“Special No. 21” (1916, oil on cardboard) by Georgia O’Keeffe
“Summer 1962” (oil on canvas) by Frank Lobdell
“Four Seasons: Summer” (nd, acrylic on canvas) by Peter Max
“Summer Madness” (1990, Oil, gouache, pencil and crayon on paper) by Cy Twombly
“Dune IV” (1909, oil on cardboard) by Piet Mondrian
“From the Plains II” (1954, oil on canvas) by Georgia O’Keeffe
“Melting Volcano” (nd, oil on canvas) by Georgia O’Keeffe
“Summer Afternoon” by Eyvind Earle
“Simoon” (1915) by Serge Sudeikin
“A Wheatfield on a Summer’s Afternoon” (1942, tempera on canvas) by Marc Chagall
“I feel a stupefying pressure under my skin. I want to pierce everything and penetrate as far down as possible. I want to reach the depths of the earth. My love is there, in the place where seeds grow green and roots reach one another, and creation perpetuates itself amidst decay. It’s as if my body were a temporary and transient form of it. I want to reach its source. I want to hang my heart like a ripened fruit on all the branches of the trees.” ~ Forugh Farrokhzad, from Another Birth and Other Poems
Wednesday evening. Hazy, hot and humid, 95 degrees.
I’m on day three of this prednizone run for this particular intractable migraine episode, and the pain had gotten better, but I fear the heat is going to muck things up.
It’s hot. It’s ungodly hot. It’s Hades hot. It’s volcanic hot (well, perhaps not quite). It’s so hot that when I look at the ground I see waves, bands of heat floating above the asphalt. We’ve been out in the heat for two days now, today in Brett’s car with its dying AC. So frigging hot. The driving test will have to be redone. Nerves. But we found a doggy companion for Brett to take with him, a good pick, a real sweetie of a dog at the Norfolk Animal Care center. I think a dog is just what he needs, for so many reasons, which I won’t go into now because it’s hot, and like that witch, I’m mellltttingggggggg……
Gah. It’s hot. No breeze. No storms. Just putrifying, paralyzing hotter than hot heat, and we haven’t even topped 100 yet (we always do).
Did I mention I don’t do hot well? Probably? Well, it bears repeating. The heat and the accompanying sun kill my head. The heat makes me nauseous, makes me not want to eat, only drink cold sweaty things in tall glasses. I feel like squirting my whole body with lemon juice, which for some reason seems that it would be cooling, but would probably just attract insects.
” . . . throw roses into the abyss and say: ‘here is my thanks to the monster who didn’t succeed in swallowing me alive.’” ~ Friedrich Nietzsche
Behhhh. It’s too hot to get in the pool. Truly. The pool water is like bathwater, and the sun is well, sun, you know, bright, and all of that.
I don’t really have anything to say, other than my running commentary on the weather, my happiness for Brett’s canine adoption, my looming anxiety over the ensuing move, and a deep-seated desire for central air that I could set on 65 degrees. Also, I think/know that I’m sad about all of the doggies that I had to leave behind at the shelters because, well, another dog here? No, not quite. Have to wait until we have a place with some land, and trees, and goats . . . yep, rambling. Heat makes my mind turn to pudding and then shut down.
If I were alone, I would take off all of my clothes, lay atop my bed sheets, and just melt, well, perhaps alternately melt and hydrate.
On that note, I think I’ll stop. Oh, just one more thing:
It’s too damned hot to leave an animal in a car with the windows just slightly down, and I really shouldn’t have to tell you that you don’t leave children in hot cars, and if the sidewalk is too hot for you, it’s too hot for your animals.
People please, brains much?
More later. Peace.
All images reflect the state of my brain today.
Music by Nirvana, “Lake of Fire” (unplugged)
The Ordinary Weather of Summer
In the ordinary weather of summer
with storms rumbling from west to east
like so many freight trains hauling
their cargo of heat and rain,
the dogs sprawl on the back steps, panting,
insects assemble at every window,
and we quarrel again, bombarding
each other with small grievances,
our tempers flashing on and off
in bursts of heat lightning.
