the poetry of madness
Name: Lord Malinov
driven by curiousity and an intense need for understanding, I strive to learn and express in every step of the marvelous journey that life is providing
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bluematrix
Brainwave Generator
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duckpower
Euclid's Elements
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Journal of Desire
Malinov's Romances
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Self-importance isn't just the caesarian confidence of taking over the world. Indulging in pain, in psychic illness, in drama, in turmoil, in frustration, in indecision can fuel all-consuming self-importance to the same levels as the most selfishly spoiled aristo.
In a struggle to survive, self-indulgence is luxury. When a tiger attacks, depression will either quickly fade or offer a sacrifice to the cat-god. How much of our lives, our ways, our worries, our angst would stand firm as a tornado approaches, the thick grey clouds of pyroclastic eruptions, the sudden clamp of a crocodile's ton?
The fact that we can go through most days without fearing a sudden death is a grand achievement, a gift from our foreparents in their insane development of our world. Where the luxury of our birth becomes destructive, we must return to the questions that formed our evolution. What does it mean to need to survive?
The Mongols ruled the world because they survived in the nastiest place on earth. Harsh levels of natural selection can give savages an edge.
The world has suffered near-life-extinction catastrophes (or groups of catastrophes) every 30 million years. Our solar system wobbles across the galactic plane every 30 million years, exposing our system to larger numbers of objects, typically knocking comets off orbit. We are due for another round of environment shattering catastrophes.
I suspect the reason we don't hear more from aliens is that evolving for long periods of time in this chaotic universe is incredibly difficult. You can't solve the fundamental space-time transference questions with 60 million years of evolution and that's a damn lucky streak for species survival on a planet. A good comet smash could take out everything this side of bacteria. Bacteria is the ultimate in hardy, even surviving in space. A portion of our DNA will survive, come what may.
Live every day as though it were your last. Plan every tomorrow as if you'll live forever.
Malinov
Self-importance is the swing of the psychic pendulum into a disturbed realm, as destructive at the apex as the self-abnegation of the opposite pole. The Universe abhorrs hubris, as much as any vacuum, and punishes inflated pride with the same rush of cosmic pressures into a void. Our significance is fleeting and vastly inconsequential. Any sustainable confidence must include a strong dose of humility.
Layers of exhaustion have waylaid my spirit. Sometimes the sheer number of battles that fill a day is daunting. "Do the next thing," saith the Fitzgerald.
I am little impressed with the wonders of nature, the rivers and forests, mountains and seas. My eyes are dazzled by the beauty of women, the soft murmur of their loving hearts, the delicious landscapes of their curving flesh. Her beauty is my universe, her love my gravity.
Skydivers plummet to their deaths. "I don't have a death wish - I have a thirst for living." Someone needs to explain the "deathwish" concept to these people. I don't think it means what they think it means.
People have a gift for rationalizing that makes me loathe to listen to their reasons and excuses.
Malinov
The days push forward like the rattle and jerk of a roller-coaster cart caught on a chain. Progress has been steady and certain, even while generating instabilities within, shivers of emotion taking hold of the core, haunting my positivity.
I am contemplative, easily slipping into the dark illuminations of daydreams, closing my eyes and shaping a psychic universe oblivious to the hypothetical passage of time.
The house is slowly taking shaping, adapting to the introduction of the children to the space. The move has proved quite joyful as far as they are concerned. The situation at their mother's house has become incredibly difficult for them, causing them to see Cats and I as a sanctuary. The most amazing part has been Tess' developing affection and then sudden embrace of Cats - a woman she had vowed to forsake her father rather than endure. I never really believed the intensity of her admonition to have any meaning - life is full of hyperbole and time tends to find the equilibrium. Even so, to have Tess move from toleration to something more conducive toward a familial environment is a delight. Cats told a sleeping Greg the other night that he had to go home. "But I am home," he insisted groggily. Smiles.
The question of full custody has begun circling. Because of the eX's perjury, she doesn't dare go to court against me. I can push for whatever custody terms I think best. Part of my attitude has been waiting to see her reaction. More than any court mandate, I want her cooperation in seeking the best interest of the kids. If I can't secure her cooperation, I will have no choice but to get court mandates of control.
