White Buffalo Medicine

I spent Xmas with an intestinal virus. So, basically, I brought in the holidays by bringing up everything I'd eaten since the last holiday. Love to know what Secret Santa gave me that gift, so I can repay him.

No argument--I need good medicine. Soon after my eyes began to focus, I read about a ceremony held on Christmans Eve to bring peace on earth and goodwill to men--the naming ceremony of a rarer-than-Venus'-arms white buffalo calf, born in a Pennslyvannia zoo. The bouncing bundle of joy was named Kenahkihinen, which is Lenape for "watch over us." It was a mutli-cultural prayer offering to the Great Spirit. From what I understand, the calf will not be worshipped, but treated with respect, as a great eacher, for white buffaloes represent a time when man is at a crossroads--they can either die or adapt.

In a related story, the Seminole Nation bought the Hard Rock Cafe chain of resteraunts. Coincidence? I think not.

''Our ancestors sold Manhattan for trinkets,'' Osceola said Dec. 7. ''Today, with the acquisition of the Hard Rock Cafe, we're going to buy Manhattan back one hamburger at a time.''

I'll drink my Nyquil to that. I'm only about 1/16th Native American, but I hope that's enough to spare my lily white ass when the revolution comes...and wouldn't it just be poetic justice if it did? Whitey getting kicked out behind a border fence while the Native peoples (which I assume include Latinos) yuck it up, told it's "manifest destiny"? Yes, I better quit before I laugh myself sick again.

Things I Wonder About

As a gift to the world, I will tell you what I wonder about. Maybe it'll be good for a laugh or soul-search or both. No, I don't bother with those piddling questions like "Where did we come from?" and "Is there life after death?" Those just aren't too practical. I want to know how to find dry sticks to light a fire when I'm caught in a rianstorm in Somerset. Other things I wonder about:

• Is God/dess laughing His/Her/Its Ass off at us?"


• Are the penguins trying to take over the world? And if so, what can I do to hurry them up a bit?


• Right. Suppose the Dalai Lama one day wakes up and snaps and yells "Bugger the Karma!" and blows all the Chinese in Tibet away, despite that this would go against all he'd been saying all of lives, would anyone really blame him?


• Speaking of the Dalai Lama, how many times in his life has someone come up to him and said, "Hello, Dalai!"?


• About 20 years ago, comedian George Carlin came up with the idea for a feminine hygene spray called Sprunt ("Well, you'd never forget the name, wouldja?")? I'd like that stuff. How come this never was made?


• Wouldn't it be great if dog shit was edible?


• And, most importantly, When the bloody 'ell is Peter Gabriel gonna put another albumn out???

Happy Winter, folks!

I Have Two College Degrees...

...and today I lost a chance at a $6.00 an hour job because I pushed a wrong button during the phone menu atuomated post-pre interview. (I wish I was joking). I had to beg on the phone to real person to find out what the problem was so I could try again. I will have to try again Friday IF the pre-interviewer's supervisor approves. I have two college degrees and an automated phone system is telling me I'm not qualified for a job wearing a name badge.

Now, how am I supposed to find meaning in all this? My degrees are in Liberal Arts and English. Theoretically, I should be ruling a small Third World country. Or, at least, have enough money to BUY a small Third World country, with chips. But now, I'm not qualified to wear a name badge? I can't even afford the name badge.

After getting shot down there, I received another rejection slip from another mag. This time, it wasn't for a poem or short story. They were rejecting my autobiography. Apparantly, my life is "well written, but not currently within our editorial standards." You know some Diety somewhere is laughing.

So Mom took me out for ice cream. I'm not sure how this helps with my jobsearch or spiritual life, but it does.

Stephen King Dreams

I had a dream about Stephen King. I made a speech, using a quote from him. He came up to me and asked if he could use that quote. (I think it was "The road to hell is paved with adverbs") I told him it was his own, from On Writing. He made a face and stomped away. What up, there, Kingmeister?

So I wake up and help Mom to her appointment with a neurosugeon. His office has a huge triptych of this Hieronymous Bosch painting (The Garden of Earthly Delights) and a silver skull with Celtic Knots on it. He's using sentences containing the words "Vertebrae" and "drill" which should NEVER be used in the same sentence, as far as I'm concerned!

I should send this guy to Stephen King. The road to hell is not paved with adverbs, but with computer simulated spinal surgury videos. Well, now I know that bones can bleed. I'm sure that bit of unasked-for info will help my spiritual life and writing career loads.

How Much is Your Best Friend Worth?

Say someone shot your Picasso. Should you be compensated financilly? What about your pet? Don't you put as much effort into them as a work of art? Unfortunately, this is just what happened. Shadow was shot by a neighbor ("HOWDY!") and the distraught owners are suing for emotional damage (among other things). Is a dog property or a family member? It boils down to--do dogs have souls, and if so, how much is a dog soul worth? The shooter says this:

These people think that this dog is a human being,” he said. “It's not a human being. And that dog was trespassing.”

And thank GOD and GODDESS Shadow wasn't a human being! Dogs don't go around shooting random creatures for the hell of it. The worst my dog has ever done to me is lick my eyeball (ewww). Dogs (and animals) should be worth more than people 'cause they don't piss us off and f*** up our lives like people do.

Do dogs have souls? Goddammn right! When you snuff The Big One, don't be suprised if God winds up being all the animals you ever hurt, looking at you saying, "So who's the top of the food chain now, Mr. Opposable Thumbs?"

It could happen.

Incrediblyunbrokensentencemovingfromtopictotopic

Well, while I know people have more pressing problems in their lives, right now I couldn't give a monkey's. My writing "career" has just sort of slipped sideways. Remeber that entire first dreft of a Star Trek: The Next Generation novel I wrote a few months ago? Well, it's gotta be indefinately shelved. I found the website of writer's submission guidelines and discovered they will not accept books with the plot line of paralell universes anymore. Whoops--that's kinda a big part of the plot of my book. They leave plotlines like that for "established authors".

So, here's the plan--I becme an established author, and THEN submit the novel. Yeah, that'll do it.

In other news, after collecting a small but select collection of rejection slips for my short stories, poems and personal essays, yesterday I received one "maybe" from Grendelsong. Hey, it's a start. Like the Zen saying goes, a journey of a thousand miles begins with that first step.

What Happened to God?

Not the God that everyone takes His/Her name in vain, but the God who wrote the great blog God's Blog. God has been mysteriously silent for almost a year. What's up?

