At this point, I think the over-grown children who rule us are just waiting for us to wear out our stream of scathing indictments about their small-minded corruption and incompetence until we collapse in exhaustion. It's like what parents do with toddlers, except you're the one freaking out because you just realized your toddler controls the US congress and there's basically nothing to do about it and he's just waiting for you to calm down so we can go about the business of stopping everything until he gets his way. There really is only so many ways to say that Republicans are currently out of their goddamn minds, after all, and even the stoutest citizen will run out of steam. Out of their minds not so much because they've shut down the government, although it's extraordinarily dumb for them to do that for the reasons they're doing it, but because they're unwilling to process that they've lost elections and failed to stop laws from passing. And, as a response to that, they've decided just to stop government from working at all, until they're the ones in charge again.
And I'd be willing to hear the argument about how terrible ACA will be for the country, if they hadn't been making arguments so lacking in evidence, reason or good faith more or less since the thing passed. These are the people who, when introduced to the idea that it might be a good idea to form a panel (which by law would not be allowed to be dominated by the healthcare industry) that would make broad policy recommendations on ways to stop the runaway cost of medicare, but are explicitly precluded from rationing care on an individual basis, ran breathlessly onto the TV and said Obama wants to set up panels to decide which seniors are worthy of medical care and ration it on an individual basis, which was an incredible distortion repeated in order to incite panic and opposition. And now they are shocked and saddened that I don't take their hysterical, apocalyptic fear-mongering about every other aspect of the bill as a good faith argument. Not to mention, the complete logical disconnect of a meltdown over healthcare legislation that was dreamed up the conservative Heritage Foundation, put into practice by Mitt Romney in Massachusetts, and was generally considered a great success.
To recap, republicans are freaking the fuck out over a conservative approach to health care that their own party designed, and implemented successfully at the state level, because President Obama wants to bring that success to the nation at large. This is incoherent. It's childish. It's dangerous and destructive. And that's just healthcare.
The second hostage, besides a functioning government that the GOP has flat out stated it is willing to take, is the full faith and credit of the United States. We've already been downgraded once by a ratings agency because the house was making noises that it wasn't going to agree to pay for the things it had already agreed to pay for by not renewing the debt ceiling limit. This is insane. If they think we're spending too much on things, they should have worked that out before they agreed to pay for it. But that's not even their problem, they don't even care, they're just cynically holding the debt ceiling vote hostage as another threat to stop the implementation of the ACA. The debt ceiling didn't do anything wrong, it was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I'm normally willing to declare both parties suck on any given day, and I concede that there's a larger problem where the powers that be pit the poors against each other in a culture war, while quietly continuing to fuck us over financially (has anyone noticed how little of a shit the powers that be give that unemployment is high?). And all things being equal, I'd be willing to say this is just more of the same. But all things are not equal. This isn't a good faith negotiation that both sides are being stubborn on. The congress passed a law, the president who championed it was re-elected, the courts upheld it and the polls are not in favor of shutting down the government, despite the uneasiness generated by the 24-hour panic machine in the conservative press. The democrats are trying to implement the law that was passed and upheld, and the republicans are saying they'll blow us all up if they do, with a government shutdown, or by refusing to fund the government, any way they can. There's no universe in which these two positions are equally unreasonable. The democrats are simply refusing to make a deal with tiny toddler terrorists, until they can stop the tantrums and the threats, and do what they promised to do.
And the press, bless their empty heads, doesn't understand the difference between a negotiating the details of a bill before it's made law, and negotiating whether the country gets to function at all, even though the Republicans aren't running it.
And yes, I know that Tip O'neill and the southern democrats shut down the government during Reagan. Again, this is todder logic. Just because the southern democrats were willing to dock the pay of federal employees to make a point, while conspicuously not putting their own money where their mouth was, doesn't make it okay for the Republicans to do the same reckless thing years later. Nor do I think you could make the case that the situations are a neat reversal of positions that are parallel in every way.
