The Hurt

More LOP Thinkng Out Loud

LOP

The character that needs a name (Stone?) arrested as a terrorist which makes him a US citizen with no rights. Wait. This is the end. No. The ending.

LOP

Two parts to story. One. The discovery of family Hurt* through the loss of the father (and/or patriarch–when the matriarch has been freed but not prepared). Two. The connection, hence confusion, of Character’s becoming a terrorist. The internal ones no one is ever speaking of because…

*The Hurt. The distruction of the children. The children have to pay. (?????)

-ts

Pondering

Pondering Questions Leaving SF, CA

(Note: This post combines Sept 21-26)

To inform. About short story publications (from Borders Books in SF, CA)

– Glimmer Train (www.glimmertrain.org)
– Fiction (www.fictioninc.com)

Two publications of short stories.

Regress development.

The idear of growing backwards. “Growing” not in the sense of the physical, as a person would grow from a child to adult but with knowledge. Knowledge that isn’t somehow gained through society. Knowledge inbred? Could one call it growing backwards? No. Learning backwards, maybe. But how does one learn backwards? Can culture become sub-culture? As though culture, introduced to a person (young) and that person having a choice of which direction to take with what knowledge.

Great example of difference between USA and Germany. The way flowers are prepared and delivered.

Wine:
– “Clos du Val” wine from SF hotel (California)
– “Cutrer” from Sonoma, Russian River

Absurdity. Not unlike an oddity. TSA. Transport Safety Administration. Yet antoehr way that shoudl open the eyes of people. But there eyes cannot be opened. All that can occur is to close them more. Yes. The closing of eyes. This very early morn in SFO on hell flight. To where?

My heart hurts. Enough to make me wonder but not enough to make me see a scientist. Still. I should take better care of myself. Better men have dropped dead at my age. Will do so upon return home. The home I do not want. I have no home. Or too many.

The things people say and do. If they would be recorded. What kind of recording device would be used? A device with unlimited memory? A machine that could run forever?

Mockery of democracy. The spin machine and the political mechanics that make it work. Situational ethics and morality based on (the mood of) the moment. Is (really) the driving element of politics fear? Then there needs to be a constitutional amendment, like all other parts, banning fear as a part of politics. (Or is the democratic process?) The US Constitution has worn out its welcome. What is to follow? More amendments (that serve the few (with money))? Doesn’t an amendment continue on with the status quo? Can a amendment rebel against–the mother? The mother is the constitution. The US constitution. A document that protects the owners. The owners of what? Life? The earth? All things earthly? The Bush clan reminds of people who think the constitution protects on them. The clan. Is this family a representative of what is good or bad about America? Rational thought dictates this family is bad. There. I’ve said it.

Is a human beings intelligence dependent on a long and fruitful childhood?

Questions to ponder.

-ts

Explain It To A Three Year Old

The God Of Hell by Sam Shepard

The hardest thing about living abroad for so long is not so much the distance and proximity I’ve put between myself and home. The whole idear of home has become an enigma anyway. The real problem has been watching the place closest to my heart from the outside for more than twenty years. Strange travels indeed. In the beginning the air I breathed and walked was full of everything wrong, misleading, false-optimism and blindness. I was suffocating so I ran from the America of the 80s where the seed of greed was allowed to spawn and mutate freely. And then the Cold War ended. You would think that such a positive, happy, great-ending would change people. But it didn’t. It made everything worse. Everyone immediately started squandering any potential dividends of that war. And. Their mis-efforts made Das Volk even more stupid. So I continued watching from abroad. I reckon there lies the seriousness of it all. People of all walks of life just didn’t do much about the changing of the times. They all just stuck to the path set for them. That was it. Nothing else. But not for me. I had put myself on an edge because I couldn’t take the mediocrity and the mendacity that so many thought acceptable. As though life, liberty and everything else was just a transaction. So I went to Berlin and London and Köln and Prague. And with every trip I read The Harold Tribune, Time Magazine, etc. Every hotel I tuned in CNN. I did everything to see what was happening back home as my travels took me further and further away. But you know the old saying, right? You can take him out of home but you can’t take home out of….

