Monday, October 08, 2007

Connie the Con Lady





Take my photo off the wall
If it just won't sing for you
'Cause all that's left has gone away
And there's nothing there for you to prove
Oh, look what you've done
You've made a fool of everyone
Oh well, it seems likes such fun
Until you lose what you had won
Give me back my point of view'
Cause I just can't think for you
I can hardly hear you say
What should I do, well you choose
Oh, look what you've doneYou've made a fool of everyone
Oh well, it seems likes such fun
Until you lose what you had won
Oh, look what you've doneYou've made a fool of everyone
A fool of everyone
A fool of everyone
Take my photo off the wall
If it just won't sing for you
'Cause all that's left has gone away
And there's nothing there for you to do
Oh, look what you've done
You've made a fool of everyone
Oh well, it seems likes such fun
Until you lose what you had won
Oh, look what you've done
You've made a fool of everyone
A fool of everyoneA fool of everyone

--by JET


Small wonder that blogger JR places the group JET over my White Stripes.
Damn insightful song here.

About l00 per cent of what the current feeling state is among the bloggers today. What say you Josie, Eric 1313 and all the others?

Damn.
Beautiful , manipulative people out to f*ck up other beautiful, maniipulative people. Russian doll syndrome.
Point to a object and talk about it, Borges-like. Call it love. But how is love an object?

So I leave what I have to say to JET, who so well articulates it. (above).


Out of cigarettes on a Canadian Thanksgiving.

Ah well. It makes you go out and do something.

Like point to an object. Like pointing to a picture of JET


Ivan

70 comments:

Josie said...

Ivan, don't even talk to me about manipulative people. God...! What do they get out of life, anyway? Well, they get everything, don't they? Manipulate, manipulate, manipulate. Push this button here, that button there. If that doesn't work, just get sick. Poor me. Poor you. Mea culpa.

People allow themselves to be victimized by the manipulators.

Guilt, guilt, guilt.

Bah, humbug!

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

Okay someone call me confused.

ivan@creatiewriting.ca said...

Josie,

You've certainly got the jist of this.

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

Has something else happened here?

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Tara,

I'm a fraid the current blog is not a good exapple of professional column writing.
I was a bit pressed today and lost my patience with proper essay onstruction.
But Josie (above) got my point all right.
Maybe I'm trying to be like Borges and pointing at something instead of writing a long novel about it.

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

Okay, but Tara is lost... lost, lost... I need the hammock, a drink, and some love. ugh. This week is catch up week if one is behind in classes.So I am heading to the store for a nice drink for this evening and then I am coming here to have me a night. I hope you do not mind.


After I read what you wrote I thought someone got hurt again and I was in southern lady patrol.

Tara

Anonymous said...

If you woke up this morning
with more health than illness,
you are more blessed than the
million who won't survive the week.

If you have never experienced
the danger of battle,
the loneliness of imprisonment,
the agony of torture or
the pangs of starvation,
you are ahead of 20 million people
around the world.

If you attend a church meeting
without fear of harassment,
arrest, torture, or death,
you are more blessed than almost
three billion people in the world.


If you have food in your refrigerator,
clothes on your back, a roof over
your head and a place to sleep,
you are richer than 75% of this world.

If you have money in the bank,
in your wallet, and spare change
in a dish someplace, you are among
the top 8% of the world's wealthy.

If you hold up your head with a smile
on your face and are truly thankful,
you are blessed because the majority can,
but most do not.


If you can hold someone's hand, hug them
or even touch them on the shoulder,
you are blessed because you can
offer God's healing touch.

If you can read this message,
you are more blessed than over
two billion people in the world
that cannot read anything at all.

You are so blessed in ways
you may never even know.

Giuseppe Gori,
Leader
Family Coalition Party of Ontaro.

eric1313 said...

I thought that was a good post. We all too often have our own ideas of exactly what love is--which are inherently different from what others think about the same thing.

