28 December 2006
24 December 2006
17 December 2006
15 December 2006
Everyone is sent into this world with the sole purpose of loving other people.
Just as one candle lights another and can light thousands of other candles,so one heart illuminates another heart and can illuminate thousands of other hearts.
Nothing will bring you peace except yourself. -Ralph Waldo Emerson
All violence is contrary to love:do not participate in violence. -Tolstoy
14 December 2006
So, it comes down to this, the inevitable end. There'll be empty pages to follow that may haunt me for years, the need for them all to be filled eating at my mind, but here must be an end and here it is. I have nothing glamorous to say, no great words to write. The most profound thing my dementedly brilliant mind can write is this: Such is Life.
Yes, it boils down to something as simple and boring as that. Where's the climax? Where's the spectacular? Where's the fantastic? Well, it's everywhere, but it's nowhere to be grasped all at once. I've tried all the tricks, I've broken all the rules and I've gained nothing but broken hearts and sad experiences.
Did I learn? Yes, volumes. A hundred thousand could be written about where I've been, both physically and mentally. It boils down quite nicely into: Such is Life.
So then, what does one do what that information? Clearly it would be a tragedy not to share all this wisdomwith the world, but then, perhaps it would be a greater tragedy to give it to the world. Eyes that can't see won't want to - that is one thing for sure. The news will fall on deaf ears and pass like air.
I once thought I was put on earth to write the Great American Novel. I don't need to now because I have lived it. I'll let someone else write the story of my life. I've had enough surviving it thus far and I'm certain that the most fantastical aspects are lost in the fog.
It's funny the things you can find in the fog, but it's sadder still when you lose that something in a fog. I have lived in cloudy days and made a storm of my life. I have left wreckage in my wake that no man can gather again. Tempest-tossed emotions, actions,a dn reactions, if you will, that I never bothered to look ahead at what damage may come.
Such is life and such are the consequences of life. My only wisdon I'll part with is that life is to be expiremented with. It is to be lived fully and with grandeur, but don't fall into folly and live in delusions that only appear to have the joy of life. I'll wake everyday to the cost of making that mistake.
BY EVERY RIGHT, I should not even be alive to write this. I've been so busy trying to die and calling it life that I've forgotten what it is to be alive. I've tempted fate, I've mocked her pixie-dust, and yet she still sprinkles her goodness upon me. Such is my life.
So, it comes down to this, the inevitable end with empty page to follow...empty pages to be filled with your story. For mine is done...
13 December 2006
03 December 2006
29 November 2006
17 November 2006
10 November 2006
09 November 2006
06 November 2006
The above is a fictional account of what would happen had the above actually happened.
25 October 2006
24 October 2006
I was putting in the braces for shelves where a doorway was once usable for my new roomie. I grab from the shelf above me a random book. Trying to find one that is adequately used just in case I screw one up and pull out ON THE ROAD by the, need I say, venerable Jack Kerouac. Is venerable the right word? I'm not sure. BUT, that's not the point...the point:
The point is, I knew then (as I had suspected before) that I was indeed living with a person I could enjoy living with. That's not a slant or slice against anyone else, but it feel like a fresh start altogether. I met her about a week before we moved in together on the very first night that she got to New Orleans.
Her name is Emilie. She had never been to New Orleans and was out grabbing a beer with her boss. I was on the street having left listening to a friend of mine play music on Frenchmen Street. Glad not to have to set up or tear down anyones' sound stuff that night, I was hanging out with my college friend Art from ye old frat days. I was showing Art and his sister, who had previously lived here, around town. Why, cause I think they're fine people. I noticed that, inside of D.B.A., there was a couple pointing out the fact that I had a mohawk.
I couldn't rightly let that go and went in and started talking to them. It was her first night in NOLA and in need of a place to stay within a week. I was sleeping on a friend's couch and had the same timeline for getting out, so we started a partnership in earnest to find a place to live. Yada yada. There aren't any details worth gossiping of babbling about...we're new friends and we're roommates. Starting anew, breaking the patterns, moving forward...
So, Emilie, the new roommate is cool. We get along well. On the Road and other book selections and musical interest and all that other shit reinforce that we can share the same space together comfortably. And, for all those interested in my well being, she reinforces the positive side of Dingler that you all know and love. If, you indeed, know and love me. So, three cheers for the brotherhood of mankind and the willingness to talk to strangers...so long as they aren't too strange.
23 October 2006
20 October 2006
What worship do we have
when faces are secondary?
What span of millennia is registered
and voted for as the most beautiful?
Everything modern becomes inconsequential-
the focus of happiness fades, people become real.
Stereotypes fail and fall away
as hours melt, the past a clear blur.
Facades crumble into pebbles, dust
and even I become vacant, superficial.
