What follows is a letter I sent to some of my dearest friends over the holidays, and minus some info that could be useful to my enemies, I am posting it here in lieu of end-of-year updates and best-of lists which are still pending.
Dear friends, enemies, frenemies, badventists, sadventists, nonventists, interventionists, impressionists, expressionists, exhibitionists, and philbert,
After several years too long in an apartment I could not really afford and blowing through almost all of my savings I have finally moved to an apartment I can afford. I have a straight but otherwise unobjectionable roommate, a little porch, a nice view, good neighbors, an old, blind, deaf but stable cat, a little more stuff than space, and high hopes. Should you need my address to send me what I can only imagine will be glowing praise and positively gushing pro-James haiku, my new address is:
[redacted]
I should have moved two, maybe three, years ago, but high executive function has not exactly been a calling card lately. “Trying” in general has not been a thing lately for me. If you are receiving this email, you are valued, missed, and cherished as much as the oxford comma in this sentence, which is quite a lot. I stan the comma, oxford or otherwise, and sprinkle it liberally through all my work, much as one would sprinkle baco bits over a salad at potlucks. Remember potlucks? I do.
That said, I am increasingly bored with not trying. It is boring. I am boring. So I am thinking about forming a committee to draft a proposal dedicated very seriously to examining the feasibility of maybe trying. I have not been tending my relationships well or forming new ones with particular alacrity and as I value my existing relationships and would like to feel the touch of another human being’s skin before the heat death of the universe this is probably something I need to change. I guess.
Also on the docket are maybe having some sort of goals and/or purpose (a bigger porch would be nice), a community I feel good about belonging to, some sort of resolution to the existential, spiritual, and practical problems of living in this country, on this planet, in these pants, that have been leaving me more or less paralyzed lately. I might just cut straight through it all and start a cult. The robes would sparkle.
The truth is I have never felt I belonged anywhere since leaving Adventism, but I never felt I belonged there either. I always feel between things. Halfway between there and here, up and down, gay and straight, smart and stupid, and now that I am officially middle-aged that feeling has only intensified. I might be looking for church that is not church, if that makes sense. Community but not dogma. Intimate connection with quiet, private nooks.
In the meantime, I am waiting for my cat to die. She is well cared for and still seems to be taking some joy in existence and my life does not necessarily need to stop like I am holding my breath, but somehow it does. It is difficult to care for pets in their senior years and I am not well suited for it and truly wish I were made of sterner stuff, for my own sake as well as hers. And yours. And everyone who relies on me to be functional and good. I will try. I want to try.
I don’t know, I am still trying to figure it all out. I would settle for figuring any little thing out. Moving to a place I can afford was a good start. That’s one thing. I am going to try and build on that momentum.
I love you all. I hope you are getting through the holidays with your wits and spirits intact. I will be making an attempt to reach out more in the future, and should my beloved but challenging cat finally decide immortality is for chumps, you can expect some requests for slightly longer than usual visits from yours truly. That’s me. I’m yours truly.
Wow this letter takes some turns tonally doesn’t it? Wild.
It it my continued delight to count each and every one of you as friends. I look forward to new adventures in the year to come.
[redacted] (sometimes James) [redacted]
Monday, December 30, 2019
Sunday, December 08, 2019
Goodbye, Monkeys
(Some spoilers about Aurora and The Three Body trilogy below)
I have read some great SF novels in the last year or two, and they have almost universally had a fairly dismal view of the human race. If speculative fiction functions as a metric for the optimism of the culture that generates it, then I can only surmise that Things are Not Looking Good.
Children of Time imagines a future where the human race tears itself apart, and then much, much later flirts with tearing itself and the remnants of its own empire, again. Aurora posits a society on a colony ship that barely holds itself together, and ultimately decides to turn back because living outside of our natural ecosystem or recreating one that is stable turns out to be quite difficult. The Expanse books portray three space-faring human societies constantly on the verge of annihilating each other over nothing. The Three Body trilogy is a grand, nihilistic spectacle where life throughout the universe irretrievably degrades it's environment, up to and including the fundamental physical laws of the universe!
Star Trek flirts with this same pessimism in the form of Q. He's the only one asking why we think we deserve to be out there, which to me, in the year of our lord Q 2019, a great question. I think the older I get the less I think of our expansionist rights as less self-evidently true than just a powerful baseline genetic drive. Locusts have the same drive, it doesn't make it good for anyone trying to grow food in their path.
I think part of being "evolved" or "enlightened" is a certain level of potential conscious restraint on our base natures, and when it comes to what we do and why we do it I think we could stand to spend more time thinking about it clearly and what exactly we're working towards. And, call me crazy, how it impacts the other living species we interact with.
I look around at this society today, and I am not exactly filled with hope about what this species has to offer anyone outside of our gravity well. There is kind a philosophical hope people hold on to that simply reaching for the stars will by itself re-align our spirits towards humanism and hope and I'm not entirely sure it works that way. Most of our outward reaching space programs seem to be more about billionaires trying to write their names on the face of the moon than any sort of grand, humanist principles. The idea of humanity working together to explore space is inspiring. the idea of Elon Musk sending rich people to space on golden thrones is, uh, less so. Imagine Donald Trump flushing 10 to 15 times on his golden toilet as it tools around the solar system. Unless they're not coming back, in which case everyone donate some jewelry, we've got ships to build.
We think of our evolution in purely technological terms, and this is why we keep failing. "How could all this new tech get twisted so immediately to evil ends?" we wonder, politely ignoring that the problem is us, it is always us. None of our technological advances matter if we are not good people, if we have not even figured out what it means to be "good people," what it would look like to be better people, if we refuse to even engage with the question.
Perhaps that's too harsh. Perhaps we engage with what it is to be good on a daily basis. Given the state of the world, I'm not particularly convinced we are having a spectacular success with it though. And of course, people disagree about what it is to be good, on seemingly every level. More religion, less religion, the right kind of diet, the wrong kind of diet, the right kind of story, the right kind of law, the right kind of support, the right kind of governance, etc, down through every kind of personal preference or lifestyle choice. These all contribute to what it is to be a good kind of person to another kind of person, and god help if you if you fail anyone on the internet on any one of these metrics because lord will you hear about it. You're hearing about it now, from me! I have judged us all and found us wanting. Mene, Mene, Tekel, you IDIOTS!
