All Things Are Born

All things are born.
Those things that Come to Be,
they don't always spring forth,
fully formed
from the heads of the gods.

They are born.
From a word, from a look.
They are not the words we said -
they are the words we Meant.
They stir beneath the surface,
form forgotten.
Their impact, ripples.

At last, we cough up words that
taste like blood.
The things we never said spring - hot, wet;
a pain so bright, it shines -
from the heart of our eyes.
Ultimately, it is our Denial
that nurtures them,
and
gives them Substance.

We are creatures of Creation.
Those things we hold inside -
we incubate.
Those things we bury deepest,
are the most violently born.

If we are not careful,
we choke on our own Silence.

Kenshin Redeemed (Because Kenshin Redemption is Way Too Cheesy)

I finally understand why the TV series of Rurouni Kenshin was so mind boggling, heart rending, eye-bleeding horrible. M. and I finally rented Samurai X - which is the "adult" version of Rurouni Kenshin - and sort of the prequel/sequel to the series. It was a horrifyingly beautiful piece of work. Then I realized what Rurouni Kenshin the TV series had done to the story . . . It was as if someone suddenly decided the movie Braveheart would make a great addition to Fox kids Saturday morning cartoons. I imagine the discussion would have gone something like this.

Exec-Bob 1: Oh, Oh! Pick me! Pick me!
Exec-Bob 2: Yes, Bob-1?
Exec-Bob 1: First we have to dumb down the politics. We can keep the time period setting - that's pretty cool with the swords and hatchets and stuff, but ditch the politics.
Exec-Bob 2: So noted. Yes, Bob-3?
Exec-Bob 3: And we can't exactly have people fighting . . . well, people.
Exec-Bob2: Good thought. Problem is, the main story is based on a war.
Exec-Bob 1: Ah.
Exec-Bob 3: Ah.
Exec-Bob 1: Oh, oh! We make 0ne side thirty-foot tall monsters. Then we have people fighting monsters . . . with swords!
Exec-Bob 2: Brilliant! But what about the killing?
Exec-Bob 3: Not a problem, Bob-2. We make sure that everyone fights verbally for a good fifteen minutes before the action - then they can knock each other out. No deaths.
Exec-Bob 1: But no politics? Right? Kids hate politics.
Exec-Bob 2: What are they going to talk about? Most of the story is based on the English/Scottish politics.
Exec-Bob 1: Ah. Kilts? They could talk about kilts? And Scottish fighting styles. And why Scots fight in kilts.
Exec-Bob 3: Brilliant! Let's get this to production!!

You should be ashamed of yourself if you aren't cringing . . .

I highly recommend Samurai-X as a fascinating look at the ethics behind war and the damage it can do to the individuals involved. It is not easy to watch, but has a lot of good points.

You Talk Too Much . . .

M. and I have finally finished the long hard journey of watching Rurouni Kenshin . . . and the final analysis is . . . don't. Just don't. Ever. I'm serious. M. and I considered breaking out the alcohol and sharing a celebratory toast that we survived the horror . . . but I had to "operate heavy machinery" shortly thereafter (i.e., drive home), so we kept our enthusiasm bottled, so to speak.

However . . . we did learn a few valuable lessons from Rurouni Kenshin. Probably the most valuable lesson was: if there is any chance that you are going to spontaneously combust, don't wrap yourself from head to toe in flammable materials and stuff your gauntlets with gun powder.

Just a thought.

Kenshin actually had great potential. It had good characters, a decent plot, and a decent setting - it was in the execution of the story that the entire thing was mangled beyond repair. Dramatic moments were ruined when well-constructed characters, such as a blind master swordsman who could "see" by hearing the movement of your bone and muscle,would suddenly reveal a battle technique that consisted of hiding behind his shield and yelling "you can't see me!" Not to mention, most of the evil characters also tended to be monsters. Thirty-foot tall (or more) monsters - - - wearing spandex. Not joking. Spandex.

No matter what anyone says, avoid this series at all costs. Unless you are studying how not to write a novel - or best ways to destroy any dramatic tension. Then this series will be your bible. Seriously.

My Trust in You . . .

I was bitten by the inspiration bug at work . . . it is more a song than a poem. It sounds much cooler when accompanied by the music in my head . . . then again, maybe it's best you can't hear inside my head . . .

It didn't take much from you -
Now, with your words,
My faith flies the skies
like a broken-winged bird.

The wind is not gentle -
it cuts me like knives,
the roar of its passing -
covers my cries.

I find I am spiraling
out of control.
The ground is approaching -
my wind-ravaged soul.

A bird without flight
is a bird without life.
The storm tears my heart
as bleeding, I strive -

To reach calmer skies
where I see things are blue.
My faith may have fallen,
but, I don't need you.

I can find others
on whom to depend.
My soul will be healed,
in the hands of my friends.

The wind is not gentle -
it cuts me like knives,
the roar of its passing,
covers my cries.

The storm tears my heart -
and bleeding I strive,
the wind may be a gale,
but, I am alive.

The wind in my feathers,
the air holds me high,
I sweep through the heavens,
I am alive.