Reality becomes itself unguised
and intrigue vanishes into folklore-
all mystery needed nevermore.
-Both the poem and the painting were done in July of 1998 by yours truly-
19 October 2006
that's the people who make the real money,
a stagnant beat that corrupts the honest trades.
Trades, huh? Yeah, I traded my life
for what I thought was right,
but it wasn’t a factor in my diminishing growth, my decline.
There’ve been too many times I should have
been truthful – it would have been fruitful –
a cornucopia of scream genie magic.
What a fucking tragic life
my life has been, too many times I have sinned
and been marked as a wanted man in a tainted land.
I’m playing this hand, but I haven’t been dealt
any aces, I’m just learning all the paces
back and forth screaming to the cypress knees,
too many times I have been there and begged please-
only to be looked at like I’m disease-ridden,
but free, free to live a life of solitude.
Michael J. Dingler & Trey Gerkin
08 October 2006
Your question about Po-Boys is not such a simple one to answer because the greatness of New Orleans Po-Boys is such a "great thing" that it cannot simply be explained. It has to be understood in such a way that you've experienced it. And, experienced it in the right places. But, if were to sum it up in a quick, let's cut to the artery on things, it's all in the French Bread. Sure, the northern mind could say that it's nothin' but like a hoagie bread. However, it's nothing like a hoagie bread. It's like the sandwich bread that Jesus would have made had he been a baker instead of a carpenter. We make all sorts of sandwiches together with them and when I figure out how to do it, maybe I'll send you a half loaf of french bread. I say a half loaf because the full loaf is a yard long. I'll try to go to one of the bread places so that it is freshly made and it'll won't be all grody and shit by the time it get to you. Since I got a bunch of stamps, I may even try and send it overnight (d'pending on the price) so that you can then understand. We even have french fry po-boys that the dress and poor roast beef po-boy gravy on. Yum. You are missing out on food like all-fuck down here! But, yes, it IS much different that a hoagie and a sub. So, the simple answer is da bread.
And, what's the rage? No rage, we just always done rolled like d'at. And as for your commentary about your subs beating our po-boys...Only a philly cheese steak from Philly could beat one of our po-boys (if the bread is fresh). So don't get all uppity on d'at one. And if I could send you a roast beef po-boy, dressed, 'extra sloppy' without the end result in the mailbox being tragic...or a fried oyster po-boy...or even a french fry po-boy, you'd have a change of heart. What I'd normally write is that%2
03 October 2006
The dining experience at IHOP is indeed a worthwhile one, if it's a new one. I recommend the new one in Metairie by the Days Inn on the Service Road South. To show you the sheer joy of a dining experience, I've enclosed a picture. The old IHOPs may still be questionable.
AND, an honorable mention goes out to my Irish friends who supported and were there for the moral support of the new haircut. My the sun always shine on your rosy ass.
24 September 2006
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumb'red here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend.
If you pardon, we will mend.
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call.
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.
23 September 2006
The book was "How Can I Help" perhaps by Ram Dass
21 September 2006
Why did the chicken cross the road?
-Because he's not a bear.
Sure, she may have to fine tune that one. It's a little rough, but give her some time. That's all for the day.
Lessons learned then gradually surfacing
Letting go, stripping naked to scream
I am not perfect, nor do I strive to be
I am alive in this world of face-first falls and public breakdowns
I'm a retarded, disfigured clown
Dying to be heard for the simple art of letting this heavy wall finally fall
I'm an equal being of no race or color
A hallucination if you will
Sneaking into the lives of strangers and letting them fall apart
To a new rhythm, just to feel better
BLUE OCTOBER - www.blueoctober.com
- - - - -
I have taken down a bunch of old posts and will be re-vamping some things in the near future. Clearly, this is a sign of something to come. If you have a preferential favorite and would like to tell me about it, or would like to see something returned that isn't there anymore, then please do inform me and I'll consider it. No promises. If it comes down to brass tax (whatever tax on brass is these days), I'll send you a copy of what you'd like.
14 September 2006
with a different plan, looking out at a new world,
my banner furled, my feelings curled inside
until I went wild and died, until I cried foul and lied
to my mother, my brother, my enemy's druthers
the rule of the day, keeping me at bay,
serving me lies on a silver tray that aid
in the way I concede defeat and repeat the conceit
until receipt of my soul is due and I don't
know what to do, I won't know who to screw
because the sides are ever-changing, the tides
are ever-ranging in sine waves of disbelief,
there's no relief in the house of the dead
but to lay down your head in surrender to the man,
the idea that you can is crushed in the night,
crushed in the light, rushed into fright
of that big white hand sitting still in the sand,
waiting to draw the line that's fine and all,
making you small, showing you how the tall stand
and survive, you're not really alive,
you're not really the person they say you are...
you're not really the person they say you are.