Serious, serious, serious questions. I will meditate upon them.
The most difficult part is that she is afraid to speak to me. I have this seductive darkness about me that tends to draw people into my words and she knows me well enough to fear entering into conversation. More than I think fair, but who am I to judge. Isolated by my ability to communicate and persuade - isn't that just ironic?
While playing a wargame with the boys, I found occassion to teach them the Exorcist's Rule - don't talk to demons. During the course of our three-army battle, one son began lobbying the other son for a change of strategy. A tactical argument ensued. "Remember who your enemy is," I counseled, "and recognize that you give advantage by giving information. Negotiate when you can but if there is nothing to negotiate, don't listen to your enemy. Don't talk to demons."
The old priest counsels the young priest in the Exorcist. In my years in DC, I frequently walked the Exorcist stairs in Georgetown. Very narrow, very steep. They rise from the Potomac to M street.
My steady diet of exercise - since I can't manage a steady diet of food - has provoked incredible cramps in muscles I don't use much. I think I have survived the worst of it. Yoga has proved wonderful for stretching.
I have been creating my own hypnosis mp3s. I use multi-layered audio to provide the suggestions - the confusion created by the simultaneous play of multiple recordings inducts hypnosis without the bother of a formal inductions. I even invented a song for my last one - "feeling happy, feeling joy." The tune just popped into my head.
Last night I made one for arousal. We'll have to wait until I gather some feedback from my subjects. Subject.
The patents are cranking and my little company has a quick million in assets. Now if I can just get someone to cash the check.
Words, words, words.
Malinov
I discovered within myself the strength to push forward, to undertake my grand vision, taking those simple steps into a better future.
The same thing we do every night.
Tearing down the process into a long sequence of simple steps, requiring myself to take each step myself to discover the bumps and slips for myself.
My imagination soars.
The episodes that make me laugh best is when a good natured soul takes a look at my beginning and assuming that I will be taking the path tested by so many others, offers me advice. The laugh comes and goes.
When I don't exercise, my muscles tighten and ache. Partly it reflects the tension that surrounds me. Relax. Ahhhhhhh.
The kids have been over since last night, which is fun and exhausting, a short break from the intense bout of patent work. The boys and I have learned a number of new ways to play. Cats took Tess and her friends for a marathon shopping expedition, which still hasn't come to a close. Hmmm.
Enjoy,
Malinov
A study of the slang term "Germonimo," as yelled when making a dangerous leap.
I'm not finding any explanations for the history of this word. I'm going to make the guess that the unrealistic yet unstoppable courage of the Apache warrior as witnessed in his bold attacks and continual refusal to surrender to Federal officials leads us to use his name as an expression of foolhardy daring. I can't find any stories of Geronimo leaping from a great height.
The data
~~~
From "Conspiracy Theory"
Passenger: Love is bullshit.
Jerry: Love give you wings. It makes you fly. I don't even call it love. I call it "Geronimo".
Passenger: Geronimo?
Jerry: Yeah, Geronimo. See, when you're in love, you'll jump off the Empire State and you won't care. Screaming, "Geronimo" all the way down. It's great.
Passenger: Yeah, but then you'll die. You'll squash yourself. So what's the point?
Jerry: Hey, aren't you listening? I'm telling you, man — love gives you wings!
Passenger: [laughs] She must be some girl.
~~~
(Drug slang)
Alcohol/Barbituate mixture
Barbituate
~~~
(Circus Slang) Geronimo — A "death dive" act, jumping from a great height onto a big air bag (as movie stunt men do today) or as "sponge plunge" into an impossibly small amount of water. Most of the time it would be a man; he would climb to the top of the building out on to the beams yell "Geronimo!!!" and dive off hitting a big air bag on the floor and for dramatic effect a big bang would go off
~~~
Geronimo! (an expression shouted when starting an attack; a character from old American TV series "The Lone Ranger")
~~~
I suffer from an addiction to cerebral pleasures. When my mind is opened to free-range speculation, I find myself without control. My sensual interactions become joyless in the tidal wave of intellectual delights. Once I start the collection and analysis of data, I struggle to think about food, love, aesthetics or any other non-cerebral input. The range of my studies become unfettered, reaching in every direction of once. I crave to know with a passion that exceeds any passion I have known. At times, the intensity and unwavering pressure frightens me.