Love to me is as much courtly and sacred and tragic as it is a passion that can physically drive a person. Love can make you sing words unparalleled, but when true, love will always know if those are welcome to another or not. Sometimes, all we end up accomplishing is making another feel uncomfortable with our desires, especially if they are not returned in ways we expect.

ivan@creativewewriting.ca said...

Tara,

It's a good thing I bought the turkey and all the alcohol before myMastercard maxed out this morning.
So, sun over the yardarm, I think
I'll have a drink too...Linking pinkies.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Giuseppe Gori,
Leader,
Family Coalition Party,
Ontario.



Thank you for your Thanksgiving greeting in poetic form.

I'd liked to have given your poem a better treatment, like putting it in a typographic box or something, but I am just too unskilled and my techie is out enjoying his thanksgiving.

Too bad manipulative people are trying to scotch your party's progress, but that's politics, I suppose.

Ivan

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Eric,

Thanks.

Seems better to just open a thread and let the commentators roll it along.

Good writing, Eric.

TomCat said...

Right on, Ivan. Cool song.

Josie, just say no to button-pushers.

eric1313 said...

Kurt Vonnegut had this to say:

"Saying 'I love you' to another human being who is not expecting it to be said is like putting a gun to their head and demanding a very specific answer."

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

okay, call me stupid, but Kurt is wrong in my book.... however to each their own.

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

Ivan,

Cheers!... Too early for my hat? LOL

eric1313 said...

Nobody would call you stupid at all, Tara. Especially not here.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Tara,

Oh dear softcore fun!
Yeah, take it all off.

As in the George Thorogood/Joe Coker song, "You can leave your hat on." :)

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Tomcat.

Thanks.

BTW: That is the coolest cat logo I've seen for some time.


Ivan

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

Eric,

One never knows how people truly feel. To often feelings are kept close to the vest. I think that is part of the worlds problems, not enough love.

Sometimes when one is having fun people get crazy. But thank you.

Tara

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

Ivan,

My black velvet hat sits upon my head.. waiting oh waiting for the music to play again lol... okay now I am being silly.

Tara

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Hee

eric1313 said...

Let the music maker's job
never end,
let the poet wax
as the hours wane.

Let the words get better
every night,
from scribbles to
a vintage couplet,
an antique sonnet,
some ancient free-verse
written in hieroglyphics,
penned by an old mummified
tea-head
7,000 years before Big Sur.

Let the music maker's job
never rest
and we will all dance
on the evers of
tomorrow's night,
if it ever comes.

eric1313 said...

Hello, everybody!

Lots of love to all,
and to all a good night.

eric1313 said...

Hello, everybody!

Lots of love to all,
and to all a good night.

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

Anyone home?

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Eric,

Great poem.

But two "end" lines bother me.

One is "if it ever comes"--at the end of your poem; just a bit of ambivalence in an otherwise strong and evocative bit of work;

The other is "good night".

Oh crap.

I thought you were going to rock and roll. :)

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

I'm home, but I'm flagging.

Getting close to International Drinking Time.

Oscar Wilde says the best way to deal with temptation is to give into it.

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

I'll be that temptation...:;wink;;

the walking man said...

I started to write something at 4am this morning and it is now 8 am so whatever it was it started our ..."ed" and that was it it so i guesses i will just say good morning and never mind must not have been important
Peace

mark

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Well, JR, a blogger, is always joking about Ed the Talking Horse here.
So mayby you're getting it from the Horse's mouth, which BTW is a book title by long-gone Joyce Cary.

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

Morning Ivan, morning Everyone.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Morning Tara.

I am doing a Walking Man here,wondering what I'm doing up.

May hit the sack again.

I think I watch too many late-nigh exercise shows. Who in &*&&^ does exercises at three a.m.?

I know I exercise faithfully, right along with the Yoga lady in the miniskirt.

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

Did you go back to bed? Or are you here with me?

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

I think I may sleep as well. But before I do that, I am puling out my dream bok... strange dreams

Voice

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Writers get that sometimes. Voice.

