juxtaposition

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Turns out to be why he's dead.

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love, 99
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thirty seconds

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Feels like thirty seconds....

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love, 99
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i think it musta been huge

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Because the stream tanked quite a few times while I was watching. It always let me back on, but I think the streams tank when there are more people coming on than servers serving. So just being on TV was NOT enough for this... thirty years later. I wonder if it ever will be.

It was very strange for me to see Andy in here so much because he can't ever be this old in my head. We had a great friendship going in Sausalito when I was a girl, and he was a boy. He was there recording with some Country star, and I know it was someone huge, but I can't remember who it was, and I'm thinking the album didn't get made, seem to remember Andy shrugging and saying something to the effect of "shit happens". Our time was cut short. It was during one of my times hiding from home, staying full time at the hotel to escape the relentlessness of eighteen guys making my telephone and mailbox and front door smoke from their burning imperatives. Before the recording was called off, we would sit out on the deck overlooking the bay and drink coffee and talk about wonderful things together once or twice a day, for twenty minutes or a few hours, depending on what was up or down at the studio. He didn't hit on me. It was bliss. He was just wonderful in each moment. I was very sorry he had to go away too soon.

It makes me feel really good to know that kind of wonderful was helping to fill John's last days on earth.

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love, 99
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a lifetime ago, or last week?

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I am taking this opportunity to link the wild Hoagland theory again because I think lots of people on the feed missed it. I've been scratching my head about why they would choose to air the Lennon thing on the anniversary of JFK's assassination. Maybe PBS will be pairing it with something on JFK, hint to the general population that the two catastrophes for humanity have more in common than just that they were both beloved men who were shot to death.

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love, 99
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reminder

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John's on PBS tonight.

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love, 99
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listening to people talking about john

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Part wonderful and part aggravating....

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love, 99
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seventy

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I started out the week behind everyone by a day and then in the middle of it I over corrected. TODAY is the 9th. It's John's birthday. I want him back. I saw him on the street with Yoko that day. Two quick flashes from behind. Stopped me in my tracks. I was bringing lemonade to a couple of young men who had helped me fend off some extremely unwanted attention. They were in the back yard. I was coming from the kitchen of my house in California, and through the living room with a glass of cold lemonade in each hand. Two very fast flashes. On the street by the Dakota. Almost spilled the lemonade. This would have been when they left for the studio... when his killer was on the street. Later, my roommate's girlfriend called with the news. As he was picking up the phone a blackbird crashed through the ceiling and I was looking for it on the floor when the gasps started. I was disoriented for a moment because a blackbird just crashed through the ceiling and there was no hole and no bird on the floor.

A couple days later, at a ski resort, he got into the back seat of my Bentley with me, said Yoko was fine.

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love, 99
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he'd be seventy tomorrow and he'd be married to me

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Do you doubt it?

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love, 99
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maybe some love

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Daisies are my favorites.

My poor trepidatious daisies finally took the leap after I left and now my garden is a forest of daisies taller than I am. There are a bazillion of my little itty ultra-strawberry strawberries ripening at the base of the daisy forest and the hydrangea I planted in the middle of the Scottish moss has turned out to be wanting to bloom the very palest pink you can imagine.

The bathroom orchid, which is now a very large pot with both of my orchids planted in it together decided against blooming while I was away. I hope it was only waiting for me and hasn't just changed its mind altogether, but with orchids there's just never any telling.

In between trips out to putter in the garden and do the store and post office and slump over and grieve, all that practical stuff, I am slowly trying to come back to the party intertubes-wise and so you are likely to start finding additions to older posts down the page. I'm putting them in a larger font so they're easier to spot, should you be interested... quite a bit new added to the Julian Assange post... for instance.

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poppa

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I wish to kidnap my poppa.

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what can i do to make you want it badly enough?

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You have to want it as much as a drowning man wants a breath of air....

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Maybe gonna be a very big deal... better READ it... or watch it....

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And bookmark it....

I'm sure the whole thing will be pulling punches to the extent that we will end up, in the best possible if only remotely feasible scenario, with one big jeepers-we-really-need-to-straighten-this-out thing. The whole business about how everyone in the Dubya "Administration" freaked out, leapt off cliffs clear on the other side of beyond the pale, in order to keep us poor widdle fatsos safe in our widdle beds will happen all over again, only expanded to cover these hundreds of thousands of clandestine contractors running in the black. It'll all amount to the big long string of excuses—all identical, but made to seem like a string of them—Frontline was putting out all through the last couple years of the dark years before we all leapt up to catapult Cinderella to his starring role as some ridiculous anachronism of... what was that? the most powerful man in the world? or was that the Emperor of Earth? no, no, no, it was Leader of the Free World... the change we all thought we would drop dead waiting for... that's the ticket... anyway, we were all partying and panting with relief while it got even darker. It was such a shock that some of us are YET completely unwilling to cede that there's no light at the end of this tunnel, and we can't turn around. Anyway, best case: everyone's going to get a free pass, WaPo will regain its stature with the upstanding, and NOTHING substantive will get done about it.