I suspect we are, for reasons I'm not sure I currently understand, incapable of being "good" en masse. That's not a declaration of original sin, but more an assessment that we need some time to grow in that regard before we figure it out. Assuming we don't destroy ourselves and our planet before we figure it out. Because it really seems like we're just fucking determined to kill ourselves rather than be nice. Nobody criticize our choices or we're taking the whole planet with us. We'll do it! We're crazy!
So should we expand into space? Would our presence out there be a net benefit to ourselves and whatever environment we find ourselves in? Is heading out into space just another way of running away from problems which will inevitably follow us if we don't address them? Does 'should we' in terms of environmental impact even make sense if the universe outside our bubble of air is devoid of life? I would entertain a version of going into space that involves us channeling all our destructive instincts into destroying asteroids and lifeless planets, our destructive appetites thus sated, allowing us to chastely conserve our home environment like god's sweet angels.
Maybe the question isn't "should we advance technologically" because we kind of just do that. Maybe the question is, "What other ways might it be urgent to advance in that we are strenuously avoiding?" When we head out there, what are we bringing with us? Who cares if our spaceships are gleaming if we just use them to brutalize each other and/or other random life forms?
I'm just not sure I care if billionaires are launching their cars into space when they do it on the back of human misery. None of our toys matter if we are not good to each other. Create for me a world invested in human flourishing and happiness in the short and long terms, physical and psychological health, a respect for the environment we depend on, more, an environment thriving with us not in spite of us, an investment in the common good, clear and critical thinking, and then maybe get back to me on the glory of humanity achievement. Until then we're just children with fancy toys, flirting with disaster.
I have read some great SF novels in the last year or two, and they have almost universally had a fairly dismal view of the human race. If speculative fiction functions as a metric for the optimism of the culture that generates it, then I can only surmise that Things are Not Looking Good.
Children of Time imagines a future where the human race tears itself apart, and then much, much later flirts with tearing itself and the remnants of its own empire, again. Aurora posits a society on a colony ship that barely holds itself together, and ultimately decides to turn back because living outside of our natural ecosystem or recreating one that is stable turns out to be quite difficult. The Expanse books portray three space-faring human societies constantly on the verge of annihilating each other over nothing. The Three Body trilogy is a grand, nihilistic spectacle where life throughout the universe irretrievably degrades it's environment, up to and including the fundamental physical laws of the universe!
Star Trek flirts with this same pessimism in the form of Q. He's the only one asking why we think we deserve to be out there, which to me, in the year of our lord Q 2019, a great question. I think the older I get the less I think of our expansionist rights as less self-evidently true than just a powerful baseline genetic drive. Locusts have the same drive, it doesn't make it good for anyone trying to grow food in their path.
I think part of being "evolved" or "enlightened" is a certain level of potential conscious restraint on our base natures, and when it comes to what we do and why we do it I think we could stand to spend more time thinking about it clearly and what exactly we're working towards. And, call me crazy, how it impacts the other living species we interact with.
I look around at this society today, and I am not exactly filled with hope about what this species has to offer anyone outside of our gravity well. There is kind a philosophical hope people hold on to that simply reaching for the stars will by itself re-align our spirits towards humanism and hope and I'm not entirely sure it works that way. Most of our outward reaching space programs seem to be more about billionaires trying to write their names on the face of the moon than any sort of grand, humanist principles. The idea of humanity working together to explore space is inspiring. the idea of Elon Musk sending rich people to space on golden thrones is, uh, less so. Imagine Donald Trump flushing 10 to 15 times on his golden toilet as it tools around the solar system. Unless they're not coming back, in which case everyone donate some jewelry, we've got ships to build.
We think of our evolution in purely technological terms, and this is why we keep failing. "How could all this new tech get twisted so immediately to evil ends?" we wonder, politely ignoring that the problem is us, it is always us. None of our technological advances matter if we are not good people, if we have not even figured out what it means to be "good people," what it would look like to be better people, if we refuse to even engage with the question.
Perhaps that's too harsh. Perhaps we engage with what it is to be good on a daily basis. Given the state of the world, I'm not particularly convinced we are having a spectacular success with it though. And of course, people disagree about what it is to be good, on seemingly every level. More religion, less religion, the right kind of diet, the wrong kind of diet, the right kind of story, the right kind of law, the right kind of support, the right kind of governance, etc, down through every kind of personal preference or lifestyle choice. These all contribute to what it is to be a good kind of person to another kind of person, and god help if you if you fail anyone on the internet on any one of these metrics because lord will you hear about it. You're hearing about it now, from me! I have judged us all and found us wanting. Mene, Mene, Tekel, you IDIOTS!
I suspect we are, for reasons I'm not sure I currently understand, incapable of being "good" en masse. That's not a declaration of original sin, but more an assessment that we need some time to grow in that regard before we figure it out. Assuming we don't destroy ourselves and our planet before we figure it out. Because it really seems like we're just fucking determined to kill ourselves rather than be nice. Nobody criticize our choices or we're taking the whole planet with us. We'll do it! We're crazy!
So should we expand into space? Would our presence out there be a net benefit to ourselves and whatever environment we find ourselves in? Is heading out into space just another way of running away from problems which will inevitably follow us if we don't address them? Does 'should we' in terms of environmental impact even make sense if the universe outside our bubble of air is devoid of life? I would entertain a version of going into space that involves us channeling all our destructive instincts into destroying asteroids and lifeless planets, our destructive appetites thus sated, allowing us to chastely conserve our home environment like god's sweet angels.
Maybe the question isn't "should we advance technologically" because we kind of just do that. Maybe the question is, "What other ways might it be urgent to advance in that we are strenuously avoiding?" When we head out there, what are we bringing with us? Who cares if our spaceships are gleaming if we just use them to brutalize each other and/or other random life forms?
I'm just not sure I care if billionaires are launching their cars into space when they do it on the back of human misery. None of our toys matter if we are not good to each other. Create for me a world invested in human flourishing and happiness in the short and long terms, physical and psychological health, a respect for the environment we depend on, more, an environment thriving with us not in spite of us, an investment in the common good, clear and critical thinking, and then maybe get back to me on the glory of humanity achievement. Until then we're just children with fancy toys, flirting with disaster.
