Blind as a Chicken

The Rooster

This morning, early, around 5:30 a.m., I was standing on the porch and I noticed one of the roosters out in the yard under a tree. All I could see was his profile, a perfect cutout of his shape. I went out to see if he was alive or dead and realized that he couldn't see in the dark. I asked him what he was doing and he started clucking at me like one of the hens and acting helpless. I shooed him back to the shop so he wouldn't be out in the open. He seemed to be able to make out that he wasn't running into objects in the dim illumination of the security light, but once he got into the deep shadow behind the pick-up, he needed a cane. You're probably laughing at me because you already knew that chickens can't see at night, an explanation for roosting in trees and going to sleep at dusk, but I'm excited to know that I'm not too old to learn a simple lesson. Amazing!

'Til Death Does Us Part

View from Poet's Seat

The thing that really bothers me when I think of my own death is the usage of "she" by people describing me. I'm not worried about them saying bad things, it's just the thought of them talking about me like I'm the cat. They could be saying "She was a talented and beautiful woman" (not too shabby, aye?), but that past tense thing really bugs me. I just can't suppress the revulsion it makes me feel to know that's how it will be, because I do it regarding those that I have known to pass.

These death thoughts led me to recalling the legendary suicide of Sylvia Plath, a tale that slightly alters with each telling. Sometimes she sealed the door with tape, sometimes with wet cloths; sometimes she meant to do die, sometimes she didn't. Anyway, Plath's estranged husband spoke of her death as necessarily having to be over-dramatized by fans to fulfill some sort of Sylvia-delusion. He didn't say it like that, he was much more eloquent, also being a poet. When the wash was finally finished, the woman he had left Sylvia for also killed herself as well as their four-year-old child, and later, his and Sylvia's son committed suicide.

It seems that suicide used to be a rampantly over-romanticized way to die, or maybe it was just very casually used. I have a set of really horrible (you gotta read them) books, Hollywood Babylon & Hollywood Babylon 2, by Kenneth Anger, that portrays the suicidal deaths of many well known stars. The books are full of all kinds of Hollywood scandals, and the first one starts at the very beginning with silent films. There are many photos, some grisly, and both books are spell-binding. This set is one of my guilty pleasures. You'll kind of feel dirty when you're through perusing them.

One of the stories and photos that stick with me from the books is of actress Carole Landis, who was having an affair with actor Rex Harrison (Dr. Dolittle!) at the time of her death, ruled as suicide. In the photo she looks like she's kneeling down with an ear placed to the floor, wearing a pretty skirt and shoes that I wouldn't mind having. She doesn't look dead at all.

Now see how I'm talking about her? I don't want this to happen to me! So, when I die, please immediately forget me and never speak of me again, okay? Thanks! Whew! No photos, either, if you can help it.

You Are So Yesterday

2005

Fashion trends change every year and some people won't be seen in last year's togs for fear of dying from mortal embarrassment. I am the same way about who I am. I see things I've written or think of things I've said and I cringe at my absolute naivete that may not be so much as a week old.

Also, I get on my own nerves. I know a lot of people tell the same damn stories over and over again, but I want to kick myself in the shin when I find myself doing it. I won't let other people finish sentences. I will agree with whatever opinion is being given by whomever I am accompanying. My hair always looks like crap. I am judgmental, skeptical and cynical, but then I'll turn around and be entirely gullible. I think I am absolutely hilarious.

I'm not fishing for compliments or negations, these are the things I know about myself.

I am always striving to be a better, savvier me. Who isn't? I don't want to get mired down in the old style me and get too behind the times. If only I could use the new, improved inside of me with the old 18-year-old version of the outside of me. Dang, I'd have the world by the tail!

Jonathon Devitt dies at age 23

According to facebook sources, Jonathon Devitt, 23, of Northfield, Massachusetts died today after being removed from life support. Friends report that he had been diagnosed with bacterial meningitis. Devitt was originally from Snyder.

Update 11/14/2011: It is also reported from Devitt's facebook page by family and friends that he was an organ donor and contributed to the lives of three people. This story just breaks my heart.

Natalie Clark dies at 85

Natalie Clark of Snyder died in a Lubbock hospital on November 9. She was the mother of former Hobbs resident Jeanette Templeton. Clark died after one of two implanted heart stints failed.