Girl Afraid 

my thousandth death 

My Thousand Deaths

...life denies me that hope, and even that adverb. (JLB 32)

It happened. Today. My thousandth death. And only twenty-seven years old. As I leapt through the guardrail, temporarily in my auto, on a five-hundred foot overpass. Actually, my death came when my vehicle smashed into the Caltrans’ tractor at the bottom (approximately at 487 feet), as my body flew through the windshield and impaled my body over the scoop, quickly crushed by the also flying vehicle. Vince, the police officer who arrived to the scene first, believed my unidentifiable corpse, a freshly poured daiquiri. He proceeded to make his own blended drink as his In-N-Out lunch made a comeback tour.

I am not a fan of senseless violence, for that matter, senseless gore. As far as senses go, I touched, saw, heard and tasted (strawberry, my favorite flavor of daiquiri), everything but smell in that description— I omitted the burning oil smell, it didn’t flow, lyrical that is.

As an astute reader, as I know you are, my thousandth death must, you presume, leads to a first death, in fact nine-hundred and ninety-nine (you are also a fantastic mathematician, I see). I will not fail you. Without another pause or witty phrase, welcome to my life and my nine-hundred and ninety-nine deaths:

Intellectual Trading Cards, How Punk Is That? 

“When all actions are mathematically calculated, they also take on a stupid quality”

“When all actions are mathematically calculated, they also take on a stupid quality” – taken from Theodor W. Adorno (1974), Minima Moralia. Reflections from Damaged Life. (First published in German in 1951.) London (NLB)

Theodor W. Adorno (1903-69) argued that capitalism fed people with the products of a 'culture industry' - the opposite of 'true' art - to keep them passively satisfied and politically apathetic…Boiled down to its most obvious modern-day application, the argument would be that television leads people away from talking to each other or questioning the oppression in their lives. Instead they get up and go to work (if they are employed), come home and switch on TV, absorb TV's nonsense until bedtime, and then the daily cycle starts again.

http://www.ldb.org/adorno.htm

http://www.theory.org.uk/ctr-ador.htm

Inspired the poem below... 

IF THE SANTA MARIA HADN'T SANK

“No future no future/ No future for you/ No future no future/ No future for me”

- Jones/Cook/Rotten/Matlock

My Fellow Man,

Have Faith.

Have Faith.

Have Faith.

The World is Yours to Conqueror

Or to be Conquered.

To Enslave

Or to be a Slave.

All I want is what is mine

All I want is…

All I have is, theirs

All I am is…

And the World wants nothing of You

Nothing of You, but Your audience,

Your believership, Your consumership,

Your Santa Maria.

Have Faith.

My fellow man,

Have Faith.

Have Faith.

Cut us off in traffic

Cheat us out of pennies.

You’ll get ahead;

You will get ahead.

You need nothing

You want everything

You want it now

You can’t have it now!

You now want it more

You now have less

You now will give more to have it

You now will give even more.

Less than less, a debt incurable

And they’ll tell You, You still need it

And You still believe, because Your neighbors all have one

Or so You believe, and if they don’t—You will have it first.

And their envy will be Yours

for the moment.

And You believe You beat everyone to the prize,

to the golden one.

And You are saved

And You are forgiven

And Your religion was right

And then You realize…

And then You realize:

What You bought

And what was sold—

was You.

Have Faith.

Have Faith,

My fellow man.

Have Faith.

But You believe:

No one else has what I have

I was the first

They are all the followers.

And You continue:

I am the leader

I am ahead of the game,

I am the one who is winning.

And then You get cut off in traffic

And then You realize, yet again:

You were marketed

Your favorite song from Your youth, made You do it.

Maybe someone understands You.

Finally, You are related to

Your cause is no longer a struggle

A rebel no more.

Your rebellion lost to Your own revolution

Your high school reunion of marketeers—

Beat You.

Your revolution sold and bought by You.

You the original—You the leader

You, the fucker that cuts people off

With complete disregard, wearing Your

god-save-the-universe-bumper-faith-but-You-first sticker.