Like any self-respecting schizo, I start to type immediately I hear it.

Anonymous said...

Straight thoughts 159
October 9th, 2007

Many Canadians seem to have been inoculated with low doses of autocracy, until they have become tolerant to mild dictatorships, from Trudeau to Mulroney, Chretien and Martin federally, to Peterson, Rae, Harris and McGuinty provincially.

Federally the Prime Minister appoints over 5,000 people, including the Governor General, Cabinet Ministers, Senators, Heads of Agencies Boards and Commissions, and Supreme Court judges.

The Premier of Ontario "only" appoints over 3,500.

Fortunately this country has a large share of immigrants coming from countries with "strong governments" who are very suspicious of these "one man autocracies".

The Germans, the Italians and the Japanese experienced, at their expenses, dictatorships that led to the second world war. All of them now use a form of Proportional Representation, accepting "weaker" governments as an insurance against dictatorship. These governments may be prone to more frequent government shuffles, but their electoral systems deter one man autocracies.

Almost all western democracies have learnt the lesson and have switched to a more proportional system of government.

Of all the reasons to change our system to MMP, this is probably the most instinctive and compelling.

For more information, please click on: www.FamilyCoalitionParty.com/MMP.htm

Giuseppe Gori, Leader
Family Coalition Party of Ontario

P.S.

Before you start pounding on the keyboard sending me a message about the "appointed" party list candidates in the proposed MMP system, make sure you understand: The above positions, federally and provincially, are appointed without the electors having a chance to vote for any of them (i.e.: not elected and not accountable to the voters).

Most importantly, the appointment of Supreme Court Justices, as I mentioned many times before, goes against the principle of independence among the three branches of government: A "litmus test" for democracy!

On the contrary, with the proposed MMP system, party lists are elected and accountable. The mechanism is explained below.

CURRENT FPTP SYSTEM:

Phase 1.

The party or the riding association will elect, appoint or select the person to be nominated as a candidate. For example, in this election, the FCP appointed most of its candidates.
Independents even "declare themselves".
The candidates nominated by a riding association can be replaced by the leader of the party. For example, Chretien replaced 10 candidates out of the 22 in Toronto in 1997.

Phase 2.

AT ELECTION TIME, the various candidates are presented to the electorate. Voters choose the package they like (party, party leader and local candidate) with their one vote (one ballot, ONE vote).

One candidate is ELECTED by the 50,000 or so voters in the riding.

The local candidates are ACCOUNTABLE to the voters in that riding.



PROPOSED MMP SYSTEM:

In the 90 local ridings, nothing changes. Same as above.

For the 39 party list seats:

Phase 1.

With a procedure similar to the one described above, each party will select its party list (and also publicize the method for selection of its party list: direct election, rules of selection and replacement, or appointment).

It will then publicize the names in the party list.

Phase 2. AT ELECTION TIME, the new ballot will have two sides (one ballot, TWO votes). On the second side voters will ELECT the package they like (party, party leader and party list). The electorate will have several options to choose from (all the registered parties, currently 9 but could be more). These party list candidates are ELECTED by ALL THE PEOPLE IN ONTARIO (e.g.: about 6 Million voters) and are ACCOUNTABLE to them.

If a bad apple is in the party list, then the whole party suffers. If a party list candidates does not perform, then voters will not vote for that party the next time around, thus it is the interest of the parties to choose the best criteria to select the best candidates.



TO SUMMARIZE:

-Local candidates are ELECTED individually by local voters in a riding.

-Party list candidates are ELECTED as a group by all the voters in Ontario.

=Local candidates are accountable to local voters (about 50,000 voters)

=Party list candidates are accountable to all the voters in Ontario (about 6 Million voters)




--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

PLEASE FORWARD THIS MESSAGE TO TWO OR MORE FRIENDS AND SUGGEST TO THEM TO SUBSCRIBE TO OUR NEWSLETTER OR TO MY MESSAGES BY SENDING A NOTE TO ME (Leader@FamilyCoalitionParty.com)

Please check the RECENT SELECTED ARTICLES on our web page.

