November 2004 - TheTranscendenceDiaries

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November 30, 2004

O.k. I checked it out. the number was correct. An average of 30,273 people die of hunger everyday in the world, most of them children. I went to a bunch of different sites, and all the figures were the same. Crazy. unfuckingfathomable. Here is one of the cooler sites to check out: http://www.starvation.net/

Check it:
by Mark R. Elsis, Lovearth.net, February 9, 2002

 ”On Tuesday September 11, 2001, at least 35,615 of our brother and sisters died from the worst possible death, starvation. Somewhere around 85% of these starvation deaths occur in children 5 years of age or younger. Why are we letting at least 30,273 of the most beautiful children die the worst possible death everyday? Every 2.43 seconds another one of our fellow brothers and sisters dies of starvation. Starvation doesn’t just happen on Tuesday September 11, 2001, it happens everyday, 365 days per year, 24 hours per day, it never stops.

The number 35,615 is a conservatively low number for the barbarically needless daily deaths the poorest of the poor die. If we were to add the next two leading ways the poorest of the poor die, water borne diseases and AIDS, we would be approaching a daily body count of 50,000 deaths. Yes, upwards of 50,000 people per day are needlessly dying on Earth. These deaths are dictated by the greed of a very few, and the rest of us are not changing it — or this ultimate sin wouldn’t be happening, now would it?”

I don’t feel like commenting on this because it is too big to think about frankly.

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November 29, 2004

I was awakened tonight at 3:37 am by two things: extreme hunger, which I could have easily cured by getting up, getting dressed, and heading out into the freezing weather to find myself something to eat. I must say that I have not gotten used to my current circumstances of not having a housekeeper. So not only do I not have anyone to make me food when I get hungry, there is also no one to shop for food. So there is never anything to eat in the house. I have gotten to the point where I can manage sometimes to have sprite, cookies, and coffee in the house sometimes, the bare essentials, but that’s about it. that’s all I can fit in my hands at one time at the local drug store.

New York is extreme in so many ways. Grocery shopping is one of them. now not having grocery shopped by myself in nearly ten years, I couldn’t imagine doing it with any fair amount of success in Miami, let alone here in New York city. you don’t have a car so how the hell do you get the damn bags into your house after you make your purchases? And how do you know if you aren’t getting totally ripped off with everything you buy? The last time I went to buy sugar here in the city, for my coffee, the guy said it was $2.39 for this little box. And I asked if he was sure, and he said yes. now maybe its just been so long since I had been in a store to buy something like sugar, that prices have just skyrocketed. But he did give me a shrug of the shoulders and say “hey it’s the neighborhood.’ Which led me to believe that the prices are just really high here. So that means what? Going to some other neighborhood to grocery shop? So indeed a quandary. I mean, that’s what housekeepers are for. along with so many other important things. like my laundry. God don’t even get me started. Lets just say that for the first two months here I bought a lot of new pairs of underwear because I just didn’t feel like even thinking about how one goes about getting ones laundry done. I have finally figured out that what one does as horrible as this sounds is puts it all into big bags and hauls it to Chinese people who weigh it and then do it for you and charge you by the pound.

It’s not the worst thing in the world but certainly not good either. I would have to say that among all the changes and adjustments that I have had to make in moving here, it is this that has been the most severe, the fact that living here is so much more expensive than I am used to or can afford, that I must at present forgo my beloved Rosanna. One can live in so many other places here in the states and especially in Europe and South America and pay the same I am paying now to live or even less and have so much more, including of course a full live in staff to take care of all of the little things that make life so tedious and unbearable. But I am determined to make it work here and to rise to the occasion and make enough money to have the same luxuries that I had before but have them here. In this city. I even make my own coffee now, or at least try to. And I spend countless hours starving and thinking about food, which is actually quite horrible. Not because I’m that broke, because I’m not. Not yet anyway. But because I am lazy. And too cold to leave my apartment at night. so once I’m in, I’m in. hungry or not.

But none of that is what got me out of bed to sit here and write, as humorous as it all is. no, speaking about the extremities of nyc living, remember the mouse that crawled over me a few nights ago… well tonight I was awoken as I said by two things. one was hunger. The other was this mouse had finally crawled into this trap that the landlord had set. He told me that he would and he did. he told me that he would crawl in there and die. what he didn’t tell me is that he would crawl in there and wiggle around for hours, making all this noise. So in the moment I had an idea. Half asleep I got up, got a dustpan and scooped the whole dame mouse hotel thing up in the dustpan, opened the window and just chucked the whole damn thing out the window, mouse and all. I just figured when that thing hit the ground down below it would probably break open and the mouse could crawl away to safety. But either way, at least it wouldn’t be making all that noise in my apartment. Of course now I don’t have a mouse trap in my apartment so I am bound to see more of them scurrying around. Luckily one of the few things I brought with me is my 357 and a CO2 cartridge BB gun. A man is nothing without his guns. So if I do see another one I will just start firing until I hit it or get carted off to jail in the middle of the night for firing guns off in an apartment building. Crazy indeed.