Judging from the spelling and general quality of writing, I'm guessing "God" lives in the UK. I'm not offended by the sudden cessation of the blog, I just wished there was at least a goodbye. Perhaps things were just too much and He needed some down time. Or perhaps He's been abducted by aliens. Or perhaps God is the same guy who does this blog. Hopefully, the author is still on Earth and has Internet access. If not, I hope God gets well soon.

You Know You're Getting Old When...

• The cake & ice cream gives you a hangover.


• You get presents that you can't identify. What is this?


• You get a rejection slip from Poetry magazine


• You get a call from the giver of the unidenitfied gift and have to say, "Thanks for the prezzie. It's gorgeous. What is it?" and then have the gift giver say "I don't know. I was hoping you could figure it out. You're unemployed."


• Oh yeah--I'm now a year older and still unemployed.


• Your Mom's gift is a trip to the Zoo :-)(On Lemur Day, no less)While pushing your Mom in a wheelchair, you force your Mom to go to the Children's Zoo, despite her rather loud protests, only to discover it's under construction. So you wind up holding a Which Animal Has the Cutest Butt contest. The winner was the agouti (pictured), a relative of the guinea pig, which is world renowned for it's cute butt-age.


• You forgive Peter Gabriel for not sending a B-day gift THIS year, either.


• You suddenly realize, through the pain of the cake hangover and yet another rejection notice, that Peter Gabriel now looks remarkably like a hamster

I'll Be 37. What the Hell Happened?

On Saturday, I'll be 37. Yikes! How did that happen? Seems like only yesterday I was 12. If I was a horse, I'd most likey be dead. If I was Jesus, I'd DEFINATELY be dead.

I am, of course, reminded about the Penn State football coach Joe Paterno, who's been the coach since before I my older brother was concived (EEEWWW!)and is still driving everyone nuts at age 500, or whatever it really is. In September, he was knocked down by a player at practice, snapped three ribs, but told nobody about it. No one would EVER have known if not for this injury. It's kinda hard not to reminded of JoPa, as he's known, when you live in the Philly area. JoPa even has a STATUE at Penn State even though he's still hard at work. American football is definatley a religion over here, so perhaps praying to Joe can help give me strength....or perhaps I should just shut up and get back to collecting rejection slips. My Dad has hinted he'd get me a couple of the Peter Gabriel (pictured) CDs that went up in the August 2005 fire. So maybe I'll just dwell on that.

Happy Chaos Never Dies Day

If you're anything like me, you dread this time of year. The only good international holiday--Halloween--has come and gone, but those damn others are in the way before Beltane (May Day) the OTHER great international holiday. There is a desperate need for decent holidays. I discovered on several sights the "unofficial" holiday on Nov 9 of Chaos Never Dies Day. (Usually, that's known as Christmas Eve, but there's no cruel and unusual shopping involved). Choas, is of course, (besides the baddies in Get Smart)the original state of the Universe from which all things come--it just didn't have any of those boring laws of time, space or comphrehension. I like to think of the universe before this one as being Tiamat, the essence of Chaos that seems to but is not really tamed.

I'm not sure how official Chaos Never Dies Day is, but I've got a feeling that's the point. So what can one do on Choas Never Dies Day? Glad you asked:

• Check out your horroscope--Chaos style


• Chant as much of you can of The Principia Discordia There's even a Swedish translation, to there's no excuse.


• Send off a couple of manuscripts of short stories (always good for a laugh)


• Turn on all the electrical appliances in your home so there can be a power outage(another guaranteed hoot)


• Watch Get Smart

That's is from me. Get Chaos-ing.

Oh Me of Little Faith...

In the world of me, I have received two more rejection slips, one for the aforementioned short story and another about the perils of bacon butties with mustard. But Sunday, I went to a writing workshop by the Poet Laureate of Lansdowne (the town next to mine), Dan Simpson (no relation). Dan is blind and needs a guide dog. (So, what's YOUR excuse, Rena???) This is the second workshop I've attended led by Dan. The first one kept me in the habit of trying to write nearly every day--this one generated a lot of story ideas! I was also congratulated for the three rejection slips.

In one exercise, we drew a small weird object out of a baggie and had to write a story on that. Objects included a pack of tissues, a bandanna, and a broken radio. Mine was a wedding photo. Everyone--even the shy folks--did very well. As Dan was congratulating us, the room was suddenly rocked by a thunderous

SNORE!

Chandler, Dan's guide dog, was snoozing under the tables. I said, "Everyone's a critic."

This is not the only time I took a workshop from a town's official poet. In 2004 and 2005, I enjoyed workshops by Kevan Manwaring, the Bard of Bath. I see he got that book published! Well done, Kevan. I'd love to see Dan and Kevan in a room together. No snoozing then.

Laurie Cabot's Back on the Caffeine

For those Wicca-challenged, Laurie Cabot is one of America's most respected Witches (and yes, she is the Official Witch of Salem). She writes a few books, reads a few palms, has a website, generally your basic Witch. Once, she was into civil rights for Witches, spurred on by "The Witches of Eastwick", which she couldn't stand because it made Witches look "silly". Then:

After that burst of activism, she returned to her main passion -- her witchcraft and her shop. "I handed over the work, the letter writing, to another group, but all these years they have done nothing, so we are starting over this month."

"I'd like to canvass the whole of the United States, city by city, and give every official this law memorandum," she said, producing a white four-page pamphlet on the constitutional rights of witches.

OUCH! The "other group" she is referring to is the Witch's League for Public Awareness, a group she founded in 1986. This is a pretty good group, in my opinion. They run a nice website, give out free info when asked and don't stick burning pentagrams on anyone's lawn...even if they REALLY deserve it. To say they've done "nothing" is a little...spiteful, quite frankly. I know we don't have a Witch in the White House, but would a Witch be DUMB enough to want to run for President (or First Lady?) I think not.

I do call myself a Witch (I think Wiccan is a wimpy word), but I'm not into the bells, books and candles as I was seven years ago. I can sense that Witches may be getting a bit uppit about how they are percieved by others...which is preceisely the oppposite reason I became a Witch. I wanted to NOT gove a damn about what anyone thought of me...except ME. The day Wicca becomes an organized religion is the day I start hiding my pentacle under the mattress. Witches have a great sense of humor, and I'm afraid High Preistess Cabot makes us look like stiffs.

Got My First Official Rejection Slip

Yiperdoodle. In five days, my mauscript for the short story "Why Did the Dragon Cross the Road?" came back rejected from Fantasy & Science Fiction Magazine. I'm glad my first one was from a big mag. The typewritten note said, "It just didn't capture my interest, I'm afraid." My folks think I should frame it. There used to be a saying, "If you fall off a horse three times, THEN you're a rider!" I guess falling from three mags makes me a writer. My Dad wondered why it didn't hold the Assistant Editor's interest. "Didn't you kill anyone?" he asked.