Confusing times. Ever since I’ve watched with tear-filled eyes my home, the country that I adore, fall to ruin at the behest of politics taking advantage of a people hell-bent on following a life-doctrine dictated to them: consume-to-survive. I’ve watched my home fall from grace at the behest of rampant, ill-conceived political ideology, despicable talk-radio and never questioning misconstrued authority. And then there’s Faux Newz. I watched the literature I’ve read by Orwell & Co. begin to materialise. Then came that horrible day in September 2011. And how did my beloved country react? No different than how it reacted to the ending of the Cold War. And. Just look out the window or, if you please, read up on some history. Indeed. Things have gotten complicated. As worst-writer I’ll never attempt to try and explain it all. But what is obvious is that a once great nation has fallen from grace. The game is up.

So let’s move to shinny shores and old worn out places that can no longer be subsidised for the pleasure of the needy but can explain things worst-writer cannot. Plays. It’s one thing to love the art of dialog and what can happen on a stage but it’s another thing to love the art of the playwright. I wonder if America knows what it has with Sam Shepard? The actor, the writer, the hot stud women don’t know what to make of. “What? He’s a Pulitzer winning writer, too,” she squirmed watching him in The Right Stuff. I certainly know what I have with Shepard. Probably my life. While trying to figure out things during that hell-setting period known as the 80s, it was Shepard’s play The Tooth of Crime that woke me up. (Keep in mind, I’ve only ever read it, never seen it performed!) With that play all I ever wanted to do was read dialog. In fact, reading plays completely changed my perspective on reading in general. A world was opened up. Through the years I’ve spent considerable effort on acquiring Shepard’s work just to read it. How fortunate I’ve been to be able to fly to places like London or San Francisco to buy his work because they have book stores specialising in plays. Heck, was even able to fly to NYC once to see Kicking A Dead Horse, unfortunately it wasn’t available in print yet. But let me move on before I get lost.

If anyone wants a way to explain to an adult as though that adult were a third grader, so he or she can understand, what is truly wrong with America today then all you have to do is check out The God of Hell. Like today’s America it’s a farce, funny and full of bullshit that will make you squirm and laugh. And in order to make it fit the American TV mentality, it’s short, precise, has dick jokes and don’t have lots big words (grammar intended). But there’s something else in it. The truth. So beware.

Welch: What did you expect? You didn’t think you were going to get a free ride on the back of Democracy forever, did you? Well, did you? What have you done to deserve such rampant freedom? Such total lack of responsibility. Just lolling about here in the Wisconsin wilderness with your useless lumberjack of a husband, scraping the cream off the countryside. Sooner or later, the price had to be paid. Don’t you think? 

-Scene Three

Rant on.

-tgs-

 

Arguments In Space

Traveling. Long drawn out travel. Stress. On flight back and arrival a great surprise awaits. Oh. Oh. What is the surprise? Short story. Off the top I’m thinking, as a title for those words poked out early on an airport napkin. What a napkin it was. It smelled. Of something unclean. It was dark white, probably recycled. I wonder if the waitress picked it up off the floor and thought it was still good. But it didn’t smell of the floor. It smelt of kerosene. It smelt of airport. Stilgelegtflughafen. Powdered though. Stop. Title? Back to title. Wait. The waitress is cute. The lowest button of her untucked blouse is about to undo. It’s being massaged open as she walks and carries trays. I watched a man watch her ass. Why wasn’t I that guy? Nomatter. Title. Title: Todd On A Role. Todd On The Role. It doesn’t matter what Todd wants or what he rolls because he’s the other guy watching the waitress’ ass. A story about modern day stress but not from travel. The travel, the jockeying, the game of corporates, fighting for your position in a world where everyone is made equal by the fight. Forced to be equal. How does one stand above the rest? The dilemma of Todd. Wait. Is that the title? He questions having to adhere so much, having to compromise so much–just to be equal. As in “all men are created equal.” Or. All men are equated equal. Newspeak. A story about a guy who questions everything in a world where nothing is questioned. He goes on a business trip. How long is he gone? Takes place over a week. A few days. Two days. A five day week. Detail each day. Like a log. Use Disney/Orlando seminar trip from 2000. Wait. Where are those notes? The monotony and redundancy of each day, of life. Yes, use the Disney thing. A week in hell seminars encased in Walt Disney’s nightmare for America. The spectacle. The illusion that induces a trance in Todd. Like the one time he took shrooms? Todd has a short circuit while in Disney World. This causes him to start to misplace things. Forget. His presentation, for example. He is delusional and freaks out during a presentation. But everyone thought it was very entertaining. Even though it will get him fired. The files/slides of his presentation enhance his delusion, saying, thinking that during the moment of “turn”, that is, the moment where the trance started, some kind of electrical impulse took over, zapped him, and during this moment his files were all different and some were missing. For example. From his childhood. Vision from a time before he knew what it was like to be equal. Before he was equated. He fiddled with a draw program, the document saved has become reality. A vision. He has a daughter (but the reality is his wife recently left him with his daughter). His daughter was growing up and wanted to be an artist–what he wanted to be. Each of the activities at the Disney convention center play a role in his breakdown. His misgivings manifest. The seminar agenda? Everyday The Same Success. Wait. Stop.