One more thing since I was so rudely interrupted and am too hungry to sleep. I have discovered something called slippers. Growing up in the South you always hear about slippers but you never see them and you don’t know exactly what they are for. now I realize that they are for keeping your feet from freezing. And bathrobes. I have one of those now too. crazy.

Current spin: Alicia keys, if I aint got you. I love this song.

Father to Son

November 28, 2004

I called my dad today. figured I would ask him about card game rules. A very simple casual non-committal kind of subject. The perfect thing to talk about with your old man. He tells me he has a spot on his lungs. Doesn’t know what it is yet. tells me, listen Fishy, I don’t know if you’re still smoking but you have to quit son. Even if it’s just cigars. Just stop now. everyone in your family died of lung cancer. It runs in your family. I quit what 11 years ago and look at me now. just quit while you still can.

Fucking great. So we talk some more. I remember that the guys had an idea where after I interview this Vietnam vet then the whole crew goes down to Florida and films this reuniting scene with my father, who is also a Vietnam vet. So I just casually asked him about the idea, see if he was up for it. but he answered quickly and unequivocally no, not a chance. He then went on to tell me that he doesn’t like Fishy the rock star. That he likes Fishy the man, but doesn’t care at all for me as a rock star and since that’s what I would be when I came, that I should not bother coming and definitely don’t bring any camera crew.

Well if it couldn’t get worse he then went on to tell me that not only isn’t he a fan of Fishy the rock star, he isn’t a big fan of my music either. I tried to entertain the conversation as much as I could, but still found it quite disturbing. He said that the only good song on rise and shine was the journey and that he hated the sleep with you album so much from listening to it on the Internet that he didn’t even buy it. he actually said, and I quote, ‘for lack of a better word, it sucked. It just didn’t sound good. and I’m not the only one who felt that way about it. I have read many critics who felt the same way. I may not speak with you much son, but I keep my eye on you. You really got raked over the coals for that one by a lot of people and for good reason. Its just not good. your singing was awful on that album. Really out of tune and you have no rhythm… your voice wavers all over the place.’

I won’t go on. I tried to explain to him my side of the story. How I really challenged myself as a singer on the album. How I know I may never be a great singer but that I still like what I do and how I reached to a lot of places that I had never attempted before vocally. How much I like the album myself and I don’t give a shit about the success of a work. All that matters is that I am happy with it. that was my only obligation as an artist. To please myself. He would hear none of that and wrote it off as bleeding heart artist hippie talk.

I looked around me as I walked through the beautiful streets of central New York in the fall and continued to listen to him insult the very lifeblood of my being, and on my way I would see beautiful trees of yellow and orange and the sidewalks covered in red leaves and I just determined in that moment to listen without prejudice. After all, I have my mom, God bless her, and she doesn’t care what I do. she always thinks its great. Even if it isn’t. that’s what mothers are for. So maybe there is something to be said about having a father who is so brutally honest that he doesn’t mind telling his son who he barely speaks with once a year if that that he doesn’t like his music and explain the reasons why in such detail.

There was a moment there where I felt like I should be upset by it, but honestly I just wasn’t. perhaps a bit, but not enough to let it bother me too much. There was something noble about his reproach. Something bold and ballsy about a father telling a son what he really feels about his work. He hates what I represent. He hates my liberalness. He hates my protesting. He hates the constant onslaught of self aggrandizing press releases, even though he recognizes that its all part of the machine of the business. he still just hates it all. hates the sex, hates the fame aspect, hates the idea of the TV show, hates the free lifestyle, the homosexuality that is so prevalent in that biz, hates the drug scene, hated the blatant references to drugs I made on sleep with you, hates the image entirely. and me, I kind of like it all. I just think its all part of the moment. part of the bigger picture. I tried to explain to him that I was sure that one day I would end up a retired old man, happy and idle and just as conservative and family values as one could get, but that now this is where I am, and that’s the most important thing. that I remain true to that. I tried to get him to see the good in it. that I wasn’t such a bad guy. he told me he knew that I wasn’t a bad guy, but that my image was that of a bad guy. coming from his perspective, that of a Christian right wing conservative middle American view, I can see how he would feel that way. But I just don’t see it that way at all. On that we would just have to disagree we said and we hung up. told me he’d call once he found out what this spot on his lung x-rays were.