"No, but the narrator's leg gets ripped off." I answered.

Dad, who didn't miss a beat, said, "That's it, then. Kill off the narrator."

"But it's first person, Dad.You know she's not gonna die, because she's narrating."

Hmmm. Dad's got a point, though....

The Only Dog Costume Worth It

From the "Never Say Never Department": I have many a time sworn that if I ever put my dog Pony into a Halloween outfit, I hope someone would put me to sleep. Now I LOOVVEEE Halloween. It's the High Holy Day of the year, as far as I'm concerned. And I do not wish to keep all the fun to humans and not let dogs in, but it just seems a bit...I dunno...CHEAP to dress your dog up as a person. Seems to dishonor the dogness of the dog. My dog would rip the costume up in ten seconds, anyway.

But then I saw this costume online. Yes, it glows in the dark. So not only can you really freak someone out in the nighttime (always a bonus) but it's instructional, too on how a doggie skeleton is sorta put together.

That being said, Pony is staying inside this Halloween. Have a happy Halloweekend!

School Daze

Schools are having more than their fair share of troubles recently. Lack of money, lack of security, lack of books and lack of anyone who gives a tinker's damn. So school boards across the nation, in their infinite wisdom, have decided to ban dodgeball and tag. Oh, that'll take care of all the problems lickey-split.

Of course, my old school would say the problem is not having God in the classroom. This from a school whose motto was (and I kid you not) "The FEAR of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge." Don't give me "the original meaning of fear meant respect" crap--these teachers were FRIGHTENING. I still have nightmares about them. I did well in school for the same reason I accepted Christ as my Savior at the age of four--fear of going to hell. We were obedient because any spark of actual independent thought was efficiently stamped out. Can't have any of that.

It occurs to me that we'd save a lot of bother if we just got rid of school. Just have kids hang about adults, learning whatever they damn well feel like and at a coming of age ceremony, drop them off into a desert with a box of matches for a week. If they live, they've graduated. If not...well, perhaps they shouldn't be swimming in the gene pool.

Too harsh, you say? Well, it's pretty much what we're doing now anyway.

100th Post--Raven Bless Peter Gabriel!

Some good news from me for a change. Peter Gabriel (pictured), canidate to be my Personal God (but lost to Raven)has announced on Friday that he will not be doing the Genesis reunion thingy with the band he helped co-found around the time I was born. (You know Genesis--they unleashed Phil Collins on the world, as well as PG?)I'm broke, and so can not afford any concert tickets.

Now when I was 16--heck, even when I was 26--money was no object in seeing PG on tour (considering he only does it once or twice a decade). I'd beg, borrow, steal until I could press those concert tickets to my heaving bosom (wow--are you ever glad you decided to read this blog today!)until I was signing a funny-smelling contract from Mr. Scratch. I would think, "I could use the grocery money for the tickets! The anticipation of seeing HIM with my own eyes will sustain me!"

Now I'm 36, and have slightly different priorities. My dog comes first, then my Mom, then my writing, then my spirituality, then my sleep, then PG. On the one hand, I feel a twinge of nostaligic sadness that I don't quite possess the devotion I used to, but at least I know now that PG won't take it personally....

...uh, at least, I think so....

Taking the Plunge

Hideho. Since I'm getting nowhere trying to find a "real" job and I'm not back on the street yet, I thought I'd give a go at doing what I live to do for money--writing. This week, I've sent out a short story contest entry and four article/story submissions to:

• The Bark


• Pure Inspiration


• Vestal Review


• Reader's Digest(had to be done)

I'd blog some more, but the latest short story is calling...also, my Mom's cat Sarah keeps rolling on the keyboard, and she's too cute to shoo away. Perhaps I could call this research into a future article?

Personal God Election Results

Alright, the Election Day parody of me to elect the God I'm going to devote myself to didn't pan out (pun intended.)Quite frankly, I doubt anything I could write would be funnier than the campaigns of current Pennslyvannia politicians.

Anyway, only one of the canidates bothered to make any sort of campaign ad for me..sort of. About a week ago, I had a dream of Peter Gabriel being my chauffer (kinda a Baby, You Can Drive My Car kinda thing). Well, in the dream he botched that up. This from a man who took 10 years between albums and 25 years between kids. If I pray to him today, I guess I'll get a reply by the time I'm 64.

So, the winner and ChamPEEN of my worshipful devotions is (drumroll please)

....................................Raven.

Since He's a Trickster and a shapeshifter, he can look like whatever Peter Gabriel whenever He wants to. There is actually a serious reason why I'm now a Ravenist, but it's not nearly as entertaining as what I've already written, and this post has gone on long enough.

Earth's Main God/dess

Spirituality would be a lot less complicated if there was only one person on Earth at a time. That would save a lot of time arguing.

What is the real God/dess of Earth? Or of Western Civilization, anyway, since it seems to be the Power of the Moment. It sure ain't God. Or Goddess, either. The Diety is Enough. ("As long as I have Enough, I'll be happy.")("Omigod--there's not ENOUGH! Hit the Panic Button!!!") Logic is another Diety on the panthenon...whoops...hold on, that's for the planet "Vulcan, not Earth.

The reason we're so screwed up is that we're the only animal that needs God. That's the only difference from us and the monkeys, my friends. We always need a justification for what we do--see it as part of a Grand Design.

Animals have it figured out. Life is to live it--that's it, folks. Walt Whitman put it best:

I think I could turn and live with animals
the are so placid and self contained
I stand and look at them long and long.

Another Poem

The man gets up and walks out into the sun
ramifications and complications threaten him all at once.
He was to go here, he wound up going there
and aches never to have learned to compare.

He was so sure when he was born
what would make him cold and what would make him warm.
But somewhere along the way he discovered among the fray
that he forgot more than his mind could pack away.

"I was to do something--but what, I do not know
What with learning and earning and rushing to and fro.
I gathered to me more than this one path
So perhaps I was to forget it and go take a bath."

--October 4 &; 9, 2006

One Order of Limbo To Go

As you've probably heard by now, the most recent incarnation of the Pope is to (or has he already? I can't be bothered to look it up, quite frankly!) disavow all Catholic association of the concept known as Limbo. (Not the dance, sadly.) Limbo is not to be confused with Purgatory, although it's just down the block. Limbo is where the souls of unbaptized babies and good pagans who lived before the time of Christ go to hang out for the rest of eternity. I always pictured them as just floating around in a black and white eternity, as colour was reserved for Heaven or Hell. (In Purgatory, you get colour on the weekends). When I noticed the Papal announcement in the paper, I couldn't help but read the headline to my recently Catholic-ized Mom. She said, "What's limbo? Besides the damn dance I can't do?" So, I told her. "Oh," she said. "Wait--how did you know about limbo?"

