First Entry in a New Diary

[The following is the beginning of a series of entries (dated from 24 May 2001 through 3 November 2001) written as part of a 'dual-diary', along with one of my early girlfriends. Although it was a dual diary, the below archive is only of those entries that I wrote by my own hand, making some references perhaps not entirely clear. Also, be aware that due to its nature as a dual diary, the words may not necessarily reflect my true feelings at the time, since feelings of the other person had to be taken into account at the time of writing. Note that names have been changed to protect the shy.]

This is the first entry in a dual-authored diary concerning the lives of both myself (Eric J. Herboso) and one other ([Jane Doe]).  Yesterday, the two of us moved into an apartment together.  It's quite nice, actually, and despite the kitchen sink being the absolute tiniest I've ever had the occasion to see, I feel that the studio apartment is much better than I had envisioned it would be.  But more on that later...  For now, let me give a little background.

[Jane Doe] and I met each other over the internet some time ago and have since grown quite fond of each other.  Indeed, as things are presently, I fully intend on staying with her for the remainder of my life (and unlike [Jane Doe₂], I sincerely believe this to be an obtainable conclusion).  [Jane Doe] is good to me in ways beyond measure, and she is very forgiving.  I am totally blunt and honest with her, and she appreciates that fact fully.  In point of fact, she knows all about my past relationship w/ [Jane Doe₂], and yet still loves and forgives me completely and utterly.  To [Jane Doe], I feel both an intense love and a great debt.

I come from Saraland, AL, just north of Mobile, having lived in the area for the whole of my life.  My parents (Fernando E. Herboso & Joanne Tomaso Herboso) still live there, although I have since moved here to be with [Jane Doe].  Truth be told, I came as a result of both my feelings toward [Jane Doe] and a fear of being left alone to fend for myself stemming from [Jane Doe₂]'s abrupt exit from my life.  Anyway, the bottom line is that I've started a new life here, and I hope to finally be able to get my shit together.

I've been here for a few months now, although it most certainly does not seem that way.  To this date, [Jane Doe] and I have lived in her father's house.  As of yesterday though, we have moved into our own place.  I am reminded of when I first moved to 1616 Masters Drive w/ [Jane Doe₂] so very long ago.  I feel good, yet at the same time a bit wary.  I am adamant in maintaining this relationship to the very end, and even beyond.  I am in love.

By the way, this diary of dates, events, concerns, emotions, and basic way of life is intended to be used for many purposes.  Here, you will be able to see the absolute truth from both me and [Jane Doe], as well as an accurate portrayal of life during this time period.  You will also find very intriguing insights for historical, genealogical, and other purposes.  I intend this to be a manuscript not written on paper nor clay tablets, but one reserved for the immensity of the internet, available for viewing from any and all who might possibly be interested.  Oh, and one more thing.  This manuscript is in the public domain, and may be reprinted in whole by any who wishes to do so, although I do ask that you credit both [Jane Doe] and myself for any such quoting.  If reprinting in part, or else with any editing, be it for proper spelling or anything (other than bracketed comments easily distinguishable from the original text), then please include a link back to the page where you found this, or if not available, then the following e-mail: EricHerboso@aol.com.

[added April 2, 2003: My new e-mail address is EricJHerboso@yahoo.com. I hope this address to be permanent.]

[added 1 Feb, 2005: the yahoo address is still active, but my main address is now ericherboso@gmail.com.  Obviously, if this address changes further in the future, it will be easy to find via my LJ profile page.]

[added 29 March 2012: This entry is now hosted on blogspot. This switch from private to public includes edits to original names which were left unedited in the private LJ version. The ericherboso@gmail.com address still remains active, and will most likely be my permanent email address.]

Now, let's see...  Where to go from here?  Ah, I'll start with a historical note for those of you that are reading this some time from now.

Today for the first time, a US Senator switched from the Republican party to an independent position, effectively changing the power of the Senate to the Democratic party by a margin of fifty Republicans, forty-nine Democrats, and the one lone independent.  Trent Lott, the current majority leader will become the minority leader as soon as this transfer of parties occurs.

In science, a study was released today showing that the well-known and widely accepted placebo effect doesn't truly exist.  Of course, this study has to be verified by others in similar experiments, but it is a major overturn for the medical industry if true.

The movie Pearl Harbor was released today in theaters.  I'm not particularly interested in seeing it, though, as I view it as an unimportant product of the film industry.

The war in Israel and Palestine is getting worse...  Less than a week ago, Israel sent jets to bomb Palestine, a major increase over the choppers they had previously been sending.  I wonder if by the time you read this their war will finally have stopped...