I don’t know what it is about us gen-x’ers and our fathers, but there was just something weird there that happened to them during the sixties and seventies that made things fucked up with their kids. Like the dads were having kids when they really didn’t want to be; maybe the moms too. but the moms stuck to their guns and raised the kids anyway, but the dads mostly just bailed. I can’t tell you how many people my age who say that they just don’t have relationships with their fathers. Its wild.

Well then I’m off to the smoke shop to sit with the old guys and talk politics and the like. And there’s this guy in there called New York mike. A famous guy for owning the largest harley Davidson store in America. Has his own radio show about bikes and all. and he’s the most conservative guy you’d ever meet. A radical conservative. So we’re screaming back and forth about pro-life and same sex marriage and the American Indians and who should walk in but the reverend al Sharpton himself. So I look at Al and I tell him ‘look man, I’m on your side, I go to all the same events that you do around the country, but I’m warning you now, you have just sat down amongst the most radical clan of conservatives I’ve ever seen. I’m just warning you.’ he looks at the group of guys sitting there, their faces all eager to get one in on the guy. they had heard enough liberalism from me to last them a lifetime. So you could see them drooling, just chomping at the bit to go off on him as soon as he opened his mouth. So what does he do? He thanks me, says ‘gentlemen,’ and grunts at the rest of them and just stands up and walks away. classic. Only in New York.

Oh yeah, and on the way home of course I noticed a man in a telephone booth peeing. This is actually a common site here. no matter where you are in Manhattan you cannot help but see some poor homeless guy just letting it rip right in the middle of the street or sidewalk. Crazy.

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November 27, 2004

Worked all day, met with Dasher about the TV show for a few hours. And then spent the night at the macanudo club drinking, drooling, smoking, and playing cards, of all things, which I hadn’t done in decades. It was fun to get away from everything for a while. hang with the old men.

Online diaries are getting more difficult. Attracting too many people now. people come out of the woodwork. Too many emails. And the other night I received a message on my voicemail concerning the diaries. who the person was and how they got my number I do not know. but it warrants concern. It’s one thing to get a few emails that say fishy we love you or Fishy you’re an asshole. That’s expected. But my numbers aren’t even listed. So that is fucking scary. Anything that is public attracts people. that’s its nature. But the more public something becomes, the more private it has to become, in order to protect the creation and the creator. G2 has been recommending a move to go full-on blog with this thing, with forums and comment posting and replies and all that; rather than the cryptic sort of hidden way this is done at present, hidden within all these iframes and flash intros. I was into the idea till the last week or so. Now I am not so sure. Might be going too far. I’ve read a lot of blogs since the whole phenom started and most of the time they are rather innocuous. Innocent musings on pop culture or the mad ramblings of lonely lunatics. Hold on, that sounds like what I’ve been doing the past three years. uh oh. What people forget is that the Transcendence Diaries are fiction. Fishy is fiction. It is all fiction. The guy is dead. He died years ago. No hold on, wait. He doesn’t disappear until the late two-thousands. and its still not known whether he is truly dead even then. But still, the diaries were always presumed to be largely responsible for his disappearance. Too personal, too radical, too truthful. So maybe that’s where we are now in the story. and we should just go with the flow.

The other thing is that the diaries can only last as long as Fishy has time to write them. and only so far as they serve his purpose of the time. frankly I’m sick of me. I’m sick of Fishy. I need to move on to something else. bigger stories.

Current spin; Carolina from Caetano. Check it on itunes. Beautiful.

Last screening: dinner for five. Someone recommended this because of the show we are filming. Slow start. But as it progresses through the first season, it picks up. met with Dasher today about the show over leftover thanksgiving turkey sandwiches and I was frantically relaying to him with my mouth full how we have to take that idea since its there and we’ve both now seen it and turn it on overdrive. I mean, we can’t ignore it now that we’ve seen it. its there. so that’s a good thing. and there are aspects of that that have been shooting. But the show is 23 minutes long and the whole time you feel like you are waiting for someone to say or do something. for what were trying to do, its much too stilted and stiff. The people are too situated, too successful, too worried about who they are and how they will be perceived. I’m pacing around Dasher’s house and screaming to him that we have to show real people doing real things. without their own censors on. As if the camera weren’t there. I’m pointing to the TV with my sandwich and sarah Jessica parker is scampering around some fake white set with a bunch of other no name actors with all these fake smiles on their faces wearing silly Christmas hats attempting to sell people Gap clothing. Just dancing around a big fake white set smiling their asses off. I’m screaming and pointing, ‘you see that man?! You see that shit?! that’s what we’re doing!’ ‘what?! Selling clothes?’ “no man. We’re fighting that. we’re fighting this miserable fake bullshit that is being crammed down peoples throats every fucking day. that’s what we’re doing. That’s the mission we are on Dasher. We have got to be real. We have got to show people who we are. Who they are. I can’t take this shit anymore man. Turn the fucking TV off before I go crazy!’ I yell.

