Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Johna Peachin - Backdoor Man Revisited

Last night Carol and I watched the movie: "Closer" - we probably put it on hold (6 to 8 times) as we reviewed the characters (4) - there were times when we put on closed captioning - to review certain words in spoken sentences - we both have been in relationships that deception was destructive to all involved - and yes, interesting it was, and well deserved, became a cancer to the predator. It reminded me of this story I wrote in 2003.

I had been seeing this woman who is a playwright and published poet. After Jane and I had several "head examining" visits she wrote me the following and I replied below her quote –

 'PS - If I were writing a screenplay about you, it would involve a woman who you fall madly in love with (a la Glenn Close in "FatalAttraction"), who you soon realize is a nutbar (a la "Play Misty For Me") but you can't get rid of. She tries to kill you over and over...and wears distinctive perfume!" - Jane

Johna Peachin - Predator
I remember her - She was 19 years younger than me. She was quite the tease and I knew her past. She married in college, to get away from her parent's home - the man she married was not satisfying her - mentally or physically. While they were married she boasted 100 backdoor relationships, including one, in a side room, during her own wedding party.
One evening, while we were out of town at a seminar, I heard a knock at my door and she came into my room. She said she "needed a good Fuck" - knew I was divorced, not really pleased in any of the dates I'd had. Since we were working together, I resisted - she insisted and took advantage "of any man's sexual weakness." I had never been with a woman so sexually advanced and consuming. Her hunger for sexual satisfaction was similar to one who had an addiction - they didn't even feel the first drink as they were working on the fourth. Distinctive perfume? Of course, the scent of a woman permeated the entire hotel room!
The next day, I related, I could not be a "backdoor man” - she would have to separate from her husband if she wanted to continue the relationship - she did...and our relationship descended into the next 10 years, the last 4, I would leave for the winter and hit the road with my horses....a very destructive relationship. I was desperately trying to jump off the "merry-go-round" before it went faster and faster - and I would get hurt. I became a victim of myself… near the end.
In its finality, I felt no slightest itch of desire for her, and knew why.It had been a white lie – of great proportion. I was a prude in my own Fashion. It’s difficult to put much value on something the she had distributed all too generously. I have the feeling there is some mysterious quota, which varies with each woman. And whether she gives or sells herself, once she reaches her own number, Once X pairs Of hungry hands have been clamped tightly upon her rounded undersides , she suffers a sea change wherein her juices alter from honey to acid – actually you can taste the change – her eyes change to glass and her heart becomes stone – she must move on – it drives her – she has no control over it. Her own orgasms become a dance of death - she lives for them at any cost.
Some people have personal conflicts that run their life. This interferes with all other things going on in their life. It consciously or subconsciously causes them to protect – an outsider’s observation of this driving force. Dishonesty, less than truth, outright lying is used to cover it up. They think it is opaque – it is transparent to observers. They get sick of lying to the point that they resent those who are the bearers of their lies. It’s a death of great proportion in a relationship.
PS. I loved “Fatal Attraction” Glen Close could have had me with a snap of her fingers – It sure showed the dimension of her acting skills and my shallowness!
I related, to you, that encouraging me is not good! I am a transparent man - push a button - get a story! - paul

Paul, where did this come from?
You know, you hear of songwriters, who come out of a shower with a new song. Actually after you related your thought – I started writing and it came out so easy (I’m sure unconsciously just under my skin) I sent this to my psychoanalyst – in Cooperstown – She wrote me back “I’m sure more will come out in the future”
My Psychiatrist related that a person who acquires a habit turned into an addiction – in The mental process – the brains chemicals change. When “the need to fulfill the addiction arises the brain releases enough Dopamine to drive the “need to need” and until it is temporarily fulfilled – Alcohol, Gambling, Food, Sex – The individual becomes focused, at any cost for the fulfillment - the reward is temporary – until another stimulus prompts the process, once again.

Jane: Isn't this fun?!