The final episode of the Star Trek: Voyager series ended today.  I missed it due to my moving into a new place.

In physics, light has recently been shown to accelerate through a known liquid, although the majority explain it away as a misperception of the event by an outside observer.  The arrow of time does not seem to be broken.

Also, someone recently came up with a way to create a time machine via rotation involving the use of circularly curved light at a sufficient slowing of speed (and hence excited energy) that mimics the results of the rotating universe theory from early last century and the rotating dense packet of stars theory from the mid 1900s.  This version on the H.G Wells theme is on a much smaller scale, though, and is therefore much more feasible (but still not realistic, concerning the problem of having to slow light down accordingly).

Since Tuesday of this week, I have had a bad cold, but today I am starting to feel better.  'Tis a pity that my love, [Jane Doe], seems to be catching it now.  I feel somewhat responsible, but not overly so.  I still am discontent with the idea of sickness, however illogical my feelings may be.

I am working at a company called Center Partners, and I have been for a few weeks now.  It's not a bad job, paying $10 per hour, which is nearly twice the minimum wage of $5.XX per hour in this country.  I am impressed with the company, especially in light of the current hesitant economy.  Unfortunately, the particular client of which I have to deal with is Qwest Wireless, which I feel is a badly run company.  At the very least, it is much worse than Verizon Wireless, which I had as a cell phone provider back Mobile, AL.

[Jane Doe] works at Hancock Fabrics.  It, as you might have guessed, is a fabric store in the local mall.  She gets minimum wage there, and they work her horrible hours.  I am sure she will say something of it later on in this diary (you'll know which entries are hers by the obvious lack of spelling ability).  For some reason, she likes the place...  I'll never understand women.  Gladly, she's quitting and will be joining me at Center Partners soon.  Actually, not till July sometime, but that's as soon as it is possible, since she will in the meantime be in Europe on a vacation she planned quite some time ago with other members of her high school class.  Her mother will be with her.  She hasn't seen her mother in a while...  I'm sure she'll touch on that subject, too, when she writes.  There is certainly much that I believe she could say.

Anyway, I suppose I should end this entry here.  I have written long enough, and I have other things to get to today.  I'll write more at a later date, though I can't promise that when I do, it will be exceedingly interesting.

The Wasted Hand

[The following is a parody of "The Burial Of The Dead" from T. S. Eliot's The Waste Land.]


The Wasted Hand
"The Burial Of The Living"

May is the cruellest month, needing
Explanations from dead words, fixing
Memory and desire, stirring
up trouble, sans feign.
Winter kept me warm, covering
Thoughts in forgetful minds, meading
A little life with false übers.
But May surprised me, anger over the Starnbergersee
With a downpour of pain; I stopped as I sought wade,
And could not move, though bright, into the half garden-
Half prison that is my future hour.
I am no liar, nor equivocater; it's truth.
And when we were children, staying at the arche-fluke's,
Satsuma's, I laid out on my bed,
And I was frightened. I said, D'you see?
D'you see? Hold on tight. Ill thoughts were sent
In the library, where one feels free.
I read, much during lunch, yet looked south, my books not lent her.

What are the roots that clutch, what stories flow
Out of this phony rubbish? God nor man
Cannot yet say, nor guess, for I know only
A heap of broken images, where the citrus meets,
And the dead band gives no music, the caf' no beef,
And the library no pleasure. Only
It is shallow under this harsh stock,
(Always giving of me such very harsh stock),
But I will show you something different from either
Your shallow thoughts of me, (not me), behind you,
Or my shallow truthful self, rising to meet you;
I will show you me, not a handful of lust.

"Frisch weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu!"

Verdammen Sie Sie, Kind!
I love you!

"You gave me that hug first six years ago;
You laid sleeping, on my arm, in a curl."
-- Yet when we came back, late, from Orlando, so far then,
My arms full, and your hair long, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
The sea was not bare, but I -- I held fast in fear...

My damned stupidity, so keen and poignant,
Had a bad scold, nevertheless,
It won out again, nicest woman, for in up
There, where I always was then, there, (Oh, me!),
Is my shard of immaturity -- Nay! Lur-
Id black pearls of hated stook!
But here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Stocks,
The lady who stakes and shuns.
Here also is me, (with three slaves), and here I feel --
Not yonder with the one-eyed director, nor the retard.
Which is blank? Here (n)or there? I don't wish to go back.
Which are we forbidden to see? I do not find
Wreathed sea-girls, in the water.
I see crowds of sheep, walking round in a ring.
Damn me. If you talk to my dear on the phone,
Tell her I... ... No. No, I'll tell her myself.
Yes, I'll tell her -- one of these days.