In the cooler air of morning,
we drink our coffee amicably enough
and walk down to the sea
which seems to tremble with meaning
and into which we plunge again and again.
The days continue hot.
At dusk the shadows are as blue
as the lips of the children stained
with berries or with the chill
of too much swimming.
So we move another summer closer
to our last summer together—
a time as real and implacable as the sea
out of which we come walking
on wobbly legs as if for the first time,
drying ourselves with rough towels,
shaking the water out of our blinded eyes.
You’re not deep. You’re not intellectual. You’re not an artist. You’re not a critic. You’re not a poet. You just have internet access.” ~ Unknown
When I came across the above screenshots on tumblr, I became intrigued, so much so that I actually went to the original YouTube video so that I could look at some of the comments. It was a mistake. I soon found myself clicking the “show more” button over and over. I couldn’t look away from the stupidity that was unfolding before my very eyes. I kept going and going and going.
I mean, I just didn’t understand. Why all the hate for a seven-year-old girl? So I decided that I’d tried to cull some of the more representative ones and share them with you here. To what end? I’m not exactly certain. I only know that once I post about something that’s bothering me, I can process it better, and with any luck, I can put this out of my mind for the rest of the day. So here goes . . .
Here are even more stupidly insulting comments:
Notice how “Steve Rogers” ultimately resorts to calling the commenter the c word, because, you know, comparing someone to some part of female anatomy is the ultimate put down in this douche-bag’s world.
Here’s another in the same vein:
Just have to love the ones who take the “I could do that” stance:
or the ones who tried to argue the point that body strength is what it’s all about, completely ignoring the whole point of the kata. I just loved all the comments about how she would get her ass kicked in a street fight, or how she’s wasting her time learning about karate because she couldn’t do MMA . . .
And of course you have the ones who think they have the right to judge her on her looks, because that’s totally what this video is about:
Try to talk to people with this mindset about how inappropriate and hateful that is, and of course, they end up calling you a name, like bitch . . . The people on this forum who tried repeatedly to explain that this is a kata, that katas are not used for self defense were shut down. The naysayers still had to find fault with it. Try to point out that her exhibition is about mastery of breathing, form, movement, that it’s about precision. Not important. It must be ridiculed because it’s a little girl.
Of course, the dumbasses making these comments will always fall back on the tired excuse: “I was only joking.” And that’s supposed to make it all just fine. Because joking about doing a child harm is perfectly acceptable because, ha ha, it’s all in good fun.
Until it’s not.
And I particularly loved the people who made comments like “she can’t possibly have a black belt at 7” or “maybe it’s a kid blackbelt”, or “in my dojo, ya da ya da ya da. It makes me wonder where and by whom some of these jokers were taught. McDojo, anyone?
There are the positives, of course, but the stupids cannot allow that, again resorting to the predictable name-calling because “Shut up bitch” always works when you have nothing intelligent to say:
I also want to point out that there is a video of her 10-year-old brother, and the comments are almost all positive: “brilliant,” or “talented,” or “excellent.” Those posting want to know about his father, or his master, or what form is being presented. I didn’t find anyone who wanted to kick him in the head or kick him in the chest, or anything along those lines.
Why am I going on about this? Because once again, even in something as innocuous as a YouTube video about a young girl exhibiting remarkable control and talent, the males in the forum (of course not all, but a great many in this case) have to negate it, have to put it and her in its place.
Fortunately, I found one with which I absolutely agree:
I could go on and on, but I realize that I’m allowing yet another open forum commentary to ruin my whole day, so I’ll stop now, or after just one more thing: Whoever Jack Call is in this forum, I could just hug him because unlike me and people like me who just can’t help but become ired by all of this stupidity, Jack Call just repeatedly says, “She’s 7,”w which is actually the point, right?
Saturday afternoon. Partly cloudy and mild, 73 degrees.
Apparently, I have a new follower. And she loves to comment. And she thinks I’m someone else, because apparently anyone using the moniker Lola, must be the same individual. And apparently, I have lots of time with which to run multiple websites.