I must believe it is possible to discover levels of relaxation that permit me to disengage my thoughts. I have not been able to achieve this yet without the use of chemicals. I must work harder to discover effective paths to natural calmness.
Malinov
I decided, yesterday morning, to postpone the wedding. I gave my feelings to Cats and she agreed. As much as we had good reasons to proceed with the administrative processing of our marital state, I couldn't accord myself with the feeling that we were doing something incredibly important in a less-than-satisfying way. We will wait a few weeks until we can arrange things in a more celebratory manner. There really is no reason to rush.
Reason and emotion can be difficult to balance, but my many years on this earth have taught me that disregard for either is an equation for disaster. Sometimes approaching something with the wrong attitude or in the midst of an unresolved emotion can destroy something that is overwhelmingly good. Issues within me bubbled to the surface yesterday morning, as our appointment loomed. I struggled through them, trying to discover their import and weight, and decided that I needed to address the issues over time rather than rush through them. Funny how long it has taken to learn how to be able to control myself in emotional circumstances. So many times, I have simply closed my eyes and yelled "Geronimo."
I don't know why we scream "Geronimo" when we leap into the abyss. Nothing in the tale of Geronimo gives me an explanation.
Speaking of marriage, Rheinhart Hedriych, the ultimate Nazi, was an officer in the navy when he met his future wife. After talking for two hours, he proposed marriage. She suggested that they take some time to get to know each other. He insisted and she relented. They sent out marriage announcements, including one to his girlfriend who hadn't been told they were breaking up. Her father was a high-ranking politico who spoke to his friends on the military heirarchy. His conduct with regard to his girlfriend was decided to be beneath reproach. Rheinhart was dishonorably discharged from the navy.
This man became the foulest of the foul, a distinct achievement of foulness in the midst of Nazis. But for that, the story would be lamentable, a young man punished for his love. Of course, any man who falls in love and proposes marriage in a few hours is not hitting on all cylinders. My estimation of human relations suggests that it takes at least two years of serious involvement and interaction before we even start to know a person. At least six months of those two years should be spent living together, if we are going to claim actual knowledge of another person. How many people invest that kind of time before finally selecting a life-partner? In my experience, most peple spend more time choosing a new car than they do in choosing a spouse, and that's sad because most people don't spend much time choosing a car. Or a house. We are a world of impulse buyers. Taking our time to think about things is almost completely contrary to our nature.
When was the last time you really thought something through before stepping forward? I have tried to consider things seriously over the last year, but it is damn difficult to really think. The best I could do is to slow myself down, give myself a chance to develop regrets before I acted. It has helped, but is far from a solution.
The day presses on. My eyesight - post lasering - is 20/10 and I can read most small print far better than before. Huzzah.
Malinov
So much of the evil in our world is precipitated by anger - an amalgamation of fear and pain that compels people to strike out against the Universe. Unfortunately, while it may be easy to recognize the dangers in retrospect, there is no way to know before the anger manifests itself how serious the affliction has become. Anger can consume a person's humanity, leading them to act in ways contrary to society and contary to themselves. As in all things, irrational behaviors are the most difficult to foresee and prevent.
I have been thinking, but I don't know what I think. I have feelings but I don't know what I feel. The moment is little help in knowing the future. I don't know where I'm going, but I know I am closer to the truth.
Malinov
There is a super-volcano under the surface of Yellowstone park. An active super-volcano that would have an eruption from 1000 to 2500 times as powerful as the eruption of Mt. St. Helens. The United States would be utterly destroyed and the effect on world climate would potentially kill all higher life forms. There have been three previous eruptions of the super-volcano, each separated by 700,000 years. We are due for an eruption now, with a window of 100,000 years. The signs of impending eruption have begun to emerge in the last few years.
I have come to the conclusion that the ego of humanity is boundless. We worry about our destruction, the harm we cause, our crimes and injustices. But we are barely existing at the whim of a universe that can destroy us in more ways than we can count. There is nothing we can do to save ourselves, should the Universe decide our time has come. Pray.