Fascinated with Jeffrey Eugenides’ Middlesex. But I am also bored. His writing is nothing less than brilliant. I am not bored with his writing. But the story. Just started reading chapter titled Middlesex and it reminded me of Virgin Suicides neighborhood. Why?

Idear

A play. Need a one legged actor. If one leg actor not available take two legged actor. We’ll stop there, for sure. Unless we get a paraplegic actor, wheel chair n’all. This actor/character is gay, of course. And lives in San Fran. He’s been together with one person since his accident. The partner doesn’t mind, he jokes, because he’s still got another leg that seems to work better than before. But there is a secret to their relationship. The loss of the leg. How did it happen? An avid surfer attacked by a shark? Some fantastic accident that I haven’t thought of yet. The war. Yeah, I think it’ll be the war. In fact, I wanted that from the start. But the gay thing… The problem is the partner doesn’t know the whole story of the lost leg. Something’s been kept from him. But he wants to know. The other won’t tell him. What would be a good secret? A fantastic secret accident?

The universe is a place where two ends never meet. That’s the secret. Forget everything else. Membrane theory. String theory. The answer to everything when we don’t even have a question. The Big Bang my ass.

The weekend I lost all my friends. It wasn’t as though there were many to begin with. The loss was gradual because there were so few. Required then more energy to lose. Leaving the nest I suppose. Or perhaps HS. Those were the first friends lost. But were any of them friends? Not one from my graduating class am I in touch with. Obviously I acquired others but in the end they were the same and they in turn were eventually lost eventually and the process sped-up until one day I realized I’d better do something about this. Or maybe not. So I did. I did not. I actually tried to focus on the issue. You know, like how some teachers in school might tell you to do. But it didn’t work. At least not long term. Then came last weekend. With my last two friends we headed out to one of their mother’s beach houses. After that weekend I would only have a girlfriend which doesn’t really count as a friend, right? Yes. The problem I have is being too combative. According to my own empirical evidence (yes, my own) I never really thought my combative nature was worse than the next thinking person. But how can one be objective there, eh? The conversation began with rockets. How fast a vehicle needs to travel in order to reach space. I said the space shuttle reaches around seven-teen thousand miles per hour. Na-ah, someone said. I asked him if he meant to say No. “They don’t need to travel fast just fly out of the atmosphere,” he said. “Sorry,” was my combative response. “I’m very surprised you’d say that. You were in the airforce. You have to actually break out of our atmosphere–you can’t just fly out of it. “And what about the SR-seventy-one,” he said. At this moment I knew the stage was set. Friend was fiddling with his phone as other friend interjected. “Hey Dude, do you know why they launch rockets near the equator?” Friend drank from his glass of beer and nipped at his whiskey as though the two were a ritual and also toasting his question because he decided to become part of the conversation. “What does that have to do with our conversation?” I asked. “Well, we just started so I thought I’d mix things up,” someone said. Friend took another drink. In fact they all took lots more, slowly. “Ok,” I said, feeling the booze drip inside me but still unaware of the brew-who it would end up making in the morning. “Why don’t we discuss how the price of tee in China will effect the growth of butterflies in grannies soup.” “My granny makes pies with those butterflies, you know,” friend said. “So do you guys want to talk about something or…” other friend tried to say but was cut out. “We want to talk,” friend said like the ape he was. “Which, by the way, we’re doing.” “Talking just to talk is not what forty year olds should be doing. It’s pointless and we’re not women, I think,” I said. “Friend, be cool.” “Why,” other friend said. “You just asked a question and I answered it and you thik what I said is not true. Now, before you boys get lost again: one cannot just fly out of the atmosphere into space. First there’s no air to fly on. Second there’s something called gravity. Gravity kinda hold this whole show together so it’s kind of a big deal, pretty powerful. So do you get it? You have to break out of the atmosphere.” “Which the SR-seventy-one does,” friend said. “But it doesn’t go into space.” “Sure it does. It’s like a flying satellite when it gets up there.” “No it doesn’t, it can’t,” I said. “The SR-seventy-one has jet engines, very special jet engines and they, like all other jet engines need air to burn their fuel. It goes very high, yes, but it doesn’t leave the stratosphere where there is no more air.” “But the engines burn liquid oxygen.” And I stopped. Pissed. How do you argue with that? Leave it. Stop here as well. Tired of writing this.

