OK, time for self-flagellation is over. Time to move on.
This weekend is the Yale-Harvard game. Yale is 9-0 and will hopefully complete their season with the big win at home. This will also be my first trek to the Game as a single guy and I look forward to the freedom that brings.
Sadly of course, the undergrad gals are twenty years younger than me. God I'm getting old!
Should be fun nonetheless.
Boola! Boola!
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Detour
Last week...Friday, I think it was...I took a bit of a detour off my path to better health by indulging my dark side and feeding the pain and anger that I have over the less pleasant aspects of my life. Unfortunately, the punching bag in this case turned out to be someone who actually may have meant well, and because of prior incidents and past miscommunication I misread this person and overreacted.
I destroyed the last two pages of a letter I had mostly burned before. Then got in a somewhat painful e-mail discussion with the author of the destroyed letter.
It is only today...five days later, that I realized that aspects of what was said to me were accurate. I do have a dark side, a tendency to leap before I look, to not just euthanize but to immolate, to cast individuals in rigid archetypes...good and evil, truthteller and liar, friend or foe. Which is ironic, because I actually thrive in nuance and shading and appreciate that the world is not black and white and is not even gray, but bluish-gray, silver-gray, charcoal gray. I am trying to be a painter, dammit, I better recognize that nuance!
I have probably sadly and singlehandedly destroyed a relationship that need not have been destroyed.
[And were it not for the faith and desire of another to reach out to me, might have let go another relationship...which, thankfully, is not destroyed but was in fact strengthened last night.]
And anyone who reads this blog will notice that I go back and forth in moods...from extreme joy to despair...it can't be helped, that is where I am and what the blog is for.
I know that I am a somewhat decent person, but when I receive criticism - constructive or otherwise - its echo is magnified and all I hear is the criticism. All I sense is the loss. And I dread it. And, as far as the loss of a loved one is concerned, as much of a great (albeit intense) communicator that I think I am, I try to beat that loss to the punch and destroy it myself than have that loved one pull away from me.
That fear of loss, and my reaction to it, is my fatal flaw. Maybe now, five days after I destroyed a letter and possibly any chance at connection with someone whom I did value, I can begin to learn my lesson and let go of this fear.
Or learn to just let go...
I destroyed the last two pages of a letter I had mostly burned before. Then got in a somewhat painful e-mail discussion with the author of the destroyed letter.
It is only today...five days later, that I realized that aspects of what was said to me were accurate. I do have a dark side, a tendency to leap before I look, to not just euthanize but to immolate, to cast individuals in rigid archetypes...good and evil, truthteller and liar, friend or foe. Which is ironic, because I actually thrive in nuance and shading and appreciate that the world is not black and white and is not even gray, but bluish-gray, silver-gray, charcoal gray. I am trying to be a painter, dammit, I better recognize that nuance!
I have probably sadly and singlehandedly destroyed a relationship that need not have been destroyed.
[And were it not for the faith and desire of another to reach out to me, might have let go another relationship...which, thankfully, is not destroyed but was in fact strengthened last night.]
And anyone who reads this blog will notice that I go back and forth in moods...from extreme joy to despair...it can't be helped, that is where I am and what the blog is for.
I know that I am a somewhat decent person, but when I receive criticism - constructive or otherwise - its echo is magnified and all I hear is the criticism. All I sense is the loss. And I dread it. And, as far as the loss of a loved one is concerned, as much of a great (albeit intense) communicator that I think I am, I try to beat that loss to the punch and destroy it myself than have that loved one pull away from me.
That fear of loss, and my reaction to it, is my fatal flaw. Maybe now, five days after I destroyed a letter and possibly any chance at connection with someone whom I did value, I can begin to learn my lesson and let go of this fear.
Or learn to just let go...
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Progress on First Painting
OK, if you are a serious artist with lots of talent, this is no big deal, but I am quite happy with my progress...artistically and spirituallly. It is a good beginning.
The Studio (11/12/07)
The Studio (11/12/07)
Shelley-Inspired Poetry
My poetry buddy's piece:
Gone
She left us right before Thanksgiving,
that wretched feast day for the living,
and as it nears again, I dread
it, for I fixate on the dead.
In fact, I hate all of November
since she died, also December.
Holidays merge with each other;
all are days without my mother.
She was not the best of cooks,
nor was she well-versed in books.
But she always kept us fed
and saw to it that we read.
Though her paycheck was quite meager,
you could not find one more eager
to invest in her girls' pleasure--
our smiles were the greater treasure.
Her voice was loud, her laugh was louder.
She made it clear to all: No prouder
parent could there ever be,
so high was her esteem for me.
And her belief that I could do
anything that I put my mind to
somehow morphed into a truth
(at least, I felt so in my youth).
But now she's gone, and with her went
the joys of winter holidays spent
with family, that, and too the drive
I had to create when she was alive.
For she was parent, friend and muse,
and no one else can fill those shoes.
No comrade, sibling, child or lover
could move me like my gentle mother.
(c) hmh, 2007
PAINTER AND DOMME MEET AT LAST
for D.
with your whip held loosely in hand
you take a drag from your cigarette;
paintbrush at the ready, i naked stand
to capture a moment i won't forget;
(but i sought a moment to transcend,
not take your lashes and regret!)
remy and cigars, a moment quite grand!
and your pleasure i do not neglect.
kissing, i taste my blood on your cheek so smooth,
and with my hands all over, your pain i soothe.