Remember that our E-mail list needs continuous renewal. People change E-mail very often, so do not assume that we have your (or your close relatives' and friends') latest E-mail address!

Please let me know if you have received this message in error.

Please check our web site for the latest news and in-depth information about the October Referendum on Electoral Reform.

Please check our Table Of Candidates for the October 2007 Provincial Election on our web site.

For more information check: www.FamilyCoalitionParty.com or call 1 888 N1-FAMILY (1 888 613 2645)






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http://www.creativewriting.ca said...

Thanks, Giuseppe Gori.

I hope the referendum works out.

The way I see it, I could vote for you as a person, because I happen to like you, but I could vote for a party that is different from yours.
I vote for Giuseppe, and then NDP and not the Family Coalition?
The mind boggles.

Ivan

eric1313 said...

Thanks, Ivan

I had to crash early. The tank was empty and I couldn't think of anything positive after a certain point.

Always glad to get a little feedback. I'll have to use these poems sometime soon. I'll fix up the ambivalence a little later.

Glad to have a few places and some good friends to write with. As Neitzsche said "fellow creators the creator seeks--those who write new values on new tablets. Companions the creator seeks, and fell harvesters; for everything about him is ripe for the harvest."

That's us! Right there. That's why we come together like this.

eric1313 said...

"Fellow harvesters" not feell harvesters, although, I like the evil connotations of 'fell harvester', and I'll have to save that one for later...

ivan@!creativewriting.ca said...

Eric,

I read your "music-maker's" poem again and maybe there is no ambivalence on the last line, though I think you may have said,
"should it come".
Funny how poems read differently on different days.

Thanks for hanging around.

On the harvester thing, I think for some reason of Keats and his famous poem of autumn and the harvest.

But as a lover of Elizabethan lore, I think I agree with Francis Bacon that old stuff may be great, but we must forever forge the new.


Ivan

Ivan

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

Im back... was I missed?...smiles

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

You were missed, but I have just started a writer's fare of hamhock.

Takes a long time to cook that sucker.Hate to use the oven in this unnaturally hot weather. Lots of pausing for drinking and thinking.
...Like more drinking.
So I might be off for a bit.

Ivan

Trevor Record said...

The "you made a fool of everyone" line makes me think of Sexy Sadie. Hope your thanksgiving was good (with or without cigarettes.)

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

Making abbage with that hammock?

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

You know, maybe I should get one of those programs that types for me. I meant to say cabbage.


Hamhocks, cabbage, a bit of carrot ... maybe a few red skinned potatoes. Sounds yummy to me. Course a salad and a fine white wine would make it even more yummy.

Sienna said...

You write how you feel...I think that is good, it reads beautifully, tortured at times but real art.

Got you something..

It ain't easy but it's something to aspire to...kinda not a bad aim to have: it took me a while to get the hang of this, and I'm still seeking perfection; :)

*When your at peace with yourself and you love your self, its virtually impossible for you to do things to yourself that are destructive.

When you get enough inner peace and feel really positive about yourself, its almost impossible for you to be controlled or manipulated by anyone else.

the more you extend kindness to yourself the more it will become your natural response to others

A secret of abundance is to stop focussing on what you do not have and shift your consciousness to an appreciation for all that you do have

No limit people are so in charge that theycan trust their instincts, be childlike, be creative and do anything that makes sense to them.*


unknown

(Pam)

EA Monroe said...

Hiya, Ivan. I'm with Pam. Finding a lot of "contentment" and "happiness" with just living in the present now -- not looking into the future or glancing back at the past. Just being.

Oh, those darn manipulators! Some like to "please," too much and maybe that let's them be manipulated, too?