I would love to address the systemic problems caused by the corruption and foolishness of both parties. But you'll forgive me if I'm a little distracted by the destructive mega tantrum being thrown by the GOP for reasons that are so detached from empirical reality that the only conclusion I can draw is that they're out of their goddamn minds. We need to talk about the guy with the dynamite vest and the crazy eyes currently ranting in the lobby before we talk about Bob's tendency to steal pens for his friends, don't you think?
Tuesday, October 01, 2013
Monday, September 30, 2013
Guest Speaker
These are my prepared remark (which may be subject to revision) if I am ever invited to speak at my old college.
*****
Hey, how are you all doing today at the start of a new quarter? Good? Good. Do they still take attendance to make sure you actually go to religious talks? Well, that's good too. It's wonderful to live in a system with such faith in the transformational nature of its fundamental ideas and practice, is it not? I kid, I kid. Well, I probably don't actually. You should ask them why the daily practice of your religion is assumed to be so unappealing sometime. Or better yet, ask yourself. Either way, it seems like it would be better to ask yourself why it is necessary to corral an entire generation into actually practicing the religion that has theoretically been the center of your lives since you were children and is theoretically supposed to be the center once you are pushed out into the world without RAs and deans to check on your daily practice. I mean, if you're going through the motions of a religious practice you don't find meaningful, would not both parties be served by that feedback? You might be better off finding a practice that DOES mean something and your school might have to ask themselves why a religion defined as universally transformative doesn't seem to grab anyone anymore? Or is this just me reading into something that isn't there? Just me? Okay. What do I know anyway? I'm just some guy.
*coughs* But that's not what I came here to talk to you about. Well, it is, in a way, but I didn't mean to start with such a cold slap to the face. "You're doing you religion wrong!" I say. "Well, thanks for being such a gracious guest," you might reply. I should be gracious. I want to be gracious. But I admit I find it challenging. Not very long ago I once sat where you sat, and I admit some elements of the school system frustrated me then too. Well, when I say not that long ago, I mean 15 years, which isn't long ago for me, but is probably considerably longer for you when viewed from the slo-time field all youth are trapped in. This is just an illusion of course, soon enough time will start slipping faster and faster until you want to grab the edges of your time bubble and beg it to slow down. But you won't be able to grab hold to anything, just metaphorical air, and before you know it, you'll be 35, on the verge of the first of many happy mid-life crises and wondering how you got to be 40 pounds heavier and so far off track of the life you were expected to have. And, if you're sitting in that pew and buried as deeply in the closet as I was at your age, you'll be emerging from said closet as well, blinking in the light of a new and confusing dawn, wondering how the hell you would do something as damaging and hurtful to yourself as pretending to be something you're not, for people who don't know what they're talking about for all these years. As a side note, to anyone who IS gay and closeted and terrified and feeling trapped, there are more like you than you know, and if you email me at the address I asked to be put in the program today, I can introduce you to other Adventists who find themselves stuck in the same situation. Ya'll would not believe how many gay Adventists there are out there struggling to reconcile being gay and being Adventist. I don't know if you've noticed so far, but accepting the openly gay into the church has been kind of a hard sell so far.
But where were we? Oh yes, the closet. How could a good Adventist boy like me get trapped in such an unhappy place? I know it must seem like the fault of the devil, or some-such, but it is really that hard to believe? Growing up in this church, on what day are you told you are first a sinner? It is the day you are born, is it not? I mean sure, we look like innocent babies, mostly interested in warmth and milk, but what we really are, are desperate, born sinners with a crippling milk addiction. That is the proper frame, is it not? We are born to do bad things, and constantly tempted to do bad things, and it is only by the grace of Jesus that we are forgiven, and momentarily granted the relief that comes from knowing we are good to get into heaven. Right up until our next sin. Which might be tomorrow. Or maybe it's now, as any of a million unclean thoughts flits its way through your head as some dinosaur from the distant past drones on and on about something or other in an assembly you don't really want to be at. Really, you think of me as a dinosaur? Honestly kids, I'm only 37.