-T

Friend Loss

How I lost all my friends. A short (story, play) and a commentary. The not getting along of friends. Try to duplicate the dialog and discussion that takes place between (Friend 1) and I and (Friend 2) and I. The discussion that leads me to so much ugliness (on my part). Why do I get that way? Can people see thru it, though? They remain my friends. Would you believe, dear notebook, that I actually caused a couple last night at a restaurant to almost leave because of my (inner hate) anger. There are moments where I feel bad about what I caused–but only moments. The thing I am learning about so much failure in life is that as you age with failure the failure becomes harder to control. It literally self perpetuates. It’s worse than (alcohol) addiction. It is not the anger and ugliness, both inherent results of failure that causes (my) blood to boil, but instead the deep hole that seems to grow before my eyes as the situation gets out of my control. I guess this is the circumstance that leads so many humans to their dire straights. A foundation for religion. Another foundation for fascism. Don’t get too far off topic. (*) This is a great explanation, perhaps even a counter explanation, regarding those who run amok. Those who randomly kill with guns and violence. Taking innocence–not innocence in a religious sense but innocence in the idear that the victim didn’t get to his/her gun faster than the perpetrator. Taking innocent lives with them on their extravagant exit from our/this hell. They do so because of, not anger, but the continual fear of failure. Is this part of LOP? Was it part of Chad? Failure is the work of the heavens not of the devil. The devil wants humans to be successful. It’s now God’s doing in this world. The devil wins/succeeds and god… Oh the destruction, the dysfunction. What was the moment in history where the killing for god stopped and man took over the killing. This the conflict of free-will? Free. And. Will. (*) Continued from previous astrix. My anger and ugliness is a result of the hole. Of course I need to control it–get it under control–and perhaps this is a first step. Recognition. An amazing comment, thought: The lack of power the failure has. So much put into it and so little return (except for my anger). What does failure equate with? Whatever that may be. Find it. No. Make it up. The arguments with “friends” which have lead to my loss of them all, well not all, fall into my abyss because of my want to learn, to succeed. Why is that wrong? I read. I read to learn. Hence great apprehension to be entertained by the written, by the worst-written, the failed text of moi. When discussing and vocalizing what I have achieved auto-didactically doesn’t fit into any one’s shame of life. Wait. Getting tired. It is not knowledge from any other source. Stop.

-ts

Girl With One Eye

LOP

The one eyed girl. She was born with one eye. Or? Well, not quite. But so she says. She knows all about the cyclops. She wears glasses that make it look like she has a second eye. She tells the story of the origin of the cyclops myth, she debunks it, along with a few other Greek myths. Then she tells the truth of the cyclops, that lesser humans (than we have today) didn’t know what to make of the skulls of elephants. The role she plays. The true story. Her eye was crushed by the doctor when she was born. A ghastly scene. He was a substance abuser. She got over it. She grew up where the doctor told her that with one eye she could see better than those with two eyes. She believed it and lived her life in that belief. Who was this doctor? Her ersatz father? Their connection the eye that he won’t give back to her. He says her mother died at birth and took the eye with her out of spite. As she died it was the last thing she could grab on to. If not glasses with a fake eye then an eyepatch? The eye patch covers the eye that was crushed. A glass eye? When she take the glass eye out or puts it back in she gets the same feeling a smoker gets when he inhales. The same feeling before the smoking turns to habit. The bones broken by crazed step pseudo-father-doctor. She calls that day her day of birth. The day with the eye. The loss of eye has nothing to do with birth of life but birth of new life for which she will take revenge. The story behind the cyclops and the girl with the perfect body. Perfect.

