Purgatorio

It's been awhile since I've read the Divine Comedy, but it is supposed to be that, right? a comedy that is both inspired and meant to inspire the movement of all good men upward toward the beating wings of golden angels.

Purgatory though that's where the real danger lies. In not having been a traitor or a money lender you don't end up in the boiling depths of doom, but also neither are you allowed into the showering glory of god. Which is what jesus experienced on the cross. The knowledge of god and the knowledge of its absence. Being able to catch a glimpse of fame but having your roll as a minor extra axed because of budget short falls.

Where is this going, you might ask.

Nowhere. Stuck in that Limbo of the Bermuda Triangle is the worst place to be. We want answers, good clean straight forward and immediate, preferably the words we want to hear right now and not having to wait or work for them, answers. When the answers aren't there or communication fails and the gratification of a solution is out of hand but just there, visible around the bend, can be the most awful place to be stuck.

Especially when everyone is right all of the time.

None of this is coming out right. This was supposed to be about how the internet is both a god and a devil, but the words just aren't there and it's making me feel very frustrated to be able to see the vision and not find the appropriate words.

Over and Out.

Growing Pains

I am very lucky to have a handful of interesting individuals in my life. I have three friends in town—three good friends whose idea of a good time is to be at home drawing pictures, or getting lunch, or even just sipping beer while the hours slip by and conversation unfolds.

From time to time I think that I ought to really get out there and get to know some new people. So I did. I went out and tried to be social on a saturday night. What a joke. I am a fairly open-minded and willing companion, but (you can really hear that looming) I just don't have time to waste getting wasted, really wasted on a saturday night. It's not just that I have a breakfast joint to run, it's that I just don't hate myself that much anymore.

It all started with a call to dress up. I always dress up; sometimes it's a skirt or even a dress, at others jeans and wicked boots, but I always dress with care and precision and dislike being told how to present myself (I am not a package and do not wear bows, toggles, and despite the holiday cheer, I do not wear bells.). Skirt goes on, layers of shirts, stockings, sweaters, jackets, jewelry all go under and over and I am still freezing because it is december and I'm in a skirt.

First drink and everything is fine.

Second drink's when things start to get weird. But, I think, I'm weird, how weird could this all really be? I find out that she had been drinking and smoking long before I picked her up at 7.

By the third drink I had moved on to ginger-ale and she asked if people would mind if she smoked weed in the bar. I said yes they most likely would. I don't think that the general public is okay with people smoking controlled substances in wide open non-smoking bars. It's the kind of thing that gets you kicked out really quickly and asked not to come back.

Your probably right she said. Are you straight edge, she asked.

As I had just had two drinks I was thrown off by this question. Before I had a chance to reply she asked, Do you want to get some coke?

I was stunned and completely grossed out, Yeah, no, I said. What I didn't say was that I had no intention of breaking a personal code of behavior on a first date.

But the truth was that there was the little tiny part of me that thought I could. For a second I thought it would be fun and that I could just do a bump and then be fine and go home and work in the morning. Then reality flares up. I look at her, she's 30 and wasted and I don't want that. I don't want any of that. So I drop her off and head home.

My bed's warm and I'm off to sleep.

Toothsome Delights

This afternoon I raked the gutter and median. There were at least five different types of fungi under the decomposing oak leaves. Drawing the orange tonged rake over them I released their spores to the wind and soil. Very solid, I thought, doing my part to clean and trim and propagate colonies (I would never know if they were edible as all mushrooms are mysterious neighbors and I remain certain that their semi-vegetative state lends them humanistic qualities.).

I am very pleased to announce that as of today, the second of December, I still have a dahlia blooming. It is large and lemony yellow. In addition to this, the japanese maple in my yard insists on having the last word: while all of the trees up and down my street have been void of foliage for at least a week, it still has the majority of its leaves—most of them blazing red, though some still a nice verdant green. My yard is downright lush for late fall.

Autumn is lingering and I am not protesting.