Saturday, September 28, 2019
a partial list
I think a lot about who I'm not or who I could have been. What would it have been like to not be constantly obsessed with gaming? Or comics? Or anything other than the life that I want?
What is is it like to take care of yourself?
What is it like to talk to people with an easy smile and to understand why people go to large parties and have a good time catching up with 50 people for 3 minutes at at time?
What is it like to pursue social networking with little to no anxiety? What is it like to fit in in this society and to find success on this society's terms exciting and attractive?
What is it like to be 100% straight and completely comfortable with a traditional relationship?
What is it like to be 100% gay and completely comfortable with non-traditional relationships?
What is it like to sleep comfortably in the same bed as another person?
What is it like to be conventionally attractive with all the rewards and bullshit that brings?
What is it like to bound out of bed with intention? What is it like to pursue a goal with dedication and do something meaningful as a result?
What is it like to live up to your potential? What is it like to live with an identity formed around actions performed in adulthood rather than testing performed in childhood?
What is it like to fit in without changing yourself to fit in?
What is it like to not squander opportunities and chances like you are made of chances?
What is it like to be happy in the ideology/religion you were raised in?
What is it like to not constantly be at war with yourself?
What is it like to be fully somewhere, not half-in, half-out of where you come from to wherever you're going?
What is it like to know what you want and go for it? What is it like to do the thing instead of over-thinking it?
I don't know
I don't know
I don't know
What is is it like to take care of yourself?
What is it like to talk to people with an easy smile and to understand why people go to large parties and have a good time catching up with 50 people for 3 minutes at at time?
What is it like to pursue social networking with little to no anxiety? What is it like to fit in in this society and to find success on this society's terms exciting and attractive?
What is it like to be 100% straight and completely comfortable with a traditional relationship?
What is it like to be 100% gay and completely comfortable with non-traditional relationships?
What is it like to sleep comfortably in the same bed as another person?
What is it like to be conventionally attractive with all the rewards and bullshit that brings?
What is it like to bound out of bed with intention? What is it like to pursue a goal with dedication and do something meaningful as a result?
What is it like to live up to your potential? What is it like to live with an identity formed around actions performed in adulthood rather than testing performed in childhood?
What is it like to fit in without changing yourself to fit in?
What is it like to not squander opportunities and chances like you are made of chances?
What is it like to be happy in the ideology/religion you were raised in?
What is it like to not constantly be at war with yourself?
What is it like to be fully somewhere, not half-in, half-out of where you come from to wherever you're going?
What is it like to know what you want and go for it? What is it like to do the thing instead of over-thinking it?
I don't know
I don't know
I don't know
Saturday, September 21, 2019
Snippet
"This culture is so frustrating to me," Isaac said, fiddling with his straw. "There's so much that's wrong, I don't know where to start. So I just do nothing."
Corey took a massive bite of the double patty, extra cheeze bit-a-burger hamburger special, and after chewing contemplatively for a few moments said, mouth still half full, "Well, your apathy is an understandable emotional reaction. This society uh ... does not live up to my own high standards either." He wiped the grease off of his mouth delicately. "But it's not a reasonable one."
Isaac, making an obnoxious sucking sound through his nearly empty soda, "Why not? I can't do anything about it."
Corey sat back, pushing the other half of the burger away with some regret and some relief. "Well, that attitude precludes any possibility of change. You may not overturn the system, but actions yields results and results have consequences that ripples outwards. Apathy tells you that it is better to do nothing than to try and it's a lie that your feelings made up about your situation."
"I hate that," said Isaac, standing up to throw away his garbage, forehead wrinkled in irritation.
"That's an understandable emotional response," said Corey, that faint, infuriating smile back on his smug little face. "But apathy is a bet against yourself and your ability to change both yourself and your situation. It assumes you are so inconsequential that doing nothing is the exactly same as doing something." He paused, and melodramatically placed his hand on Issac's shoulder, looking him steadily in the eye, "This is a bet I would never make for you or anyone."
Isaac paused, thinking it over. "... I hate that less," he finally said.
Corey opened the door, and for a moment the forced cartoon cheerfulness of the Bit-a-Burger contrasted sharply with the bleak streets of Storm City. "As do I!" he said.
They walked out together, thinking new thoughts.
Corey took a massive bite of the double patty, extra cheeze bit-a-burger hamburger special, and after chewing contemplatively for a few moments said, mouth still half full, "Well, your apathy is an understandable emotional reaction. This society uh ... does not live up to my own high standards either." He wiped the grease off of his mouth delicately. "But it's not a reasonable one."
Isaac, making an obnoxious sucking sound through his nearly empty soda, "Why not? I can't do anything about it."
Corey sat back, pushing the other half of the burger away with some regret and some relief. "Well, that attitude precludes any possibility of change. You may not overturn the system, but actions yields results and results have consequences that ripples outwards. Apathy tells you that it is better to do nothing than to try and it's a lie that your feelings made up about your situation."
"I hate that," said Isaac, standing up to throw away his garbage, forehead wrinkled in irritation.
"That's an understandable emotional response," said Corey, that faint, infuriating smile back on his smug little face. "But apathy is a bet against yourself and your ability to change both yourself and your situation. It assumes you are so inconsequential that doing nothing is the exactly same as doing something." He paused, and melodramatically placed his hand on Issac's shoulder, looking him steadily in the eye, "This is a bet I would never make for you or anyone."
Isaac paused, thinking it over. "... I hate that less," he finally said.
Corey opened the door, and for a moment the forced cartoon cheerfulness of the Bit-a-Burger contrasted sharply with the bleak streets of Storm City. "As do I!" he said.
They walked out together, thinking new thoughts.
Saturday, September 07, 2019
You can't go back and it's a shame
You can't go back and it's a shame.
I came out so late (too late!)
living a failed, phantom version of the life I should have lived,
because I was too afraid to live it.
Not great!
Not good.
So now, when I see a handsome blond man
with a nice mustache who's 25,
in a relationship,
all these middle-aged regrets come crashing down.
I'm an ongoing disaster,
but maybe
if I'd come out earlier
I could have met this nice man
at 25,
or a mustachioed man much like him,
and felt, what,
Actually Content?
Perhaps.
Perhaps.
Perhaps.
To be sure,
I might have fucked it up then too.
Probably.
Almost certainly.