‘o.k. o.k. dog. Just relax man. Easy now. don’t have a heart attack,’ Dasher tries to console me. ‘But Fishy this show is about you man he reminds me. no man this show is about people. I’m the vehicle maybe. But no show is good if it is about one person. at least how I’m looking at it now. this show has got to be about people. my band is about me. my music is about me. but this show has to be bigger than that. this show has to be about everyone else. I’m sick of me. I want to explore people. well that’s a whole different thing then. we agreed to do a show about you and your move to New York. yeah I know man. But the show has got to be bigger than that Dasher. I’m serious. We have to adjust it a bit. Kind of like comparing the show Seinfeld to that recent documentary we saw, comedian. Seinfeld was awesome was because Jerry was just the catalyst for everything else that was going on, and for everyone else in the series. And comedian was kind of boring because it was about jerry. And I don’t want that. but you’re hilarious man. Well fine, maybe I’m hilarious. But we’re not making a comedy man. I don’t want to make a comedy. I want to make Cosmos, you know that Carl Sagan series. You what?! What the fuck are you talking about Fishy? this is about Fishy the rock singer moving to New York. what the hell does Carl Sagan have to do with that? I don’t know man. But trust me on this. that’s where we’re going with it. Carl Sagan’s cosmos meets curb your enthusiasm meets Eddie izzard meets my dinner with André meets spalding gray meets dinner for five meets the real world all wrapped up in Fishy moves to New York City. Dasher just stares at me holding his sandwich. Dude you’re fucking crazy. I don’t know what the hell you are talking about. this is TV, not some new album of yours. This is not nothing is cohesive. This is TV. It has to be cohesive. But Dasher, o.k. that’s what you say now, but what if it doesn’t have to be cohesive. What if it can be even more non-cohesive than the nothing is cohesive album? Like an acid trip or something…. Fishy you are insane. And that’s cool. that’s your job. And you do it well. but our job is to produce a television show that we can sell to a network. and in order to do that we have to present something that has form. Something that is coherent and makes sense to the average person sitting at home watching TV, he says. Dude, I’m not saying we won’t do that. I’m just saying that we have to keep our options open right now. that’s all. lets just keep our minds open and not box it in. that’s all, I say. O.k. I hear you Fishy. But you tell Paulsen at the next production meeting then because maybe he can make some sense out of what you’re talking about. I can’t. honestly, I have no idea what you’re talking about.

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November 26, 2004

I had a dream this morning that startled and moved me so much that I awoke at 6:57 am breathing heavy, almost hyperventilating; I am up now to take notes on it before I forget it.