Unreal pity,
Under the light smog of a city dawn,
A crowd herded-- but P was there! And when he
Stampeded, thought I: death has undone so many.
::sigh:: But P? Indecent, I assailed
Each sheep before me, letting loose quite a beat,
Going up the hill, right toward P's feet.
But there, faint parries could not keep the powers
From pushing me back, and the final stroke had me pine:
P! Here I see you? Stop! Stop, I say! Let some-
one talk who was with you back then when we were wee!
That sheep you planted last year in your garden,
It has begun to sprout! But why, why are you here?
Has the spaceship been docked in its wed?
Oh, I've not kept the sheep far hence, and it is such a sin!
I'm dying, yet he hails nil but himself again....
You! hypocrite lecteur! -- mon semblabe, -- mon frère!

Lost

[As copied from a letter addressed to me from Gregory S. Cochran.]

A monopoly of memories that you'll never forget,
You won't need a picture, so don't take a pose.
A past of pain that you'd like to forget,
The monopoly of memories that you'll always regret.

Don't reminisce on matters of morality.
You won't enjoy bliss, the past is a pain you'll never forget,
You'll always come back,
Back to the road of reality,
Back to the past of memories that you'll always regret.

If you forget where you've been,
You're going down and there is no coming back.
This time I mean it, how can you be sure?
There is no coming back...

Take the time to forget,
Get lost!
Down your road to the end
There is no coming back my friend.
Get lost!
Into my forever,
Forever less than the emptiness.
Get lost... get outta my head
Before I make us both dead.

There is no coming back this time.
Down the road of memories
Forever less than the emptiness...
You're lost.

The Torture Of Living

Argh!

Why can't I just forget?!
Why must I think and think and think...
...And for what? For whom?
Why?

Why must I always remember?
Why must the thoughts return again and again and again?
...To what avail? For what purpose?
Why?

Why does everything remind me?
From rocks to birds to computers to shirt pockets?
...Can't I just live a normal life?
Why?

Why does the past haunt me?
Forever and a day, and still I cry...
...Am I cursed to be this way forever?
Or...?

Or could it be that I am doing this to myself?
Is this my own punishment?
Have I decided what's worst for me?
But...why?

Why would I torture myself?
Unless I wanted to be tortured...
To be torn... To be unhappy for as long as possible...
To wish death, but be unable to bring it;
To see the same forever...

...and always...

A Blacksmith's Son

I grew up the son of a blacksmith, but I’ve always known that smithing was never to be my trade. My abilities laid elsewhere: I’d always been good at head games. Of course, I always knew that I’d never use my intellect to make a living – one had to be a noble for that sort of thing – but nevertheless I liked pretending that that is what I would be.

I lived in the royal city of Trieste, just south of the Grand Castle. In such a grand city, I could find a job doing anything, but I always kept the pretense that I would live by my head. Eventually, I started to believe my fantasy, and when I turned fourteen, I ran away from my home to live as a beggar. My brains certainly helped me there, since I could come up with some pretty elaborate schemes to make people feel sorry for me. One time, I acted as though I were a noble’s child – one family took me in for three weeks thinking that if they took care of me, my family would repay them generously. Needless to say, when they found out the truth, they made sure that I would never try that scheme again. My back is still scarred from that particular encounter.

Once, when I was sixteen, I tried to become a soldier in the army – I figured it would be an easy job since there hasn’t been war in Trieste since long before my grandparents were born, but apparently the army thought the same thing and so employed only the sons of the nobles. However, I was noticed by a Duke while I was being refused into the army. This Duke, Duke Derantuous, happened to overhear my especially witty remarks about the policy of the army. He immeadiately grabbed me and asked me some questions. I answered him truthfully, although it wasn’t because I was scared that I would rot in a dungeon; it was because he was a high official, and my opinion of the government at that point in time was very positive (if you exclude the army). Anyway, Duke Derantuous ended up offering me a job in the Grand Castle. In fact, my job was one of utmost importance: I was to become the Regal Overseer, and I was to oversee the King himself. When I asked what exactly this entailed, he refused to answer, saying that it was a very secretive job and I would have to accept before he explained. Well, being that I was sixteen, and also that I had been living in the streets for two years, I quickly accepted. He told me to report to the castle gates the next morning and went on his way. Little was I to know where this job would take me.