"Why, from George Carlin, of course, Mother!" I truthfully replied, for how else do non-Catholics get their interpetations of the Catholic worldview? Read a Catholic Bible? Ha! That would make sense.

Anyway, I'm going to miss limbo, even though all the souls in limbo are now given a one-way ticket to heaven. Which reminds me--limbo is being ousted because it is "only a hypothesis"--hmmm---so can we think of what else is just a hypothesis? Like, oh, let's see...God? Hell? Original sin?

Sorry--Not Feeling Funny This Week

Well, I feel funny 'peculiar', not funny 'ha-ha'. (I couldn't even be bothered to write an original opening line--I think I plagerized that from a WKRP In Cincinatti episode). I lived in Lancaster County for nearly ten years and by now you might have heard that the peaceful Amish community had a freak accident. Unfortunately, they ran into a freak. Now, at the time of this writing, there's five (soon to be six) humans dead and one dead freak. Amazingly, the Amish have already forgiven the freak and have invited the freak's family to the funerals of their little girls.

I met a lot of Amish in my time in Lancaster, but we were not on a name-exchange basis. I am not personally related to the victims, and yet I want revenge. Yes, the freak has shot himself--or indulged in police-assisted suicide--but I'm sure there's something else we can do to him. Shoot the body? Do a seance and flip him the bird? Make a pact with Satan to fry his freaky ass extra extra crispy? It takes a hell of a lot of energy to plan revenge...even if it's only fantasy revenge.

I envied the Amish in my time in Lancaster--mostly because they had incredibly fit horses. But now I envy them even more, as despite this violation of their sanctuary, they still are able to bring their harvest home.

Know Thyself

This is a self portrait done in two ways:
1) As advice given on Solsbury Hill Forums for all of us Peter Gabriel fans (and we know you're out there)I first went to give myself the South Park treatment
2)Then I goofed around with it a bit in Paint, the lovely doodling program on most PCs.
It has been said by many many people both smarter and wiser than me that the best way to wisdom is to Know Thyself. So this self-portrait shows how much I know.

"So, rraven, How's It Going?"

Judging from the image I've selected, I guess that'll tell you how the job interview today went.

Oh, it was a nice interview (a fire drill happened in the middle of it)and my interviewer seemed a real sweetheart. However, the company that PENDOT (the Pennsylvania Everything Damning Of all Transprtation) hires out turned out to be Philadelphia Developmental Disabilities Coorporation and unfortunately, I'm just not Disabled enough to qualify (or fortunately, depending on your point of view). I had no idea I was supposed to be disabled. I guess I should add that to the resume.

On the other hand, it was great to know that a place like this exists in Philly and seems to be doing good work. The atmosphere was casual, friendly and first-name basis. Donald Trump could probably learn a thing or two from them.

In other news, last night I finished the first draft of my Captain Jean-Luc Picard adventure into the universe of world mythology. I'm still too tired to celebrate properly--then off to write a more polished draft and send it out to gather reject slips. Hooray!

Boriweogail!!!

I have a job interviewtomorrow for the Department of Motor Vehicles. So you can probably guess what my state of mind is like. If you can't, here's a frightening glimpse:

"BOOGA! Whoop! Dee dee dee obbbi oobie wah wah How to get to North Philly and back in one piece? Ding dong! Panic's calling! RED ALERT! AwOOOga! AwOOOga! Mr. Worf, raise sheilds and fire at will. Just joking, Will. Da da DAAAAA..."

...and so on ad infinitum. I suppose there's a spiritual lesson in here somewhere, but it's just not getting through at the moment.

There Oughta Be A Law...

So I was writing my aforementioned book, listening to an online New Age radio station last week (Sept 17-23) when I was jolted by hearing...

wait for it...

CHRISTMAS CAROLS.

It wasn't even the FALL EQUINOX yet and they're playing bloody Xmas muzac?!?! I'm sure this is a cause of global warming. No, really. Think about it. Playing Xmas muzac too early--polar bears eating each other. Makes perfect sense to me. And WHEN did the trend to push the Xmas shopping season back begin? About twenty years ago--THE SAME TIME the hole in the ozone was discovered!

Now, I think that chemicals and pollution DO punch holes in the ozone layer. They still need to be dealt with. But by God, man, every little bit helps! We might not be able to legislate clean air laws with major coorporations, but at least we can wait until November before playing Christmas carols! Surely, this law, if proposed by the Democrats (or any other political party), could (as wll as Bush's continued incompetence) make them easily gain control of Congress.

Then it will a Merry Christmas after all.

Slap Happy

Creation myths are so boss, aren't they? I have a feeling origin of humanity myths mostly came from being asked by an innocent four year old "Mummy--where do babies come from?" I've read a lot of baby origin myths--the stork, finding babies in a cabbage patch--but a Cherokee myth beats the lot. Granted, a lot about Cherokee myths were lost due to the white man's myth that whiter is better. ANYWAY--

A man and a woman were created by Someone Powerful. It was Someone Powerful who taught man how to get woman pregnant--by slapping her with a fish. Yes, you read that right--slapping her with a fish. The slapped then gave birth in seven days.

Besides some other rather crude comments I would like but can't really make, I might as well end with a joke I learned at the White Springs in Glastonbury (so you can blame them, not me):

One day God decided to visit Adam & Eve in the Garden of Eden. He found Adam having a smoke. "Where's Eve?" God asked. "She's down at the river washing herself after our shag." Adam replied.

"Darn!" God exclaimed. "Now all of the fish will smell of fanny!"

PETA Bread

My dog and I find an average of three cents a day when we go for a walk. That's what, $10 a year? That's money that kinda drops out of the sky. My luck has been trmendously bad (see practically the rest of this blog) but in some ways it's been tremendously good. My dog Pony is the greatest dog in the world...yes, see, Pony, I've typed it in the blog, so get off me now, ok?

So what to do with the money? Especially since I'm unemployed? After the total disappointment of Philly Pagan Pride Day, I've been thinking long and hard about my real spirituality. I've decided it has nothing to do with wearing pentagrams, dressing in black and going to things called Pagan Pride Days. It means to try and do as much good as possible, including spreading some of the good luck that's come my way back to the people that means the most to me--animals. Since I'm so discombubulated at the moment, I joined PETA and let them have the fun of dealing with a lost cause. It's a good echo of life--we try to live it as best we can, even though we know we're going to die at the end of all the hard work. So let's keep smilin' and carrying the SAVE THE WHATEVER signs.