Darn brain chemistry! I like the way Tina Turner sings it best --

the lights are on but you're not home
your mind is not your own
your body sweats your body shakes
another kiss is what it takes
you can't eat you can't sleep
there's no doubt you're in deep
your throat is tight you can't breathe
another kiss is all you need
oh you like to think that you're
immune to the stuff oh yeah
it's closer to the truth
you know you're gonna have to face it
you're addicted to love
you might as well face it you're addicted to love

you see the signs but you can't read
you're running at a different speed
your heart beats at double time
another kiss and you'll be mind one track mind
you can't be saved another young
love is all you crave
and if the sun left you you don't mind it feels blue
oh you like to think that you're
immune to the stuff oh yeah
it's closer to the truth
you know you're gonna have to face it
you're addicted to love
gonna have to face it you're addicted to love
might as well face it you're addicted to love
might as well face it
might as well face it you're addicted to love

http://www.creativewriting.ca said...

Dear Pam (Sienna),

In one juncture of what may be laughingly called my life, I was exactly in the state your outhor suggests. I "loved myself" and I was secure in my achievents and what may be called "creativity". I had had two book published commercially, was a college professor and was publshing something every week in the York News--a literary column.

But you never know when the Loreli
stops the Cossack dead in his tracks.
I have a lot of names for the Loreli--could never settle for the "heroine's name.
In my Fire in Bradford novel, I called her Lana.

Here is what "David" wrote to Lana
after she gave him an emotional battering and a bird that may be called coc-a-tease:


Dear Lana,

This is a missive that may have us both wondering whether to laugh or cry.

It has struck me, over this past long weekend, that all is not hunky-dory in the state of Denmark, allusions to ethnic origin or Newfoundland be damned. My lifeboat seems to have this great big hole in it and I'm not sure whether you can appear as your usual fetching self in a U-boat uniform or, more accurately be my angel of the mists who has only know guided me to a firm shore. The lifeboat, is, at any rate, safely moored, but I'd been feeling for the longest time that I'd been torpedoed.

When we first met, really met, I was a bit like the hero out of Simon and Garfunkel, was a rock, was an island, was fairly insular in myself, needing little that stemmed from elsewhere; the asbestos suit was on snugly and some of the King's horses and some of the king's men had succeeded in doing a fair patch job on old Daniel.

Then along came Lana. Well. I went from a fairly self-possessed man of 47 to a love-struck young paranoid of 18 who possessed all the filigree of love without its fruit and enjoying the pain even so.

You had me hooked, almost grounded and on the road to more obscurity than I already possess. The situation was hopeless, no man would touch it with a ten-foot pole, but I was and am deeply attracted to you, as we are both alike, and like tends to attract like, right down to the multiple personalities, changes of appearance, attempts at being Honore de Cossack, guitar-playing, stroking, hugging, making strange warm love somewhere on the far side of the moon through an amber alcoholic mist.

We were and are (even after this past year) in the first stages of falling in love, and I do mean love, for I am every bit as vain as you and we were bound to start a pretty strong mutual admiration society, a country of two near-extraterrestrials in a fairly ugly and acquisitive world.

I was delighted to get your letters, nicely written, well thought out, neat as pins. Then came a change. I wasn't going to respond too heavily to sentiments that suddenly became those of a younger woman, perhaps a girl of 22, rather than an experienced woman of 35. The letters began to get love-lornish, a little broady, references to "collecting hearts like notches on a gun" and and a quick denial of all that, the mark of a hand used to dealing with younger men of a long time back, in a style of hearts and flowers that began to have less and less reference to experienced people who know what it is to walk through fire, to even trade their bodies in situations that surely approach World War Three, while (strangely) possessing the altruism--the love, if you will--to get each back to where each belongs.

I know for certain that you have the altruism, to "get us back to where each belongs". You might even have the love.

But I'm starting to hae me doubts.

Perhaps the letters were so young, so direct and full of unmistakable knowledge of their effect that there was no mistake as to the message sent and the message received. You were telling me that we could only be friends, that sex outside your marriage was out of the question, that our love could only be spiritual, all the things you tell a man who is afraid of women, who gets their egos up, a man not "together" at all. This is the kind of man you can only keep as a friend, a borderline gay like John Losell, though I am not altogether sure.