In 1100 BCE, corruption in Thebes robbed the tombs of the Pharoahs. I am personally amazed that so much energy was expended on death in the first place. Their belief in the afterlife must have been intense, to devote so much of life to the beyond.
I am such a documentary junkie. My son and I played video games yesterday (Champions of Norrath) and all I could think was "Matt, I'm jonesing for a documentary...." My TiVo disk is completely full, so I have to dedicate some serious time to clearing it off by watching them. I moved my laptop so I could write and watch at the same time. I love learning.
Cats and I will marry tomorrow in a civil ceremony. We'll have a small religious ceremony in a month or two, when we can gather our families together for the event. Finding a balance between the need (and desire) to make our union official and celebrating the union properly proved too difficult, so we'll do what we can to accomplish all our goals.
The weekend proved delightful, as usual. The kids have adjusted well to the move, better than I expected. Even Tess seemed delighted with the new digs, ready to make her mark by decorating her room. Cats has taken to her role as step-mother as well as anyone could, recognizing instinctively the metes and bounds of her position. In her, I have proved lucky beyond measure. We are growing together, as much as anyone could hope for in a mate.
Malinov
Yesterday, I learned I have won the most difficult battle I have ever fought. Her attorney resigned in disgust, the hair on the back of his neck standing up to learn of the lies she has told. She doesn't dare step into the courtroom, for risk of losing everything. He confronted her with the truth he had collected and she could only return silence.
In the midst of this revelation, my daughter called to tell me she loves me, to thank me for everything.
A tension within me has been finally released, although a certain amount of cautious fear continues to hold on. The high road has paid off in spades. I can hardly believe my tide has finally turned.
Greg, my elder son, told us that he wants a half-brother. "Do you understand?" he asked, "I want you two to give me a half-brother." I made light of the request, teasing Cats and both the boys, but the joy within us all swelled like the falling rain of the morning thunderstorm. I have won in so many ways, it is like magic.
The struggles will never end, not so long as there is breath in my body, raging against the dying light. Even this victory will undoubtably discover difficulties and trials. Putting an end to at least part of the conflict is worth so much to me. It frightens me to say so, but perhaps now I can devote my resources in another direction. Perhaps now I can find some peace.
The rains this morning are fierce, the thundering crashes and rumblings murmur under the tattle of pounding and trickles. Everyone is quiet this morning, even the dogs who usually detect my first steps to begin asking for food. The ferrets slumber close by, undisturbed by the clatter of my keys. I feel a need to laugh, to bring the joys within to the surface of a too solemn morning. I need to give myself release.
Cats bought me a disk of Billie Holiday. There is music and then there is music. Her voice is an opening into a passionate soul, technique and skill giving way to honesty, the crass magnificence of an aching existence spattered with brief touches of fleeting joys.
Talking about music is like dancing about architecture.
If I were a singer (and I am, but not really) I would be ashamed of my expressions compared to this truth. The courage required to speak, to sing truth is not something anyone can teach us. How many lies do we hide behind, especially those who claim they don't lie? Lying to ourselves is the worst kind of lying. Tear down the wall. Tear down the wall.
Fool, let me not be mad.
Malinov
tension creeps
a host of worries plague my thoughts, despite all efforts to dissolve the infestation, locust by locust, the dark cloud engulfs my moments
but as the dawn illuminates in slowly rising shades of sight, I begin to conquer this ravagement of unwelcome thoughts
gently erasing my insubstantial fears
opening myself to freedom and relief
I have managed to ride my bike with the dogs for two solid weeks without missing a single day, without enslaving myself to a habit, simply by making the choice when an opportunity arose. Muscles all over my body feel taut, tighter than they've ever felt before. The strangest sensation is the pull of muscles across my abdomen. It was never my intention to get into shape. I simply felt the need to dissipate the tension within my mind.
life awaits
Tess asked me if this was her house now, while explaining to Elara the new shopping being built nearby. Given the stress my eX has placed on my relationship with my daughter, these moments of connection are very dear to me. Whatever battles the eX would inflict, whatever pressures the bully brings to bear, the love flows easily between father and daughter. I have trusted patiently and been rewarded for my maturity. The more it has been tested, the stronger our bond has become.
enjoying
Malinov
I'm in a thick fog, my mind hardly turning over in the chill of an early morning. Sometimes it is difficult to rouse my thoughts from the inner visions of a long unconscious night. Shake, shake, shake. Ground control to Major Tom. Ziggy sucked into his mind.
