The Logic of Porcology

I have recently been working with acid, of the hydrochloric variety. HCl to be exact. I think I have inhaled too much of it because I feel very ill. What kind of tolerance do humans have to this? I would guess very little from the way it eats through skin. I think I might refuse to work with it tomorrow. If the work is too dangerous I am allowed aren't I?

Anyway, enough jabbering about nothing. Middlesex is excellent so far. I am having trouble putting the thing down. I will get back to you when I finish it. I plan on working tomorrow so I will not get much of a chance but maybe next week sometime. 55 hours last week. This week is shaping up to be about the same. Ridiculous amount of hours to be at one's job.

Life is so tiring right now. I think I need a little break from it all. Does anyone I know have a getaway cabin I could escape to for a few days? I just need maybe 3 days of peace and tranquility and I'll be as good as new. Somewhere where I don't need to worry about shelter or bears invading. A place where the hot dogs I bring can be cooked without too much trouble. I will also need a companion. Someone who also wants to just relax for 3 days. To not leave the armchair except for bathroom and kitchen breaks, that is what I crave.

Let me know if you have ideas or are willing to help me set this plan in motion. I've recently given up on reading Insomnia by Stephen King. The idea of the story is quite riveting however, Mr. King manages to make it too boring even for me to read. I have begun Middlesex by Eugene Stephanides instead.

One last post for this evening;  one that I wrote in the sleepy city of Quesnel about a movie I saw in the booming metropolis that is Prince George;

What do I know about being a whore in the United States?  Yet I found Monster to be an extremely realistic portrayal of the travails and pains of a hooker who kills.  Except for one scene where she kills an innocent she seems to be an entirely normal person.  The filmmakers make you feel entirely sympathetic towards her.  So much so that in the end when she is executed for her crimes my belief in life imprisonment is reinforced and my abhorrence for the death penalty is more enduring than ever. 

And this I wrote last summer when I was focused on reading Faulkner.  Probably shortly after I read a collection of his work called A Portable Faulkner. 

Faulkner is able to move me with his words.  I could just as easily cry as guffaw at the words on the page.  I, on the other hand, am completely unable to describe the beauty of nature, life, and emotions.  Will I ever be a writer?  I am not bereft of emotion but I am wholly unable to impart my emotions to someone else.  Literature and Art in many forms move me to speechlessness, but that only makes it harder to give that beauty a voice.  The more breathtaking the emotion, the less apt I am to describe that feeling, or sight, or whatever.


 
And recently in Vegas, While staring out at the lights of the Strip;

I realize that no picture could ever capture this sight.  I can see such a variety of colors and they look all the more vivid in the semi-dark that exists at 8:13 pm in late May.  But no picture I've ever seen can re-create the moment.  The picture could show you the facts of what I saw, but nothing else.  So I must use words and phrases to describe it to others.  Even then, of course, it will be a poor reflection of the original, but still better than a 4x6 glossy of the moment.  Perhaps one could tap into my brain and relive it through my eyes.  That would probably give them most of the essence.

But then, they would have different experiences to interpret it and it would not touch them in the same way.  Sometimes art seems so utterly pointless to share, maybe art is best left with the creator.  The human who can appreciate it most.

After the Pearl Jam concert in Missoula, MT I wrote the following in my notebook. 

A political rally is a chance for the uninitiated to be converted, and for the initiated to be gratified.  Maybe 10% of the fans at the concert understand the politics at work.  The PJ political rally.  Democrats 1, Republicans 0.

It really changes your perspective; you see Pearl Jam trying to convert all these dumbasses.  But those silly fucks didn't come for the politics, they come for the music; the Show, not the rhetoric.  But P.J. really care, they're really trying to change your mind.  They aren't taking for granted that they're right, Pearl Jam is trying to convince us that their position is one we should also hold.  P.J. wants us to know what they are aware of right now, not just what they knew when they were innocent. And they want us (innocent us) to come away with more awareness than we had going in.   

Eddie (Vedder) is making the knowledge easier for us concert goers to grasp, and he knows that the knowledge he's imparting is already out there.  But if only 5% of the attendees know that there's more to life than just self when they leave then Ed has done his job.  If only 2.5% come away with a deeper understanding of life then hasn't he done more than many of us have in a lifetime?

 

Most things are more effective when seen and not heard.  Experience is much better than a lecture any day of the week.  What brings this to the fore of my mind?  Just looking through some old notebooks and trying to remember how I once viewed the world.

Are crime rates lower in states where people are allowed to carry guns?  My dad says yes, but he's likely pulling that from between his ass-cheeks.  If anyone knows, I would like to know.

Heard Melodies are Sweet, But Those Unheard are Sweeter;  - Ode on a Grecian Urn - John Keats (1795-1821)  Kind of like the opposite of what I said above?  But so truthful all the same. 

It is I, Ricardo Montalban, here again.  I have come to tell you another story in my sexy Spanish accent.  Please, do not be afraid of me, I am all man and lover of all women.  I have just finished reading a novel by Margaret Atwood entitled The Handmaid's Tale.  A person of my Spanish sexiness would never accept such strict theocracy in my country.  In addition, the sort of promiscuous sex that I thrive on could never be classified as rape in any society that I lived in.  So this story was especially disturbing to me, everything except the whorehouse of course.  I am sure that all feministas out there have read this novel and cringed, just as all strict bachelors with multiple sexual partners have.  Definitely a well written novel, and the format was very novel and interesting.  Overall I liked the warning that the book defined.  If this book was intended as a utopian society then Atwood and I will need to have a little loving in order to set her straight, but I believe it is the former. 
 
That is all for this evening, even now I am on the prowl for my newest conquest, and I cannot spare another moment for typing and not-screwing.  Stay sexy people! 
 
 

Forgive me father for I have sinned. It has been forever since my last blog post and I've used the lord's name in vain 1027 times since last tuesday.

I've been so busy with everything that I have barely had time to check my email. I've been doing a lot of thinking though, so you should be prepared for that in the days to come.

I've finished reading a couple more books recently. The Hours, by Michael Cunningham was a good book but I don't quite see the Pulitzer worthiness in it. Don't get me wrong, it was well written and well interwoven, a good story with plenty of thought-provoking ideas in it.

I've just today finished Vernon God Little, which was a birthday present from my own Pulitzer Prize Nominee friend. Such a terrific little book! I really shouldn't compare it to The Hours but it was just so much better than that trash that I can't help myself. Just terrific, and it taught me a couple of really good lessons about life which is always good for a high-falutin human being like me. It really puts the wind in your sails and then knocks it out with a swift kick to the genital area.

That's enough for now, but I will post again soon. I promise.