Pity Philly Pagans

Paganism is not an organized religion by any means. Idealogically, this is a good thing as it encourages you to think for yourself and not feel threatened by other points of view. However, it's not so good when trying to get together the Philadelphia Pagan Pride Day of 2006 in Clark Park, West Philly. Basically what happened is that a couple dozen people in pentacles got together and stared at each other, asking, "Is this all there is?" I'm sure in my 36 years, I've been to more pitiful events, but at the moment I just can't think of any.

Bad luck played a part in killing Philly Pagan Pride Day, as scheduled speakers just decided to send their astral bodies instead of their physical ones. A nice lady gave out free tarot readings and there were 7 or 8 tables of bright shiny objects for sale (including pepper spray for the Mars worshippers) but outside of that, nada. If there were any talks or lectures or anything else, everyone was sure I left before they started. I stayed for nearly two hours and gave up. It's a bad day when you get more free literature from the Mormons than the Pagans on Philly Pagan Pride Day.

At least no one need fear us--we've proved we're harmless!

What would help bring out attendence to Philly Pagan Pride Day 2007...or 2008 if next year's is called off due to befuddlement. Here's some suggestions:

• A cute mascot


• A game of Pin the Blame on the Donkey


• A slogan...like "Witchin' Is Bitchin'" or something.


• Perhaps handouts on easy tips to help save the enviornment...we are a nature religion, right?


• Clark Park has the world's only full size statue of Charles Dickens. Seance, anyone?


• Pinatas for the kids or those needing a safe release of pent up anger

All kidding aside, I'm glad there is such a thing as a Philly Pagan Pride Day (whether anything happens or not)and I wish it the best of luck on finding a really good spell to whip it into shape.

A New Low In Pop Culture

I love Dragons. They're a part of my personal mythology. I think they're the stuff in between atomic particles. Almost all cultures in the world have some draconic thingamabob in their mythology, which shows they're in the human unconsciousness somewhere. I also think they used to allow themselves to be seen but now sit back in hiding in between subatomic particles and laugh their invisible asses off at us. We certainly give them a lot to laugh about.

But this is just a tad bit tacky. I'm all for free artisitic epression, but here's"Rider From the Mystic Realm", coming to a coupon booklet near you. This is only part of a trend to turn Dragons into Elvis. We're seeing him everywhere on everything. It's bad enough that there are dragon christmas ornaments, dragon fabrege' eggs and dragon collectable motocycles, but now there's dragon urban slang and computer smiley dragon feti. I don't know about you, but I'm really scared.

Now, I know Dragons are no sacred cows and enjoy a good laugh just like anyone else. Perhaps they even enjoy a Silly Dragon. But I do worry that there might be a fundamentalist fringe group among Dragonland that's gonna take this way too seriously and start blasting collectors or Prescious Moments dragons. Random arson among tacky dragon art collections can't in any way hold up to be arson by dragons in any world court. We'd wind up blaming each other and maybe even start sanctions and trade embargos and worse between the collectors and the not-collectors. This is the kind of thing I think about 'cause I can't find a decent job. Perhaps that's the work of fundamentalist fringe Dragonists as well.

I think I can work this up into a good conspiracy theory (unlike a really sad conspiracy theory). Maybe then I could get a manuscript published. I could build the dragons an altar and give to all kinds of Dragonism causes with the money (hint, hint, Dragon Gods ).

Back In The USofA

One year ago today, my dog Pony and I left England to go live with my Mom in the Philadelphia area (the area of my breeding and training). We were in Bathwick and had to get to Gatwick on the other side of the country by 11 am. This was fun. It required we wake at 4am to catch a 5am train out of Bath Spa Station (convincing Pony that the train was not a monster--she literally had to make a leap of faith to get on the train), transfer at Reading, then on to Gatwick. At Gatwick, we discovered US Airways could not give us a dog crate although they originally said they could. We then had to take a taxi to British Airways, ALL HAIL BRITISH AIRWAYS, who felt pity on us and GAVE us an abandoned dog crate. Then we faced about a 10 hour journey to Philly International (with all the delays) where Pony had more room, a good sleep in the dim hold of the plane while I was crammed in a tiny sleep surrounded by strangers who seemed obsessed with bright shiny objects.

But we made it--'cause we had to. So what have I learned in a year?

• American Bacon Butties suck.


• Monty Python just keeps getting funnier and funnier


• Blogging is fun


• Home is not a place...it's just that all the other four letter words were taken.

Get Your Population Under Control

Why do people want to have kids? I've never figured that out. Especially since the world is so overpopulated. Hell, I'm looking forward to any and all apocolypses since then I'd never have to worry about a parking spot. I'd also have a very good chance of finally getting a job. Anyway, it's not as if human beings are an endangered species.

So why do we have infertitlty clinics? That's always boggled my mind. We have more than enough kids, but yet we spend money and what's left of our resources on bringing more mouths to feed and butts to wipe? I don't get it. I think these infertitlity clinics should offer the option of giving women a chance to give birth to a panda. The world needs more pandas. And here are the benefits of having a panda instead of a crumb crusher:

• The average birth weight of a panda is 3 1/2 OUNCES.


• The average birth weight of a panda is 3 1/2 OUNCES. I know I've repeated myself, but the information is just so significant, it's worth repeating.
  
• Pandas can't grow up to run away from home to another country and shack up with an alchoholic (unlike some blog writers....)


• They never outgrow their cute phase


• They're grown up in five or six years


• They don't sue their own parents


• They don't do this


• Or this


• And, most importantly, they don't do this

People might be important--no one can prove that they are or are not--but we sure as shooting are not the end all and be all.

Hope for Humanity Yet

Most days I feel like I have to apologize for the rest of my species to the world. Sometimes, though, I actually can LIKE being a member of the homo sapiens.
Enjoy. And even more cause for hope. Maybe next time I decide to run away from home, I'll go to Finland.

And if that weren't enough, then there's this which I nicked from Beliefnet.com:
A kindergarten teacher was observing her classroom of children while they drew. She would occasionally walk around to see each child's artwork. As she got to one little girl who was working diligently, she asked what the drawing was.

The girl replied, "I'm drawing God."The teacher paused and said, "but no one knows what God looks like."

Without missing a beat, or looking up from her drawing the girl replied, "They will in a minute."

More of the ususal pounding my head against a wall next time.