So I am forced to consider
the wretched possibility
that this incarnation is,
for me personally,
this soul,
this eternal being,
learning what it feels like to fail
utterly
simply for lack of trying,
simply because
that is the choice I make
over and over,
not to mention repeatedly.
After making the same mistake,
the same,
the same,
every time,
for no good reason,
you start to suspect,
maybe,
possibly,
there might be a theme,
a rut,
a scratch in the groove of your life record
that keeps skipping
and skipping
and skipping
on the same note,
the same thought,
the same bad habit
and it really makes you think
just before the record skips again
in the same damn spot.
Jesus Christ,
why?
But also, what, who, how.
When?
Now.
Again and again and again.
But still.
Record skips and bad choices,
ongoing and robust,
aside, well to the side,
but still making all that racket,
I think about that mustachioed man
I hope to one day meet
before the bittersweet heat death of the universe,
and somewhat more pointedly,
before the last quiet gasp
of the pragmatically unified organs
and systems
I have, somewhat fondly,
come to think of as me,
and not fucking it up
for lack of trying.
Because you can't go back,
and it's a shame.
I came out so late (too late!)
living a failed, phantom version of the life I should have lived,
because I was too afraid to live it.
Not great!
Not good.
So now, when I see a handsome blond man
with a nice mustache who's 25,
in a relationship,
all these middle-aged regrets come crashing down.
I'm an ongoing disaster,
but maybe
if I'd come out earlier
I could have met this nice man
at 25,
or a mustachioed man much like him,
and felt, what,
Actually Content?
Perhaps.
Perhaps.
Perhaps.
To be sure,
I might have fucked it up then too.
Probably.
Almost certainly.
So I am forced to consider
the wretched possibility
that this incarnation is,
for me personally,
this soul,
this eternal being,
learning what it feels like to fail
utterly
simply for lack of trying,
simply because
that is the choice I make
over and over,
not to mention repeatedly.
After making the same mistake,
the same,
the same,
every time,
for no good reason,
you start to suspect,
maybe,
possibly,
there might be a theme,
a rut,
a scratch in the groove of your life record
that keeps skipping
and skipping
and skipping
on the same note,
the same thought,
the same bad habit
and it really makes you think
just before the record skips again
in the same damn spot.
Jesus Christ,
why?
But also, what, who, how.
When?
Now.
Again and again and again.
But still.
Record skips and bad choices,
ongoing and robust,
aside, well to the side,
but still making all that racket,
I think about that mustachioed man
I hope to one day meet
before the bittersweet heat death of the universe,
and somewhat more pointedly,
before the last quiet gasp
of the pragmatically unified organs
and systems
I have, somewhat fondly,
come to think of as me,
and not fucking it up
for lack of trying.
Because you can't go back,
and it's a shame.
Sunday, September 01, 2019
movin'
I am moving to a cheaper apartment in a month and I am very excited.
I am less excited about cleaning up and discarding all my crap. Well, I am very excited about cleaning up/getting rid of a bunch of shit, but I have let so many things pile up the to-do list looks intimidating.
Still, fingers crossed. This could be a very good change for me.
I am less excited about cleaning up and discarding all my crap. Well, I am very excited about cleaning up/getting rid of a bunch of shit, but I have let so many things pile up the to-do list looks intimidating.
Still, fingers crossed. This could be a very good change for me.
Monday, August 12, 2019
One smile
When I was an undergraduate at a very conservative christian college, there was only one gay man brave enough to be publicly out. He gave talks about it and the rest of us endlessly discussed the legitimacy and validity of his sexual orientation, which, in retrospect, he was extremely gracious about. I think it only took a year or two of straight christian nonsense as a continually abrasive response to his simple existence on campus before he finally gave up and left for more accepting places and people, but I think about him a lot.
I used to catch him talking with his friends in front of the dorm all the time and I would stare a little too long and he would smile at me like he knew something I didn't, which he probably did. 20 years later I can tell you when you are out in "visibly gay" mode, you receive a lot of looks, not all of which are flattering, but some of which are undisguised longing and attraction, occasionally from ostensibly straight men out with their wives and children. I'm guessing he saw in the look what I wouldn't be ready to admit for over a decade: interest and longing.
I think about a time machine or a reset button that would let me go back and make some different choices all the time, because my choices for the last couple decades have been largely abysmal. But if I had to choose just one moment to go back to it would be those moments when the only openly gay man on campus smiled at me. I would whisper kindly in my own ear, "Put a smile on your face and go over and introduce yourself to the nice man who you are VERY much interested in knowing." I would then hopefully fade away like a smiling force ghost. Smiling in hopes of a future I could be prouder of, hopefully fading away because nobody loves a temporal paradox.
I used to catch him talking with his friends in front of the dorm all the time and I would stare a little too long and he would smile at me like he knew something I didn't, which he probably did. 20 years later I can tell you when you are out in "visibly gay" mode, you receive a lot of looks, not all of which are flattering, but some of which are undisguised longing and attraction, occasionally from ostensibly straight men out with their wives and children. I'm guessing he saw in the look what I wouldn't be ready to admit for over a decade: interest and longing.
I think about a time machine or a reset button that would let me go back and make some different choices all the time, because my choices for the last couple decades have been largely abysmal. But if I had to choose just one moment to go back to it would be those moments when the only openly gay man on campus smiled at me. I would whisper kindly in my own ear, "Put a smile on your face and go over and introduce yourself to the nice man who you are VERY much interested in knowing." I would then hopefully fade away like a smiling force ghost. Smiling in hopes of a future I could be prouder of, hopefully fading away because nobody loves a temporal paradox.
Friday, June 21, 2019
Monday, June 10, 2019
Random thoughts
I want to write today but I can't get my thoughts together. Shall I blame caffeine? Let's blame caffeine.
Wrote down who I want to be in the world vs who I am today. Brutal. Not an exercise in shaming myself, more an exercise in spelling out my dissatisfaction with my life. I am not who I want to be in the world and it makes me grumpy. All my habits of mind and body are unsatisfactory.
Even if I had stories to tell or the ability to write them, I think I'd be terrible at pitching them and selling myself and my work. Probably better to focus on practice at the moment, but still. Confidence low. Still, I should at least try to put the dead horse before the busted cart. For appearances if nothing else.
I think I am old enough to stop going to video game forums. I think that would be good.