Girl very beautiful wanted me, met her where? at a public place I remember. But she showed up, I was surprised, at my house, but not my house, my grandparents condo on the beach, what was i doing there. she had a gun, I had a gun, I could tell while we were making out that it was a setup, she was a setup, she was supposed to kill me, I had seen her gun, I had already pointed the gun at her, she admitted it, I was so saddened, but I loved her, I was infatuated with her, there was this bond between us, this karmic destiny, she had a job to do, she confessed it, but we still were fooling around, because of this tragic attraction, I kissed her everywhere, all over her body, she laid there loving it, intoxicated by our chemistry, I kissed her arms and shoulders and underarms and she teared up from the beauty of the moment, it was wonderful, she was crying, I began crying, from the beauty of it, she then went to kill me, in some way, how I don’t remember, yes I do, she had a gun, she could not kill me, she shot, it misfired, she stood there in silence, I stood up, I pointed the gun at her, sunlight was coming into the room now, it was becoming morning now, she stood next to the bed not facing me, afraid to face me, ashamed to face me, I knew I had to shoot her, I didn’t want to shoot her, but knew I had to, she had just shot at me, I would be dead now if her gun wouldn’t have misfired, she sobbed, I shot her in the chest from the side, she hunched over and started to convulse a bit, I stood there watching her, so that is what it looks like when someone gets shot I thought, I felt as though I was reliving something that was meant to be, something that had to be, I was only playing a part in it, a part I was obligated to play, I was miserable in that moment as I watched her convulse, I went to shoot her again, but my gun would not work. I ran out of the condo, down the stairs, all of a sudden I was a kid again, in high school or junior high school, I was sad lonely scared, felt like a rebel, felt like a bad kid, felt like it was me against the world, feeling like I didn’t fit in, running from everyone, running for my life, I had my gun in my back pocket and her gun in my front packet, I tried to hide it from the people on the street, all of a sudden I was in an industrial neighborhood, back in the old warehouse district where I spent my early twenties as a singer in rock bands, I was running through the streets when two guys saw me, I hid the guns, they saw the guns, I was overwhelmed with that same feeling I used to have as a kid, like I was an outlaw and everyone was out to get me or punish me or take me away for something that I had done but didn’t mean to do or didn’t intend to do, I had this feeling my whole life until I was about 25 years old, I was always since the day I could remember overwhelmed with a heavy feeling of guilt covering me like a blanket that everyone could see, and there I was in it again, the men stopped me, I tried to play it cool, casual, they saw through it, saw my gun, I showed it to them and I was surprised to see that it was a toy gun, a home made gun, it didn’t work, they let me go, but as I walked away they noticed the other gun in my back packet, they chased me, I ran, through the streets and through the warehouses, I realized that I was getting very near my old studio, that’s where I was, back in the same warehouse district where my studio was, I have dreamed of this old studio many times before in the last ten years since selling it, and everytime I dreamed of it, it was still operating, but without me, I know that in real life this isn’t true, it has long since been abandoned, I think it is a t-shirt factory now, but everytime I dream of it I go in as a customer, as the old owner, and there are new people running it, and I am always amazed that it is still running, why I dream this consistently year after year I do not know, but in this dream I was operating under the idea that I have in my dreams, that it was still there, and that somehow it was a safe haven, if I could just get there, I would be safe, I could call my uncle, and he would get me to safety, but the men saw me, they called to me, they tried to act like everything would be alright, but I knew they were just talking, that they were going to get me, I had no choice, I didn’t think about it, I hid behind a wall, took aim, and shot one of them right in the head, he disappeared, now I was done for, I had done it now, I was a fugitive, I had to get to the warehouse where my studio was, the other man got very close to me, I hid, but I could see him, he could see me, he aimed at me, I aimed the gun at him, he told me to put it down, why? so I could get shot? I aimed at him, but I could not get the sites to line up on my gun, why? this was my 357 magnum, it was the perfect gun, I had used a hundred times before, it had perfect sites, I knew this, what was happening? I tried to aim anyway, I finally got the sites to line up and I shot right at his forehead, but the gun misfired, I was a goner, I remember in that moment stopping for a moment to think about what I should do, do I run, I will get shot, I went to run and he ran towards me, I was done for, I would be caught, I woke up at that moment and found myself panting and breathing very heavy. For a few I laid there and tried to take it all in. it seemed so real. So important. But it nothing. It was only a dream. But I forced myself to get up and take notes on it.

I know what this dream means. I knew it within a few minutes of taking these notes what it was about. I laid back down and sobbed for a few minutes. In short bursts of agony and deep emotion. I just allowed myself to cry. because I knew what it was all about. and there was great relief in it.

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November 25, 2004

Didn’t fly home for thanksgiving this year. stayed here in the city with Boo Boo Kitty. Macys day parade. Then Madame tousants wax museum. Then Bridget Jones diary part II, with a thoroughly bored Hugh grant who seemed to be saying throughout the film, I am so fucking sick of playing this same part that I have actually gone insane. Can no one else see it but me? then off to Brooklyn to have dinner with Chapper’s whole family who came down from Vermont. A lavish feast with good conversation. Mainly centered around the mystery of the people of the red states and how in shock they still were up in Vermont about the election results etc. good people. educated, friendly, hospitable. Then a cigar and a few beers out on the terrace in 35 degree finger freezing weather and then a surprisingly stimulating eight person trivial pursuit match over coffee and various pies. A good night had by all.

While laying half asleep tonight, I noticed something move to my right. something small and black. I jumped slightly and as I did I noticed a mouse I swear to fucking God run across my blanket with a Frito corn chip in its mouth. I jumped up. I had never seen a mouse before. how cool. what I wanted to know was where it got that Frito. I wish I had found it first.

A real mouse. That’s great. Never saw that before. of course I didn’t sleep for hours. Just waiting for that thing to jump on top of me again. Yes you see this in New York. other things too. the other night at about 4 in the morning, I was sitting out the stairs in front of my brownstone smoking and writing and this guy stumbles up to me obviously wasted on something, just tripped out. and he comes right up to me and touches my computer with these glassy eyes. I looked at him and said very loudly and deliberately as if I were speaking to a little kid, “laptop.” He acted like he wanted to play with it. but I stared him down. And then he stumbled away. I see a lot of people stumbling by in the wee hours of the morning drunk off their asses. Just Stumbling all over the sidewalk. Wonder how they make it home. wonder why they get so drunk. you see many hunched over men and women looking very sad in the streets and subways of the city. People who have forgotten about their lives. People who life has left behind. For the moment. they can come back if they want to. I keep that candle burning for them in my heart. I carry my leftovers from my meals with me in my laptop case so I can give them away whenever the opportunity rises. When someone asks me for money I always just reach into my pocket and give them a bill and keep another for myself, unless I only have one; then they get that and I get nothing. The other night I whip out 6 bucks. “Well I guess that’s a fiver for you and a one spot for me you lucky bastard,” I tell the guy. You wouldn’t believe how happy that can make someone. What’s really funny is when an hour or two a later I go to get a burger or something and reach into my pocket and realize that I only have a dollar and I have to go away hungry. That can make you laugh at yourself.