Now I know I have enough fear to know that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. I also know that it'll be much easier to deal with the husband of a child whom your dog has bitten rather than the wife, for a man is a man, the man I'm dealing with now and he is infinitely easy to deal with, because there is no doubt that Lief and I like each other...Yet in the words that lovers say to each other at night, when they reveal everything, the subject of old Daniel comes up and Lana is told to the last detail what to do or to say next.

Yet I know you are making a hellish sacrifice and showing quite a bit of love for me by sticking with me, with a fair appraisal of the consequences. That kind of loyalty has to be appreciated. And yet, and yet. We come to the bone of contention.

When we first met, you said you would "find a way." Later, when I brought up the subject of sex in what you had termed your "open marriage", you said it was "only sex", perhaps a mere fillip to two people who were attracted to each other. Sex didn't seem important to you. It is sure as hell important to me!

Along comes a developing Daniel, halfway a teacher and halfway an alcohol-crazed sex maniac driven half-mad by a woman's beauty, not used at all to a woman who well yet she won't, too used to having women make the first move and not the other way around. I am somewhat vain, spoiled, much like you. Like you, I suppose, I am carrying the auras of too many lovers, who had in the initial meetings, come to me and not me to them.

So I was secure in my resolve, knew that you would come around. I was too secure. I did not go to you soon enough, and here we are at this impasse, where the man struggles with the teacher, explaining to the woman that why certain things should not be done, are not right, while at the same time trying to do those very things. (The sober Daniel is very different from the tipsy Daniel, much as the sober Lana is different from the wonderful blues-loving doll that you really are). Methinks the lady doth protest too much.

Methinks the lady has explored all her intuitive machinery, which involves a man's income, social position, access to power, personal attractiveness and the lady has found old Daniel wanting; she does not want sex outside her marriage. Why should she?

But the chilling though comes: What if sex is possible within the marriage and what if those are the only terms through which it can come, and what if it involves not only the lover, but the husband too.. Take a drink of something bracing.

I am not any more modest than I should be; I am not any more naive than I should be; I am a writer, like you hungry for truth, but if I practise duplicity more or less routinely among my friends and lovers, I can not make the words come straight and clean, because my heart is not straight and clean, and so I am reduced to the mass of men and women who long ago made their emotional and financial compromises, so therefore I cannot write with my heart coupled with my mind, the emotion divorced from the logic. Only half of me is up to the task now.

So if there is a sourness to my mood, and effeminacy in my style through all my accusations and all the ways I now move and act, it is not because I am, to you, still one more would-be lover. I have some idea of the dynamic, though I think I'd have to be an outright homosexual to get it all.

I am a writer and a man, not a truck driver, not a jock, a person of some consequence who should be treated with some consideration, for I am vain enough to know that I am not like anybody else; I should not possess the emotional calluses of everybody else in a world of fleshy Fitzgerald characters who go around and devour each other and everything around them, a world of devourers and the devoured.

Many years ago, my then-wife, watching me struggling with an angel, said she was watching the breakdown of a once fine man, and in fact, she was witnessing me having some sort of breakdown, the breakdown of a man in a profession that was somehow not for him, in a marriage that was somehow not for him. That man has since broken and mended and he is not a semiliterate fuckup that falls heavily for a bit of ginch and then has to be treated like the clerk at the local McDonald's.

I have long observed you as a person and a writer, and ambitious person, not at all a little bit of fluff, a woman of great drive and talent. But like many another of us, you have more than your share of personal attractiveness, a fact that gets all the other sisty-uglers upset, and then you get treated like poor Cinderfella, much as in the case of my own life. I have been treated like Cenderfella by many of the sisty-uglers.


You are not a sisty-ugler, but a beautiful woman trying to reach her proper place. For Christ's sake, get us back to where we belong. I am running short of patience, too old now for the waiting game and I am audacious enough to make some demands and set down a contract for you and me. The contract, startling as it seems, runs like so:

You will keep me only through showing me complete and unconditional adulation. I am a jealous god, yes.

