Are You Drinking With Me, Goddess?

* I’ve lost track of the time I’ve been standing in this dance bar, nursing one beer after another and waiting for the DJ to play something good for a change. Something I’d like to dance to. ‘Headhunter’ would do it, but I’ll settle for anything, really. Anything good. Anything real.

* Or maybe I’m just waiting to be drunk enough to dare to go out there and whirl my flab around the floor. I don’t know why I’m so self-conscious. I’ll probably never see any of these people ever again. And even if they do laugh at me, now, will they remember tomorrow? Will anyone remember anything that happens here?

* I want to get out there and just let the music flow over me like a river of sound. I want to shake and twist and twirl like an ecstatic, lost in the pure oneness of being alive and dancing on a floor with a million complete strangers. I want to forget myself in the moment, going as far out and as high up as I can before coming down.

* I want to know you on this dance floor, here, tonight, Goddess. Take my hand and let’s dance.

Are You Voting Democrat With Me, Goddess?

* Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t believe I’m actually sliding into Anybody But Bush mode. But unless John Kerry gets caught fisting kittens, or the incumbent actually impresses me between now and November, I’m going to hand it to Kerry this time around.

* Is this really a wise choice? I can’t say for certain that the War on Terror would be any better under Kerry than Bush. It’s hard to see how it could be worse, at times, though. And as for the “economic damage” a Democrat in the White House would cause… give me a break.

* But after years of refusing to vote for either of the lousy, main choices, and one election of voting for a “real” choice, I’m going for “real” yet again. I used to eat out on voting for Cthulhu, dammit. Why am I now being so pragmatic? Is it that I was used to living in the luxury of moderately stable times, when all we had to fear were Newt Gingrich and Tipper Gore?

* During the Iraq war, my wife asked me what happened to the liberal she used to know. But I’m wondering what happened to the iconoclast I used to see in the mirror. Did he just grow up and get with the program?

* There’s some kind of a lesson, here, Goddess. Let me see it with both eyes open before I do something I’ll have to apologize for, all over again.

This Is An Ugly, Hateful Website, Goddess.

* I’ve wandered into the dark side of the web and met the enemy – and he’s got a blog.

* I might have come here looking for information, but I’ve gotten more than I’ve bargained for. Way more. I’ve never seen so many hateful, spiteful things written about people in my life.

* What is it with the people who write this crap? Do they really think that all the people they disagree with are really so twisted, traitorous and vile that they deserve to be pilloried and lambasted like war criminals? Do they really think that everyone from one, particular religion is just like the dangerous monsters who hide in it, and exploit it for their own gain?

* But then I see those words all the time, Goddess. Sometimes those words are my own. I, too, can be ugly, hateful, spiteful and mean when I’m “on a roll,” and I’ll laugh about it like it was the funniest joke in the world.

* Am I really such a hypocrite that I slink away from others’ vitriol, but I’ll gladly sling my own, special blend at the “deserving?” Is this really righteous fury on my part, or am I being as self-righteous and obnoxious as the blogonauts I despise? Is there a difference, past naked bigotry and intolerance, Goddess? Or am I becoming no less than I behold?

* There has to be a distinction. There has to be a reason why I run screaming from this kind of crap, but continue to throw my own. Please help me to see it, Bright Lady.

The Industry Insider’s Kvetching Again, Goddess.

* I just peeked at his Livejournal, and he’s complaining about his life, yet again. Complaining about his age. He’s younger than I am, but he’s feeling the burn of the years and wondering where it all went. He’s gone so far with the time he’s had, but he’s looking down and back, and he thinks it sucks.

* This man is amazing, Goddess. He’s younger than I am, and he’s already living the life I wanted to have – at least in terms of professional development. He’s got tons of writing credits to his name. Fans all over the world play with his ideas every damn day. People who are, themselves, worthy of respect, respect him for what he’s done. (Hell, I think he can be a real prick, sometimes, Goddess, but I still respect him.)

* But there he is, kvetching again. “Where did my life go?” “What do I do, now?” Bitch, moan, groan, complain - repeat.

* How do I tell this amazing man that he needs to spread his wings and keep flying, and do it without sounding like a patronizing bastard from e-space? Should I tell him, straight up, to revel in his time? Or is this something he’s just got to figure out on his own?

* Help me out, here, Bright Lady. I genuinely want to help, but sometimes the best way to make an enemy is to do someone a favor they don’t need.

I Have Writer’s Block Again, Goddess.

* Yet another deadline looms, and I’m sitting at the keyboard, but nothing is coming to me. I’ve tried and I’ve tried but nothing is coming together, today. I feel like my head is full of silent, gray cotton, and for me it’s one of the most terrifying feelings in the world.

* A lot of things have happened since the last time I got my ass in front of a computer and wrote. I need to make my mark on the issues, or at least say something about them. But I don’t feel like I can do it, here and now.

* It’s not that I don’t have ideas. Goddess be praised, I always have ideas. But those ideas aren’t coming together the way I want them to, today. They’re fragmentary and ethereal, defying any and all attempts to slap them together into something usable, or worthwhile. My thoughts are going only about two steps in any direction before falling down, dead, to the floor…

* But I can do this. I know I can. I can find the right angle. I can leap this hurdle in my brain and get the fingers flowing again. I can come out of this funk and write something I’d want to read, or something I’d be proud to present as my own work.

* Help me out here, bright lady. Please be here with me, and help me make myself do this.

Are You With Us At This Ritual, Goddess?

* I know that sounds like an ironic question, Bright Lady. But I’m looking at the faces around me, and I’m wondering if we’re really feeling you here, today.

* Half the people here can’t stand the other half, and the feeling is mutual. Some kind of schism has pushed people into camps, and vicious, personal politics are lurking under the surface of their smiles and smirks.

* Didn’t we outgrow this juvenile bullshit in school? Where is the unity? Where is the humility? Where is the sense of being connected to both ourselves and those around us?

* I can’t say how distressing this is. Most of these people are more interested in tearing one another down than lifting themselves up. I’ve come here looking for togetherness and acceptance, but all I’m getting is the feeling of walking a social minefield: one wrong word and BOOM.

* Help me out here, Goddess. I can’t tell people how to behave, and it isn’t my place to shame them into being more mindful, but please help me to be a positive example. Please help me to do what I can to heal rifts without being pushy and controlling, and help me to check my act if I start sliding into the same behavior, myself?

* With major apologies – and much respect – to Malcolm Boyd (and Mojo Nixon, of course).