Autumn of the Matriarch

... where can you be Manuela Sanchez of my misfortune that I came looking for you and cannot find you in this house of beggars, where is your licorice smell in this pesthole of lunch leftovers, where is your rose, where your love, release me from the dungeon of these dog doubts, he sighed, when he saw her appear at the rear door like the image of a dream reflected in the mirror of another dream wearing a dress of etamine that cost a penny a yard, her hair tied back hurriedly with a back comb, her shoes shabby, but she was the most beautiful and haughtiest woman on earth with the rose glowing in her hand, a sight so dazzling that he barely got sufficient control of himself to bow when she greeted him with her lifted head God preserve your excellency, and she sat down on the sofa opposite him, where the gush of his fetid body odor would not read her... (G. G-Marquez, Autumn of the Patriarch)

Each in their own power, autumn & matriarch, wield a brimming chalice of reverie, replete with a surplus of symbolic meanings, musty smells of first-edition books and molting leaf piles, hot throbbing bosoms that beat a lullaby of nurture and rest, scratchy confident voices full of self-neglect and the peace of death. As long as I have been child, I have been matriarch, and as long as I have been matriarch, the autumns of my life have whispered to the earth of my beginning. The womb of my origin, the red and gold ocean winds, carrying the kind of chill that penetrates marrow and siphons blood from each joint, a gale that stings each nostril with sweet cedars, hoary fires and dewy grass staving off the frost.

My heart grieves when the flames atop each tree fade from their incendiary vibrancy to an ashy yellow, declaring the end of my time and the beginning of an entombed season foreign to me. Winter scolds me like an irreverent child at the hands of a long since irascible nun who caught me playing hangman during Latin. My very birth mocks her impending quiet. To her I am but a matador, full of color and pomp, implacably swinging my red décolletage as she paces behind the gates, snorting white fog in ire until the moment she is released and her icy pursuit tests the veracity of my posture and the power behind my promenade. But, to fear winter now is to snatch breath from my blessed autumn. To berate the child or hasten the matriarch is to neglect the soul. Come today. Step forth this moment and I shall meet you in the milky unknown with hope for my now and contentment for what can only be then and even then a mystery.

Muy Peligroso

Why, when I see so many dearest to me choosing deeper into their lives, do I find myself choosing out? I flee from self-thought whilst chasing the white rabbit into tunnels of longed-for quiet.

Survival hasn't the luxury of dreaming. That's a pithy cop out. I suppose, though, one doesn't consider the vast, interminable ocean when struggling to regain footing on a shore of wet rocks.

When I dream of a writing desk, my stomach turns and I'm thrust into thoughts of a "paying" job. When fanciful what-if's tickle future, the present load of mail is delivered - full of bills and short a paycheck. When I catch up on some blogging time, I think, I really should get back to checking craigslist.

Yuck, this sounds like guilt. Financial despair. Self-deprecating analysis. Ah well, at least I have my health.

Reminiscent Conversation

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING MATERIAL CONTAINS BIBLICAL, ECCLESIASTIC AND CHRISTOLOGICAL REFERENCES.

I found this rant whilst digging around some old files. I felt a spark in the philosophical dungeons of my bowels when met with a surprisingly kindred mind and subsequently (yes, in sequence) picked through some old writing. Old, as in, Nov 21, 2004. Apparently this was the day I decided to take on Karl Barth:

But scripture is always autonomous and independent of all that is said. it can always find new and from its own standpoint better readers, and obedience in these readers, even in the church which has perhaps to a large extent become self-governing, and by these readers a point of entry to reform and renew the whole church and to bring it back from self-government to obedience.

will the new readers, like all liberated oppressed find the inevitable reign of the oppressor luscious enough to choose a new governance? is this cyclical or evolutionary? are the fools introduced to the structured wheel of the self-governing “wise” as a necessary humbling? does this process of humbling represent the purification or the purest form of the word? if the word chooses autonomously and independently, will it not choose to make itself known and replicated in the new, obedient reader?