I am a writer and have lived in Manhattan for most of my life. In addition to the random musings of my blog, I am presently working on a sci-fi novel, two mystery novels and a book on my saint squeeze, the Archangel Michael.
Man, I wish that I were this busy . . . and I wish that I had as many books in the works as this particular Lola claims to have. But what is up with the Kate Middleton fixation on both ends of this, er, um, dialogue?
Anyway, apparently, Gillian, my new best friend, thinks that I’ll take down her messages. Oh, my. Not for a million dollars would I delete any of this.
Although I have refrained from reverting to editor role and correcting grammar and syntax, I must admit that I just couldn’t help but respond here and there (emphasis and/or responses in italics mine). Oh and, feel free to comment. You guys (all three to five of you) know that I love to get comments.
I want you to post this to your Kate-Hate bitches too, see below:
Although I know you will take down my posts (not a chance) on this and your other crappy websites (would you mind terribly letting me know about these as I must be neglecting them from my dearth of knowledge as to their existence), I have spent – ie. wasted – enough time perusing your self-obsessed, ultimately self-hating whining against other women who have done you no harm. I will leave you to your shameful secret web-mining and hateful group-shaming and bullying posts against Kate Middleton and other women you have never, and will never, meet. I have a backlog of Veep episodes (I’ve heard this is a really good show) to watch which is a far better use of my time. You will never make it as a legitimate published writer – also remember this crap is uploaded forever and will come back to bite you. You should have stuck to quilling! (what an interesting word, and it implies that I actually may have some artistic talent, which I don’t) You may big-time yourself (is big-time a verb? I’m confused) at Starbucks with your laptop (man, so my other self has a laptop? So jealous), but as you judge, remember most of those “little people” around you think good thoughts, including about a woman trying to do her best to bring good cheer to others. Face it, it is more than you do in your quotidian routine life(love this phrase, perhaps I’ll borrow it). She puts forward her best inner self and actively works on her outer health and beauty too. Since you don’t, you therefore choose to hate her for it. Gosh I’m glad I’m not you! Errhh, this whole web-interaction (were we interacting? Sorry, wasn’t paying attention) has left me feeling a bit depressed that the internet now gives unsuccessful writers, who would never have the talent or resilience to get past the junior editor or press cadetship, a chance to publish their rants. This is why fascism, racism and sexism exist, intolerant and judgemental people like you…(PS. If you can publish anonymously, (um, I don’t publish anonymously; anyone wanting to can see my identity) why can’t I? Hypocrite)
Gillian(I guess she wanted to make sure I really paid attention to this comment, so she posted it twice, but I think that it would be overkill if I were to make the same responses twice.)
Although I know you will take down my posts on this and your other crappy websites, I have spent – ie. wasted – enough time perusing your self-obsessed, ultimately self-hating whining against other women who have done you no harm. I will leave you to your shameful secret web-mining and hateful group-shaming and bullying posts against Kate Middleton and other women you have never, and will never, meet. I have a backlog of Veep episodes to watch which is a far better use of my time. You will never make it as a legitimate published writer – also remember this crap is uploaded forever and will come back to bite you. You should have stuck to quilling! You may big-time yourself at Starbucks with your laptop, but as you judge, remember most of those “little people” around you thing good thoughts, including about a woman trying to do her best to bring good cheer to others. Face it, it is more than you do in your quotidian routine life. She puts forward her best inner self and actively works on her outer health and beauty too. Since you don’t, you therefore choose to hate her for it. Gosh I’m glad I’m not you! Errhh, this whole web-interaction has left me feeling a bit depressed that the internet now gives unsuccessful writers, who would never have the talent or resilience to get past the junior editor or press cadetship, a chance to publish their rants. This is why fascism, racism and sexism exist, intolerant and judgemental people like you…(PS. If you can publish anonymously, why can’t I? Hypocrite)
(Let me pause here for a moment: Gillian, my dear, I have to agree with you on this one: Lola of lovelolaheart does seem to be obsessed with the Duchess. It’s kind of weird, isn’t it?)