Have Faith.

Have Faith;

Have Faith,

My fellow man.

And then You realize:

You spoke out of turn…

Too many times;

You gave away the punch line…

Too many times;

You touched Your best friend’s wife…

Too many times;

You ignored Your family…

Too many times;

You wanted more and more and more…

Too many times;

You wanted what You thought was best for all of us…

Too many times;

You wanted what was best for You…

Too many times.

And then You realize, this time:

It is too late for You

To have faith…

In You, Your fellow man.

Damsel, I say unto you, arise... 

Furniture, Death and Cold Beer

Siskel passed away last night at the ripe old age of 89. Let us a take a moment to mourn. Siskel asked us to let everyone know there is a sale right now on all merchandise 30-50% off. Not too much of a discount he said, but enough to keep the people coming in.

He returned home to the corn fields of his youth as a youth. A farm he once lived on and his fathers father. A child once more. Innocence returned. The best part about death and dying is there is no wrong answer. All the science, philosophy and religion combined cannot say for certain where we go or we go not. So, when I think of Siskel, I will imagine him playing for eternity as a youth, experiencing life every moment for the first time.

Time to raise your glasses for a final toast to Siskel. He actually prefered his beer warm and his cognac cold. To Siskel!

pain 

first post, last dream

last night i dreamt up a character while dreaming- Siskel Lebowitz, a Jewish furniture mogul. i decided, in my dream, that i would start a discount furniture store/outlet. it would be big, an old five or six story brick abandoned building. whatever, but every floor would have furniture on it. just stuff other stores couldn't sell. it would be almost a flea market type atmosphere. well, somehow i decided it best to protect my identity--my true identity, so i invented Siskel Lebowitz a furniture mogul, immigrant from Poland. then, people would respect my shrewd ways and i'd be mysterious to boot. always hiding in my office, behind a cloak of secrecy. the only way through to me was by phone. this was going to my best business venture to date. as i dreamt of being a wealthy furniture salesman, i thought more and more about who Siskel really was. how did he get to orange county california and why furniture and now. i had to start rumors to make Siskel real to my associates. from here all i am is making things up, not really in the dream, because dreams are never as vivid once awakened. so things get blurry right about here...Siskel is a great businessman, wise and creative in the ways of furniture sales and acquiring merchandise at incredibly low prices. he has a beautiful accent in his direct, almost german disciplined manner. maybe Siskel is german? I'm dreaming new dreams now. I'm going to the mall to buy shoes-- there is a sale. I find these really great shoes. Ugly as anything. Lime-green laces, baby blue body, three quarter top, made from some polyester plastic shiny stuff, but man are they comfortable and cheap too! I'm walking around the store trying out the new shoes, when i hear an old woman mention the name Siskel. I say, i must be dreaming and i was all night long. i couldn't believe my ears when i spurted out "Siskel Lebowitz?" the old lady turned to me and said yes, yes indeed that is who she is speaking of, the furniture mogul. and i, in complete joy, said that i grew up with Siskel. or rather he lived my neighborhood and she looked at me in complete disbelief or I her too. because i couldn't believe that a character i made up in a previous dream actually existed, and that i still continued to fabricate lies about the man, even though i was back to me and not a furniture mogul. "I remember when Siskel would yell at us kids, 'you kids, stop making so much noise', shaking his fist at us." I just smiled. I really believed it, but I don't think she did. then, walking into the mall, with a very young attractive woman wearing gold jewelry with a fur, was Siskel. the old woman pointed to him, "there he is, i told you he was coming here and look at that lady on his arm, ooooh." i'm in complete shock. there is this old man in his upper eighties just escorting this gold digger and it was Siskel, the furniture mogul. I just made this guy up a few hours ago in a dream, and now here he is in the flesh, in another dream. wow! maybe i didn't make it all up or dream it up. Siskel Lebowitz, polish immigrant, furniture mogul, sex machine!