Blue’s Lens. See LOP2 (Composition notebook) for first write-up of this one. This the story of Betty. A wife. She finds a video camera and starts to film her life. She becomes obsessed. Yes, obsessed. There is so much obsession, Tom. Why? She becomes obsessed with voyeurism. She films husband and he doesn’t know it. She teases him that she has a secret all the time and he thinks it`s either something sexual or a new car. Typical male. Her life changes so that she can film husband during sex. And that’s the ticket. Filming this stuff from a woman’s point of view. Hi-larry-us? Comedy? Husband eventually discovers what she’s done but it’s too late to do anything about it. She does it because being married is a bore. Terms used in this story: MILF, HWGF, A2M, etc.

-Tomas

Action Reaction Action

LH418 (>IAD). Outrageous and ludicrous the entirety of security one must now face. Entirety the word? Such a colossal waste of time and resources. The largest US government expansion in fifty years? To even imagine that politicians cannot see the wrong of their leadership and lawmaking fits perfectly to the silly-ness of airport security in 2005. The only “Trost” I give myself is the knowledge that US airports are even more stupid. Example. Of Stupid. A sixty-odd year old woman, caucasian, was frisked so thoroughly that one would/could think it was all some bad TV series. Yes, the few who rule are so stupid and inept but they many who enable them… When we people wake out of this dream?

Always amazed at the frivolity of others. (Not that I’m any better.) Especially when those others conjugate and become one. Scary. Indeed. Automaton. Lemmings. Guess more, t.

Just finished Eugenides chapter on Henry Ford in Middlesex. What a wonderful piece on assembly line workers. Although I’m still not convinced this isn’t a bore, I’m a bit (more) motivated to continue.

Idear

Tainted by a smell. Or. How a smell is tainted. How smell travels. Is smell and it’s structure related in anyway to gravity? The smell of it all. As though the answers of the ultimate question(s) in the mathematical understanding of the universe were really about smell. But. How does the universe smell? “Stink” like the speed of light. Mass and energy is relative? Time is relative? Now there’s a break thru for you. Quantum physics for understanding gravity. What is the science for understanding smell?

I always heard about Leni Riefenstahl but never learned anything about her. Does that make her an enigma? Do I even know what an enigma is? Nomatter. Has there ever been a story about LR? Her life, doings, would make an interesting play. Or? Recently came across an article by Susan Sonntag about LR. Fascinating. Fascism. Article written in ’75. Great summary of controversy behind LR.

Self realization. Knowing what you have gotten yourself into. How could I know, for example. The negative I would face after going to Germany? (But is it such? At least for a boring story it is.) And the connection to a past that I truly know nothing about. Those fucking Nazis are even haunting me. But why? Because people do not–or they willfully fail to–realize that action always has reaction. And now that I have realized my fate–FATE–how do I react? It goes like this. Or maybe not.

Action > Reaction > Action > …

This is why life is so short. The realization between action and reaction. You are born (action) and you must die (reaction). What happens between all the two? No. Not life. Not realizing that it is not life. Wait…

I need to go somewhere with this and LR. Check whether (or not) there’s a been a play about her. Oh, how to focus on one thing while so many others are sucking the life out of you. Can I bring LR into LOP? Perhaps something with the cyclops chick. The fact that LR never had children. She’s the crushed eye. Did she have children? How can aesthetic as she was someone adhere to so much beauty and not have children? The idear of the beauty and the woman and the children. And bad sentences.

LOP

To add to the story? How ’bout killing off (character)? A plot twist? Reason for doing this:

1) (Character) needs to get out from underneath father dominance
2) (Character) needs to become one of the anonymous–that’s how you can get away with anything, even murder, yeah, join the anonymous!
3) (Character) is running from the FBI or the like.

Stop.

Later.

In LOP define and re-define conspiracy. Turn the whole conspiracy theory krapp which people are craving upsidedown and inandout. (Character) is fanatical about conspiracy. He comes from his past. Is his past connected to Chad? The liberal or the conservative conspiracy mindset confuses (Character). “Don’t make it so complicated to understand, man,” he says.

Question for LOP. Has USA ever had a radical leftwing faction? I mean one that has attained real political power? Make one up, if not. Why has this always been suppressed? Because the constitution was already liberal but with a twist for the privileged. US conservatives want nothing than, at the least, remove a few of the declaration made in the constitution. Wait. I’m mixing up declarations with constitutions. That’s why it’s been easy for the conservative wing to keep anything left at gaining real power.

-Tommi