inamorato: 04.06

trix

often when i'm on the phone with mike, he'll use words i don't understand and sometimes i don't have time to ask him what they mean, 'cause he'll drop 'em in the middle of a story and i don't want to stop him cause i'm about the only person in his life he can talk to about shit like how much he misses his cat, etc.

so i go to the online prison dictionary. ahahaha. i find it so funny i need to translate some of his speech. sooo, i was reading the dictionary and found some funny shit, thought i'd share.

Boneyard: Family (conjugal) visiting area.

(this is awful...) Diaper sniper: Child molester.

On Pipe: A homosexual or "punk" as in "He's on pipe."

Pecker Palace: A place for conjugal visits.

Wobble Head: Prisoners with mental health problems or on medication.

Currently listening:

Icky Mettle
By Archers of Loaf
Release date: By 10 September, 1993

Labels: mike

YOU HAVEN'T SEEN IT??

i get this reaction after i say that i haven't seen a lot of movies or old tv shows. the latest being a christmas story. yep. never saw it. never saw the dark crystal. never saw the labyrinth. it goes on and on. but let me tell you why.

we had one tv and my dad always watched football, baseball and my mom watched dallas and knots landing and i was OUTSIDE with my dogs, archie and jughead, and the kids in the neighborhood. i'd make my own toys. i went through a phase where i painted my tree house as often as i could. i started a competition on the block between like 20 kids or something to see who could grind the most stones down to powder and i sat up in my tree house day and night grinding stones. i was fucking insane. i used to write things and fold them up and bury them in people's gardens and sand boxes. when there was no one outside, i'd dig little tiny holes in the mortar of my fireplace and roll up little notes and put them in there, then funnel the grindings back in so it looked the same. i bet there are still notes in that fireplace. i spent literally years of my life mapping out short cuts in our little subdivision through people's back yards and i could get to any of my friends houses without using the street and without being seen. i'd go to construction sites and steal some of that super glue and glue things to the sidewalk, some of which remains there to this day. i'd put on the police and lie on my back under our glass coffee table and shake my head back and forth for hours. or i'd sing "doit-doit-doity-doit" along with frank sinatra doin new york new york. when i got real bored, i'd jump off my bunk bed over and over.

i made up my own stories and we acted them out. my dad would come out to the front lawn and spin us around and make us run obstacle races. we'd play 9 door and swim in kelly's pool, ride our bikes, walk the railroad tracks, tell ghost stories, trade stickers, build forts.

it was a busy life. there was no time for tv.

Currently listening:

The End of Heartache
By Killswitch Engage
Release date: By 11 May, 2004

i am not hip with the teen lingo

i have heard a couple of words said a few times and i have no idea what they mean.

what the hell is a hipster?

and what the freaking fuck is a scenester?

is this like the new millennial greasers and socs?

and if so, are we sure we want to go with these words? they seem a little unimaginative.

and are we also sure, that as twenty-somethings, we want to be classifying groups of people like we did in high school? homies? skids? skaters? are we sure that's a good move? are we regressing? is someone going to comment on my blog with "H.A.G.S.!"? i heard there's gonna be a fight in the smoke pit later...

the sport coat

talking to mike yesterday, he really goes out of his way to get in touch with me, gets his brother to 3 way call me just so we can talk for 15 minutes. i've been grinning like a jackass all weekend. imagine loving someone so much that even after 10 years of knowing each other, a 15 minute call from them can turn an ordinary day spectacular, can make you grin off your face, can fill you with so much warmth and love and happiness. just imagine... i am one lucky bitch.

anyway, he told me yesterday that someone on his block attempted suicide on friday after he'd gone to see his wife in the visiting room. the guy's wife told him she was seeing someone else. he spat in her face, was cuffed and taken back to his cell, where he slit his wrists and told his celly about it. he was unsuccessful, obviously.

mike calls the wife's new dude "jody sport coat". heh. prison slang is so colorful. he tells me it's every guy's worst fear in there, the jody sport coat. i can imagine it might be. that would feel awful, i'd imagine. worse than out here on the street, cause you know it happened because he's locked up and she was lonely... sad.