I think that it is a noble mission to have on the side as you are building your empire. Give away a little everyday. Allow God/the force to use you as a conduit or a missionary so to speak. Just always be in the right place at the right time for those in need. since I don’t really choose to make the time to volunteer or anything, which I feel awful about. cause I know people do and I envy their dedication to that. but I figure that if I prefer to just focus all of my time on working hard to build my shit up then I will have so much money then I can just give a lot of it away and that will be my way of giving. I know its easy and not doing that much, but I still think it does something, even though its small. I think God kind of picks us out and knows what each of us can do for the other. I picture him/her whispering in a homeless persons ear, ‘turn down this street now; there’s this long haired kid sitting on some stairs typing on a computer. Ask him for money. he’ll give you whatever he has in his pocket.’ And that’s my way of fitting in to the whole complex mechanism of it all. I have still not come to terms yet as a man with some of us having food and shelter and some of us not having that. it freaks me out and makes me sad.

I do not see it in our future. I have to be honest. I believe that man will one day rise to a state just beyond modern capitalism, of which I am very fond of to be quite honest, unlike many of my activist comrades; a kind of socially conscious capitalism so to speak. Someone told me yesterday that some 30,000 children die everyday of starvation. I don’t know if this is true but I will check on it. if this is even close to being true than we have far indeed to go in our evolution as a species. America is a great example of our species still being caught in the middle. We certainly give more than any other great empire of the past, but obviously not enough, since so many people are still hungry and in need.

Last screening: life and debt. Story of Jamaica and their heartbreaking struggle to make it in the global economy. They complain about the global economy and how hard it is to make it because of the world bank and the IMF. More free trade, globalization stuff. But honestly, in the free market system if a country can’t raise itself out of its financial problems, they should just feel lucky that there is a bank they can go to to lend them any money. I mean, from a very non socialist viewpoint, who says that any other country has the obligation to help any other countries. I mean if yo uare to look at it purely from a logical standpoint. Hard to do though at the same time. but this is must see if you are a socially conscious person. the global economy powers that be have really fucked over the Jamaicans in a big way. destroyed their country in twenty years. unfortunately America had no small part in it. destroyed every money making industry they had going and loaned them money at ridiculous interest rates so now they are slaves to the United States. Tommy Hilfiger had a big hand in it. so did the Dole and Chiquita fruit companies. Hardcore capitalism. At its most fiercest and heartless. Again, I’m not going to cast the first stone, because I make my living from the capitalist ways so I can’t really say anything. It’s the free enterprise system after all. like I said, we have to let all the old war dogs of the old capitalist system die out and then sneak in there and make things a bit more fair for the peeps that aren’t doing as well.

I always wonder Why the turkey is called with the name of my country.
Let’s read the article;

Talking Turkey: The Story of How the Unofficial Bird of the United States  Got Named After a Middle Eastern Country by Giancarlo Casale

How did the turkey get its name? This seemingly harmless question popped  into my head one morning as I realized that the holidays were once again  upon us. After all, I thought, there?s nothing more American than a turkey.  Their meat saved the pilgrims from starvation during their first winter in  New England. Out of gratitude, if you can call it that, we eat them for  Thanksgiving dinner, and again at Christmas, and gobble them up in  sandwiches all year long. Every fourth grader can tell you that Benjamin  Franklin was particularly fond of the wild turkey, and even campaigned to  make it, and not the bald eagle, the national symbol. So how did such a  creature end up taking its name from a medium sized country in the Middle  East? Was it just a coincidence? I wondered.

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November 24, 2004

Great day. amazing dreams. I had the most amazing dreams last night, this morning. I didn’t want to wake up. felt like I was in heaven or something. They were all about love and romance and kisses and music. there were two girls with me all night in my dreams, really nice. one was more forward than the other. I couldn’t choose. I wanted to make them both happy…. I didn’t want to wake up! really really nice. I even dreamed about going to church and that was even great. It is amazing how dreams can do that to you. Dreamed of happiness, never ending happiness, family, a girlfriend, I had two girls kissing me, one who was softer more elegant and one who was more cool and rocker chick-like, I wanted the rocker one but she was less aggressive, U2 had a new tour called Realology. Which they don’t, so if I like the idea in a few days still, I’ll take it for us.