I think an exercise I am going to try this week is stopping every hour on the hour to review the choices of the last hour, conscious or no. I think I need to face my choices and the problem is in the choices I make moment to moment, so bringing attention to that can only be good. Punishing, but good.
I have started wearing my running shoes "to break them in" but I am hopeful to actually start running in them in the next week or so. The body is willing but the spirit is "holy shit! what's up. Seriously, what's up?"
Another exercise I'm going to try this week is writing out what my ideal community and/or job looks like. I can't afford therapy and no one's coming to save me so I probably need to figure some of this stuff out.
Relatedly, a thought I had this week along the lines of: no one is coming to save me and the only ones who would are adventists with a poison pill. The poison pill being a not-so-subtle implication in virtually all interactions that my suffering would dissipate if only I would just believe in exactly the same things they believe. Unhelpful. Kind of shit. Worst habit christians have in interacting with the outside world by far. You either believe that the lifestyles and behaviors in line with your beliefs speak for themselves and will compel people to ask you about them or you do not believe that. You can offer pragmatic life advice and assistance without a conversion agenda and it is kind and respectful to do so.
Christians are not the only people guilty of the above behavior, but they are the first and worst in my experience.
Finally time to find additional work and get a roommate. Mixed feelings. Would really, really like to not feel so financially strapped all the time though. Might be good to work that out.
Continue to hope to find friends and dates whose eyes light up when they see me. Well past time to do the work on my end to make that easy.
Wrote down who I want to be in the world vs who I am today. Brutal. Not an exercise in shaming myself, more an exercise in spelling out my dissatisfaction with my life. I am not who I want to be in the world and it makes me grumpy. All my habits of mind and body are unsatisfactory.
Even if I had stories to tell or the ability to write them, I think I'd be terrible at pitching them and selling myself and my work. Probably better to focus on practice at the moment, but still. Confidence low. Still, I should at least try to put the dead horse before the busted cart. For appearances if nothing else.
I think I am old enough to stop going to video game forums. I think that would be good.
I think an exercise I am going to try this week is stopping every hour on the hour to review the choices of the last hour, conscious or no. I think I need to face my choices and the problem is in the choices I make moment to moment, so bringing attention to that can only be good. Punishing, but good.
I have started wearing my running shoes "to break them in" but I am hopeful to actually start running in them in the next week or so. The body is willing but the spirit is "holy shit! what's up. Seriously, what's up?"
Another exercise I'm going to try this week is writing out what my ideal community and/or job looks like. I can't afford therapy and no one's coming to save me so I probably need to figure some of this stuff out.
Relatedly, a thought I had this week along the lines of: no one is coming to save me and the only ones who would are adventists with a poison pill. The poison pill being a not-so-subtle implication in virtually all interactions that my suffering would dissipate if only I would just believe in exactly the same things they believe. Unhelpful. Kind of shit. Worst habit christians have in interacting with the outside world by far. You either believe that the lifestyles and behaviors in line with your beliefs speak for themselves and will compel people to ask you about them or you do not believe that. You can offer pragmatic life advice and assistance without a conversion agenda and it is kind and respectful to do so.
Christians are not the only people guilty of the above behavior, but they are the first and worst in my experience.
Finally time to find additional work and get a roommate. Mixed feelings. Would really, really like to not feel so financially strapped all the time though. Might be good to work that out.
Continue to hope to find friends and dates whose eyes light up when they see me. Well past time to do the work on my end to make that easy.
Thursday, May 30, 2019
On Praying
I grew up praying. Before meals. Before bed. The blessing of food, the recitation of sins, the asking of forgiveness and the wish list of needs. I stopped believing in the necessity of the necessity of divine forgiveness, and indeed the divine story as taught by Adventism in general, but even though I don't pray much anymore, I'm not sure I've given up entirely on the concept of praying.
I think of prayer the way I think of meditation at the moment. A potentially useful spiritual practice, the utility of which is possibly independent of a particular religious belief system. Meditation, to me, is practicing self-awareness and mindfulness as direct and specific practice in getting your thoughts and feelings under control. Is your mind always racing? Not sure what's going on with you right now? Spending some time sitting with yourself and practicing re-focusing your attention on sitting and breathing will probably help with that!
Prayer, has a similar utility to me, in that it focuses and channels hopes/hopes/dreams/fears/frustrations in a way that acknowledges their importance and potentially their immediate intractability and also lets you get on with your life after doing so. In practice it serves to vent some feelings but also focuses attention back to intent and needs in a way that may help to propel you forward in you life. Prayer can bring clarity and relief.
So does it matter who you pray too? Maybe. Maybe not! For some people the important part of prayer may be that someone out there hears you and cares about your problems. Maybe it's just important to believe someone out there hears you and cares about your problems? Maybe the prayer itself is cathartic, regardless of who's listening. Maybe that's why group therapy felt like such a religious experience at times.
I have a small statue to Bastet in my house for the cats. I burn incense and pray to Bastet for my remaining cat. And for my dearly departed tabby both before and after he was gone. Was Bastet listening? Did she guide my friend to the field of reeds? I don't know, but I felt better.
I have tried praying to Mercury, although I'm not sure Mercury heard me. I once prayed to Hypnos to help me get re-synced to the day/night cycle and had a semi-miraculous 48 hours where I suddenly WAS re-synced. But I didn't keep praying and old habits quickly re-asserted themselves. Maybe the gods are dead and prayer is just a good habit that focuses your attention on improving your life and sets the foundation for other habits? Maybe Mercury winged me safely to my destination. Maybe Hypnos gave me a taste of normalcy because I asked him to.
I am forced to acknowledge that I hope there is something kind out there that hears us when we pray, if only because I'm so desperate for a larger context that will wake up a society content to sleep walk off a cliff. This is an emotional bias I know myself to have. Partly just because the existence of an outside power that gives a shit is a comforting thought, however unlikely my rational mind might find it. So maybe I just pray in the hope that someday something answers. Because that would be interesting. My quiet desire to be abducted by benevolent aliens and relocated to a society where people aren't fucking insane probably comes from the same place.
Maybe whatever god I pray to is just a collection of ideas and principles that are important to me, and praying to and worshiping that unified concept of That Which is Good is how I center my values and define who I want to be in the world. Maybe prayer is good because it helps productively process emotional responses to life and we are the kind of creatures that need to regularly process our emotions in a healthy way. Maybe prayer is good in and of itself once it's liberated from the fundamentalist baggage of guilt and shame. Maybe that kind of prayer can liberate me too.