12 September 2006
aloud, “Why try? Why not die?”
and your ears have burned
in all those psalms you’ve learned
about right and wrong, heaven and hell,
and there’s only one option that seems well,
remember, too, of what rings true
hundreds of miles away on the telephone to you:
Fuck, fuck, fuck! my friend,
this can’t be the way it ends.
I know it’s all fucked
but let’s look at the better side of our luck.
Let’s take a moment to look at history in retrospect
and recall the shit we’ve lived through that we didn’t expect.
Let’s open our eyes, lift our disguise
and live another day as though we knew no other way.
It’s crazy how things will work out
when you let yourself get about
and the chaotic working of the mind
will creep up from behind to remind
that there are bigger plans for you and I
and though it’s sad that the best we can do is try
there’s little for us to do
but get along and get on through.
I’ve been there before,
hung my black cross upon a darkened door,
woke as though in a dream
and realized that I wasn’t what I seem;
my life the clearest white fog
the emptiness heavy as logs
weighing down the happiness of my life
until I can figure a way to cut it from my veins with a knife.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. my friend,
this isn’t the way it should end.
I know all life seems fucked
but there’re other ways to try our luck.
Let’s take a moment to honor those we respect,
who’ll sit by our side while inside we inspect
the health of our souls and the weight of our lies,
reaching deep until it’s really time we died.
11 Sept 06
22 August 2006
"The weather is splendid outside, but I have not been able to leave my room for two months. Fear paralyzes me - I need courage, but it often fails me."
"It often seems to me that the night is even more vibrantly colored than the day."
20 August 2006
When at the morning's dawn you sleep
in an empty bed and long for her arms,
her charms, her smiles that say
all the while everything will be okay?
What then is there when the house is silent,
her footsteps falling on another floor,
her coming home is to another door?
Who do you become when you're all alone,
calling on the phone to say the words
you wish to hear, the redemption
in her voice, though there's struggle in the choice?
How do you hope to be sure
when the confusion sets in
and there's pain to be had in the joy
of the wonder that is sensual
and sweet and secretive and full of the unknown.
14 August 2006
So, I am a dreamer. Or rather, I am a person who dreams up things. Yes, yes, a hard gambit to think of me that way I'm sure. I like to think of Henry Miller's quote: "Dreams are the very substance of reality." Instead of building a commune, though, I'd just rather have intelligent on nearly like-minded friends who'd like to pay me a visit on occasion. They can bring vegetables and crushed grapes with them. I'll cook if there's time. Since, though, our nation frowns upon the free thinking direction of people such as myself who disregard time and schedules and the like, many of those friends must labor arduously leaving me to my own dementia.
However, to cure myself of aforementioned dementia, I've taken to photographing things I like, painting the images that I find in my head, and writing (though it's more like poorly written scribble-scratch if you ask my over-educated detractors) the vicious words of rage that seem to placate my demons. Thusly, verily and whatever L-Y word would sound good here, I have decided to take it upon myself to surround myself with the artwork of my friends.
Recently I have begun the practice of selling my art, which is a valiant first step for me. Hording it only allows for so much wall space. However, and most importantly in my tiny little head, I would like to trade art with my friends. It won't feed me, but I'm looking at it as a weight loss program too. I've recently traded a couple of paintings away for pottery and the like and I'm looking at moving into other directions too. So, if there's something you see on my website that you'd like to trade, direct me to your website so that I can take a look. We can negotiate from there. For those of you who stumble across this offer and don't know my site, it's www.huckleberrynowhere.com
So then, there's that. Hunger aside, I am serious about trading art with friends, Romans and countrymen alike. Okay, maybe not the Romans, unless they're with a Greek friend and they are bearing gifts that look like a gift-horse so that I can look it in the mouth. Don't ask, I have no idea what I just wrote means. I must be tired, or delusional, or succumbing to yet another bout of dementia. Or, as a more affectionate person has put it, I'm going to the other side of bi-polar. And, for those of you who wish to know, I am happily not bi-polar, but I'll joke like I am.
In closing, though there are some out there who see my artistic endeavors as meaningless trifles because it doesn't produce anything, I am not deterred. Those of you who actually know me knows that my will isn't easily shaken and I have two things to quote for those who don't know me at all. They are both from the esteemed Tyler Durden :: You are not your bank account. (&) Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken. Thus, get over yourself and when you do, have your people call my people.
on the distant shore of who i am
and find hiding there the constancy
of change, the horse of a different color
my staid friend that will lead me
to the ever-comforting doors of salvation.
Black as they may be and troubled by their use,
i will knock loudly upon them to announce
my arrival, my departure, and those
on both sides can weep at my journey.