Labels: mike

mundane or profound?

people are so fucking beautiful. some images, moments, things people say, looks they give, i dunno, sometimes they just make me wanna cry. watching american inventor, and some guy developed a car seat for babies that's round and will save lives, i guess. he's telling the story behind it and says he lost his daughter in a car accident, and tears roll down his face. he walks out of the room and the first person he sees, he just hugs. a stranger. it was beautiful. he just needed a hug so bad, he hugged anyone. albeit, i was sniffling prior to the hug because of the story of his daughter, but the hug was overwhelming. i dunno. i find profundity in the most mundane shit. s'why i could never imagine being someone who doesn't believe in any kind of higher power whatsoever. it's boring, there's no mystery, no curiosity in that. accepting the mundane as just simply mundane is the same deal. you gotta find something in it. everyone's always looking for the damned meaning of life, when all you gotta do is just give meaning to it.

oddness

so i've been getting myspace message after myspace message (even emails! - i honestly didn't think i had that many readers, i'm flattered) about my love blog post and so many people have been saying that i make love out to be a cakewalk, nothing difficult about it.

read it again, kids. carefully.

i said love makes you not want to cause intentional pain or discomfort to the other person. never said it doesn't occur without intention.

the love post was a particular response to an email i received from someone who said that the fact that he loves me and has always loved me is the reason why he did something so horrendous to me that the cops are involved now. my point, is that he can't possibly love me. if he did, he'd have rather seen me happy than do what he did. that's real love. wanting more than anything to see the other person happy, no matter what sacrifices you have to make.

and of all people to tell that love is difficult, you all think you have to tell me?? i'm in love with a man in prison who won't be out for 6 years and MCI keeps putting a block on the line! and i just got my visiting papers in the mail two days ago! i have to go to a prison to visit him! and touch him and hug him and love him even more and then leave. then i have to leave and wait 6 yrs. 6 years of maybe phone calls, 6 years of worry when i don't get a letter in a few days (what's happened, is he in the hole? did someone beat him to a pulp?). 6 years of pretending i'm looking forward to going to ohio. 6 years of leaving ohio in sobs. and then if i want to be near him after 6 years, i have to move cause canada doesn't take convicted felons.

do you know what it's like to look at that beautiful face and hear that beautiful voice and not be able to touch him?

yeah, you don't have to tell me love's difficult.

let's all simultaneously pull our heads out of our asses. ahhh, ain't that better?

Labels: mike

random artifacts

throughout my life, little bits of old shit just randomly appear in my home. no matter where i live or who i live with. just out of the blue, some old piece of paper floats on by and i pick it up and read it, and it's just so random and strange.

when i lived at gary point just over a year ago, a little booklet surfaced. looked like it was from the 50's, and talked about making good sandwiches for the man in your life. it had illustrations like this:

out of a book of poetry i own, once fell a piece of paper, so thin like tracing paper, with typewriter print. it was an open letter to the mothers of sons fighting in WWII. it read as such:

When The Door Opens
By a Mother

I write this in the deep and earnest desire that it may, to some extent, comfort, help and strengthen all those who have lost a dear one during these bitter years, and, dreadful though it must be, those who are going to lose dear ones in the months to come.

Some weeks ago, I recieved a telegram telling me that my youngest son had been killed in action, out over the Atlantic he was helping to guard. Four weeks later, to the very hour, I had another telegram telling me that my second son was missing over enemy territory. I still do not know whether he is in this world or has gone to join his brother. Their ages are 21 and 20, both sergeants of the R.C.A.F., and skilled men.

I only mention these details because some people say, "What a waste of valuable young lives." Indeed that is not so. All the long years of hard work and high endeavor were leading to their supreme purpose, to protect our England and all the world, and to seek out, fight and destroy Evil.

I had a letter which said, "It is not the length of his life that matters, but the quality of it." How true that is. All these young men are putting more into their short lives than some people put into all their years on earth.

