Friday, July 14, 2006

Family Outing


In string theory everything is made up of impossibly small rings of vibrating energy.

So tiny you can never measure them.


I was thinking today about suffering. I have a small experience of it. Others have their doctorate degrees.

Are we all going to get that much pain? I can hardly bear the thought of all the pain that is floating around in the universe, like those tiny strings, vibrating, filling the void with the music of it all: the cries of the dying, the moans of the wounded, the crippled, the starving. The old struggle, trying to reconcile the beauty with the horror. I know it is intrinsic, I know that it must be embedded in each note, and that every speck and every corner of the whole vast multiverse is filled with horror, is actually made up of horror.

Whose other face is beauty.








Today I really want to get drunk. I want my brain fuzzed out. I want to knock out the little dictator driving the bus and let it drift down the road and watch the scenery go by in a verdant green blur. But there's nothing to drink in the house and I don't want to go out and besides, I need to ride this feeling out.

All my meditation and yoga teachings would tell me to stop resisting the present moment and to abandon my preconceived notions of how the moment should be and open up all of my senses to how it actually is.

How it actually is.

Right now.



I still want an ice-cold vodka martini really, really, bad.


Or a vicodan.


Okay, both.


Also, I want to go to the Sea Chest and down a big pot of mussels.


I am in a mood.



Blogger Lisa Cohen said...

Just wanted to let you know this moved me. As corny as it probably sounds, know that in a little corner of cyberspace someone who you don't know and will likely never meet has been touched by your struggle, your words.

best regards

9:01 PM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...


thanks for the kind thoughts.

and, yeah, it's corny.

But I'm still glad.

8:45 AM  
Blogger Radish King said...

Come on over. I have tequila and limes. And salt.

10:08 AM  
Blogger LKD said...

I've never felt that urge to drink or take drugs when I felt agitated, angered, saddened, elated or whatever verb one might slip into that slot. And I'm thankful for not feeling that urge considering my family's intimate relationship with addictive tendencies and behavoirs. I've always viewed alcohol and drugs (okay, so I never ventured beyond marijuana for fear I'd fall in love with the bigger badder stuff) as tickets to ride. Even cigarettes. Sure, I used to smoke the occasional cig to aleviate extreme tension. But mostly, god, I loved sucking on a cancer stick to induce heady, momentary journeying. If I have wine with a meal, it's partially to enhance the flavor of whatever I'm eating, sure, but it's mostly a viewed as a chance to travel, gladly, somewhere beyond (how the hell does that ee cummings poem go?).

So, while I can't relate to wanting to drink or take a vicodan, I will say, hey, if you really think it will help, partake, brother. Partake.

(Incidentally, your mention of the vodka martini reminded me of your recipe last summer for the dirty martinis which you recommened I drink after running over the hornet's nest with the lawn mower.) (smile)

10:50 AM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...


I can never remember how many shots of tequila it takes to make you bullet-proof and how many it takes to make you invisible.

But I do know that it don't work if you don't got limes.

I'm on my way.

4:19 PM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...


it's probably a good thing you don't have an addiction gene. At least, not to anything other than writing.

If I could write one tenth as consistently as you I'd be one tenth as prolific!



Thanks for coming by, it is always good to hear from you.


4:21 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

limes? limes??!! what the fuck are limes??!!

11:40 AM  

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