Anyone visiting this page, please refer to the bitchy envious attacks against someone this woman has never met at: lovelolaheart.com, (I have to admit that I am a bit torqued that this Lola is using the word musings in the title of her blog; that’s my word; I like the internal alliteration) then see if you want to keep reading this so-called “liberal” and “feminist”. She never got over being the unattractive little pudgy girl (um, pudgy now, yes, but in school, a bit too skinny, just saying) from an ethnic background (Filipino. Let’s be clear here)at school, rather than wanting to be the posh Anglo-Saxon prefect (Prefect? As in, you know, one of those students in charge at Hogwarts? Now that would be cool). Show ALL your posts to a psychiatrist and start drinking genuinely good coffee (I happen to like my coffee, Mayorga; it’s strong and tasty) (at the Grumpy Cafe for example where you will feel intimidated by genuinely creative people) rather than spending hours in Starbucks (If I did this, it would mean that I would a) have to leave the house, and b) have the money to hang out drinking Starbucks coffee) pretending to yourself that you are a writer, sneering at the little people.
You and your other Kate-Hate friends are all a bunch of hypocrites (I have friends?).You profess to that you are not making envious attacks, that you are concerned Kate Middleton carries out insufficient royal duties, that she is undermining the institution of royalty, that you had to work full-time as well as raise children, that royalty is waste a money and irrelevant. Yet you all (fifteen of you) (wow, fifteen? Really? Are they all named Lola? Where are these fifteen duchess disparagers?)seem to spend hours trawling the internet and blogging comments that are misogynistic, indirectly aggressive (the psych term for bitchy), derogatory and highly critical – despite claiming that you are not at all jealous. (Now I must pause here and be serious for one moment: I’ve been called many things, but misogynistic is definitely not one of them. Perhaps, Gillian, you should look through my posts for the past six years, which, by the way, also serves as a direct indicator that I didn’t start this blog to excoriate the Duchess.)So why do you care? How does it negatively impact on your life? If it doesn’t, why are you wasting your time being a “Mean Girl” to someone you never met in such a cowardly way? You would never, ever say this to the woman’s face, or her husbands, were you by chance to meet her. If you say you would, then protest publicly in your real name with a real address by writing a letter to a UK newspaper – if you don’t have the guts, then why are you wasting your time on this. Maybe you should spend it constructively doing charitable works yourself at a local women’s shelter or playing/socialising with those kids that you had to raise part-time for the hours every week you spend on this drivel. If you are unwilling to show your writings to a colleague outside any posters on this page, then you are exhibiting shame and embarrassment about this activity.(Beg to differ with you on this particular point, only as regards my actual blog: I don’t share my writings with any colleagues because, well, I don’t have any of those any more, not since going out on disability, just my meager little audience here who can attest that I am actually not at all interested in the goings-on of any royals, anywhere.)I can’t believe there are adult women, many of whom have university educations, participating in this exercise in the group-shaming of a young woman who has never committed a crime, never abused a child, never purposefully behaved harmfully towards another human-being (You are absolutely spot on here, Gillian). She wears a thong because if she had a visible panty line, no doubt the press would pick on it (TMITMITMI). She wears off-the-rack accessible clothing and unfortunately, helicopter down-draft caused her skirt to flap for less than a second. She has been photographed behaving with goodwill in an appropriate manner millions of times by now. The travel agent amateur photographers is being ostracised by the local community in the Blue Mountains now because they consider her behaviour towards a young woman generously bringing funds and publicity towards their plight disgraceful. That’s reflects the way almost all people would respond to the comments on this and similar pages you all frequent. If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all, was what my mother used to quote. (I’ll just let this speak for itself, shall I?)I would say this to each of you to your face. If you can’t honestly say that you would post this garbage in your own name, in full knowledge of your family, friends and colleagues, then don’t waste the world’s and your own time. If you think you need psychological help because you recognise that it is odd to demonstrate so much ill-feeling towards a woman you actually don’t know or have any interaction with, then please get it (I will certainly address this with my therapist at my next appointment, but it will have to come right after my ongoing discussion regarding my response to recently losing my last parent. Priorities, don’t you know). Publish the Blue Mountains Mayor’s comments because they reflect what most people think, not your own mean-spirited musings…. Bet you don’t even have the guts to post this or his comments Lolita (Hooray! You got my name right!). I am going to refer you and other Kate-Hate middle-aged ranters (love this)to the Daily Mail as story material. Your self-obsessed and hateful behaviour is appalling – no wonder you also have a low opinion of yourself.