The piece will be, no doubt, FULL of stuff you didn't even know there was out there to know, and this will seem to you to have uncovered something that will demand action to correct it in our government. It will be dealt with as competently as the bailouts, the health insurance mandate and the non-reform of our criminal financial superstructure. It will be WORSE than a letdown. It will certify our fascism up through a trap door in the floor. It will be more sleeping powder. A lot more.

What's worse is: This sleeping powder that will be heaping up on everyone, blowing around in what atmosphere we still have, clogging our ears and eyes and nostrils and lungs and brains, will be delivered as America's Big Awakening from the dark years. The snoring will be way louder. The malapropisms will be flying out so hard and fast we'll need flak jackets and helmets under our down comforters.

So. Pay attention.

Think of it as being behind the wheel of a school bus full of children on a dangerous mountain road. If you sleep, they're all dead. That is not a bad analogy for it. Just multiply that by a few billion and you've got the stakes here.

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oof

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I was busy tracing the insanities of the space lizard hunters and not in the same neighborhood as sleep. I wanted to be asleep so I could dream, so I could be open to the cosmos teaching me in any of my reaches. I wanted to dream. I wanted to be finding out everything asleep, awake, both, neither....

I finally got to dreaming sometime after the sun had risen, but the telephone rang and a Shakespearean procession of calls from doctors and pharmacy has ruled my indescribably muddled day so far. I had at one point needed to get out of bed and to a pill bottle to get the telephone number for the doctor. A very bad cramp in my right triceps made itself very painfully known as I did this. I was groaning and huffing and alarming the doctor with these noises.

Anyway, after all these conversations and non-conversations with obtuse computers and harried clerks, full of coffee, still trying to be awake and asleep and both and neither, this pain running down the back of my right upper arm is not so acute, but still bothers me pretty badly. And nothing seems to be going anywhere. We appear to have a pit of warmish taffy here, with a live wire stuck in it.

The plan is to shower without drowning, go to town for my prescription refills, come home and try manfully to stay awake until something approximating what a Regular Joe would call a feasible bedtime and then hit myself over the head with a chill pill and actually sleep, for real, until every sleep-related deficit in this taffy pit is taken care of. Honestly, I think the pain is just because I'm so tired I can't hold my skeleton up.... You might be amazed to know that I left all persons and machines on the other end of the ringing phone in working order. No one died. No one was offended. Samsara was not provoked.

And, oddly, I did not have to muster any vitality to prevent myself from melting down on them.

I know it's not possible to be sticky pit of goo and a Zen mistress, but I may have hit on it nonetheless.
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In case yer wondering, it is 7:45pm and I am still uprightlike—to the eye of any passing peeping tom anyway—and trying to rummage around in the taffy for my sense of glee over the three new pairs of boofy cushy soft and WARM socks I got on serious sale in town today. This is WAY up there on my list of fashion statements I'm still avid to make.

I am also, per my Planet-Xian genes beginning to feel something akin to alert, but am not going for it. I will be down for the count just as soon as I've put enough distance between my eighty-four-year-old neighbor's bedtime and one a little more age-appropriate for me... even if it won't happen again this early for another year or seven....

Was just browsing through the Democracy Now! broadcasts of the past few days and found this snippet from Naomi Klein there. She says in a nutshell all I have to say about the latest Haiti disaster... only not mowing anyone down with the invective I'd be using.

I'm going to try to take in another space lizard related video before I'm down, but it may end up being the rhythm section for my snoring....
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Thus Spake the Goddess of Desire....
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the dream is over yesterday

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he'd be sixty-nine

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not dead

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trish and scott brought me back a present

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I now have my very own John Lennon action figure... except he looks a little more like a cleaned up Howard Stern than the man of my dreams.

I'm the kind of girl you want so much it makes you sorry....

hey

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ironic

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... as heck that Israel continues to pound Gaza into meat patties as John's light comes on for a few New Year's hours of imagining peace. I wish it would blast the murdering impulses out of the Knesset for all time.

something to be

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whaledreamers

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Julian doesn't look nearly so much like John anymore, but I can still hear him in his voice. It brings tears up from an infinity through somewhere above the base of my brain. I know it isn't fair to feel only John from him, but that's how it is. The sound of this movie is really all you want to heed. The words and the ceremonies and even the visuals are not so much. The sound says much more.