You will revolve around me, kiss my ass upon request, and generally put your man forward as best you can without constantly operating in "megahurts", like a radio station. You leave me alone most times, encrusted with the deepest attention- sapping pain. There are times when I feel you are some sort of energy vampire, though, I suppose, six must complement nine, at the risk of being vulgar. We may be drawing our energies from each other.


I am now your lord and master, know it, and I hope I don't blow it. The time has come to separate sheep from men. I will not be your uncle; I will not be enslaved, like poor Lief and go along with anything that you do just to have a little peace as he watches you change into more and more of a tyrant the older you get. This is the path of Anna Karenina. Make no mistake about it, for when a woman first goes to night school, she risks either the convent or the house of the rising sun.

There is a way out for both of us in a love that promises to be much bigger than last year's bestseller. I do not expect you to change overnight, nor do I try to coerce you into a roll in the hay by just fluffing some of my sharpest feathers. I want you to love me as your really do; I expect you to be perfectly honest in telling me whom you're involved with besides Leif and me. I am not a wimp, nor an uncle, nor a homosexual, your strange preference in men to date. I am a man, a damned good one and that is the source of all your roil and occasional spurts of poison as you seem to roll off the anima of your own animus. Hell indeed hath no fury like a woman scorned. I do not mean to scorn you Lana. I just don't want to be in a contract where you get everything and I get nothing, literally nothing.

Yes, yes, I have robbed Lief's pantry and sampled some of his goods. I see a hell of a good man in Lief and I blame him not at all for your staying with him. But how you stay with him! I am not the only threat to a marriage in which the initial trust has been broken...don't cry now, for I have been there and it will take a hell of a lot more tears and a hell of a lot more years until it is all resolved. I have been successful in totally destroying a lover of my ex wife's. I am experienced at this now. I am perfectly capable, Machiavellian as it sounds, of destroying Lief. But if I were to, it would be to someone else you would go and not to me.

Love me, love me unconditionally in a for you can find and stop this high school confidential bullshit. I am still the naive, slightly incompetent Inspector Clouseau of the literary world you initially met, though a little older now and very much in love with you. Find a way. Find a way for both of us.

Love,

Daniel

............

Pamela, I know for sure your are a woman with a big heart who is trying to give some comfort to this PentaQuark, but as Eliszabeth might suggest, this damn thing is cyclical, this love thing, I am some sort of victim at love and I will not get "better" as the years go on.
I have met in recent years a transitional woman who showed me the way out. She "healed" me and I was all right for about five years.
Now she is on the horizon again, but for some reason I am keeping her at bay since now three-fouth of my old family has been reunited.
But the "love addiction" that Elizabeth cites is still there.
It is an aura I seem to have and some women seem to glom right onto it. I can hardly walk through a mall without some Loreli being right there.--I am not boasting; it is just the way it is.
Heaven forbid I should have the affliction of Elizabeth Smart, the authoress of "Near Grand Central Station I sat down and wept."
I go to a lot of railway stations hereabouts and piss my eyes out quicte a bit.
Now this puts me on the edge of being a little "precious", but in the words of a country song, "Women make a fool out of me."
The answer seems to almost come out of humour. "I must find a fat boy or a clean man." Heh.

Love has made a fool out of me and I have lost all my money.
This would be a tragicomedy for a guy of 34, but it is almost pathological for a Methuselah like me.

I do so appreciate the goodhearted
words that you pour this way.

What's a poor dumb Cossack to do?

Ivan

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Tara,

You little vixen.

Your recipe for hamhock is exactly the same as mine.

I have put it outside on the balcony to cool, after about three hours of simmering.
Yes, there is cabbage and carrots.
Lots of cabbage and carrots. And new potatoes.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Trevor Record,

You too--had a Sexy Sadie?



Ivan

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Liz,
Talented Tina should know.
Thank you.


Ivan

eric1313 said...