Okay, now seriously, I cannot tell you how much this collection of comments has brightened my Saturday afternoon. It’s been a very long time since anyone paid any attention to my little blog, other than the few compatriots who lend me a bit of their time by commenting on my relatively inane ramblings. The last time this happened, it was the psycho stalker who was hanging about in the shadows wreaking havoc. That individual chose not to come forth and identify herself, so that makes this little interlude all the more special.
It’s funny, but whenever someone attempts to disparage me, I always think of Oscar Wilde, who, because of his lifestyle, was constantly harangued in the press, yet he chose to respond with wit and wisdom. I only wish that I could be so urbane, but as I am not, I decided to include some of Wilde’s more apropos words.
So I’m taking the following from Gillian’s (I’ve always loved that name) rather heated rant:
Lola (of the other site), stole my musings phraseology
Said Lola writes a lot about Kate Middleton, none of it very flattering
Somehow, that Lola, and my alter-ego Lola have merged to become one.
This rather unsettling intermix has resulted in a reality akin to that strange movie Inception.
For the record:
I happen to think that Kate Middleton is beautiful and stylish, and her son is adorable, but other than that, I don’t really spend an inordinate amount of time contemplating the Duchess or the royals in any significant fashion.
I may be a bitch, but I am never a misogynist, nor am I remotely fascist.
Intolerant? Me? Seriously?
My aggression is never indirect.
And yes, I can be very judgmental (just ask my family), but I am never ever racist.
I am in no way embarrassed by anything that I write in this blog.
I have never made any attempt to hide my identity, but I choose not to post my full name on here because I don’t want to show up on some pedophile’s Internet search for
“lovely young Lolitas.”
Someone once asked my mother if I was malnourished because I was so skinny as a child. Would that it were so now.
Telling me that the Duchess wears a thong is too much information.
Who is the Blue Mountain mayor?
If I ever were to meet the Duchess (not that that is even remotely likely in this lifetime), I would do the polite thing and call her “Your Majesty.”
I have never been called a bully, and I would need to belong to a group in order to participate in group-shaming.
You are probably correct in saying that I will never make it as a published writer, except for that niggling little detail that I actually have published a few poems and essays, articles, and a retrospective booklet, just not the mysterious mystery, the plot of which continually bounces around in my brain.
Who are these little people of whom you speak?
And as far as not making it past a junior editor, well perhaps you are correct; although since I worked as a senior editor that assessment may be a bit off the mark.
Thank you, Gillian. Truly. It’s been lovely.
More later. Peace.
Music by The Kinks, “Lola” (what else?)
I once shoplifted
a tin of Vienna sausages.
Crouched in the aisle
as if to study the syllables
of preservatives, tore off the lid,
pulled out a wiener and sucked it down.
I’ve cheated on exams.
Made love to foldouts.
Walked my paper route in a snowstorm after dark,
so I could steal down a particular alley
where through her gauze curtains, a lady
lounged with her nightgown undone.
I’ve thrown sticks at stray dogs.
Ignored the cat scratching to come inside.
Even in the rain.
Sat for idle hours in front of the TV, and not two feet away
the philodendrons for lack of a glass of water
gasped and expired.
So many excuses I’ve concocted to get by.
Called in sick when I was not. Grabbed credit
for happy accidents I had no hand in.
to pin the innocent with crimes
I have failed
to learn from grievous error.
Invented gossip. Held hands
in a circle of friends to rejoice
over the misfortune of strangers.
Pushed over tombstones.
Danced the devil’s jig.
Once, when I was barely old enough
to walk home on my own, I hid
behind an abandoned garage.
Counted sixteen windows.
Needed only four handfuls of stones
to break every one.