What I learned from a wife 20 years younger than me, sexually

The entire relationship was a neverending:
If she has an orgasm you'll never know whether she is faking it or it is real - no matter how good it sounds or looks
If she has a 2nd orgasm - you own her
if she is rounding the corner on her 3rd orgasm she is beginning to get pissed off as she knows you own her
if she gets to her 4 th orgasm she is going to pass out when she is finished - even if she reaches her 5th which is mind blowing to her
past # 5 she is a glutton for punishment - a sign of addiction - anyone will do - she probably has forgotten who is on top of her, under her, or behind her - the man - might be surprised by whose name she calls him, an old boyfriend, a side man - even an ex-husband...a backdoor man.


Technical analysis - my two favorite indicators

Bearish Engulfing Pattern is a large black real body, which engulfs a small white real body in an uptrend (it need not engulf the shadows). The Bearish Engulfing Pattern is an important top reversal signal. (white and green are the same in charts and black and red are the same.

Today, this happened between 12:15 and 1:15 in most stocks and indexes that slid today
(getting out near the top)

If There were a reversal - and there are many indicators of reversals - the BOB is my favorite I learned this from a man who had a blog site named Marilyn - he has since retired his blog.

Double Click for larger image

Technical Analysis along with the removal of the "up-tick rule" in short sales caused what happened today in the last 10 minutes of the stock markets.

Since my charts are in a 15minute time frame - the candles change every 15 minutes
so they appear in the charts - each bar - is 15 minutes of trading at the bottom of the chart
are bars of volume during the same time period.

I hope to learn more every day - it was very helpful today - the charts told me when to get out!

Monday, July 23, 2007

"The Love Song of J. Alfred Proofrock" by T. S. Eliot

Read this several times out loud to yourself - you'll begin "feel" where to pause, where to breath, where to slow down, where to hurry on...keep doin it - when you got it down read it to a favorite person aloud - you'll both see why this is one of the greatest poems ever written (It should be read aloud with cadence - actually - my opinion - all poetry should be read aloud)

1 Let us go then, you and I,
2 When the evening is spread out against the sky
3 Like a patient etherized upon a table;
4 Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
5 The muttering retreats
6 Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
7 And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
8 Streets that follow like a tedious argument
9 Of insidious intent
10 To lead you to an overwhelming question ...
11 Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"

12 Let us go and make our visit.
13 In the room the women come and go
14 Talking of Michelangelo.

15 The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
16 The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
17 Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
18 Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
19 Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
20 Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
21 And seeing that it was a soft October night,
22 Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

23 And indeed there will be time
24 For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
25 Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
26 There will be time, there will be time
27 To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
28 There will be time to murder and create,
29 And time for all the works and days of hands
30 That lift and drop a question on your plate;
31 Time for you and time for me,
32 And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
33 And for a hundred visions and revisions,
34 Before the taking of a toast and tea.

35 In the room the women come and go
36 Talking of Michelangelo.

37 And indeed there will be time
38 To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
39 Time to turn back and descend the stair,
40 With a bald spot in the middle of my hair --
41 (They will say: 'How his hair is growing thin!")
42 My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
43 My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin --
44 (They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!")
45 Do I dare
46 Disturb the universe?
47 In a minute there is time
48 For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

49 For I have known them all already, known them all:
50 Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
51 I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
52 I know the voices dying with a dying fall
53 Beneath the music from a farther room.
54 So how should I presume?

55 And I have known the eyes already, known them all--
56 The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
57 And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
58 When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
59 Then how should I begin
60 To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
61 And how should I presume?

62 And I have known the arms already, known them all--
63 Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
64 (But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
65 Is it perfume from a dress
66 That makes me so digress?
67 Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
68 And should I then presume?
69 And how should I begin?

70 Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
71 And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
72 Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ...

73 I should have been a pair of ragged claws
74 Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

* * * *

75 And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
76 Smoothed by long fingers,
77 Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
78 Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
79 Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
80 Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
81 But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
82 Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
83 I am no prophet -- and here's no great matter;
84 I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
85 And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
86 And in short, I was afraid.