(c) fprm 2007
Gone
She left us right before Thanksgiving,
that wretched feast day for the living,
and as it nears again, I dread
it, for I fixate on the dead.
In fact, I hate all of November
since she died, also December.
Holidays merge with each other;
all are days without my mother.
She was not the best of cooks,
nor was she well-versed in books.
But she always kept us fed
and saw to it that we read.
Though her paycheck was quite meager,
you could not find one more eager
to invest in her girls' pleasure--
our smiles were the greater treasure.
Her voice was loud, her laugh was louder.
She made it clear to all: No prouder
parent could there ever be,
so high was her esteem for me.
And her belief that I could do
anything that I put my mind to
somehow morphed into a truth
(at least, I felt so in my youth).
But now she's gone, and with her went
the joys of winter holidays spent
with family, that, and too the drive
I had to create when she was alive.
For she was parent, friend and muse,
and no one else can fill those shoes.
No comrade, sibling, child or lover
could move me like my gentle mother.
(c) hmh, 2007
PAINTER AND DOMME MEET AT LAST
for D.
with your whip held loosely in hand
you take a drag from your cigarette;
paintbrush at the ready, i naked stand
to capture a moment i won't forget;
(but i sought a moment to transcend,
not take your lashes and regret!)
remy and cigars, a moment quite grand!
and your pleasure i do not neglect.
kissing, i taste my blood on your cheek so smooth,
and with my hands all over, your pain i soothe.
(c) fprm 2007
Scenes from an Evening of Poetry and Painting
As promised, some scenes of creative explosion!
I have no idea how this picture happened...but I kind of like it!
My fellow traveler...poetic and mathematical.
The Philogynist, as of yesterday.
The Portrait of the Artist as a Middle Aged Man
I have no idea how this picture happened...but I kind of like it!
My fellow traveler...poetic and mathematical.
The Philogynist, as of yesterday.
The Portrait of the Artist as a Middle Aged Man
Monday, November 12, 2007
Painter's Progress
Tonight was another poetry night, with my wing gal/fellow traveler/poetic comrade...Shelley was the poet this time. Poems inspired by PBS will follow. Again, the highlight of the night was the simultaneous creativity...poetry and painting...she writing, me painting. One poem, inspired by Shelley...another, with each line having 7 syllables. My friend is more mathematical in her poetry than me...I am all over the place...although I did try a rhyme structure 4(ab)cc.
I now have five canvases going at once. I am in a bit of a block with The Philogynist, perhaps afraid to capture the woman with her red hair in the bed. I have a 30" x 40" canvas with an orange base,an 11" x 14" with a blood red base, an 11" x 14" with a blue base...but it is likely to be a self portrait (I wonder how good-looking and godlike I will appear in the a painting!)...and lastly, a painting of the half-drunk bourbon for my fellow traveler.
A little wine...a little bourbon (Knob Creek)...a cheese and fruit plate.
Again, a wonderful early evening.
Off to Justins.
I now have five canvases going at once. I am in a bit of a block with The Philogynist, perhaps afraid to capture the woman with her red hair in the bed. I have a 30" x 40" canvas with an orange base,an 11" x 14" with a blood red base, an 11" x 14" with a blue base...but it is likely to be a self portrait (I wonder how good-looking and godlike I will appear in the a painting!)...and lastly, a painting of the half-drunk bourbon for my fellow traveler.
A little wine...a little bourbon (Knob Creek)...a cheese and fruit plate.
Again, a wonderful early evening.
Off to Justins.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Reflections on a 1970s Film
This morning, I woke up at 3:00, to find one of my favorite representative films of the 1970's on Turner Classic Movies: Shampoo, directed by Hal Ashby, with Warren Beatty, Jack Warden, Julie Christie, Lee Grant, Carrie Fisher and Goldie Hawn. What a great movie. Takes place on election day 1968, as Beatty - a hairdresser and philanderer - prepares a number of gals for a party that evening. Two of them happen to be involved with the guy he's trying to get to support his business, played by Jack Warden: one is a mistress, the other a wife. So, somehow in the course of a day, Beatty beds down with his future business partner's wife, mistress and daughter (played by a very young, pre-Star Wars Carrie Fisher), gets in trouble with his girlfriend, wants the mistress but loses everything...except maybe the business, in the end.
But the key to the whole movie, to me, is this great monologue where he tells Goldie Hawn how he got involved in the business, of being a hair stylist, for no other reason than the women.
It is a very dated film in a way...pre-AIDS, pre-safe sex, drug parties and Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts club band playing in the background at said party. And for a film of the times, it does cast a wonderfully dark message about the non-commital life that Beatty's character lives. He screws his way through the whole film, but inthe end, he has nothing...or he doesn't have what he wants, which I guess was Julie Christie.
I guess for me it's kind of timely to see that film. A bit of a warning as far as my own new bachelorhood: be careful for what I wish, I just might get it. But the reality is, I have never been one who is in it just for the sex. There has to be conversation before at after. There needs to be, in any and all relationships, intimate and otherwise, a life of the mind. And how you treat people, as I learn for the better and the worse, has repurcussions.
I've had a pretty mellow bachelorhood, thus far. I do seek more fun and thrills, but not without the added dimensions, not without the accountability - on my part and the part of others. Friends with benefits are fine and probably would work with an Aquarian and an ethical slut like me, but the key word is "friends."
So endeth the sermon!
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