Warning: I'm Pissed Off

NOTE: The following post is NOT directed at anyone who was directly affected by 9/11. In fact, you're better off skipping reading this post and watching this

Right. As mentioned in the title, I am pissed off. So, I decided to take the pissed off-ness energy and do a blog post rather than bang my head against a wall...which, actually, is pretty much the same thing at times. ANYWAY

I'm really hoping America (those not directly suffering from the tragic events of 9/11)gets over 9/11. As a student of mythology, I see 9/11 as having a potential to wind up being a whopper. In one sense, it was a day where a lot of Americans lost their sense of security, which is actually a good thing. This is being written by a person who has survived flood, arson, homelessness, being put in hospital by the man who claimed to love me and trans-Atlantic airplane rides. Yes, it was a tragedy. But do we HAVE to be kept reminded of it? Billboards, banners planted in the front yard, TV mini series, supermarket circulars proclaiming "Remember!"...hell, I can't even go SHOPPING without paranoia being thrown in for free? I can see 9/11 greeting cards and 9/11 carols right around the corner, folks:

So sorry you lost someone in 9/11
At least he's smilin' down from heaven!

America seems more paranoid now than when I left it (I was living in Cranliegh, England on 9/11 and couldn't phone the US that day...that was surreal..."Leave a message, and the country will try to get back you")That's a shame, because Americans seemed to really like a good time no matter how crappy the day. Now the Americans I meet and see on TV are jumping at their own shadow.

That's not living, folks. Yes, 9/11 was a nightmare. But we got through it, and we know that we can and will survive. Want to piss off Al Quieda? Live as you did on 9/10/01. Case in point, the dogs of 9/11.
They do not stop to make speeches, paint murals or plant flags. They keep on being dogs. The day always begins with a wag of the tail. There's a great lesson in that, in that they can see what we can't. I hope one day we will remember 9/11 breifly only on 9/11, and then live as happily and as fear-free as we can the rest of the year. That would be the best memorial of all to the victims.

"Come, give me your hand: what's done cannot be undone: to bed, to bed, to bed."
— Lady Macbeth, Act V, Sc. 1

General Election of Personal God Oct 13

You know, I'm going to miss Tony Blair. He was so much fun to make fun of. He took the blame for everything in the UK from political suicide to pay toilets. He was PM the entire time I lived in England...heck, he was PM even before I had my massive metal breakdown...even before I was 30!

Which got me thinking about my personal Diety. (Why? What was I supposed to think of?)I don't have one. As a student of mythology and a pagan, I know that no matter what you call it, it's still the same Great Spirit. But heck, I want to be part of a spiritual Illuminati. So I need to dedicate myself to a personal God. I hate long campaigns, so I'm going to make my pick this October 13. And, just as with Tony, if this God doesn't deliver, Ill hold another election. So here are the main canidates:

• Jesus H Christ Well, beel there. Done that. Didn't even get a damn T-shirt from the bugger. He was in power for nearly a 20 year term in my early life, so I highly doubt His bid for re-election is for real.


• Buddha A really well-qualified and proven canidate with a good voting record, but technically not a God.


• Peter Gabriel All right, technically he's not a God, either, but has the sexy charisma I seek for in any Diety. I think he'd be fun to sin against. So, he's a front-runner.


• Hecate. She's the guardian Diety of my dog. My dog managed to get a better AND cheaper seat on a trans-atlantic flight than ME. 'Nuff said.
  
• Raven I can't get away from this bugger. He's been in my writings in one form or another since I was a little girl. Maybe I should just give up and give him a term in office. All leaders are Tricksters, anyway.
,

May the best God/dess win!

My Birthday Is Nov 18

Happy September first. Just as a reminder, you have plenty of time to get a gift for my birthday. I'll need a lot of comforting as I'll be 37. If I was a Thoroughbred racehorse, I'd be dead. As it is, I'm just an unemployed unpublished writer who occassionally amuses with a blog post or two. Surely keeping my tiny little mind from going pop is a good enough cause to contribute to. Here are a few gift ideas:

• Oh. My. God.


• My own cult...oh, heck, I could share it with Peter Gabriel if I'm in a good mood


• Come to think of it, just send a red ribbon around Peter Gabriel and I'll be all set for my mid-life crisis.

If you can't manage any of those, I'd be honored if you were kind to an animal as a gift not only to me, but to the world. Heck, start now and maybe you won't feel guilty about that turkey at Thanksgiving.

Do We Have The Right To Worship Any Damn Way We Want?

Okay, by now I bet you heard that the crazy leader of a splinter Mormon cult, the FLDS, was finally captured because his car's plates were unreadable. ABC News keeps playing a years' old clip of a blond follower of The Prophet shaking in rage bellowing "I HAVE THE RIGHT TO WORSHIP ANY DAMN WAY I WANT!" which got me thinking--do we?

Now, grant it, I've never had any personal contact with this cult. They haven't sent me any threatening letters or promotional literature. I do take issue with child abuse, and splitting up families for a whim (as this cult does.)But, as I do believe in religious freedom, does that mean I have to feel bad for a guy who is crazy enough to have 60 kids?

No, it doesn't. This guy hurts others. That's a little hard to defend in any court, celestial or otherwise. One advantage of kooky cults is that they're ususally all in one place, so we can keep an eye on them. I have nothing against kooky cults. Especially kooky suicide cults (and the FLDS looks as if it's going to be one). They're worth it for the entertainment value alone. They want to hurt themselves, fine--but as soon as you drag someone who isn't willing, then things get psycho. It would be like dragging little chidren off to Sunday School on a perfectly sunny Sunday. AHHH!!!

So, I hope that cults themselves, no matter how kooky, all cults can be allowed. But as soon as they break the golden rule, smack the individulas responsible. And then give them all Darwin Awards.
Besides, we used to do human sacrifices. We could think of suicide cults as voluntary human sacrifices to save the rest of us. Sounds good to me--my ass is saved.

Write On

So, it's been nearly a year since I and my puppy tucked our collective tails between our legs and went across the Pond home to Mommy because my handmade home was burnt down, with my mauscript inside of it. I'm unemployed, trying to readjust to the culture shock of living back in the Philly area, am trying to remember what country I learned phrases from, and learning Mom's computer. So what's the best thing I could do?

Write another book, of course! Not that I've ever gotten one published, but hey, that's not the point, is it? It's trying to ride to life's bucking bronco before the bell rings. As before, I define spirituality as whatever keeps you bothering to breathe and writing books that will destined to be trashed seems to be my way of worshipping. Keeps the nightmares at bay, anyway.