87 And would it have been worth it, after all,
88 After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
89 Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
90 Would it have been worth while,
91 To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
92 To have squeezed the universe into a ball
93 To roll it towards some overwhelming question,
94 To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
95 Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"
96 If one, settling a pillow by her head
97 Should say: "That is not what I meant at all;

98 That is not it, at all."

99 And would it have been worth it, after all,
100 Would it have been worth while,
101 After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
102 After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor --
103 And this, and so much more?--
104 It is impossible to say just what I mean!
105 But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
106 Would it have been worth while
107 If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
108 And turning toward the window, should say:
109 "That is not it at all,
110 That is not what I meant, at all."

111 No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;

112 Am an attendant lord, one that will do
113 To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
114 Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
115 Deferential, glad to be of use,
116 Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
117 Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
118 At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--
119 Almost, at times, the Fool.

120 I grow old ... I grow old ...
121 I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

122 Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
123 I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
124 I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

125 I do not think that they will sing to me.

126 I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
127 Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
128 When the wind blows the water white and black.
129 We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
130 By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown

131 Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Sunday, July 22, 2007

Monsoon Season

One week into Monsoon Season - Flagstaff, Arizona - 7200 ft elevation -average daily temperature now 78 - Phoenix - 2 hours away and 6000 ft below 113 Degrees.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Monday, July 9, 2007

The Band - Ophelia (Last Waltz Part 18)

The Band - The Weight (Last Waltz Part 10)

The Band - The Night They Drove Old Dix (Last Waltz Part 11)

Richard Manuel

Richard Manuel - Died at age 42 (in 1986) - was considered by some as the lead singer of The Band - A favorite Tears of Rage (written by Manuel with Dylan) has an absolutely emotion-filled vocal by Richard Manuel that describes a parent's heartbreak in a most deeply anguished way. Robbie Robertson said: "It's one of his finest moments - it's the most heartbreaking performance he ever sung in his life"It was one of his premier performances:

We carried you in our arms
On Independence Day,
And now you'd throw us all aside
And put us on our way.
Oh what dear daughter 'neath the sun
Would treat a father so,
To wait upon him hand and foot
And always tell him, "No"?
Tears of rage, tears of grief,
Why must I always be the thief?
Come to me now, you know
We're so alone
And life is brief.

We pointed out the way to go
And scratched your name in sand,
Though you just thought it was nothing more
Than a place for you to stand.
Now, I want you to know that while we watched,
You discover there was no one true.
Most ev'rybody really thought
It was a childish thing to do.
Tears of rage, tears of grief,
Must I always be the thief?
Come to me now, you know
We're so low
And life is brief.

It was all very painless
When you went out to receive
All that false instruction
Which we never could believe.
And now the heart is filled with gold
As if it was a purse.
But, oh, what kind of love is this
Which goes from bad to worse?
Tears of rage, tears of grief,
Must I always be the thief?
Come to me now, you know
We're so low
And life is brief.

Richard Manuel hung himself in a
Forida Motel Room - age 42

Performance next page->
(older posts below)

Richard Manuel - Tears of Rage

Sunday, July 8, 2007

Netty Moore

Lost John's sittin' on a railroad track
Something's out of whack
Blues this mornin' fallin' down like hail
Gonna leave a greasy trail

Gonna travel the world is what I'm gonna do
Then come back and see you.
All I ever do is struggle and strive.
If I don't do anybody any harm, I might make it back home alive.

I'm the oldest son of a crazy man,
I'm in a cowboy band
Got a pile of sins to pay for and I ain't got time to hide
I'd walk through a blazing fire, baby, if I knew you was on the other side

Oh, I miss you, Nettie Moore
And my happiness is o'r
Winter's gone, the river's on the rise
I loved you then, and ever shall
But there's no one left here to tell
The world has gone black before my eyes

Well, the world of research has gone berserk
Too much paperwork
Albert's in the graveyard, Frankie's raising hell
I'm beginning to believe what the scriptures tell

I've gone where the Southern crosses The Yellow Dog
Get away from all these demagogues
And these bad luck women stick like glue
It's either one or the other or neither of the two

