Interesting show that 'Destination: Truth' - never caught it until last night. One segment of their 'investigation' involved a forest in Japan, below Mt. Fuji, where about a 100 folks commit themselves to suicide each year. Now, I gotta fact find on that one - that's a boast that's gotta be wrong. Yeah...ok, just hit wikipedia that says it's about 30 per year and overall 500 recorded instances. Apparently, it's second to suicides to the Golden Gate Bridge which doubles Aokigahara forest's count. Never heard of the Golden Gate to be as active, though.
Of course, in true fashion, and from the minor research I did as a child, the Japanese ghosts appear to be more fully developed apparitions than our own. The few paranormal books we had at the local libraries typically referenced very violent Japanese poltergeists. However, if you look at many modern legitimate hauntings - I'm not sure if they are mere spirits or, stay with me, demonic.
The apparitions they spotted in the one night the 'Destination: Truth' team was there they did catch what appeared to be a full-torso white figure appear and, to me, look like it descended down a ridge. If it were a live-blooded human, the features would have been apparent in the night shot light. They had personal experiences, typicall full-bodied shadow figures. Wasn't there, don't know - it pissed me off that they would send investigators by themselves. You simply don't send people on their own - in a pitch-black, unfamiliar forest with rugged terrain? Come on. They are going to get hurt.
The other segment was a trip: the Filipino aswang. If there is a well-known traditional monster in the Philippines, it's the aswang. One of the researchers got caught up in the sounds of the islands, which, especially in the summer nights is extremely loud. They caught a lot of wild animals on tape. But nothing of a large, blood-sucking bat-like thing.
Read a lot of paranormal books in my youth. Real, serious books on the subject. But, unfortunately, the paranormal is difficult to gauge twenty years ago. The biggest modern legitimate case (we're talking 1950s) involved a group of authority figures that witnessed a chair levitate. Now, with a lot of newer technologies, it seems they are getting closer to legitimizing things they are catching on tape, still and video. The stuff trips me out, but, can we ever run to a conclusive piece of evidence? Not sure what that would be...
One of the investigators on Ghost Hunters Intl had an interesting point: he says he does it to show others that there is an afterlife. That's an interesting premise, but, if people don't believe your evidence, they aren't going to reach your conclusion.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Saturday, February 7, 2009
...rainy weekend...(06FEB09)
...been steadily coming down. A might cold in South California these past couple of months. Punctuated by dry heat on other days. Generally off-setting - typically I'd love this weather, but something seems quelling under the surface.
There's a general sense in my circles of a 'reckoning'. I hate to think on it: but it's this disquiet. Social disquiet perhaps: hope turned into unsubstatiated dishevelment. Can't put any discernment on it, where I typically have an ability to sense the underlying. Hope should never displace Faith. Need sleep I suppose.
There is a few lines at the tail end of Francis Scott Key's Star Spangled Banner:
"...Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto, - 'In God is our trust,'
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave..."
I'm praying. Not that I've ever stopped, mind you, but thought I'd mention it for those of you out there who may have forgotten it themselves. I received a chaplet of St. Therese from a charity organization (but they neglected the actual chaplet prayers with it). And considering the direct effect of it in the past, I've petioned her as my co-patroness (along with St. Joseph).
I wonder what non-Catholics think of all these seemingly 'charm bracelets' of the Faith? There's too much to explain: it's an ocean. If/when a Catholic attempts to explain a facet of something, it usually comes off as provincial, naive or wanting - like attempting to describe a congregation of lillies: it's there, unwanting of itself and of its obvious beauty. Why try to explain it? It's perfection with little words; drawing you without demanding.
It would take a few (solid) books to explain the communion of saints alone - as much for 'chaplets', rosaries, patrons, etc.
And, hard times lately: what can be done? Just doing my best to stay afloat. Faith is what sustains me. Love the other. Cold, hard logic the next. Charity where possible. There is this dog me and a stranger at work have been trying to get adopted: Pet Harbor
Poor thing: if you can adopt this animal from the South LA Animal Shelter, I'll pay for the license, etc. He needs a lot of attention, that I really can't provide (plus I have a 13-year-old Chow mix that is getting arthritic and needs attention too). Just e-mail me at admin@edwardianjackal.com.