And then later in the evening on the bus I met this girl on the subway. Great energy. Out there. great smile. And we are talking on the subway across the aisle. And it was going great, and then out of the blue this lady says to us ‘could you please sit closer if you want to talk. I don’t want to hear all of your details…’ and we are like shocked by her behavior. And so then someone says ‘only in New York.’ and then this mad woman turns to me and says ‘I was born and raised in Miami you bastard!’ I was more than shocked. I was like, get me off this subway car before this woman pulls out a gun or something and goes postal on everyone. Everyone just sat there silent and looking at each other raising their eyebrows. Crazy. anyway, she proved my point about Miami. no manners. she was an animal. Anyway, off the train I dashed because we were at my stop and I didn’t want to ruffle the feathers of this crazy lady anymore and I never got the number to the girl. But I did give her our band name. so maybe she will read this one day and realize holy shit that guy wanted to get my number. O.k. if you ever read this, girl in the hat with the great teeth, EMAIL ME.

Chicks always think that because you are in a band you have no business being shy, because you get so many girls. And that is true. we get a lot of girls throwing themselves at you. but that’s a different scene. And a lot of times they aren’t the girls you want to take home to mom. You know. and that’s what sucks because the girls you do want to take home to mom don’t ever approach you because they already know what kind of girls throw themselves at singers in rock bands and they don’t want to have anything to do with it. so that sucks. So you never meet the kind of girls you want to. The truth is that on the street or the train, I am just shy as hell. I’m beyond shy. I’m like scared shitless when I’m talking to girls. I don’t know why. maybe I was traumatized by a girl when I was a kid or something. when I met Cleopatra it took me over a month to ask her out, and even then I didn’t really ask her out. I asked her to go help me find an animal my grandma thought she had in her garage. That was our first date. Low risk. In case she hated me. its like a curse I live with. Maybe all men do. constantly approached by women who are nice and all but that you don’t want, and scared shitless to even look girls in the eye that you do want. And then there’s the whole issue of saving yourself for a woman who you think is going to be good enough for you, but the whole time you’re worried that you’re not good enough for any woman who would be good enough for you. it’s a fucking nightmare.

But I can’t even ask girls for their number or any of that. this girl is shoving her hands in my face to smell her new hand cream and I’m still trying to pretend like I’m not interested so just in case she notices that I am interested she doesn’t like reject me or tell me to fuck off. Also I guess it’s the whole boyfriend thing. I hate that. when they have a boyfriend. then what? You’re like, oh well he’s a lucky guy, yuk yuk. And you slither away like some worm. I hate that. so I never approach girls or ask them out. I just wait for them to ask me out. Now I just ask to be put on the waiting list. Just here take my card anyway and add me to the waiting list if you guys ever break up. it could be two years ten years who knows. but just give me a ring and say hey remember me? I turned you down like ten years ago because I had a boyfriend. Well guess what? I’m free now. lets go out. and chances are, I’ll still be single because I’m so fucking shy.

Current spin; the new Jim Camacho album, stalker songs. Fucking great heartfelt acoustic music. this guy is on fire now and TMG is going to do everything we can to get him more out there. I love his talent. Extremely admire it.

Last screening: COMEDIAN, documentary about Gerry Seinfeld trying to make it in standup again. I would never be a standup. That is a brutal business.

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November 23, 2004

Went to an indie/art/experimental film screening with Agrippa, the Greek activist from NYC. All of the artsy shorts I hated and they just made me even more agitated than I already felt from the last three days. But the feature film was the infamous “we interrupt this empire.” An underground activist video film. Told the story of how the enlightened rebel forces (read ‘American citizens’) shut down almost the entire city of San Francisco the day that the evil empire (read ‘puppet regime pretending to be American government’) started their invasion of (read ‘war on’) Iraq. Over twenty thousand people went to the streets and just shut that city down in a non violent direct action that was seen and heard all over the world. At one point I felt like crying because I was so moved. There are so many people now that are fighting all these different causes all over the world. After the film, several people spoke. Some one said that they get confused because there seems to be so many causes. And what exactly is “the cause?” one by one many people stood up to explain it to him. It was a thing of beauty. Cleopatra called. We spoke briefly. I told her it was a rough four days. Have you not seen the news this week, I ask. Yes she says. I am disgusted by it all. By the police brutality? I ask sleepily. No, she says. By the protestors. I hang up. I don’t know what else to do. it is too late at night and I am too ragged and tired and outraged to hear that or to argue with her. Obviously the media movement that we attempted this week didn’t work as well as we wanted or needed it to. Most of the citizens of South Florida and the world were fed so much false information over the TV news that they have no idea what really transpired. When people as smart and informed and pro-active as Cleopatra (she was born into a very politically active and socially conscious family both her parents total hippies, she born and raised for the first half of her life in communes around Europe and Canada) think that there were violent protestors who needed to be controlled by the police in order to save a city, when in fact there were none, then you know things are really being spun out of control. As if there are two realities. There is reality, and then there is the reality that the corporate controlled governments force-feed the media; and when we say force feed the media now I have a feeling that it really is just that. I don’t think they have a choice now in what they run. from what the reporters from TV and the newspapers have told me over the last four days it appears that the situation is that the media “feels between a rock and hard place. even though we are on your side and agree with you about the FTAA and most of the other causes that activists fight for, our newspapers and TV networks are owned by the same companies that you are often fighting against. So if we write an article that is too biased towards the activists or towards the causes, no matter true or accurate a portrayal it may be, it always somehow gets canned or shelved or ends up on the cutting room floor. That’s just the way it is.” I heard this time and time again from many of them.