I was reassured last night to discover that the moon landing conspiracy theory is pure bunk. As a scientist, I've always known that putting a man on the moon and bringing him safely back to earth again was nothing short of miraculous. One of my very first books was Werner Von Braun's book on space travel. I felt fairly sure the voyage could be accomplished, but I've always been aware that the pressures of the cold war placed an incentive on the government that might have warranted falsification. Between the rock of an immensely difficult task and the hard place of international tension, I had my doubts. In the end, science always wins the battle of verifiable results. There is no question that Neil and Buzz made that giant leap. It would have been harder to fake than to accomplish and they failed to make the efforts required for lying.
There are few things more despicable than a bad liar. At least have enough respect to make your lies plausible, Malinov says, gnashing his proverbial teeth.
Keats was a great poet. So was Coleridge. It isn't easy to be a great poet. It isn't easy to say what makes great poetry great. I knows it whens I sees it.
We watched a documentary on tsunami. There are so many ways to fall victim to the Universe. The show was produced before the December tsunami. One of the experts said he was often asked "if another tsunami comes . . ." and he would interrupt to say, "WHEN another tsunami comes, for another one certainly will come." They lamented the deaths of sixty, one hundred fifty people, worried about the lack of precautions.
They used to call them tidal waves, but the name proved dangerously misleading. They are not waves and they have nothing to do with the tide. A wave is a surface phenomenon. A tsunami is a wall of water. A serious tsunami may be twenty to fifty feet high. When the volcano that destroyed Atlantis erupted, a tsunami of one hundred feet hit nearby Crete. The Universe can be nasty when it wants.
A blue whale has been measured at one hundred and eight feet long. A killer whale may reach thirty-five feet. A crocodile may be sixteen feet long. I'm six foot, one inch tall. Damn good thing I'm smart.
Malinov
It's been almost two weeks since I spent any time with my kids, but this evening we'll start a weekend together. My daughter hasn't been around for almost a month, so I'm especially excited that she's planning to visit as well. I like the groove that life has begun to follow.
I've come to understand that worrying is not the same thing as caring. Worrying can be an expression of caring, but is generally a rather poor method of communicating caring. "I'm worried about you," sounds like caring, but more often it translates to "Do you love me?" It carries an element of guilt - "you are making me worry," and becomes a form of bullying "do what I ask or you will make me worry and if you love me you won't do that to me."
Some people have bad attitudes about love because it is used as a club to beat them with. "If you love me, you'll do as I ask," translated further to "do what I ask or I won't love you." Love becomes an excuse and a method of exercising control.
"He won't hurt me, because he doesn't love me." Tess Derbyfield
I'm using a text reading program to practice linear thinking and to expand my ability to read to times when visual stimuli is not feasible. I listened to the first chapter of Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire while I cut the yard yesterday. Ah, the joys of multi-tasking. I want to do an experiment using hypnosis to try and create a telepathic communication channel. Two subjects over the course of a month listen to suggestions tailored to form the connection with each other. I want experimentally verifiable results, something naturally occurring telepathy has not been able to achieve. We'll never know what is possible until we give it a go.
Malinov
Cats and I visited the Collin County Clerk's office today, to get our marriage license. (third time's a charm n'cest pas?) We'll probably go find a justice on Monday to formalize this blessed union. Diabolical, to some people's thinking. Where is Fearless Leader when you need him?
There is a 72 hour cooling off period in Texas for marriage, same as for buying a gun. The paternal state making sure we hink about it, before we go doing something we regret. Marriage, murder, any of those serious life-altering decisions.
The Universe is deciding if we'll be blessed with a child anytime soon.
What next? Time to make a bloody fortune? Ah, what the heck. Let's do it.