Those letters we recieve, are they not a most wonderful consolation? It is one of the greatest characteristics and one of the most priceless assets our nation posesses - that intense desire to help little children and anyone in distress.

After the second telegram many friends said to me, "I do not know what I can say to you" and I answered, "Believe me when I tell you that it doesn't matter what you say, the fact that you have shown me your sympathy is everything to me, and I assure you I value it more highly than I can possibly express."

Our boys of the Armed Forces of the Crown, by land and sea and air, go out in the day and in the night, in storms and sunshine, heat and cold to fight Evil, and they do not go alone. Each and every one of them carries a Guiding Light, "the Light that lighteth every man that cometh into the world." They do not die - there is no death; death has been conquered.

Their spirit, their influence, their love, live on. God has called them to yet higher work, to go on fighting Evil for the sake of their little brothers and sisters:

What here is faithfully begun
Shall be completed, not undone.

They are not far away, they have not left us. They are, as it were, in the next room, and it is only that the door is shut.

In God's good time, the door will open and we shall be with them again, but we must make sure that we shall not be ashamed to meet those brave young men who willingly gave up Life itself - in the titanic struggle against Evil.

I have not forgotten the children of the Blitz. They stayed so short a time with us, but dear and sacred memories remain with us. Their little souls are with us too, in the next room, and those memories and their influence are such that I cannot understand those who say it would have been better if they had never been born. God in His infinite mercy limits our capacity for suffering, and I believe that no one, man or woman, is given a greater burden than he can carry.

And so we will try and do what they would ask us to do - carry on; carry on our daily work of trying to make a better world for our little ones.

Since the two telegrams, I have lost all vindictiveness. I only pray that all this dreadful misery and slaughter may cease, that after we have beaten the enemy, we may buckle to and start the real job - and it is a full-time job - of trying to make the enemies of mankind into decent God-fearing men and women. If we could succeed in that, we certainly need not be ashamed when the door opens into the next room.

and today, as i was shifting papers on my desk, i came across this:

curiouser and curiouser!

message in a bottle

i dread apathy. i just sit and stare. no writing. i thumb through poe's entire works over and over poking at the macabre, sometimes dharma bums by kerouac, rucksacks and trains and times when you could hitch across the continent safely and everyone fuckin loved the trumpet. try to think what it would be like to be them.

i just hide out in my room. pet my dog. keep the blinds closed. pop out when it all blows over and everyone is so happy, "courtney!! where ya been?" hoppin trains with buddha. smokin in jazz clubs with ginsberg. y'know. same old same old.

say hello to my l'il friend

what is love

love does not make you insane, love is one of the most basic of human emotions, we have always had love, we have not always had the same social mores and norms that define sanity. love is the most sane thing you can feel and act on.

love does not make you do stupid things. love makes you do the right things. love makes you want to do the things that make the object of your affection happy. love makes it difficult to do things that won't. love makes you want to do great things for yourself as well, so that the object of your affection, if the love is requited, is happy for you and takes pride in you.

love does not require compromise through obligation, love makes compromise happen through desire. love doesn't make you feel it necessary to compromise beyond jeopardizing your own happiness and health. love makes you compromise, naturally, from wanting to see the person you love happy.

love is sharing, not leeching.

love is a privilege, not a hang up.

love is not about satisfying your own desires. that's lust. love is satisfying the desires of the other person.

love's only requirement is for the object of your affection be happy. if that doesn't include you, so be it. you should be happy (albeit sad at your own loss) to provide them that space.

love would not stand for intentional hurt or pain or uncomfortableness. love makes you never, ever want to make the other person feel unsafe, uncomfortable, hurt, pain, guilt, anger. under any circumstances. even if it means you cannot be with the person you love. even if it means you never get to see the person you love again. even if it means you're just to be friends. you should be happy, blissfully happy to get what you can if you truly, truly love that person.

love is containable. if it weren't i'd explode sometime in the next six years.