Same as it ever was

SunnySome young christian girl "borrowed" this picture of Sunny (from an earlier post—two years ago!) to illustrate a poem about loss. I like it, except for the line about email. It rings weird.

I mean, the whole country music vocabulary seems valid. "My telephone's not ringing and I'm sure it's still not you", or something like that.

Dear John. OK. Achy Breaky Butt. Whatever.

But email? My inBox?

I guess I'm just not ready for that.

[UPDATE] a couple more people find this photo useful:
saying goodbye [dead]


The Anti-Meter Maid

The Anti-Meter Maid

I visited Sausilito for the first time after having lived in The City for umpteen years. It didn't do much for me and I doubt I will repeat.

I was struck by the number of people in wheelchairs and other mobile-assistive devices along the main drag of shopping and shops. I wondered about it for a while.

As I was feeding our parking meter a woman hustled past and put a quarter in the meter for the car in front of ours. Then she put one in the meter for the car in front of that one. Wah!

She said she hated to see people get tickets, so when she had spare change she walked up and down the strip feeding parking meters. (So different from my days of strolling the upper Haight)

We marked the time allotted to us on our meter and headed off for ice cream and other things. I wished I had taken the woman's picture.

We were late getting back to our car, but returned to see we had 30 minutes remaining. We'd been hit by the anti-parking patrol officer!

And then there she was. So I took her picture.


The Liar's Club

She married the man who stole her virginity.

She drove him to jail so he wouldn’t be embarrassed as he faced rape charges, so she wouldn’t be embarrassed. She did this with her little girl still inside her ... to save face. She never cried.

She left her homeland to escape motherhood; borrowed money to pay gangsters for a marriage, a chance at a new life. She never lived with her second husband.

Her first marriage lasted seven months.

She spent years in the US heartland learning english from christians, auto mechanics, the courteous and elderly.

Gangsters skip town, stop paying the husband who refused to file a petition for her daughter. She would divorce before she could complete the final step in reuniting with her daughter.

Everything seemed to be working.

She took a job at the Liar's Club. She would improve her skills, payoff her bills and count her kills.

A rookie, she fell prey to someone whose game was better than hers.

The people around her, her teammates, the ones she would call 'friends' knew how foolish, how naive, she was. But liar's don't make noise about liars. They watched coldly as she stumbled. They encouraged her to learn the game.

Liars can’t make friends with non-liars. They can only have ‘relationships’ with them. They can seduce those who are not like them. Only in the absence of trust can they hope to find life. Psychic Vampires.

The man who lied to her was married to a veteran of the Liar’s Club. Liars breed incestuously for job security. It's natural selection.

She tried to run away ... but found her path of least resistance to be familiarity. Habit. The drug was working.

Her vision became clearer, literally and figuatively. She returned to the Liar's Club with a vengeance, doing things that were at one time beyond her moral ambivalence. They were quickly and easily assimilated into a new and rigid code.

She met a man. A man who would be true, a man who offered her a fading, blurred vision of her rotting dream. She said "You can't handle the truth!" because she couldn’t. She dismissed it.

She changed departments frequently within the Liar's Club, looking for a comfortable fit, a shield from the gaze of sunlight and truth. Comfortable anonymity.

She was invisible and invincible. She would passively, without remorse, shame, or guilt, take a job at Division OA, owned and operated by the lying, and lied to, wife of the man who seduced her, who lied to her, who fucked her without protection ... literally, figuratively, emotionally and physically.

Frankenstein balls. A monster of deceit. The victory was not in lying but in making it meaningless, like a serial murderer. Beyond good and evil.

She will leave. She has left. She will die. She’s finished her ‘relationship’ with the liar ... [because] now they are friends, bloodless partners in crime. She can lie to him as well as he lies to her. She came, she saw, she learned, she conquered.

Liars make friends with liars. They call them true friends. They think people who lie to them are being nice because it is all they know ... like flies on shit. They can never feel pain or remorse for lying, for hurting. To do so would be failure. Lying must be done unrepentantly.

She’s MIA from the Liar’s Club for a moment, but she will undoubtedly return. Maybe in another city, maybe in another relationship.

She’s MIA from her lover ....

She is mistaken.

Mistakes are forgivable, understandable. Human. All too human.

Guilt and deceit are cancer.


Don't walk away



Belgian Beer

Delirium Tremens The best of the bunch. Clear, crisp, effervescent, and enough taste to last a savory moment. Not as creamy or fruity as the Chamay Triple.

Triple Grimbergen A little more body than Delirium Tremens, but not quite the clarity.
Double Grimbergen Too Darkish and like that.

Chamay Gold Label Molassesy. Darker than expected, but clear and without burden. Not bitter, slightly sweet.
Chamay Classic I don't really like this one.
Chamay Triple Smoothest of all ... perhaps not as effervescent, but it's the creamiest. Mild carmels, no molasses. Very subtle, not intense. This is the bomb.

La Fin De Monde Probably the clearest of all. Not too sweet. Hints at hops without any of the burden of over-hopping. This is often not too expensive.

Hoegaarden White Ale Not very tasteful, but clear and wonderful.

Triple Bornem Fluffy, lite, clear, but not as much taste as the masters. Not sweet, nor bitter/fruity.

Pranqster Taste like Henry's

Hair of the Dog Triple Brewed in Portland, OR. Heavy Sediment. Molasses with nothing more. Only slighty better than a run of the mill domestic brew.

Duvall Hoppy, but not like Henry's. A lite homebrew. Dry ... Not fruity (maybe citrusy). Effervescent like the Belgians, but only that—like a good Heineken or Beck supreme without the skunk.

Augustijn Ale Triple Lite. Fizzy. Not too Sweet. Very sedimenty.

Abbey of Leffe Blonde Ale Big green bottle. Nothing objectionable. Nothing extraordinary.

Bruegel Amber Ale Stubby bottle. Wonderfully smooth. Almost perfect, except the taste doesn't stay with you.

Gulden Draak Big white bottle. Too molassesy. Not sweet enough. A typical Dark Beer.

Grain d'Orge Biere Blonde Des Flanders (France) Perfectly Amber Tasty.

Maudite Brewed in Canada. Bubbly but not at the top. Amber aftertaste. Slightly, ever so slightly, carmelly. No real aroma—Nothing objectionable.

Kasteel bier Biere du Chateau - Prune Beer
. Dark but not like a Guiness. Fruity, Very smooth. Not overly bubbly. No bad 'Bocky' aftertaste

La trappe (Quadruple) Flat. Dated. Too bad.

Lucifer Basically a Heineken. Slightly skunky slightly bitter. Very light.