Malinov
"Do not fear growing slowly. Fear standing still."
I feel a peace within, so calm and still. Such an unusual feeling, it begins to stir an anxiousness. Here is irony, a quiet that rouses a storm because it is unknown. I allow myself to breath the gentle spirit. I accept the calm.
When people seem overly concerned with aspects of life that seem trivial or none of their business, this externalized concern is often generated to help them maintain avoidance. "I cannot face my problem, for I am occupied with this other thing." Cats told me that our homeowners association newsletter expressed a need to create rules regarding sprinkler water runoff - it seems that when some of the sprinklers in the neighborhood run, sometimes water reaches the gutters. Admittedly, waste of anything is lamentable and I would be fain to encourage us to be neglectful of the costs associated with providing us with clean hydrogenated oxygen. But there are not floods of the precious substance pouring daily down our gutters to return unused to the creek. I would even daresay that the amounts of runoff are trivial. How much energy should we expend to prevent this modest waste of a relatively abundant substance? Who would spend energy chastising others about this misuse, except someone who is working to avoid addressing the beam in their own eye?
And yet I spend my time chastising someone for wasting their time chastising. Someone should chastise me, lest this chain be broken and bad luck befall us all.
Avoidance - what an art I have developed to manifest my avoidance. Justifications pour easily from my mind - I cannot do this for I must do that. Sometimes avoidance is the greatest spur to action, in any direction but the avoided one. What won't we do to avoid? I suspect that most of the world is kept clean and organized because there are unpleasant thoughts we'd just as soon avoid.
How do we avoid avoidance? Directly. Do it now. Here is where ADD becomes a major obstacle, for the harder we try, the more distracted our minds become. Willpower - the grand tool of most accomplishment - is our negative force, the quarkian anti-gravity that grows stronger with distance, so that the more we pull, the greater it resists. Where most people can operate by force of will, we must operate by trickery. We have no choice but to deceive ourselves, if we are going to do things we need to do.
I am exceedingly passive aggressive, using this self-same trickery to mask my aggressions. Some of my best writing are indirect attacks on an unsuspecting victim, or at least I persuade myself they do not suspect. At my age, I know better. I may be looking the other way, but you know I struck a blow. A lack of witnesses doesn't mean I will escape justice. The truth rises eventually.
Malinov
My regret in the case of the surrogate mother was the certainty with which I stated what I would have done in a hypothetical situation. As I said, I already had kids. Consequently, although I believe I know how I would have felt if my wife had proved infertile, I actually don't know. What I claimed as a fact was only a theory. I have little doubt that other men, in the same circumstances would have left their wives, so my theoretical position would have been true for some other man even if it wasn't for me, but that is no excuse.
Theory is a poor substitute for reality in matters of social and psychological truth. I read with a smile the comment of a young woman regarding her plans for dealing with a theoretical baby. I remember an attorney I worked with planning to use her maternity leave to organize her house. I smile because what we think before the case is unrelated to after the case. How many of you, having had sex, would seek the advice of a virgin regarding sex or sexual relations? Theory just doesn't cut it when we've crossed the horizon of a life-changing event. If you haven't had children yet, you don't know what it means, at all.
I also laugh when I hear English people doing an American accent, because it often times isn't even recognizable to an American as such. I laugh even more when I realize that we sound as absurd to the English when we pretend to have English accents. Some things you just can't fake.
I went into the office today, the first time in five solid months. Panic slowly crept over me in the course of three hours. I used to feel the rushes of panic all the time, every day. At least now I have tools to help me deal with it. Graduated exposure is the answer to phobia, so I'll keep at it, slowly and surely. Fortunately for me, I don't have to go to the office to work - such are the joys of being a specialist - but I don't like being afraid to go. So I will push forward and conquer this madness.
On and Up
Malinov
I have moments in my life that I truly regret - actions, words and behaviors that were unnecessarily cruel or thoughtless. Most of the time, I knew better, but in a moment of weakness, failed to live up to my own standards. There is one time, however, when I spoke an honest truth in debate and unknowingly cut someone deeply. I don't even know how to regret that incident.