I think of prayer the way I think of meditation at the moment. A potentially useful spiritual practice, the utility of which is possibly independent of a particular religious belief system. Meditation, to me, is practicing self-awareness and mindfulness as direct and specific practice in getting your thoughts and feelings under control. Is your mind always racing? Not sure what's going on with you right now? Spending some time sitting with yourself and practicing re-focusing your attention on sitting and breathing will probably help with that!
Prayer, has a similar utility to me, in that it focuses and channels hopes/hopes/dreams/fears/frustrations in a way that acknowledges their importance and potentially their immediate intractability and also lets you get on with your life after doing so. In practice it serves to vent some feelings but also focuses attention back to intent and needs in a way that may help to propel you forward in you life. Prayer can bring clarity and relief.
So does it matter who you pray too? Maybe. Maybe not! For some people the important part of prayer may be that someone out there hears you and cares about your problems. Maybe it's just important to believe someone out there hears you and cares about your problems? Maybe the prayer itself is cathartic, regardless of who's listening. Maybe that's why group therapy felt like such a religious experience at times.
I have a small statue to Bastet in my house for the cats. I burn incense and pray to Bastet for my remaining cat. And for my dearly departed tabby both before and after he was gone. Was Bastet listening? Did she guide my friend to the field of reeds? I don't know, but I felt better.
I have tried praying to Mercury, although I'm not sure Mercury heard me. I once prayed to Hypnos to help me get re-synced to the day/night cycle and had a semi-miraculous 48 hours where I suddenly WAS re-synced. But I didn't keep praying and old habits quickly re-asserted themselves. Maybe the gods are dead and prayer is just a good habit that focuses your attention on improving your life and sets the foundation for other habits? Maybe Mercury winged me safely to my destination. Maybe Hypnos gave me a taste of normalcy because I asked him to.
I am forced to acknowledge that I hope there is something kind out there that hears us when we pray, if only because I'm so desperate for a larger context that will wake up a society content to sleep walk off a cliff. This is an emotional bias I know myself to have. Partly just because the existence of an outside power that gives a shit is a comforting thought, however unlikely my rational mind might find it. So maybe I just pray in the hope that someday something answers. Because that would be interesting. My quiet desire to be abducted by benevolent aliens and relocated to a society where people aren't fucking insane probably comes from the same place.
Maybe whatever god I pray to is just a collection of ideas and principles that are important to me, and praying to and worshiping that unified concept of That Which is Good is how I center my values and define who I want to be in the world. Maybe prayer is good because it helps productively process emotional responses to life and we are the kind of creatures that need to regularly process our emotions in a healthy way. Maybe prayer is good in and of itself once it's liberated from the fundamentalist baggage of guilt and shame. Maybe that kind of prayer can liberate me too.
Friday, April 19, 2019
poetry in motion
Upon taking out some trash
After years of mental deterioration
After a lifetime of training my mind to be anywhere but present
I threw my old xmas tree,
and a garbage bag
and my goddamn keys
into the dumpster.
Just present enough to render the jingle of the garbage falling as "odd"
My mind slammed back into my body
just as the high security garbage bin gate slammed behind me
and I thought
"Well shit"
Upon loitering near the front door
I encountered a tenant who let me in
with only a mildly awkward stranger danger moment
as it turns out we were briefly walking the same way
I'm sorry lady
I just wanted my spare keys
I threw my others in the goddamn dumpster
Good night, god bless, where are my spare keys
Upon retrieving my spare keys
After opening the garbage gate
which for some reason has three
THREE
strings of barbed wire over the top
I opened wide the dumpster lid
and peered within
"I see them!" I cried
to an audience of nobody
I hoisted myself up
low self-esteem about upper body strength aside
between the two dumpsters
and neatly levered myself to the top
and then adroitly over
it was poetry in motion
but stinky by scent
a descent into stench
in search of lost keys
I was touching it
oh god, I was touching all of it
"Aha!" I cried
betrayed by their own saucy jingle
and though they tried to slip,
slip
slip
further
and further
into the reverently collected refuse of my neighbors
I grabbed them
leaped nimbly to the top
and then over
and then down
poetry in motion
hell to smell
and it was then that I showered
for one million years
poetry in motion
wash this aroma
straight into the ocean
After years of mental deterioration
After a lifetime of training my mind to be anywhere but present
I threw my old xmas tree,
and a garbage bag
and my goddamn keys
into the dumpster.
Just present enough to render the jingle of the garbage falling as "odd"
My mind slammed back into my body
just as the high security garbage bin gate slammed behind me
and I thought
"Well shit"
Upon loitering near the front door
I encountered a tenant who let me in
with only a mildly awkward stranger danger moment
as it turns out we were briefly walking the same way
I'm sorry lady
I just wanted my spare keys
I threw my others in the goddamn dumpster
Good night, god bless, where are my spare keys
Upon retrieving my spare keys
After opening the garbage gate
which for some reason has three
THREE
strings of barbed wire over the top
I opened wide the dumpster lid
and peered within
"I see them!" I cried
to an audience of nobody
I hoisted myself up
low self-esteem about upper body strength aside
between the two dumpsters
and neatly levered myself to the top
and then adroitly over
it was poetry in motion
but stinky by scent
a descent into stench
in search of lost keys
I was touching it
oh god, I was touching all of it
"Aha!" I cried
betrayed by their own saucy jingle
and though they tried to slip,
slip
slip
further
and further
into the reverently collected refuse of my neighbors
I grabbed them
leaped nimbly to the top
and then over
and then down
poetry in motion
hell to smell
and it was then that I showered
for one million years
poetry in motion
wash this aroma
straight into the ocean
Saturday, April 13, 2019
Regrets, a partial list
I briefly dated a guy from Scruff who seemed very sweet. I broke it off because he was extremely allergic to cats and I couldn't see it working since I have 2, and he moved to Japan a couple months later anyway, but I really liked him and I regret breaking it off. The cat thing was probably an cover for insecurities anyway. C.W., it was truly my loss.