Luckily there is now this huge movement in the world bubbling up in cities across the globe called ‘Independent Media.’ We can access it by going to www.indymedia.org. and many other sites. It is a revolutionary idea. Independent media. Think about it. the truth being reported with absolutely no corporate spin or sponsorship or commercials or boards of directors or governments or network censors or owners to answer to. just truth in reporting for the sake of good journalism. How do you make money at it? well that’s what makes it so brilliant. If you don’t sell advertising like regular media does then you can’t really make money at it. so its just normal everyday people hooked up all over the world with cameras and editing equipment who just go around filming everything and posting it to this huge global network of websites just for the sake of getting the truth out there to the rest of us. they don’t make money at it. they’re just sick of the matrix. A brilliant idea. I have been to this other space here in Miami where there are members of the IndyMedia from several different cities around America who are working around the clock in these ten hour shifts where they take turns some of them sleeping while others of them edit all the hundreds of hours of film that they captured of the police beating people over the last three days. Everyone trying to finish before they have to leave town. Then the tapes will get disseminated to all the national and international mainstream media who from what I heard will not air much of it, not an ounce, but it will also go to all the different indie media outlets around the world. As an example of how powerful and popular indie media is getting, during the last six months of the Iraq invasion by American forces the various IndyMedia websites have been neck and neck with cnn.com as far as how many people are visiting per hour or per day. Everyday more and more people are turning off the corporate controlled media and getting their news from these independent news sites. Its very cool. For the last four days I have watched them in action. Although I have gotten none of their names.

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November 22, 2004

New York is s strange place? yeah, it still is. I am right this very minute watching an old man walk across the street backwards, up the sidewalk curve, and on into his apt building. Why? I have no fucking idea. You just get used to it. you see things like this everyday. Every hour. I guess because there are so many people. more chances for weirdness.

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November 21, 2004

A miserable day by all accounts. Alone and lonely. Wandering the city like a nomad. I don’t do well with being alone, except of course when I have a hundred events to attend and a hundred people calling. Then of course I am perfectly content to spend hours of time by myself. Feels like I’m giving myself a gift of some kind. But being alone out of necessity is abhorrent to me, wretched.

I think I am starting to pop out of a giant creation that has been so big that I couldn’t see that I was in a creation at all. been living through this nagging pestering unflinching never ending agony over being alone and without a girlfriend for so long. had never spent even a month on my own without a girlfriend or without being madly in love for twelve years straight all the way through to the end of the great Cleopatra saga. But for the last three years I have not found anyone or anything that captivated me enough to even want to entertain for more than a few weeks. so three years now. wow. And I must say that I am proud of that. because I have felt that it was quite noble to forego the obvious pleasures of relationship with another if it wasn’t optimal for the more sublime dream to have it be “the one,” “the ultimate.” So I have stubbornly clung to this ideal for more than three years now. but it has not been easy for me. I do much better in a relationship. So I spend a lot of time thinking about it. looking for it. longing it for it.

But lately, since I have been surrounded by eligible girls, and have had ample opportunity to make one the one… but still just can’t seem to find the one, I have begun to realize that there is something deeper here that I am not seeing. A more powerful wisdom to be extracted. A deeper message that I need as a man, that my soul needs at this time in this lifetime. And I have begun to realize that its not a girlfriend or mate or wife that I should be praying for or longing for, but the ability to live peacefully and happily and willfully without anyone but myself. Wow. O.k. easier said than done, I’ll give you that. but I’m working on it. now that I know what the message of it is. after that should flow I believe. But in the meantime let the lesson begin.

Last screening: the lives and loves of Oscar Wilde.

TheTranscendenceDiaries

Month: November 2004

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