But truth, cher ami, is a colossal bore.
- narrator, Camus' The Fall
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LEST I AM JUDGED FOR THIS
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    dear reader/listener/viewer/enjoyer/co-conspirator:
    lest i be judged for it, i inform you now that this project continues to be a scratch pad, a space for experimentation

    in other words, enjoy what you find here, and feel free to participate, but try not to take anything personal, and don't believe that this project presents an accurate view of me or my life

    this is a window, certainly, but one that hasn't been cleaned in quite some time

    your view may be foggy, obscure...you may see things that aren't really there...

    --harold

    want some background music?
    please consider downloading my most recent music podcast.

    and yes, i love my mom and my dad;
    they've always been good to me, no matter what impression you may have received here

    they never locked me in a cellar or anything
     
    highlighted post from the archives: me rambling about a new job (from two years ago)
    i recently messed with the archives, so they may not work correctly, but you may take your chances:
    December 2002 January 2003 February 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 December 2006 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 June 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 November 2007 February 2008 March 2008 May 2008

    i once was an active member of the

    association of music podcasting

    musicpodcasting.org

    along with these fine music podcasters:

    all florida indies - bing futch
    audio gumshoe - rich palmer
    audio popcorn - krash coarse
    aural icebergs music cast - tiffany rapplean
    capital rock show - bucket aka jason
    darkhorse radio - alan carr
    ears to hear - jill lawton
    eclectic mix - george l smyth
    homegrown podcast - nic treadwell
    indiefeed - chris macdonald
    le jazz affair - sal calfa
    rubyfruit radio - heather smith
    sober cafe podcast - gracie hollombe
    sundown lounge - larry winfield
    tempo of the down - harold (that's me!)
    the darkcompass podcast - rowland cutler
    the fabrications podcast - matt macfarlane
    the phill(er) - phill ramey
    the radiozoom podcast - john bollwitt
    thepillarcast.com - jon tucker
    uc radio podshow - michael yusi
    zaldor's world - les zaldor

    ¡the text on this blog wants to leap out of its borders!

    this is...

    something that happened

    somethingthathappened.com
    		stories by harold j. johnson, in various formats - including text, audio, video, and podcasts
     
     
    Wednesday, October 29, 2003  

    A difficult day, leaving mom in the Assisted Living facility. I had a tremendous amount of trouble letting her go. I wanted to maintain eye contact until the moment we parted (Why is it I'm so obsessed with doing that?), but found one of the staff members, N___, drawing her away from me toward the Activities Room, as mom silently protested/submitted. So my last glimpse of her was from behind, as she was led to her new life.

    Luckily, dad was waiting outside. I don't know how well I would have handled this had I followed my morning plan--walking as far as I could toward Westwood until I could walk no longer, then catching a cab or one of the few remaining buses still running in this city while the MTA strike continues. So dad drove us, while the fires raged on, the smoke now covering the landscape like a dirty screen door--a shabby view of the city, but one filled with hope, a renewal--for with the burn comes restoral, a change and a return to order. In fact, even while the fire rages on, the world is still in its natural state; as the dead trees are being consumed and unwelcome houses are being scorched and torched and burned to the ground, the world smiles benignly, for it realizes that all is well and normal--everything just seems more heightened now, but that's because we're not used to the flares that are supposed to erupt from time to time.

    So burn, baby, burn, and return me to my sanctuary, a place not far from mother's womb. Wake me with a smile right now, because I'm tired, and sore, and my heart hurts. Rub my belly and coo in my ear. If there was ever a time I needed it, that time is now, as the fires still threaten to consume the towns. As far as I'm concerned, those towns can burn right down to the ground--nature never welcomed us there, for she wants to grow, and burn, and be her wild uninhibited self. But let's walk away with unscorched hearts--let us heal, and grow, and learn to accept nature's nature, and let the fire in my heart flare down to a steady candle, as it once was.     10/29/2003 11:59:00 PM (0) comments





     
     

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