The second semester of law school in the US typically includes a mandatory exercise called "moot court." The students are given a trial court decision and asked to write an appellate court brief advocating upholding or overturning the lower court's decision.
We were asked to write briefs about a hot topic of the day - surrogate mother contracts. A couple including an infertile wife had contracted with another woman, the surrogate mother. One of the surrogate mother's eggs would be artificially inseminated with the sperm of the husband. Her pregnancy expenses would be paid for by the couple along with a specified payment in exchange for a surrender of parental rights by the mother, so that the wife could adopt the baby.
However, mother's rights are one of the most protected rights our culture knows. As such, a mother cannot surrender her parental rights until after the baby is born, recognizing that what a person thinks and believes about a baby before actually they have the baby is as meaningless as a virgin's opinion on sexual relationships. We do not take babies away from unwilling mothers, no matter what they've said or done or promised.
In our case, of course, the surrogate mother changes her mind after the baby is born and refuses to honor the contract. The couple sued for specific performance - meaning that they wouldn't settle for money, they wanted the baby. Adding to the complication, this baby is also the husband's baby, so he is obliged to pay child support to the breaching mother. A bad scene all around, and good reasons for not allowing surrogate mother contracts in the first place.
As eager law students, we made short work of the case. All of the law was on the side of the surrogate mother. The couple should have been smarter before they began the process. Quod erat demonstratum.
We were night students, which is a mark of shame in most places, but in DC the tables are turned, and the best and the brightest attend night classes while we worked government jobs. I had already fathered a child and my eX was pregnant with our second when I did my moot court duties. Most of the other people in our class were serious professionals and so only three of us had kids.
In the course of discussing our recently-submitted briefs, I became annoyed with the vehemence which the class condemned the couple for their foolish attempt to have a baby in a manner unsanctioned by law. Finally, I spoke up.
"Look," I said, "I can say this easily, because I already have children, so I won't ever face the question, but if my wife had been unable to bear children, I would have probably left her. Having children is important to me and one of the primary reasons I married was to form a family unit to have children. I would not have been content to adopt. I would have wanted to have my own children."
Another of the elder members, a medical doctor attending law school with us, averred that he, too, already had children but if it had come down to it, he would have found another woman to bear his children.
"Would you have stayed with her if you could have a surrogate mother?" someone asked us.
"Probably," I said. "I wouldn't think less of my wife for not being able to have children. I just would wanted my own kids. But you've succintly argued away surrogacy. That option isn't open, so my marriage would have been ended." Take that, you bunch of logical monsters, feeling too good about your work while you ruin people's lives.
Then I noticed the look of horror on a quiet slightly older woman's face as she sat at the rear of our crowd. I suddenly realized that she was married and knew without a word that she couldn't have children. She became terribly sick shortly after that and didn't return the rest of the semester.
The semester soon ended. Her friends had said she would probably return in the fall to join the class behind ours, but she didn't. I knew I had been a part of her demise. I never meant to hurt her, but that's what happened, anyway. I'm not sorry for speaking the truth, my truth. I never pretended to speak for any other man. But my truth made her doubt his truth and that was a terrible thing.
Malinov
I've written under the pseudonym Malinov for eleven years. Before the net became seriously international, a search would bring up my works and little else, but the name I made up is found in slavic lands, so now my stories are drowned in numerous accounts of non-fictional people.
Malinov began his career in 1850 as a Russian general, the rotund and rough husband of the beautiful Tasha. She had been engaged in an affair with the heroic Christopher Trent. One snowy night, she told him their liason must end, for the General had required her to bear his heir. As Trent protested, Malinov burst into the room. Despite his urge to kill the cowardly bully, Trent was unwilling to subject Tasha to scandal and left St. Petersburg. The tragic anti-heroine Tasha would earn her freedom later in the romance.
Malinov was soon cast as a dark force of the night, the powerful benefactor of the musician-poet, Black Marx. Hints of vampirism attached themselves to Malinov through the cycle of stories. Finally, the novel "Wicked" raised Malinov to the rank of "Lord" and cast Malinov in the principal antagonist's role with his old nemesis Trent, engaged in an eternal, deadly and possessive love triangle with the beautiful Ligeia.