Sorry: just completely scatter-brained right now. And it's almost 1am. Good night, sweet dove, may the Lord continue to bless you...
There's a general sense in my circles of a 'reckoning'. I hate to think on it: but it's this disquiet. Social disquiet perhaps: hope turned into unsubstatiated dishevelment. Can't put any discernment on it, where I typically have an ability to sense the underlying. Hope should never displace Faith. Need sleep I suppose.
There is a few lines at the tail end of Francis Scott Key's Star Spangled Banner:
"...Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto, - 'In God is our trust,'
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave..."
I'm praying. Not that I've ever stopped, mind you, but thought I'd mention it for those of you out there who may have forgotten it themselves. I received a chaplet of St. Therese from a charity organization (but they neglected the actual chaplet prayers with it). And considering the direct effect of it in the past, I've petioned her as my co-patroness (along with St. Joseph).
I wonder what non-Catholics think of all these seemingly 'charm bracelets' of the Faith? There's too much to explain: it's an ocean. If/when a Catholic attempts to explain a facet of something, it usually comes off as provincial, naive or wanting - like attempting to describe a congregation of lillies: it's there, unwanting of itself and of its obvious beauty. Why try to explain it? It's perfection with little words; drawing you without demanding.
It would take a few (solid) books to explain the communion of saints alone - as much for 'chaplets', rosaries, patrons, etc.
And, hard times lately: what can be done? Just doing my best to stay afloat. Faith is what sustains me. Love the other. Cold, hard logic the next. Charity where possible. There is this dog me and a stranger at work have been trying to get adopted: Pet Harbor
Poor thing: if you can adopt this animal from the South LA Animal Shelter, I'll pay for the license, etc. He needs a lot of attention, that I really can't provide (plus I have a 13-year-old Chow mix that is getting arthritic and needs attention too). Just e-mail me at admin@edwardianjackal.com.
Sorry: just completely scatter-brained right now. And it's almost 1am. Good night, sweet dove, may the Lord continue to bless you...
Monday, September 15, 2008
...Golden Slumbers...(14SEP08)
My father took his last breath a year ago. Of course, all things considered, I did find out that Steve Winwood (of all people) was in a few white soul bands in the late sixties. I did not know that: doesn't even sound like him. I purchased Traffic's "Who Knows What Tomorrow May Bring?" in MP3 format, so I can move it about at my leisure. It caught my interest because the organ work was stellar and I had to find out who it was.
The weather's been subtle as always in Orange County, CA. Last night, while going to pick up my kids from a Beatles tribute concert in a park near by, the lingering strands of summer mug cast the entire park with a blurry orange glow. No wind stirred the air, which it really never does in September. The light pollution of the city cast the sky in an electric grey.
As I sauntered toward the outdoor theater, guarded half-heartedly by two doorpersons, smartly watching the three of us eyeing the door to get a glimpse of the Fab Four in all their Sgt. Pepper-y glory. I can hear the concert anyway, folks, what harm is it to sneak in for the last five minutes? I took a bench seat across from the fountain.
"Golden Slumbers" was been played by some extremely capable impersonators: all live. Like many Beatles songs, I found it majestic - in a pop sort of way. The music made the staid park a bit lively.
What gets me is the cultural significance of things. A song like this is completely moral in nature. It has a significance. And, for those of you easily offended by religion, 'moral' need not be religious. It can be that of reality: responsiblity.
As the last ragged breaths of my father failed, the rush for me was the want for more of his life stories. All of the love of his mother, the respect for his father, the memories of cruising down PCH in the early sixties, the Pacific Rim in the later decade of that time...were drained away. His wisdom, his life's record, felt like sand running through my fingers.
We are all responsible for the ones that have gone before.