I've had an on again, off again thing with a handsome artist that seems like it might be stuck permanently on off again, and even though we were frequently talking past each other and ghosting each other constantly, I regret somehow not making it work. He was beautiful and an amazing painter and once again my insecurities probably got the better of me. Alas. I didn't really try and it is again my loss.
I have a story idea about once a day and I never write any of them. Not all fo them are gold, but I'm never going to be an actually decent writer until I work through being a pretty bad writer. last night's though was time travel envisioned as a fully 3-D space once you're there, where multiple versions of you can co-exist, where travel in these coordinates is travel through time, but not space, you'll still re-emerge in the same spot when you leave. Maybe in that 2-d space only 1-d travel is time travel and lateral movement is dimension hopping. Maybe you look sideways to wave at the next version of yourself, as you like to do, and see down the long line of alternate yous something coming for all of you.
Or maybe you just have an old fashioned diving suit that travels through time, with only a thin tube of air connecting you back to the present.
Anyway, regrets. I haven't made any progress at all on job problems in like a decade. I haven't even put a resume together yet. i think sooner or later the universe will force me to act in a panic on that front and I'll regret not having done it earlier. I pre-regret that.
I would like to be in better shape but depression still has the better of me. I regret not prioritizing my health. And like, my hygiene (gross).
I regret I could not do more for my cat as he was dying. I hope there is a cat afterlife and he is happy there. I have asked Bastet to watch over him, but who knows if she exists or what she chooses to do with her time. I like to think she is kind to cats at least.
I regret being a 43-year-old man who seems to have figured very little of adult life out. I worry that I am going to die this clueless and unhappy. I would regret that too.
I am hopeful to someday be a person that takes more assertive action and has fewer regrets. I have more or less wasted the last 20 years and friends, I experience some regret over that.
This has been a partial list of my overwhelming list of regrets.
I've had an on again, off again thing with a handsome artist that seems like it might be stuck permanently on off again, and even though we were frequently talking past each other and ghosting each other constantly, I regret somehow not making it work. He was beautiful and an amazing painter and once again my insecurities probably got the better of me. Alas. I didn't really try and it is again my loss.
I have a story idea about once a day and I never write any of them. Not all fo them are gold, but I'm never going to be an actually decent writer until I work through being a pretty bad writer. last night's though was time travel envisioned as a fully 3-D space once you're there, where multiple versions of you can co-exist, where travel in these coordinates is travel through time, but not space, you'll still re-emerge in the same spot when you leave. Maybe in that 2-d space only 1-d travel is time travel and lateral movement is dimension hopping. Maybe you look sideways to wave at the next version of yourself, as you like to do, and see down the long line of alternate yous something coming for all of you.
Or maybe you just have an old fashioned diving suit that travels through time, with only a thin tube of air connecting you back to the present.
Anyway, regrets. I haven't made any progress at all on job problems in like a decade. I haven't even put a resume together yet. i think sooner or later the universe will force me to act in a panic on that front and I'll regret not having done it earlier. I pre-regret that.
I would like to be in better shape but depression still has the better of me. I regret not prioritizing my health. And like, my hygiene (gross).
I regret I could not do more for my cat as he was dying. I hope there is a cat afterlife and he is happy there. I have asked Bastet to watch over him, but who knows if she exists or what she chooses to do with her time. I like to think she is kind to cats at least.
I regret being a 43-year-old man who seems to have figured very little of adult life out. I worry that I am going to die this clueless and unhappy. I would regret that too.
I am hopeful to someday be a person that takes more assertive action and has fewer regrets. I have more or less wasted the last 20 years and friends, I experience some regret over that.
This has been a partial list of my overwhelming list of regrets.
Friday, April 12, 2019
the Funky Chicken
I have been in the most ridiculous funk recently. Women are sensitive to "pent up dude feeling frustrated" so they've given me a wide berth, which does not feel good, but also I get it. I don't really like me when I get like this either. People tend to like happy, friendly and loose and I am not happy, friendly or loose right now. There may also be thousands of years of gender dynamics driving some of these responses as well, which also make sense to me. Avoid grumpy dudes, check.
I'm extremely frustrated with where my life is at while also keenly aware it is a result of my endless choices, or rather the hole where a series of choices should be. Further, I am even more keenly aware, a point so sharp it cuts me, that I haven't made significant problem on a few important life things for about a decade now. Frustration, with the world, myself, everything, is probably underselling it at this point.
I don't know what to tell me or you or anyone. I feel extremely trapped in my life right now in just about every way and I don't always have a good grasp on how much of that is circumstance and how much of that is a story so paper thin I could break free if I stared at it really hard.
Of course, I am not a hole where a series of choices should be, I am a series of choices I do not like. Choosing to do nothing is itself a choice, of course. Of course it is. As always, this is a problem of motivation. What is my motivation? Who do I want to be? I don't know. I genuinely have no clear conception of how to answer those questions. All I know is I don't like much of this society, I think it is proudly cruel and selfish and shallow for the most part, and I don't know where I belong, have found little to actually believe in post-Adventism and I have no idea where to start looking for those things, although I think I can rule out "inside my apartment" at this point.
I think I have never fully created the quiet moment I need post-coming out 10 years ago to sort some shit out. Nor will I be able to until my extremely noisy and needy cat finally passes on (I love her, but this is true). But I should probably try harder than I have to get there. This shit ain't getting better on its own.
I'm extremely frustrated with where my life is at while also keenly aware it is a result of my endless choices, or rather the hole where a series of choices should be. Further, I am even more keenly aware, a point so sharp it cuts me, that I haven't made significant problem on a few important life things for about a decade now. Frustration, with the world, myself, everything, is probably underselling it at this point.
I don't know what to tell me or you or anyone. I feel extremely trapped in my life right now in just about every way and I don't always have a good grasp on how much of that is circumstance and how much of that is a story so paper thin I could break free if I stared at it really hard.
Of course, I am not a hole where a series of choices should be, I am a series of choices I do not like. Choosing to do nothing is itself a choice, of course. Of course it is. As always, this is a problem of motivation. What is my motivation? Who do I want to be? I don't know. I genuinely have no clear conception of how to answer those questions. All I know is I don't like much of this society, I think it is proudly cruel and selfish and shallow for the most part, and I don't know where I belong, have found little to actually believe in post-Adventism and I have no idea where to start looking for those things, although I think I can rule out "inside my apartment" at this point.
