Coming to Grips with the Apostate

When I initially saw this online chit-chat between Barry Andrews and Andy Partridge, I still had dial-up and no chance of ever listening to it. It was until only recently that I remembered the podcasts and clicked part one with mighty joy.

These two together are hilarious. It's stream-of-consciousness lunacy and brilliance at it's best. It kind of reminded me of how Todd and I used to communicate, but with different in-jokes and more smarts.

The one thing that struck me about these conversations was that it was quite obvious that Andy Partridge is the dominant of the two. I always thought that Barry Andrews would have been the dominant one. I guess because of the Jedi/Sith mythology I've placed on their respective musical styles. But, no, there's no mistaking who monopolises the conversation.

This makes it easier for me to have accidentally anchored Andy Partridge to the Apostate. Cadmus, literally created and partially fathered by the Apostate, eventually rebels against his master and could very well end up killing him. But there's always that niggling voice of acquiescence in his mind because the Apostate is the dominant of the two. To see (or rather hear) this is the actual case between the two whose spiritual batteries drive the characters is very helpful in my ability to write the dynamic between Cadmus and the Apostate. Take away the friendly banter and the good nature, and you have the dark mage and his hateful creation.

Oh what fun!

Holding Pattern

Since there's not much going on in my life right now, I'm having difficulty writing about anything other than my writing, which is probably boring the hell out of a lot of people here. So, to rectify that, I'm asking you to prompt me. Give me topics to write about and I'll do my best to write about them.

Here, in convenient poll format. Niiiiice.

[Poll #1557938]

Alpaca - Liptic Questions

booraven22 asked: The Hobbit is coming out in 2013...do you now hope the Alpaca Lips does not occur?
Now see, I'm torn here. I really really REALLY want to see The Hobbit, especially if James McAvoy plays Bilbo. But I also really really REALLY want all this bullshit to end. So I'm hoping that, whatever transpires on 12-21-2012, I'll still get to see the movie in the Otherworld and even hobnob with the filmmakers.

stacye13 asked: recent weather disasters being a precursor to the alpaca lips?
Absolutely. My theory is that the planet will change poles in 2012. The Mayans had nailed this natural phenomenon before and I believe that their calendar marks the general time at which the pole shift shall occur. Then all sorts of shit will happen. Will we as a species survive? I hope not, but we've survived it before, so who knows?

Writing Prompt ~ Transgendered

softlywhispered prompted me with this: Being a woman, who isn't comfortable in her own skin, and wants to be a man.

I believe there are more transgendered souls out there than any of us would know because they're viewed as such pariahs in our and other's societies. There seem to be more MTF transgendered people than MTF, but make no mistake that they do not exist. In one Native American culture, homesexuals and transgendered tribes-people were considered sacred and touched by god. This ties into the hermaphroditic Aeon as foretold by Aleister Crowley.

At one time or another, we've all felt uncomfortable in our skin. Especially those of who are fat. Knowing there's a beautiful thin person inside your biological fat suit often drives people to do ridiculous things to escape their skin. I've done it myself and part of my failing health can be attributed to my abuse of my body because I felt trapped inside something that was not me. I imagine being a man encased in a woman-suit insurmountably worse, especially when having to deal with the stigma of your situation on top of feeling completely out of sorts. I can't even conceive the trauma a transgendered individual endures almost constantly.

Some people think it's a brain-wiring mistake, others think it's a deception of Satan. God forbid, it might be a mistake on God's part. The only mistake God made was creating humanity in the first place. If I were a woman in a man's body, and my only respite to even marginally fit in was to abuse my body further by having a sex-change operation and be on hormones for the rest of my life, the last thing I would need is a bunch of hooligans dissing on me over something that is completely out of my control. Thinking about this subject just makes me dislike my species even more. My suspicion is there would be far fewer sex change operations if transgenders were simply accepted for what they are.

In closing, there's this song I heard (and I have the video, but it's super fuzzy due to poor TV reception) back in 1986 called "Damn, I Wish I Was a Man" by Cindy Lee Berryhill. If you ever find it, get it. 'Cos...it's groovy!

Critter Update

sapphirescarlet said: I like it when you talk about your critters. I haven't heard much about them lately.

Yes, I'm been a tad closed-mouthed about them. Ever since the disappearance of Shmoop, I haven't really said much about them and, for that, I'm sorry. Losing Shmoop hit me hard. She was such a little idiot to be such a wonderfully intelligent cat; thus, the "idiot savant" title she held with pride.

Smidgen grieved along with Aunt Tudi and me. Shmoop had been her little sister and they never failed to play every night before retiring.

But...on to happier updates. The current critter count is four dogs and three cats. They are....

The Dogs:

1. Winchester Napoleon AKA Chester, the Yorkshire Terrier. I shaved his arse on the eleventh of this month. Literally. After I was finished with him, he was a third of his size when I started out. He's only now getting used to the new crew-cut, but I'm sure he's grateful to not have poop hanging off his butt because of all the hair.