I miss my father. I miss my grandparents. I miss my pets. I am the culmination of their lives and this point in time. In a world of modernity, with the belief in all things grey and mitigated by the fashions of the hour - there are some things that are absolute.
I recently told an old friend that 'we are the monuments of our parents'. Across from where I sat listening to those swelling strands of the bridge, I could see a statue of the founding members of this city. Imagine, truly, if we actually behaved as the culmination of all the promises that we were left with when the greatest parts of ourselves die away.
The weather's been subtle as always in Orange County, CA. Last night, while going to pick up my kids from a Beatles tribute concert in a park near by, the lingering strands of summer mug cast the entire park with a blurry orange glow. No wind stirred the air, which it really never does in September. The light pollution of the city cast the sky in an electric grey.
As I sauntered toward the outdoor theater, guarded half-heartedly by two doorpersons, smartly watching the three of us eyeing the door to get a glimpse of the Fab Four in all their Sgt. Pepper-y glory. I can hear the concert anyway, folks, what harm is it to sneak in for the last five minutes? I took a bench seat across from the fountain.
"Golden Slumbers" was been played by some extremely capable impersonators: all live. Like many Beatles songs, I found it majestic - in a pop sort of way. The music made the staid park a bit lively.
What gets me is the cultural significance of things. A song like this is completely moral in nature. It has a significance. And, for those of you easily offended by religion, 'moral' need not be religious. It can be that of reality: responsiblity.
As the last ragged breaths of my father failed, the rush for me was the want for more of his life stories. All of the love of his mother, the respect for his father, the memories of cruising down PCH in the early sixties, the Pacific Rim in the later decade of that time...were drained away. His wisdom, his life's record, felt like sand running through my fingers.
We are all responsible for the ones that have gone before.
I miss my father. I miss my grandparents. I miss my pets. I am the culmination of their lives and this point in time. In a world of modernity, with the belief in all things grey and mitigated by the fashions of the hour - there are some things that are absolute.
I recently told an old friend that 'we are the monuments of our parents'. Across from where I sat listening to those swelling strands of the bridge, I could see a statue of the founding members of this city. Imagine, truly, if we actually behaved as the culmination of all the promises that we were left with when the greatest parts of ourselves die away.
...the Lamb...(20JUN07)
End of the day. My father's been sick for a few years now, we take it every few months at a time. I make sure to visit twice a week and call him profusely. We have hospice care for him: in-home. It's actually tremendous. He has turned for the better with the medical help he needed in the first place. Oxygen, pills, a visit from the nurse. It's been a load off both our collective chests.
Tonight was a visit. It's been a long couple of weeks. Gave him his Father's Day (he wasn't up for a visit on Sunday) gift. It was a fishing shirt and hat.
Took off relatively early, I have to wake up soon.
I work with EWTN to distribute some of their monthly programming changes to local churches. Decided tonight was as good as any.
It's an odd thing. As I entered St. B-'s, the soft strings of a harp played out. I look around in a daze. (The lights were on fully, so it wasn't as supernatural as it may first sound.) A visiting chorale group had taken the balcony and were practicing somewhere out of sight.
I took my knees in the antechamber and prayed for the young guy next to me. He looked pretty broken. (I'll pray again for him.) Didn't even look up to Mary. Took a knee before the Blessed Bread, in a pew. Kept an eye on a little kid kind of wandering the main aisle.
He eventually settled in front of my patron, at the front of the Church: Joseph. I didn't need to check on him anymore.
My usual prayers before the Eucharist. The choir master directed a few of the hidden musicians and asked, "Ready?"
The familiar swell of music (I'm an avid classical lover) calmly settled the air. Agnus Dei came from the voice of a middle-aged man (by the tenor and strain). Nice; his vocals were a little drowned. The choir master should wander the pews to get the arrangements better. Basically, less is more.
I kissed the marble floor; directly in front of the Eucharist. I set the sign upon me as I walked out with a few drips of holy water. Venus awaited me in a darkening sky.
Tonight was a visit. It's been a long couple of weeks. Gave him his Father's Day (he wasn't up for a visit on Sunday) gift. It was a fishing shirt and hat.