The Whale Warriors

Every once in a while, the world forgoes the usual omens - and hits you upside the head with a two-by-four instead.

I was sitting at the coffee shop, diligently arguing with M. over whether the bookstore at 120th was a Barnes & Noble or a Borders (I had a coupon for 25% off at Borders - which is why the whole conversation was relevant) - when a gentleman wandered into the room. "Oh," he said. "Are you going to a bookstore?"

"Yes," I said - with that wavering tone reserved for situations where you aren't sure whether the other person is going to engage in small talk or suddenly begin barking like a seal. Honestly, I was prepared for either.

He laughed. "It's just that I finished writing a book . . . and I thought you might want to buy it."

My brain immediately slammed into over drive. RED ALERT! RED ALERT!!! Man marketing his own book. RUN AWAY! Barring a clear exit . . . back away slowly.

"Ah," he said nervously, to break the sound of crickets chirping. "It's doing really well on Amazon.com."

(Wait a minute,) my brain cut in. (Amazon? Amazon is pretty respectable. Wow.) "Um," said my mouth - finally catching up with the rest of my body (What the heck? I won't be interested - but can't hurt to ask), "what is it called?"

"The Whale Warriors," he said enthusiastically. "It's about a group called Sea Shepherd, who hunt the Japanese whaling fleet while they hunt whales. I'm a writer for National Geographic, and I spent time on their ship during their 2006 campaign."

I was speechless. (Oh my god,) my brain cut in. (I'm actually interested.)

Peter Heller has done an excellent job (and a service to both Sea Shepherd and the marine life they are striving to protect) in publishing a novel that is a breathtaking examination of a very complex ethical and political situation. Unlike many other "save-the-planet" books (for lack of a better term), he doesn't launch into lengthy explanations of the horrors being inflicted on the animals - instead, he devotes his pages to examining the people, the politics, the ethics - and yes, the tactics involved - and he has captured it in a way that lets the reader make up their own mind about Sea Shepherd and their controversial methods.

News stories come and go - but a novel is a piece of work that can be passed from one person to the next. It sparks interest and debates. And this is - frankly - one darn good novel. As soon as I finished it, I made sure to pass it on to a friend - with a small sticky that read "This book is very very good - but prepare to be very very angry."

I was so angry when I finished it - I couldn't sleep. But my anger wasn't directed at the whalers. It was directed at all the various political entities that aren't doing ANYTHING. I also decided to visit Sea Shepherd's web-site to see if they were still in operation - and if there were any updates. There is a wealth of information that I have not even begun to plunder.

The most startling thing I found was a fairly recent connection between Steve Irwin (the Crocodile Hunter) and Sea Shepherd. I had a great respect for Steve Irwin and the projects he put his name behind - and Terri Irwin has recently given Sea Shepherd her approval to name one of their vessels after her departed husband. The Steve Irwin is still sailing the seas, trying to do what is right and bring attention to the plight of animals who desperately need both attention and conservation.

Poof went the anger. Out came the tears.

But enough of my emotional insanity. If you get a chance, READ THIS BOOK. If you don't want to read the book, at least visit Sea Shepherd and READ THE SITE. I believe that things happen for a reason . . . and really, how often does the author of a book approach you at a coffee shop, introduce himself, and tell you to buy his book? Now I'm doing my part - telling YOU to buy this book. The Whale Warriors. By Peter Heller. On Amazon.com. Got it?

Smacking the Dust Bunnies

Wow. Who knew blogs could get dusty?

Now that the Holiday madness, hospital visits, insane relatives and other not-so-great ways to start the New Year have come and gone . . . it is time to smack the dust bunnies off my keyboard and resume blogging!

I've also mostly recovered from the NanoWriMo marathon . . . my writing muscles are still a bit shaky - but I am diligently trying to scrape up any remaining energy to help power me over the unofficial second finish line - actually finishing out my novel. I think there are about 150 more pages to go . . . and my motivation meter has been hovering near 0 mph.

The New Year. Time to clean your closets, scrub down your house, admit that you really don't need your poster collection from college, and work on several resolutions that you may or may not intend to keep. I am taking this month to evaluate the various projects and activities that I am a part of - and attempt to prioritize and simplify my Life. Of course, my brain is humming with all sorts of strange ideas (a normal state of being, for me), and so weeding out the new projects takes almost as much time as weeding out the old.

I have been reading Glamour magazine (no really. . . I read it for the articles . . . ) - and they recently featured a debate on how women dress at work, and whether the showing of cleavage is appropriate in the workplace. The opinions on this topic are varied, to say the least. Our firm has also tightened up the dress code - including "no low cut blouses" - which is a very gray category.

So I'm in the bathroom, washing my hands, wearing a stunning red and tan dress that (ahem) admittedly has a fairly plunging neckline - and the following haiku pops into my head:

A hint of cleavage.
My top gapes. I feel their eyes -
no one respects me.

Which is odd - because I don't feel that low cut tops undermine a woman's image - unless she is wearing something truly risque. I know what you're all thinking . . . I faithfully checked your blogs for over a month - with no change - and THIS IS WHAT I GET???

I blame the dust bunnies.