A perfect sea urchin

My Evil Thoughts

Welcome to where I air my evil views, proud, uncowed, unbowed, and absolutely evil, superficial, and ignorant. Get used to it. To return to the main blog page, just click here.

Spring Fever Attacks

I have this fantasy. I just start walking. I go where my feet take me. I don't have to be back at any particular time. The weather is good. I can stop and buy a drink if I get thirsty, but this is no "soda run." I'm just out and my time and the world are all my own. I went for a walk today at lunch, and it definitely felt good, but not as good as just going and going.

This is not exactly an impossible fantasy, just a rare one. The last time I did something like this was around Labor Day weekend. The next time I do it might be Sunday.

I have a related fantasy of riding a Greyhound bus into the middle of nowhere. It's the local between here and there, but there is nowhere to stop and the landscape is somewhere between monotonous and frightening, forests, old farmsteads, sleepy towns. The billboards advertise churches. Closer to the interstate they advertise motels and rest stops. I play mind games. I listen to CD's if I have working batteries. If I had an i-pod, I might play it but I get tired of media, and once the news is over, I want to conserve batteries. I drift bteween half consciousness, sleep, meditation, and a kind of languid, road hypnotism.

I don't have a map. I do have a pretty good idea where I am going if any one asked. I have a good sense of geography, and I can read a tryptic. Actually I've often helped other passengers to read a tryptic. Bus passengers on long hauls can be polite and quiet, but they all foul their nest. The filthiest Greyhound I ever road came out of Texas and was full of Latino, young men who covered the bottom of the thing with empty bottles and spilled orange soda. Other than that, they were wonderful and polite, and this bus got routed through the mountains of Western Virginia where the cell phones all go dead. Look at any cell phone provider's area of coverage and you can find this blank spot. We even passed Lynchburg, VA, home of Jerry Fallwell's Liberty University which nearly lost its accreditation.

When we hit Washington, DC, they took extra long to clean out our extra scuzzy Greyhound. When you think about it, a Greyhound is a little house on wheels. In our dirty, little house there was peace even if it did get positively filthy, but I don't really want the passivity of a long bus ride into parts unknown. I want to get where I'm going on my feet. I don't even want to have to decide where I'm going or when I'll be back. I know I have to come back and I'll be back soon enough.

Eileen H. Kramer -- 4/30/10


No year would be complete without writing this, though I dread writing this. According to some folks out there, who may or may not find this blog, they don't like the fact that I still claim to be an heir to your legacy and that I'm still in contact with you. We don't talk about much. We don't see each other as much as we should, but for me you're still with me, and that's no metaphor. I won't go into all the details. Spirit contact is weirdly intimate.

You've been "gone" fifteen years, and yes, whether those folks like it or not, I'm an heir to your legacy. You and I have found a way to get along. You like my graphics. You shoulder surf me. You've trusted me with secrets. I let it go at that. You've given me some very good advice. You've asked the tough questions and made the threats when others did not dare. If others are jealous of this, they too have their own inheritance and stories to tell. This blog is where I tell my own tales.

I'd like to be closer to you. I still miss you as an online presence, though I think there are places I'd never have gone if you had survived. I use what you taught me when you were alive and some of what you taught me more recently. When I look at RAOK on Facebook in particular, I see your theory of instigation at work. No, it's not a smashing triumph, but the group more than doubled in size. It stays drama free and busy. You would probably know how to do more, but there are limits to what you can teach.

When I create graphics for Second Life, you are with me, even if you are not actually there. I know now that you loved to doodle. I remember those first images of you with a drawing pad in hand. What did I know. What did I learn? What do you learn? This is a day of celebration for you. Commencement is really leaving, so I understand part way. I wish I could say more, but there are secrets I'm not ready to spew like confetti before those who don't deserve to be heroes. Thankyou, friend. I'm in the city you believed I could always reach in real life rather than fantasy. You were the one who didn't give up on that even when I saw no way to get here. Thanks, friend. That's the best dedication I can give.

This piece is written for and about Gerald M. Phillips 1928 -- 1995, on the anniversary of his death.

Eileen H. Kramer -- 4/26/2010

Bridal Chamber

I did not know about this place when I was a regular member.
I was good then and avoided exploring the back rooms and secret warrens.
Exhaustion, curiosity, and the need to pee one chag, however, drove me underground.
I needed a couch, and was not very particular.

The stool is made of bamboo and upholstered in mass market, avacado, rose pink, and grey.
There is a folding screen.
There is a table and chairs, often with a half finished bottle of Publix soda on it.
Little girls hold private parties in this room.
Little girls hold screaming matches and games of tag in the cinder block hallway outside.
There is a private bathroom so the challah does not go racing across the hall dragging her train or hiking it up.
Come to think of it, she might need that comedy.

Come to think of it, the last place I would want to be is with relatives weeping, and fussing endlessly over me.
I would not think of anything profound.
I'd want the ceremony to go off reasonably unemorably.
Then I'd want to dance in my lover's arms and later...
Let's fade to black.
That's when the good stuff would really happen.

Oh and I think I might want to go over those last minute details with him,
Rather than with anxious female relatives.
After all, when you're paying beaucoup bucks, and have planned a huge shindig followed by a life together,
Is there really still room for old superstition,
screaming urchins, or lady relatives weeping for no good reason?

Eileen H. Kramer -- 4/19/10

Almost Ready to Go

Nothing much is here yet, but the proverbial test post.

Eileen H. Kramer -- 4/14/10