Took off relatively early, I have to wake up soon.
I work with EWTN to distribute some of their monthly programming changes to local churches. Decided tonight was as good as any.
It's an odd thing. As I entered St. B-'s, the soft strings of a harp played out. I look around in a daze. (The lights were on fully, so it wasn't as supernatural as it may first sound.) A visiting chorale group had taken the balcony and were practicing somewhere out of sight.
I took my knees in the antechamber and prayed for the young guy next to me. He looked pretty broken. (I'll pray again for him.) Didn't even look up to Mary. Took a knee before the Blessed Bread, in a pew. Kept an eye on a little kid kind of wandering the main aisle.
He eventually settled in front of my patron, at the front of the Church: Joseph. I didn't need to check on him anymore.
My usual prayers before the Eucharist. The choir master directed a few of the hidden musicians and asked, "Ready?"
The familiar swell of music (I'm an avid classical lover) calmly settled the air. Agnus Dei came from the voice of a middle-aged man (by the tenor and strain). Nice; his vocals were a little drowned. The choir master should wander the pews to get the arrangements better. Basically, less is more.
I kissed the marble floor; directly in front of the Eucharist. I set the sign upon me as I walked out with a few drips of holy water. Venus awaited me in a darkening sky.
...A Mirage in a Den of Flesh...(10JAN06)
My cousin, D-, turned 21 last October, so, like a good 'big brother' (Filipino tradition/custom states a very unique nomination of titles to different familial relationships - D- is my uncle's daughter, so I am her 'Kuya' - big brother) took her to Sin City to party in style. My sister and her friend were enlisted to help out because, like a man with a family, my mojo has diminished to an uncomfortable level inappropriate for proper partying.
Tao is new to me. The same spot a few years ago at the Venetian was one of the last Warner Bros. stores in the country. Now, an ultra-swank Asian themed lounge/club is comfortably nestled in the same corner of the front lobby. I'm tired as I dress in a fall cord layered ensemble. I never had time to shave before the trip...so the scruffiness looks intentional. I'm a fiend.
The place had the usual crowd shifting in front of it. Lots of young folks looking around eagerly. It's pretty annoying to me, I've always found it unnecessary effort - it makes one look desperate. Par for Vegas, the bouncers were the best dressed folks in the front. Luckily, I'm with three beautiful girls and I'm not sweating getting in. $20 bucks for everyone.
Tao is adorned with Buddahs everywhere and candles - a look I really like. Red and smoke and blacks - if they had wood accents here and there, I would have found it more interesting (there is some, but not impactful enough). The clientle is young and hot. The place is packed. I don't even remember what I ordered first. But I know I'm taking it easy, since I'm already dragging after a normal work week and the three hour drive which included a stop by the California CHP, who was working hard to maintain the 1 billion a year in traffic tickets they had out. Can I get a tax deduction on this? I'm betting not.
We get the drinks and I'm feeling that D- is overwhelmed. Good. Vegas has the best clubs in the country, it's overwhelming. I took my sister to 54 on her birthday and she felt she 'graduated' from the experience. She nursed her drink against a statue. I watched some guy walk up a grope a girl on one of the stands set up for exhibitionist young lassies. I'm not amazed, but I still find it odd that a woman will let any idiot come up and touch them. Personally, I'm a bit more respectful.
I find a column to stand against, right between the bar and the dance floor and chill. We danced a little, the DJ kinda stunk that night - the paid dancers showing their disapproval now and again. The music was that mindless rap junk that has made its way out since Jay-Z stepped down. Whatever. A guy who looked strangely like John Favreau came up to me and said that he was glad to see me again. I'm all question marks. Ok. Another girl look just like Kelly Cuoco, and I mouthed the words 'Wow', because she was the hottest chick in the room...not because she's a celebrity (trust me, I could give a shit).