My point, so bluntly made, is that this religion teaches you, from day one, to hate yourself for being a sinner. They never use quite those words, but the net effect of what you are taught is to believe, in the deepest core of your being, that you are WRONG and you'll have to be killed for being so awful, and the only way to remove this feeling is to beg an authority figure for a hit of sweet, temporary bliss in the form of forgiveness of real, deadly sin. Deadly, because God'll kill you if you don't get right. If you don't go through the motions, if you don't fall into line, if you don't go to worship 5 days a week, if you eat pork, if you wear jewelry, if you swim on a Saturday, if you do anything more heretical than clap awkwardly at a concert, if you think lustful thoughts when your crush walks into a room, if you're a dude and you want to kiss a dude, and if you think those things and do those things without forgiveness, without throwing yourself on the mercy of the court daily, you're gonna die. And your parents are going to cry, and you're going to burn forever.
And I'm sorry, but the people you love are lying to you about all of this, all of these reasons to hate yourself. Although don't be too mad, most of them are just repeating the lie their fathers told them. The first lie is that you're wrong from the day you're born. The second is that your have to grovel in despair over crimes both real and imagined, before authority, human or heavenly, to feel right. To be good. I do not mean to imply we are all born good either, of course. We are born to make mistakes. We are born to be selfish, we are born to be compassionate, we are born in the tension between our darker desires and the better angels of our nature and living with other people born the same way. So yes to be a jerk is in our nature, but so is being kind. Isn't it weird that someone would tell you to focus solely on the one, and not the other?
The first lie is that making a mistake damns you for all eternity. The second lie, is only authority can forgive a mistake. In my experience, on a practical level, the first person to forgive after a mistake is yourself. The second is whoever else your mistake might have harmed. And then you clean up your mess, attempt to repair any damaged relationships, and then learn from what you did wrong. And then doing it all over again when you fall down again. Phenomenal cosmic powers are typically not a necessary part of that equation.
The first and second lie, is that your mistakes are not just mistakes, they are violations on a universal level that will destroy you and everyone you know if the correct rituals are not followed. They are an exaggeration of natural human behavior around making, correcting and forgiving mistakes. They are normal guilt and empathy turned into an obsessive-compulsive disorder.
The third lie is a contradiction. The third lie is that all sinners are equally sinful and all sins can be forgiven and that some sinners are more sinful than others and not all sins can be forgiven. The third lie is that Jesus loves you, except when you're WRONG and then he has to hate you, and that you can be welcome in a church full of sinners, except as a sinner, you are not welcome. The third lie is that your body is a temple, and you must tend it, and it's okay if you don't tend it really. The third lie is that all are sinners are welcome children of God but that only the gluttons, the liars, the gossips are children of God. The third lie is that the holy spirit will guide you in telling you which sins are worse than others, which mistakes are sins and which are not, and that you never need to be taught the difference between your ingrown, emotional and cultural biases and the influence of the holy spirit. The third lie is that only God can judge and that the church and the elders and the rest of you have to do some supplementary judging in the meantime.
It is not hard to go into the the closet, when you are told you're wrong every day. It is not hard to go into the closet when you are told again and again that all sins are equal, but some sins are worse than others. It is not a big step from, "I'd better not tell anyone I had a pork sandwich last night," to "I'm a guy and I'd better not tell anybody I wanted to kiss that handsome guy last night." It is not unreasonable to hide, when you know your sin is one that God may forgive, but no one else in your community will. It is not unreasonable to despair, when your entire community is governed by rules which humans must necessarily break in the course of being human, and that the rules your nature makes you prone to break will be punished, and the rules their nature makes them prone to break will not be.
"Oh Betty, you shameless gossip, Jesus loves you, give us a hug."
"Oh H, you shameful faggot, Jesus isn't about loving other men, you gotta get out of here."
