extemporaneana

Page Eleven

thurs oct 22,  2-0-0-8  gaia, living outside in Turners Turds

I am majorly raging on Mr. Matthew today, so here it comes. He’s got a goddamned nerve believing, as he does, that he’s a good guy. Going through all kinds of self-sacrifice to be a pretend bum on the streets and play his undercover games and fight the really big criminals. Take a gunshot to his neck. Be a hero. Truth, justice and the amerikan way. Bla bla bla. And all of this feeds his ravenous ego in such a way that he glows with self-importance. I’ve seen more than once.

He cannot be a hero leaving his sociopathic job and being a man who loves a woman well. He sees no heroism in that. His ego would not get enough puffing up being just that. It’s too pedestrian, too lacking in egocentric drama. He has told me a bit about the shooting. He’s told me he’s the best undercover guy. He says these things glowing with pride.

I don’t believe for a second in any “noble” motives for doing the work that he does, and for continuing to do it after he fell in love with me, after he knew I felt like bait, after he saw how much the homelessness and the separation from my animals was hurting me. There is nothing noble about staying in a dangerous and often lawless and often cruel (to pieces of bait like me) job, only to inflate one’s ego, a sense of one’s own grand importance and supposed indispensibility. NO ONE is indispensible.

The brave man, to me, is the one who can gain mastery over his ego, enter into committed love, taking the risk that it may not end happily. To put one’s heart and one’s soul on the line, rather than one’s neck.

And what about you internet folk, you tinkle toys. What is it you want? Judging from popular blogs I’ve looked at, you want a lot of adolescent posturing and joking around and acting like life is just a romp. Not me. But I’m old. I want blogs that discuss people’s real lives and real thoughts and real feelings, the “nice” feelings, and the other kind too.

another one for Matthew, the best undercover stooge:

Page Ten

still 20 October 2-0-0-8… this day hasn’t croaked yet… still living outdoors

Sister Moon is the the title of a book of poetry I once wrote, back in my own life. I believe the manuscript is one of the ones the psychotic landlady threw into the dumpster when she was moving me into her talons on 3 April 2004. I haven’t seen it since second April 2004. Anyway, I dug out the title again because it fits what I’m going to prattle on about today.

I wrote a post about feeling sisterhood with someone recently {this post has not been copied to wordpress}, and someone showed up to add their own tag to my post, yet again. I’ve qvetched about it before, and I will again, because it’s one feature of Soulcast that I can’t stand: you’re allowed to put tags on other people’s posts. I’m a proprietary writer, and I don’t want strangers messing with my work.

So I suspect very strongly (for reasons you don’t know) that Moonriver is the one doing most of these unwelcome tags. Moonriver loves both head games and code.  Not to mention falsity. So, my own tag for the aforementioned post was sorority, but some unwelcome kibbitzer, probably the Moon Man, added sorores.

A little parody of the old song lyrics (whose writer I must call Anonymous), for my anti-pal Moonriver.

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