The beginning of a two day epiphany happened as things slowed down for me that night. The Mirage sparkled across the way from the full windowed walls in front of me. From the position I was in, it looked like 'Rage'. I was fixiated. The cold stillness of my tired body was stirred and I must have stared at it for ten minutes. "Rage" sparkled above the disgusting parade of decadence and gyrating flesh. Fascinating juxtoposition. It stayed with me until just before lunch at the Parisian buffet the next day.
"Not my world," the giant black bouncer watching the dance floor and I looked at eachother a few times through the night. I believe he felt I had a curious look on my face. I wasn't hungry for drinks, dance or attempting to stick my junk in some chick. I was a fly on the wall and I looked like it. Buzz buzz.
I asked to leave early and my sister said they would take a cab back to the hotel. "Sorry" I say. I'm just too damn tired. Work, kids, projects, house, life is like a giant shifting puzzle in my head. I promise to take a break one of the days.
Shower, pajamas and a sleeping bag and I am out for the count. However, the rage has already planted its seed.
Tao is new to me. The same spot a few years ago at the Venetian was one of the last Warner Bros. stores in the country. Now, an ultra-swank Asian themed lounge/club is comfortably nestled in the same corner of the front lobby. I'm tired as I dress in a fall cord layered ensemble. I never had time to shave before the trip...so the scruffiness looks intentional. I'm a fiend.
The place had the usual crowd shifting in front of it. Lots of young folks looking around eagerly. It's pretty annoying to me, I've always found it unnecessary effort - it makes one look desperate. Par for Vegas, the bouncers were the best dressed folks in the front. Luckily, I'm with three beautiful girls and I'm not sweating getting in. $20 bucks for everyone.
Tao is adorned with Buddahs everywhere and candles - a look I really like. Red and smoke and blacks - if they had wood accents here and there, I would have found it more interesting (there is some, but not impactful enough). The clientle is young and hot. The place is packed. I don't even remember what I ordered first. But I know I'm taking it easy, since I'm already dragging after a normal work week and the three hour drive which included a stop by the California CHP, who was working hard to maintain the 1 billion a year in traffic tickets they had out. Can I get a tax deduction on this? I'm betting not.
We get the drinks and I'm feeling that D- is overwhelmed. Good. Vegas has the best clubs in the country, it's overwhelming. I took my sister to 54 on her birthday and she felt she 'graduated' from the experience. She nursed her drink against a statue. I watched some guy walk up a grope a girl on one of the stands set up for exhibitionist young lassies. I'm not amazed, but I still find it odd that a woman will let any idiot come up and touch them. Personally, I'm a bit more respectful.
I find a column to stand against, right between the bar and the dance floor and chill. We danced a little, the DJ kinda stunk that night - the paid dancers showing their disapproval now and again. The music was that mindless rap junk that has made its way out since Jay-Z stepped down. Whatever. A guy who looked strangely like John Favreau came up to me and said that he was glad to see me again. I'm all question marks. Ok. Another girl look just like Kelly Cuoco, and I mouthed the words 'Wow', because she was the hottest chick in the room...not because she's a celebrity (trust me, I could give a shit).
The beginning of a two day epiphany happened as things slowed down for me that night. The Mirage sparkled across the way from the full windowed walls in front of me. From the position I was in, it looked like 'Rage'. I was fixiated. The cold stillness of my tired body was stirred and I must have stared at it for ten minutes. "Rage" sparkled above the disgusting parade of decadence and gyrating flesh. Fascinating juxtoposition. It stayed with me until just before lunch at the Parisian buffet the next day.
"Not my world," the giant black bouncer watching the dance floor and I looked at eachother a few times through the night. I believe he felt I had a curious look on my face. I wasn't hungry for drinks, dance or attempting to stick my junk in some chick. I was a fly on the wall and I looked like it. Buzz buzz.
I asked to leave early and my sister said they would take a cab back to the hotel. "Sorry" I say. I'm just too damn tired. Work, kids, projects, house, life is like a giant shifting puzzle in my head. I promise to take a break one of the days.
Shower, pajamas and a sleeping bag and I am out for the count. However, the rage has already planted its seed.
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