I'm on Chapter Thirteen of this damn thing, and so my blog posts will most likely be a bit sporatic until I have a presentable mauscript. It touches on spiritual themes in a sort of modern myth grabbing a few heroes from past and future. So far it used to be called Rena's Story, but I'm not in it, so now it's
A Work In Progress Titles have the virtue of being the easiest part of a book to change. The story is told in third person, but mainly through the eyes of Captain Jean-Luc Picard. (He's the only Star Trek character in the book...so far) I have an Everyman character who is based on Peter Gabriel, who really needs to be in more personal mythologies. I don't think I can give his actual name without incurring Peter's wrath....wait a minute...maybe I will stick his name in, then. Off to stare at a blank piece of paper until drops of blood appear on my forehead...

RUN! HIDE! IT'S A FAIRY!

My absolute favourite telly show is Sesame Street. I was born a day or two after the show premiered. It is the only show that has survived all of my 36 years (going on 37). So I get really nervous every summer wondering if the series will get renewed. Granted, since the mid 1990's I haven't been keeping up with the show. But I'm glad to see it still exists and has an infusion of new blood to keep it alive. This pic here is, of course, the spawn of Satan, the evil incarnate ABBY CADABBY!

She's not human! She's a fairy! She admits it! She can do magic! She's PINK, for goodness' sake! THE HORROR!

As if we don't have anything else to argue about. World peace...the hole in the ozone layer...deciding whether or not Pluto deserves to be a planet...apparantly these all pale in comparison to the affrontery of a blatantly pagan character joining the ranks of conservative Christian parents and television critics. I guess they watch the show more than their kids do.

The argument against Abby is that she's a faery. What kind of positive image does that give young girls? A Goddamn good one, I say. Women contain the mysterious ability to have babies--that's magick. Ever talk to men? They tend to view women as creatures from another planet (and women generally hold the same view as men.)

Give a kid a metaphore and they'll roll all day with it. More than their parents, apparantly.

Minister Says To Sunday School Teacher "You Go, Girl!"

Now, I'm sure you've heard of this by now: An 85 year old lady who taught Sunday School in the same church for over 50 years was fired by letter from the new pastor. His reason is a line from St. Paul the Arsehole that women should be seen but not heard. I'm starting to think the pastor was the real killer of Jon-Benet Ramsey. The Bible also condones slavery--so does St. Paul--so I'd love to see the letters any of the blacks in the church are going to get.

I have NOTHING against Christians. I was one myself for nearly twenty years until I finally got tired of pounding my head against a wall. My own Mom is Catholic. But what is this taking every word in the Bible literally attitude? And why, if you're going to do that, pick on some topics and not others? Jesus also said to give up all that you have and give to the poor if wanted you to follow him. How poular is that, eh?
That may be one reason Jesus himself never wrote His words down--I doubt he ever meant for them to be taken one rigid, unchanging way all the time for all people in all circumstances. The only way to explain the unexplainable is through allegory and poetry. No sacred text is to be taken as Gospel...except maybe songs by Peter Gabriel, but that's another post.

So, my advice to this brave lady kicked in her behind---be a Witch! You know you want to!

Deep Thought About Living

Hey-ho, rraven the blog here with another edition of the Bloggit Show! ::Applause::

Anyway, on with it.

One of the struggles I've had all my spiritual life is how important or individuality is. Why struggle all your life to Know Thyself if, after death, we are all absorbed by the Great Sponge In The Sky? If we are all part of the picture, then just how important are those individual pieces if in the end all the pieces fuse together? These are the things I think about after ten cups of tea and unsuccessfully tring to find a job. Anyway--

Ever keep going to the same town on your vacations and, even after years, know you haven't seen all that town had to offer? Or how about a favorite book--or movie--at each reading/viewing, you see different things. Perhaps The Great Spirit works like this.

Perhaps each creature is a differnt point of view of God/dess. We all are different incarnations of each other. And all of these incarnations are living simultaneously. I guess then end of the universe will happen after Last Call. Then we go home to bed, sleep it off, and do it all over again.

Yes, I hear you--"Go get another cup of tea."

This Confirms Our Suspiscions

AOL today reprts that a (where else?) California chocalatier found a chocolate figurine in the shape of the Virgin Mary after cleaning a piece of the equipment. Apparantly the Goddess got caught with her finger in the cookie jar, so to speak. I guess it was that time of the month. I'm sure I wasn't the only one who thought chocolate was sacred. The Aztecs and Mayas knew it was ambrosia. Is it any wonder that a top chocolatier called Godiva?

In other news of a Catholic flavour, dogs attended their annual mass in Bolivia. Of course, they only have to attend once a year, so put that guilt away, all you human Catholics. And remember, only on blog posts do human chocolate and dogs mix--although a delightful colour of Labradors is called chocolate.

All I know for sure is that I'm out of chocolate, so God/dess help us all.

Thoughts From The Dentist's Chair

Perhaps God/dess wasn't awake enough when He/She/It created the universe. Hot caffinated beverages had not been invented yet. Perhaps that's why things are as screwy as they are. If I were God there's a lot of things that would be different. Like what, I hear you clamor? Ah well, since you insist:

• Teeth would NOT have NERVES in them (replay title link)


• You should only remember what you wnat to remember


• Any white person attempting to rap should spontaneously combust.


• Male nipples would be pockets you can hide headache medicine in--or at least do SOMETHING, dammit


• Coerce Peter Gabriel into making more albums. He's in the second photo in this post. Come to think of it, I'd make posting Blogger pictures easier, too


• Oh, yeah...probably that world peace thing...

Henge a Henge

Pardon me as I reel from all the outpouring of love Pony received for her 2nd birthday. Imagine--the world has been blessed with two years of Pony. Thanks for the kind thoughts. She even got a video from Starfleet.

Yes, from the above link you can see that I've discoverd YouTube.com This is the sort of thing I would've killed for as a teenager. So I'm making up for lost time.

Which leads us to Stonehenge, and all the other stone monliths and circles and other more or less geometrical patterns. Every now and then I wonder why these damn things were built. (Some people's spirituality requires prayers and flowers--mine seems to require pondering questions that have surprisingly little to do with my everyday life.) Calander? Temple? Job Fair? What?

Which brings us back to YouTube and, of course, Star Trek: The Next Generation. I'm stunned by the amature vidoes on here, ones that are actually quite funny and quite visually spectacular. Partcularly the Star Trek vs Everything category. How many hours did these things take to do? The selecting and editing and layering and posting and then commenting on these video tributes to Star Trek, Star Wars, the Mentos commercial--in order to do a decent parody you have to really know your target. That takes time. And usually a certain ammount of affection.