The poor old Cossack should find the nearest village, gallop right in and have a good night with the first woman who makes your mustache curl.

(all Cossacks have Stalin 'staches, don't they?)

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Eric,

You want to make me invent the term porn 'stache.
Yep, I've got to get laid and maybe somebody will make a movie. :)

eric1313 said...

hahahahaahahahaha

That isn't exactly what I meant, but maybe it's close enough.

Cop 'stache, porn 'stache--It's all the same when ridding into some poor, unsuspecting village, where the whiskey flows like wine and the mommas have forgotten to lock up their daughters.

How was the hamhocks?

ivan@cretivewriting.ca said...

Hamhocks.
Red meat.
Makes you want to lay waste to an entire village.

...But right after Jon Stewart, coming up.

JR's Thumbprints said...

Okay, okay, OK, ok ... so I used a hot tub pic to juice up my blog a little. It's not as bad as the artsy-fartsy phallic image I saw on Josie's blog a few clicks back.

Josie said...

JR, that was not a phallic image, that was a very famous painting by Gustav Klimt called "The Kiss". Holy doodle!

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

"Sampson told Delilah
'Deliah I declare
'Get you cotton pickin' fingers
'Off my curly hair.'"

Some scrapper, that Sampson.

eric1313 said...

Didn't Delilah lead Sampson into the Philistine temple with a chain leash, after stabbing out his eyes, as well as cutting off his "godly" hair?

It's hard to beat the bible on dramatic tales that don't pull punches.

Especially in regards to emasculation. It was an early version of the Romeo/Juliet story, only 'Juliet' was all Capulet, and very much an opportunist, like her cousin Tibalt.

'Romeo' could only pray to bring the house down around their heads.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Now isn't that a mothergrabber?

...And all this time I've been worried over plots.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

As in the Talmud (I think),

Life lays down strange paths that men tread upon in the dark.

As it turned out, I hounded that couple (the new guy and her) until they took to quarreling and finally divorcing.
Flat victory.
She's got edema and looks like hell.
I look like hell.
Pyrrhos rules.

Song from somewhere:

"See what your rage has done."

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

Morning Ivan, morning everyone.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Goog morning, Cathy.


--Heathcliff

http://www.creativewriting.ca said...

Cathy: You're very grand Heathcliff, so handsome. Looking at you tonight, I could not help but remember how things used to be.
Heathcliff: They used to be better.
Cathy: Don't pretend life hasn't improved for you.
Heathcliff: Life has ended for me. (A long pause) How can you stand here beside me and pretend not to remember? Not to know that my heart is breaking for you. That your face is the wonderful light burning in all this darkness.
Cathy: Heathcliff no, I forbid it.
Heathcliff: Do you forbid what your heart is saying to me now?
Cathy: It's saying nothing.
Heathcliff: It 'tis. I can hear the love of the music. Oh Cathy, Cathy.
Cathy: I'm not the Cathy that was. Can you understand that? I'm somebody else. I'm another man's wife and he loves me. And I love him.
Heathcliff: If he loved you with all the power of his soul for the whole lifetime, he couldn't love you as much as I do in a single day. Not he, not the world. Not even you Cathy can come between us.
Cathy: Heathcliff, you must go away. You must leave this house and never come back to it. I never want to see your face again or listen to your voice again as long as I live.
Heathcliff: You lie. I did come here tonight because you willed it. You willed me here to cross the sea.
After the party, Cathy demands to speak to Isabella about Heathcliff, thinking she behaved "disgracefully"...

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Tara,

We are crazy kids on a moor.

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

In a single day, I have found no better peace, nor any desire I want more.


Someone cooking in here?

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

What's a poor rattle-shaking witch doctor to do?

The pot is boiling merrily.

We aim to please.

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

Witch Doctor oh please, make me a bottle of special poison ... one that allows me to touch and taste.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Well, you've already had a life- cleaner.
Whuffo you want a potion?

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

Witch Doctor, oh it is known what I want....heh.