She says, "Look out, daddy, don't want you to tear your pants
You could get wrecked in this dance."
They say whisky'll kill you, but I don't think it will
I'm ridin' with you to the top of the hill

Oh, I miss you, Nettie Moore
And my happiness is o'r
Winter's gone, the river's on the rise
I loved you then, and ever shall
But there's no one left here to tell
The world has gone black before my eyes

Don't know why my baby never looked so good before
Don't have to wonder no more
She been cooking all day, it gonna take me all night
I can't eat all that stuff in a single bite

The judge's coming in, everybody rise
Lift up your eyes
You can do what you please, you don't need my advice
'Fore you call me any dirty names, you better think twice

Gettin' light outside, the temperature dropped
I think the rain has stopped
I'm gonna make you come to grips with fate
When I'm through with you, you'll learn to keep your business straight

Oh, I miss you, Nettie Moore
And my happiness is o'r
Winter's gone, the river's on the rise
I loved you then, and ever shall
But there's no one left here to tell
The world has gone black before my eyes

The bright spark of the steady lights
Has dimmed my sights
When you're around me all my grief gives 'way
A life time with you is like some heavenly day

Everything I've ever known to be right has been proven wrong
I'll be drifting along
The woman I'm loving she rules my heart
No knife could ever cut our love apart.

Today I'll stand in faith and raise
The voice of praise
The sun is strong, I'm standing in the light
I wish to God that it were night

Oh, I miss you, Nettie Moore
And my happiness is o'r
Winter's gone, the river's on the rise
I loved you then, and ever shall
But there's no one here left to tell
The world has gone black before my eyes

-bob dylan

Thursday, July 5, 2007

"The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could see
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

The took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I should be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference

Wednesday, July 4, 2007

July 4th

Internet traffic around the World - immaged

The Cat

Poem — Ryan Alexander

In April 2004, twenty-eight-year-old Ryan Alexander deployed to Iraq with the U.S. Army's Stryker Brigade Combat Team. Alexander wrote the following poem about a cat he encountered soon after he arrived in Mosul.

She came to me skittish, wild.
The way you're meant to be,
surrounded by cruelty.
I did not blame her.
I would do the same.

A pregnant cat, a happy distraction;
some sort of normal thing.
Calico and innocent.

The kittens in her belly said feed me.

And I did.

She crept with careful eye,
Body held low to the dirt,
Snagged a bite,
And carried it just far enough away.

She liked the MREs,
the beef stew, the chicken breast, the barbeque pork,
but she did not like canned sardines.
I do not blame her.
I would do the same.

She came around again and again
finally deciding that I was no threat,
that this big man wasn't so bad.

I was afraid to touch her as the docs warned us.
Iraqi animals were carriers of flesh-eating disease.
I donned a plastic glove and was the first to pet
this wild creature who may be

the one true heart and mind that America
had won over.

After a while I forgot the glove and enjoyed
the tactile softness of short fur,
flesh-eating bacteria be damned.

Her belly swelled for weeks
and she disappeared for some days
until her kittens were safely birthed

in the shallow of a rusted desk
in the ruins that lined the road behind us.

She came around again slim
with afterbirth still matted to her hind legs.

She would return, but not quite as often.
She came to eat and for attention,
but there was nursing to be done.

One day she crept up with a kitten in her mouth.
She dropped it at my foot and stared up at me;
she expected something, but there was nothing I could do.
The young black and white kitten was dead,
its eyes not yet opened.

It looked like some shriveled old wise thing,
completely still, mouth puckered,
small body curled and limp.

She let me take the baby without a fight.
She knew, but seemed unaffected.

She had fetched me a gift,
a lesson,
among the worried nights,
shot nerves from poorly aimed mortar rounds:

Everything dies.
The evil, the innocent,
her baby and

I thought I should say a prayer and bury
this poor little thing,
but I did for it what will be done for me.
I laid it in the burn can amongst the ash
and said I'm sorry.