are there those readers who know when ‘tis their turn to pass the baton to the fresh hearer that the compassion of christ will be expressed through his word to yet another generation?

what is it the self-governors intend to preserve? self? a sense of church tradition? something that has always worked in the past? the word? their interpretation? a shielding wall to keep them out? their path to salvation? do we program a replicate of our first love, because we are unable to revisit it?

the way is not relative in that it is christ, but is christ intrinsically relative to all through empathy? relativity allows the fullness only in the sharing of empathy and surrender of self-governance, even in a community of believers. community is no solitary validation for a risky hermeneutic of the reader’s response.

we read the word because it lures us, compels us, mirrors the hope beyond our knowing. the hope we didn’t imagine but recognize instantly. the word does not bear authority because we wrap it in our cloaks and crown it, but because it is why we read. does the word contain, reflect, bear, birth, guide, remind, reveal, inspire, demand, witness God?

I'm not sure I would maintain some of these presuppositions, and yet there are many questions here that I still twirl my hair through. If you are at all interested in these questions, please share.

The Job I Lost

I found a listing for a movie reviewer for a database designed to recommend movies based on experts instead of algorithms. I sat on the listing for a while (shocking) and then felt a surge of inspiration last night.

So, I completed the required application blurb: select your favorite movie and then list 5 movies you would recommend to someone who like the first movie, giving a 20 word description of each movie.

Well, the post expired

* which I discovered after having completed the above requirement *
UGH!!!

So, I thought I would share it with you instead.

And, if you happen upon any movie review jobs, do pass them on, won't you?

Darjeeling Limited (2007)

The latest collaboration of Wes Anderson and Owen Wilson depicts an effortlessly hysterical, sonorously spiritual, fraternal voyage through India.

Little Miss Sunshine (2006)

Nietzsche meets Miss America in this ramshackle comedy about a dysphoric family determined to reach Rendondo Beach by 3:00pm.

Punch Drunk Love (2002)

A darkly compulsive character leads Adam Sandler to new comedy depths in this accidental love story replete with endearing wit.

The Royal Tenebaums (2001)

The Anderson-Wilson flagship film is a sardonic comedy boasting an expert ensemble as the family you love to lament!

The Big Lebowski (1998)

It’s the Dude! Bowling with White Russian in hand the Dude embarks on a slipshod caper in this kidnap comedy.

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1998)

An adult comedy saturated in drinks, drugs, and questionable polyester, this film is funny the way scab picking is soothing.

Will Work for Peanuts

Sally: Do you think a person can crack-up from too much responsibility?

Charlie Brown: Why certainly. There are some responsibilities and some pressures that are just too much sometimes to bear.

Sally: That must be what's happening to me... I'm cracking up...
It's a great responsibility, having naturally curly hair!

Charlie Brown: Oh, good grief!

S is for Slut

Or, so sayeth the guardian of my soul. I've just noticed that every post begins with S. With the help of Freud, it has been determined that my subconscious has reveal my true inner-nature.

Although it is undeniably a prospective truth, I'd like to take a moment to propose a few other possibilities.

Scandalous
Sage
Sepulchral
Stacked
Spirited
Sagacious
Smutty

If these strikes you as incongruent to the me you know and love - I heartily welcome any other S words that better fit the bill.

Sincerity is the new Confidence

The elusive quality which has of late titillated my intellect, at last has a name: sincerity. I watch strange pilgrims laugh unabashedly before looking over their shoulders to see if others are likewise amused. And again, other such enigmas offer sincere compliments, exclaim outright preferences for this or that, entrust gems of vulnerability without self-pity or desperate ploys for affirmation.

Sincerity, I am learning, has a sense of humor without cruelty. It offers encouragement without pity and support without minimizing or aggrandizing the cost. It is far from a gray, even keel. Sincerity is the lion's determined gaze, fierce and in full knowledge of its power. I see you, you earnest remnant, you unfettered few. I see you with plain eyes for you have made yourselves plain. You stand tall, not to emit a proud air, but because your mother taught you to have good posture, and anyway, it's good for the back.