Perhaps that was why Stonehenge came to be. It was cool. That's why they did it.

Now back to partying with the Pony puppy...

Heca-Tea

My dog Pony is two years old tomorrow. About a year before she was born, I knew I was ready for another canine in my life, after the death of Rusty. As I was homeless at the time, I couldn't adopt a dog from the shelters. So I asked the Goddess Hecate for the right dog, preferably a girl dog. I'm not kidding. I did. I wrote a poem about the perfect dog for me, and Hecate responded. (Reminds me of the saying, "Be careful what you wish for--you may get it.") Pony and her three sisters were born on a day sacred to Hecate. Pony is consecrated to Hecate--sort of a Divine Mother of All Godparents. I'm writing all this today in case I get zapped from either too much partying with the pup or get zapped by Hecate for not having a funny enough blog post.

One of the reasons I asked Hecate, besides Her love of dogs, is that She also cares for the homeless. Food as offering to Her was traditionally left at a place where three roads meet. The food was most likely eaten by homeless or travellers and not by the Goddess or Her Holy Hunting Hounds.

I wish this tradition could be revived, especially in honor of Pony. Tea instead of wine or mead, please. Even if stray dogs eat it instead of people, there would be just that little bit of mercy placed in the world. I can't leave meals out in Philly these days. I'd be arrested for encouraging rats. And rodents, too.

The Angels Are Laughing At Me

Well, this week I've rambled on about how guard dogs should be doing the work of guardian angels, since my ex-guardian angel was a bit of a flake. As you recall, we split up about 1994 so he could go live in England.

I guess he works for Scotland Yard now. Nice to know he's on the case, since my Mom who is a saint has to fly to Canada in one week.

Perhaps my ex-guardian angel Dusty was working with Barney the ex-guard dog in Wookey Hole last week. Who knows what was in those teddies! Perhaps that will be the next thing banned on airplanes.

Someone is looking after my Mom as well as myself--always good to know. Britannia, Brittania rule the international airways.

Zen Master Puppy

I've been reading on and off about Zen Buddhism for 20 years now, (as well as Paganism, Christianity, Hinduism, etc)and it never really sunk in until I stumbled upon this photo on the Nuthin' Butt Dogs site. I can't put it into words--and I've got a feeling that's the point--but Zen Master Puppy here is Zen.

Hounds of Love

Worst murder rate in Philly ever...Mid east exploding...I'm unemployed...and what am I worrying night and day about?

BARNEY! Yes, the dog from Somerset (around where I used to live) who, in less than fifteen minutes, destroyed a collection of rare teddy bears he was supposed to be guarding. WHAT the hell is going to happen to Barney? Poor beast was already lumped with the name of a purple dinosaur and now has been fired due to mismanagement of human lack of common sense. His future has been described as "uncertain" by the BBC.

But what do we puny humans know? Perhaps those teddy bears were invaded by Daleks. I used to live in Glastonbury, and just 14 months before the teddy bear decapitation incident, a Dalek was found on Glastonbury Tor. Both Dalek and teddy bears were staying at...the same place, Wookey Hole! COINCIDENCE?!?!?

Or the teddies could've been demons from an alternate dimension. Fire Barney? Hell, no! I say we make him the Top Dog of the world! Savior of Saviors! You like possessed teddy bears yelling "EXTERMINATE!" and blasting disintegration rays out of their button noses? Fine, but why take the risk? Save Barney Now!

Meeting Angels

I once met my guardian angel, now ex-guardian angel. Barney did a better job of watching me than this angel named Dusty (which should've been a big clue right there as to how effective he was.)I did the stream of consciousness writing thing to "contact" him and got some good art from it. He told me lots of things, but none really useful. He said angels can only intercede seven times in their guarded's life, which sorta made sense. I only once touched him.

I was living in Lancaster County, PA at the time and needed a nap between my two jobs. He walked in, dressed in black and white, and proceeded to give me a foot massage. I did not have my glasses on, so I couldn't see his face well. I assumed it was my boyfriend at the time. I soon fell asleep. That was all. Back to dreams and automatic writing after that.

Angels can mess with your head, so I'm a little disconcerted that they have their own fan club in many many religions. They're just as messed up as anyone else. They also tend to think differently. "Angel, I'd like a pony." "But you don't NEED a pony." "Cheers, Mate." And, even when being given a glimpse of the beauty of eternity, it still doesn't change the price of beans any.

So my guardian angel Dusty left for England about 1994 and never came back. We still send each other Christmas cards and the occassional daydream, so it was an amiable split. I have no guardian angel now.

I prefer my dog. God/dess bless Dusty, wherever he is in England, but my dog at least chases the nightmares away, which is more than any heavenly being has ever done. No wonder things are so screwed up--we have guardian angels instead of guard dogs!

Walk Through the Fire

The computer has returned from hospital. Count your blessings.

Today is the first anniversary of my home in England being burnt down. I'll spare you the details, since I've mentioned it in previous posts, but it all went up in 15-20 minutes except for me, my dog and my U.S. passport(!). I built the home with my then S.O., Satan. Apparantly, I must've been too happy, I thought after the shock started to wear off. That's why the Goddess let my little home and manuscript and puppy photos and etc burn. It's definately something I tend to ask Her after I die. She'll probably blame Her guard dog. She might also blame Peter Gabriel, the guy who wrote the song with the same title as this post. I listened to the song too much, I unconsciously willed it into being. Man, life doesn't get much weirder when it mirrors a PG song.

My apologies for the sombre not of this post. Here's a couple of light-hearted links about fire:

• Come on Baby light my fire


• Fire joke #1


• Fire joke #2

Stephen Hawking

Stephen Hawking, if you've lived under a rock for the last 25 years, is the world's leading physicist and best-selling author who happens to be disabled. I visited Cambridge in Sept 2001 but kept missing meeting Professor Hawking. I've got a feeling he'd reved his chair to warp speed when he saw me. So, since I couldn't get an actual interview with him, I've asked questions to his best-seller A Breif History of Time. (I stole this idea from Al Frankin. Thanks, Al!)

Me:Is there any evidence there is a God or Goddess?
SH:

What is it that breathes fire into the equations and makes a universe for them to describe?

Me:What is your best guess at what the Grand Unified theory is?

SH:One has to be grown up enough to realize that life is not fair. You have to do the best you can in the situation you are in.

Me:Does God play dice?
SH:

God not only plays dice, he sometimes throws them where they can't be seen.

Me:How many licks does it get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Tootsie Pop?
SH:

If we find the answer to that, it would be the ultimate triumph of human reason--for then we would know the mind of God.