I think I have never fully created the quiet moment I need post-coming out 10 years ago to sort some shit out. Nor will I be able to until my extremely noisy and needy cat finally passes on (I love her, but this is true). But I should probably try harder than I have to get there. This shit ain't getting better on its own.
Thursday, March 28, 2019
Into the Void
Some people hear all this quiet and try to fill it up with themselves. Clanging, shouting, stomping until the sound of something conscious echoes back from distant cliffs or gets swallowed by the the trees or the waves or the general void.
Futile. Folly. Human.
Hard to be quiet. Alone. With only intrusive thoughts to keep you company. Fears, disquiets, insecurities, all held at bay by chaos and noise and a busy kind of hubbub suddenly free of a downward pressure, bubbling to the surface until they threaten to boil over.
Panic! Panic. Shout, scream, stomp. Until you realize you have survived and the feelings that momentarily threatened to drown you have ebbed and the thoughts, unwanted and unloved, did not linger, having not made quite the impression they thought they would. Sometimes your unwanted thoughts leave out of pure embarrassment.
How silly of me. Terribly sorry. I'll show myself out.
The panic in those still moments though. That the thoughts and feelings you run from are too big too much too much. Followed by a distinct anti-climax. Oh was that all? Uncomfortable yes, but not The End. Feelings in the rearview mirror may be more manageable than they appear.
Maybe you lost your composure for a hot minute. Maybe you survived that too.
If a man cries alone in a forest, does he make a sound? Who cares. Feelings gotta feel. Scream, shout, stomp. This time not to drown the noise but to get it out. Let it out. Everything bound up in your nerves from behind your eyes to the tips of your fingers. Tensions stored carefully, lovingly until, absent outside pressure, released in a great wave. At last. At least.
Until all that is left is the quiet. And the last echoes of you fading away until all that is left is you. Yourself. No stories, just breathing. No worries, just starlight. No thoughts of particular importance. Just you. Only you. No further qualification necessary. End of report.
Futile. Folly. Human.
Hard to be quiet. Alone. With only intrusive thoughts to keep you company. Fears, disquiets, insecurities, all held at bay by chaos and noise and a busy kind of hubbub suddenly free of a downward pressure, bubbling to the surface until they threaten to boil over.
Panic! Panic. Shout, scream, stomp. Until you realize you have survived and the feelings that momentarily threatened to drown you have ebbed and the thoughts, unwanted and unloved, did not linger, having not made quite the impression they thought they would. Sometimes your unwanted thoughts leave out of pure embarrassment.
How silly of me. Terribly sorry. I'll show myself out.
The panic in those still moments though. That the thoughts and feelings you run from are too big too much too much. Followed by a distinct anti-climax. Oh was that all? Uncomfortable yes, but not The End. Feelings in the rearview mirror may be more manageable than they appear.
Maybe you lost your composure for a hot minute. Maybe you survived that too.
If a man cries alone in a forest, does he make a sound? Who cares. Feelings gotta feel. Scream, shout, stomp. This time not to drown the noise but to get it out. Let it out. Everything bound up in your nerves from behind your eyes to the tips of your fingers. Tensions stored carefully, lovingly until, absent outside pressure, released in a great wave. At last. At least.
Until all that is left is the quiet. And the last echoes of you fading away until all that is left is you. Yourself. No stories, just breathing. No worries, just starlight. No thoughts of particular importance. Just you. Only you. No further qualification necessary. End of report.
Tuesday, March 12, 2019
Russian Dolls
"And now I'm stuck with a body that is broken, in a world that is literally falling apart, and a mind that wants to kill me."
"Sweetheart, where is that gorgeous piece of you fighting to be part of this world?"
It is a golden age of sympathetic dramas about depression and I am here for it. The quotes above are from the penultimate episode of Russian Doll, where Alan and Nadia are having their quiet moments of truth before the finale upsets the apple cart again, and those two conversations happen at roughly the same time and they both really spoke to me. In one, Alan is finally admitting he's been feeling broken and had been pulling away for a long time, well before his girlfriend called it off. And in the other Ruth is talking to her ward Nadia, remembering how hard she fought to live and survive the mental illness of her mother and wondering where that fight is now.
They are both echoes of the same kind of depression and detachment and you really get the sense that the author(s) have been through the shit. Sure, on some level it's unsurprising that in a country where rates of suicide, drug use, and depression are steadily climbing, that we're suddenly flooded with excellent dramas with real and frank depictions of depression and the societal detachment that comes with it. It's also beautiful. People who have been through the shit and survived sending back lifelines to those who may be struggling.
Cynically, I'm tempted to assume that "depressed" is just another lucrative marketing demographic, and entertainment media have consequently risen to the task of monetizing our misery. But that cynicism would be more compelling if the writers of many of these shows weren't clearly speaking with love to the intended audience and writing story arcs clearly intended to specifically break through cynicism and nudge people forward.
Respect for the struggle. May you all find your way to breaking free.
"Sweetheart, where is that gorgeous piece of you fighting to be part of this world?"
It is a golden age of sympathetic dramas about depression and I am here for it. The quotes above are from the penultimate episode of Russian Doll, where Alan and Nadia are having their quiet moments of truth before the finale upsets the apple cart again, and those two conversations happen at roughly the same time and they both really spoke to me. In one, Alan is finally admitting he's been feeling broken and had been pulling away for a long time, well before his girlfriend called it off. And in the other Ruth is talking to her ward Nadia, remembering how hard she fought to live and survive the mental illness of her mother and wondering where that fight is now.
They are both echoes of the same kind of depression and detachment and you really get the sense that the author(s) have been through the shit. Sure, on some level it's unsurprising that in a country where rates of suicide, drug use, and depression are steadily climbing, that we're suddenly flooded with excellent dramas with real and frank depictions of depression and the societal detachment that comes with it. It's also beautiful. People who have been through the shit and survived sending back lifelines to those who may be struggling.
Cynically, I'm tempted to assume that "depressed" is just another lucrative marketing demographic, and entertainment media have consequently risen to the task of monetizing our misery. But that cynicism would be more compelling if the writers of many of these shows weren't clearly speaking with love to the intended audience and writing story arcs clearly intended to specifically break through cynicism and nudge people forward.
Respect for the struggle. May you all find your way to breaking free.
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