When I adopted Malinov as my nym, he became the protagonist in many autobiographical and semi-biographical erotic tales. The very first erotic story featuring Malinov was a fantasy entitled "Diana's Sanction," a spanking story cast in a law firm. It was quickly adopted by a spanking group for use as one of their principal advertisements. They have posted the short story to the usenet almost daily since '94.
When I was interviewed by a forensic psychologist for my divorce, Zapf asked if "Lord Malinov" was intended to establish me in a sadomasochistic-domination master's role. "Malinov" had been an transparent attempt to create a slavic badman and gave a little twist to "Badinov" as in Boris Badinov. Tasha as a diminuitive of "Natashya" makes the relationship to Rocky & Bullwinkle a bit obvious. I have long referred to Cats as my evil companion, calling her my Natasha in our quest for moose and squirrel.
The use of the title "Lord" is a nod to my love of the romantic poets, in particular Lord Byron. The lovely figure skater Kristen wrote a fantasy for me, bestowing the first name Kasha on Malinov. Formally, I am Kasha, Duke of Malinov. In Wicked and later for the Winter Solstice Writing Orgy of '96, Castle Malinov was located on an island in the North Sea. A cycle of seventy erotic stories were written and posted in a linked format so that the castle could be explored by wandering the linked stories, organized by their location in the castle.
At other times, I have written under the nyms of Faust and Byron. I often refer to aspects of my personality by this triad of nyms.
Malinov
A full-force plains thunderstorm moved past us at 2:30 last night, lightning flashing and thunder crashing.
One afternoon when I was very young, perhaps five or six, a bolt of lightning struck an aged tree at the corner of our patio. The tree was scarred and a corner of the cement patio was blown to bits. The power line into the house passed close by and the sudden surge of electricity blew the transformer of our refrigerator. My mother, sister and I were in the kitchen at the time. I remember the explosive sound of that strike. It was the loudest thing I had ever heard.
Living in Kansas, tornados were a constant presence. I was roused from my sleep numerous times to huddle in a corner of the basement until the sirens ended, often an hour later. We had a healthy respect for tornados. My mother's house was lifted from above her head when she was sixteen, the basement crowded with family and neighbors. Everything she owned was scattered into the winds, so the only possessions she could show us from her childhood looked as though they had been through a tornado. One of the bed frames I moved yesterday was a survivor of that storm, one of the only things that remained reasonably intact.
Once, at my cousin's house for the afternoon, I actually saw a giant funnel in the distance. My father's family hadn't suffered the same experience and so my uncle's family treated tornados with less respect.
When in Virginia, a huge storm brewed. I held the infant Matthew in my arms as I stood in front of a sliding glass door, watching in amazement as the trees in our backyard bent to touch the ground. The tornado touched down about 200 yards further along, tearing apart the houses in the next neighborhood. Tornados are rare in the foothill forests, so it had never occurred to me that I was watching a tornado pass in the worst way possible. Our neighbors huge willow was lifted out of the ground. We didn't have a basement, so we were at the mercy of the storm, if it had decided to take us for a ride.
The houses of Dallas, much closer to the land of frequent tornados, don't have basements. As a Kansan, this blows me away. The ground won't support basements, so it isn't a matter of choice. When a tornado comes our way, all we can do is pray. They give advice, but I know it amounts to "put your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye." For some reason, tornados haven't visited Dallas much in the past six years. Nearby Fort Worth takes the brunt of the twisters.
There are winds within the eye wall of a hurricane that destroy in a manner similar to a tornado, sudden blasts that selectively destroy. People warned of these terrible storms sometimes choose to stay in the path. We saw a documentary where a couple with two small girls decided to stay put. Houses nearby were flattened, but they survived intact. I wondered if the couple could be prosecuted for child endangerment. I was deeply offended by the risk they exposed those little girls. A seven-year-old girl down the road died when a giant tree smashed into her bedroom.
When I saw the movie Twister, while living in Virginia, I had pangs of homesickness. Who could have imagined that I would have pleasant associations of the terrors associated with those storms? We would huddle in the darkness together as the sirens wailed and the winds howled. Tired beyond words, I felt secure and loved as the Universe bore down.
Malinov
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