2. Riley MacDog. He's still demented. He's gotten to where he'll slink under the bed at bedtime and try to wait me out. He wants to go to bed, but he doesn't want to be bothered with being picked up. We have to coerce him out and grab him before he slinks back to his cave. Weirdo.


3. Sheba... well, she's suffering from Cushing's Syndrome which is more distressing to Aunt Tudi than it is to her. Dr. Patch explained that really the only side effects are excessive hunger and thirst. The syndrome itself gives the sufferer a sense of well-being. Treatment can be both traumatic for the dog and expensive for the human companions. Since Sheba is going on 11 years old, there's no point in taking that road. We just make sure she has all the water she wants and the boys aren't run off from their food after she's gobbled hers down. Doc has given her about 12 years to live, which means she will have lived a long full dog life.


4. Tobelerone...Toby... Oh gawd! He's been with us for a year now. I asked Aunt Tudi just today how many times she thought I'd said the name Toby. She quipped back that I should be counting how many times I've said "Toby NO!" It's a wonder he doesn't answer to that. He already answers to Ugly Dog and Tobelerone, so why not? The dog is my freckle, constantly attached to my side. We've grown exceedingly closer this past year, even though I threaten his life on a daily basis.
   

The Cats:

1. Steve ("he's shy and not big on small talk) is 99.9% an outdoor cat because of his poor behaviour. When he comes inside, he stalks and attacks everyone, but mainly Smidgen. He has no qualms about tearing into Aunt Tudi though. I'm the only one who can handle him. I think his challenged eyesight has to do with this. He's adopted the I'll get it before it gets me attitude and that has landed him outside where he's become Super Squirreler! The backyard is full of squirrel bones where Steve has left his souvenirs. I guess you could say he's a bit of a serial killer.


2. Aloyisius is staying out more than he has been. Spring sprung and Al sprung out of the house singing like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music. He still comes in at night and sleeps with Aunt Tudi, sometimes nose-to-nose. He's a sweet old cat, bless him.


3. Smidgen, the Queen~ She doesn't live up to her name. Having her sleep on my chest is like spending the night with an incubus without the sex and blood. It's a wonder she hasn't broken a rib or two lying there. Ever since her attack by some unknown animal (I'm thinking it might have been a coyote since I saw one dead on the road a week or so back), Smidgen suffers from PTSD. She can be in a dead sleep, then launch from wherever she is in pure fright. If she's on me or Aunt Tudi, we get the brunt of her launching claws. Once she wakes up sufficiently, she's okay, but I know she's reliving her attack in the dreamworld. It's no fun for her or any of us really. Smidgen is 99% a house cat, going out only occasionally to check out her territory before hauling ass back to the house for a wee nap.

So there you have. Critter Update number 8003!

Home

brujah prompted me with this: Describe the word home, the feelings associated with it, and the people and places you pin to the word.

Wow, this is deep.

Home, to me, is a place where I can embrace my inner naturalists without fear of retribution. Yes, I run about nekkid a lot at home, so shut up. But home in the deeper sense of the word speaks to me in the sounds of the ocean and the whisper of faint breezes. Home is never too hot that it sucks out your will to live and never too cold that you feel as though the grave haunts your very breath. It sings of rolling hills that could easily hide Hobbit holes and honoured tombs of heroes long forgotten by the loveless ones. It's a land that harbours soft-spoken artists and echoes of merry laughter at any whim it fancies.

In 2006 I visited my home. It was England, My Lionheart. Someday, I'll make it back, but my ticket will only be one way.

To answer you...

angstzeit asked: Are we having fun yet?

The answer is when are we not having fun?

Awesome?!?

popfiend asked: Why is "Tin" so friggin' awesome? That's right. Say something really nice about yourself.

I write purdy (for the most part), I make people larf, I try to be a good friend to true friends, and doggone-it people like me!

Escape: not the Pina Colada song

circumspectly asked: how to escape your life when you can't escape your surroundings

It's been my experience, having grown up in a very poor home, that trying to physically escape your environment is downright impossible. So the thing you have to do is stop looking outward for release and begin to construct an inner world. Hannibal Lecter might describe it as a Memory Palace, which is an actual psychological term. Make this your rock and your refuge to which you might escape at any moment, when a moment of need arises. By mnemonically creating a place in which you can reside, you can achieve a zen-like peace and happiness within when outer world is less than tolerable. This inner world may eventually be the key to your changing your circumstances in our outside environment. It takes time and commitment, but I hear it can be done. Have I done it? In a way, yes. This journal is my Memory Palace and it is the one place to which I run when Life gets out of hand.

Old Bits of Hoof

felisdemens cried in a war-like voice ~ Footwear!

To which I respond BIRKENSTOCKS! I used to wear high-top Reeboks a lot but, when my feet broke in their first pair of Birks, I was a lost soul. All other shoes hurt my feet so badly, my Birks are the only thing I wear. They're my house shoes, going out shoes, mowing the grass shoes. When I die, I want them cremated with me. I'm seriously into my Birkenstocks. You have one happy camper when Tin is in her toe socks and Birkenstocks in the middle of November.