Jesus will come to sit by my side
to whisper in my ear, much as he did
year after year before my final fall-
"you are no part of the world"
and i will escape myself to wonder
if it is the world at present
or the one i left that i am not of
because i have always thought myself
a citizen of the world.
14 Aug 06
02 August 2006
23 July 2006
15 July 2006
a sky of demise in grey eyes
that shine of a sad London spring,
sitting quietly on the edge of the Thames,
legs hanging loose over chill frozen waters.
In red wine sleepy early morn slumber,
I wrestle with my sheets, a wintry solitude,
working to cover my bare feet while people
move about in their comings and goings to and fro.
The drawn window is my television to the world,
a simple channel to the outside
that I can comfortably watch while the hours
pass before me like countless friends I've lost.
My falling tears are tragic tears on the soul
that bleed every ounce of joy;
a woman scorned is a boy torn
about which emotion could really be up.
In the twinkling electro-glow of night,
I am alive - my waking life a dark
afterthought of what could have been if only
the phone had rung when I was weak and needing
and could have possible been discovered, rediscovered,
and recovered like a lost ship at sea,
finally finding out who it was that comprises me.
Early June 2006
09 June 2006
Wherefore do we go now,
our homes but tattered heaps
of hope sowed so long ago,
our pockets full of flower seeds
tearing at the seems to grow
up from the refuse and turn
their tendered faced petals
to the dawning sun again.
9 June 06
Written to be paired with a necklace made for WRBH's Radio for the Blind and Print Handicapped yearly fundraising auction.
23 May 2006
the all-American toy gone wrong
with a good song I can sing
while I bring to life
the music of my strife when sad,
never being bad, but being good
at it while on food of joy I dine
and drink wine and listen to the world
all curled up on the couch
like a slouch in a den
of sin that grows grey
as I obey the voice of a god
that to me is odd and white,
full of spite and would like to do me harm
in his charm of the sour and sweet,
the towers of treats that find me ill
at the windowsill in a day or three
wishing I wasn't me or anyone,
the long lost son of a bitch
with an itch that I can't cure
because I'm not pure of heart,
the art of dismay my secret talent
in a low rent place that isn't my home,
where I'm pardoned to roam free and alone
on a bench on the phone wondering which way is up
the cup half empty like my head in a dream,
things aren't what they seem when I wake
and I take for granted the promises said,
everything's dead in my hands,
the sands of time running through
all I've got to do to survive,
to strive to get by
so that I don't die a sad death
breathing my last breath and seeing the light,
feeling the fright of the end
all my friends fading and gone,
watching the dawn in the morn
the feeling of forlorn vanishing with sleep
with the company that I keep.
22 May 06 - Boulder, CO
12 April 2006
a golden, false god that can sing
a language of silence with a smile-
I suffer, a delirious lyricist
with a cut tongue,
a fanatical fascist in centrifuge.
I have eyes to share the world
though I am a fool with words,
giving thoughts to those without.
I am a lost talent rolling nothing
into the wind of today and tomorrow,
sitting silent in my observations.
I will not sing songs of my lament
because the dance is hard to follow,
the words are far too shallow.
10 April 2006
Smile, I say, smile
and be content
because we have to talk
for there's something to be said
in a hushed whisper,
but remember to smile loudly
and profess your exuberance
in a demure and respectful way
Put an end to your empty
heart that aches in great pain,
or hide it all with a smile
while you talk a good game
Dedicated to HER
as total fuck-all could be,
the people bumping into each other
as living distortions of themselves that weren't meant
to co-exist on any plane of harmony.
In the center of it was I,
the very I living within each and every one
of us that has the tenacity
to look into the mirror when weak and crying.
From where I sit, it's all our accident,
this world, this life, and I am not sitting
anywhere the Buddha or the Christ hasn't or couldn't
but I haven't the capacity to meditate the same.
When I think of me, I think more of my place
in the brotherhood of man-
a brother just the same to man and woman
alike, united in the sacred blood of the earth.
22 February 2006
the ties that bind a subtle current
flowing at the speed of a flash
that is recognition in another's eyes
Unmatched is the bond, known
between friend and friend, they silently speak
a truth shared within
Sitting beside one another, they can agree
that the world is a convoluted mess
filled with random chaos in search
of stability, because stable is comfortable
Comfort in the lies is but a way
to pass the time, so we shake the present,
inside it may break or break us free
and either way relearn to just let go
Letting go is giving up the ghost
and surrendering to those demons
inside of us the very pain
we've lived in until we can cry
it all away until another day
'Tis only through our pain can we see
the hidden miracle - We must ask
the question, no matter the result
Jordan P Fitzpatrick & Michael J Dingler (Jan '06 - New Orleans, LA)