijuana, or they may just want to get high, but prohibition makes all marijuana use political. The Boston Police Department will send scores of uniformed officers who will mill about enjoying the day, while plainclothes officers will troll the crowd capturing teens and fresh faced undergrads.

Sociologist and Mass Cann President, Doctor Keith Saunders describes it as "a war on marijuana users performance art spectacle."

Members of the media are welcome to come back stage for interviews with Attorney Epstein, Dr. Saunders and other speakers and organizers.

This year Mass Cann begins a new tradition with its first, Freedom Rally Weekend Awards Show on Friday, September 14 at the Bullfinch Yacht Club, (Next to North Station) Boston, MA, 21+

Alpaca In My Pants

The conversation posted in the comments section by A. Cow is quite good, and captures the absurdity that many of us Lefties have to face; splits, caucuses, tendencies. The only difference between the SPUSA and the SP of America is that Eric Chester, an unholy pain in the ass, isn't in the latter one. I'm backing away, as are a couple of my comrades. I'm a radical socialist without a home at this point, and I'll have to try to find one in the Democratic Party. Good luck.

Yesterday I had an appointment with my psychiatrist, and it went unusually well. He's cute with his matching tie and socks. My therapist wasn't there, so I was more inclined to open up and speak frankly. When we got to talking about my diagnosis I learned a few very interesting things. Interesting to me, anyway. He said that I have a, "highly unusual and complex psychiatric profile." Ok, I can live with that, I guess. He went on to say that I move between borderline paranoid schizophrenia, clinical depression, and severe anxiety and social phobia. This, he says, leaves me with, "raw nerves." He also said something about how I have some of the worst social anxiety of anyone he knows. That wouldn't be bad if he worked at a Popeye's Chicken, but he's the Chief Psychiatrist of the center to which I go. I didn't take it as a compliment, but I suppose that anything worth doing is worth doing well. I'm doing crazy well, apparently.

Tomorrow Clare will be pulling into town sometime in the afternoon. We're going to do lunch, I'm not sure where yet. It will be good to see her, as it's been awhile since we had a chance to talk. I'm going to try like hell to convince her that I'm doing well. Sort of gloss over the job thing and the crazy thing. But she knows me well and has seen all of my insanity. I'm looking forward to telling her about the nudist colony, something she wouldn't do if her very life were dependent upon it.

Sentimentality is in my nature, and it's likely that I'll cry when she leaves, but it won't be because I miss her, although I do, of course. It's more about the way life just moves along...I go one way, other people go their way. And none of it is what I thought it would be. Clare has been in my life for eight years, so I'm certain that an romantic and somewhat maudlin reflection on the past will take place.

The Dow Jones Industrial Average fell 249.97 points today, so that makes me happy. I despise corporate capitalism on every level. It would be nice if Bush and Cheney both had a heart attack and died within seconds of each other...that would please me, as well. I don't want them to suffer, though. Well, maybe a little bit. I mentioned that wish somewhere online last night and a Bushie threatened me. "It's illegal to threaten the president! I'm calling the FBI" is what this thing told me. But I'm not threatening anyone, I'm just wishing for his death. I'm not about to hurt anyone...I don't even like smushing spiders. Even the ones that are just asking for it.

Aperture

You'll have to forgive me for the last post, but I keep looking for new and unsettling ways that I can rank on myself. Talking about myself in the third person is generally annoying, and it may be here, too, but I thought I'd try it on. These hateful little diatribes are apparently just part of who I am. At this point, I've accepted that I don't have the intellectual fortitude and desire for good living that is needed if I'm ever going to abandon my self-loathing and increased inclination towards isolation. I'm so uncomfortable around people, moreso than I have ever been before. But on to something else.

The Socialist Party, which I've considered re-joining, seems to be moving towards a split, which is both understandable and ridiculous. It's a long story, but people have very different ideas about the future of the party. The newly-formed Socialist Party of America has emerged, and it's only a matter of time before a handful of comrades float over to that new entity. Then there will be the Socialist Party USA and the Socialist Party of America. How lovely. The tendency within the party that led to the split, more or less, called the Fist and Rose (the manifesto of which I signed) will do the leaving. But I'm not going to the SPA, or even staying with the SPUSA. A radical lefty like me will just have to stay with the Democratic Party, and hope that some good far left candidates emerge. I like Kucinich on paper, but mercy how he comes across as a loon in the debates.

Right now I have a more pressing concern; whether or not to get a haircut. Linda likes my hair long, complete with a beard. I'm not a fan of the beard, but I'm sort of indifferent about the hair on my noggin. Perhaps a trim.

I've been talking to photographers in a couple of Yahoo! groups and am interested in doing that again. I like my little 35mm camera, but there's nothing particularly complicated about setting up so all the pictures are about the subject matter I choose. That's good for now. Eventually, however, I'd like to steal a camera used by bona fide photographers and learn more about the technical aspects. As soon as I have some pictures to share, I'll share them.

For Linda, may I never know a world without you...

The Idea of You

Before the flooded bog
on a chill autumn morn
revealed blood-red berries
beneath a broad azure sky

or...

A lush, misty fen
jewel in an Emerald Necklace
drew my eyes from the Boston skyline
and posed endless riddles

or...

A spring Nor'easter
tore away April buds
and thundered like a summer storm
mocking us with flakes instead

or...

Black, hollow jealousy
manifested within and blinded me
made me deaf and hardened my heart
Robbing me of a companion and a friend

Before I experienced any of those, or a million other common spectacles and everyday tragedies

Preceding every blessed milestone; first word, first step, first birthday, first day of school

When there was no me to take you in; no mind to consider our first, lingering gaze in the dark

There was the idea of you

And it was shared by everyone who ever dreamed of getting lost in something uncommon

And now that you are gone, so too is my innocent faith in a promise I thought I heard, but was never made

Now I know that there was a world before you, and a world with you, and despite every weary effort, a world after you.

And a return to the magnificent and common and lonely place where I began, with a hard lesson taught; Nothing lasts forever, and there are no promises.

A Real Observation

Darren has been writing this stupid blog for a year or two now, and you may have noticed a few things about him that aren't particularly flattering, or even interesting, unless you are equally inclined to whine and bore everyone in your life. This idiotic drug addict, a drain on society, actually manages to every so often trick himself into believing that he is NOT a lying, disgusting, pathetic sycophant. On those occassions when he thinks he is amusing, perhaps even compelling, he sits his fat ass down, puts up his stubby little legs, and stabs out boring "observations" that he thinks represent some kind of meaningful insight. They don't. He answers questions nobody even asked of him. Nobody gives a shit.

I think we would all agree that the best thing for everyone would be a late term abortion; 35 years too late. Had his mother aborted him when she had the chance many lives would be different and better. His poor father wouldn't have to live with him and be embarrassed at his constant failure. His most recent was just a few weeks ago when he tried to return to work as a freelance writer. But that's just one of many, seemingly countless, fuckups in his life. From work to school to relationships this piece of shit simply can't function properly. His brother, too, has to put up with his nonsense. As does his girlfriend, Linda, and his friends. The only reason he gets any attention from anyone is pity. Pity.

Do yourself a favor and give him a wide berth when you see him. Walk around, and don't talk to him. He probably doesn't want you to, anyway.