It's not hard to lose passion for your religion, when you people say "Jesus loves you" in a way that clearly means, "Jesus only loves people like me."
I would assert today, that the reason you need an attendance system to keep young people in a spiritual practice day-to-day, is that there is a core contradiction between the message of Jesus and the behavior of the church. Your mouth says, "yes, come, there is love and room for all." and your hands say, "Well, except for the gays, and other unclean. Hanging out with you freaks may have been fine for Jesus, but it won't fly here."
And so rather than admit that the church may have some work to do in reconciling its practice and structure with the message and behavior of Jesus (or may, in fact, be irredeemably broken as long as those who are in charge remain in charge), and rather than admit that there are things in your church that do not make sense, and preaches a lot of mixed messages which cannot all simultaneously be true, which leads to genuine confusion and unhappiness in the lives of its members unless they just stop thinking about it and go with the flow,we all smile and nod and go through the motions, pretending nothing is wrong. And those of you with the socially acceptable sins can stay and worship, and those of us who have to hide more of ourselves than we're comfortable with, slowly fade away until it feels like we can breathe again.
I went into the closet for the same reason young Adventists fall away from the church every generation: They can't reconcile what they were taught with their actual lived experience of the world, but they're not ready to alienate their friends and family. So they and I smile and wave while slowly backing away. And, if they're anything like me, they don't return because they find more beauty, truth and love outside of the Adventist church than they ever found within it. No, the devil did not make me say that.
So, in closing, before I am chased out of here with pitchforks and torches, I would like to encourage you NOT to fade away from the church. I encourage you to run way from it as fast as you can. If this church embodies everything that is good about the world, then I encourage you to practice it whole-heartedly. Conversely, if the practice and teaching of this church don't resonate with you, please don't fade away. Please RUN AWAY towards something better. There's no reward and quite a bit of pain in pretending to believe something you do not, and pretending to be something you are not for years and decades at a time. There's no virtue in practicing something you believe to be a lie. It doesn't matter what your parents say, it doesn't matter what the church says, if you don't want to be here, if this is not who you are, if you can't be who you are, and love the consenting adult you love and still be accepted as fully human and loved as the next person in this community . . . then you have to go. Run fast. Run far. Run hard. Keep searching. But get away. Get some space to breathe and be yourself. I promise you there are more beautiful and wonderful and truthful things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in Adventist philosophy.
For instance, they have a fancier hand-clap out there that they call "dancing." It's pretty great.
*****
Hey, how are you all doing today at the start of a new quarter? Good? Good. Do they still take attendance to make sure you actually go to religious talks? Well, that's good too. It's wonderful to live in a system with such faith in the transformational nature of its fundamental ideas and practice, is it not? I kid, I kid. Well, I probably don't actually. You should ask them why the daily practice of your religion is assumed to be so unappealing sometime. Or better yet, ask yourself. Either way, it seems like it would be better to ask yourself why it is necessary to corral an entire generation into actually practicing the religion that has theoretically been the center of your lives since you were children and is theoretically supposed to be the center once you are pushed out into the world without RAs and deans to check on your daily practice. I mean, if you're going through the motions of a religious practice you don't find meaningful, would not both parties be served by that feedback? You might be better off finding a practice that DOES mean something and your school might have to ask themselves why a religion defined as universally transformative doesn't seem to grab anyone anymore? Or is this just me reading into something that isn't there? Just me? Okay. What do I know anyway? I'm just some guy.
*coughs* But that's not what I came here to talk to you about. Well, it is, in a way, but I didn't mean to start with such a cold slap to the face. "You're doing you religion wrong!" I say. "Well, thanks for being such a gracious guest," you might reply. I should be gracious. I want to be gracious. But I admit I find it challenging. Not very long ago I once sat where you sat, and I admit some elements of the school system frustrated me then too. Well, when I say not that long ago, I mean 15 years, which isn't long ago for me, but is probably considerably longer for you when viewed from the slo-time field all youth are trapped in. This is just an illusion of course, soon enough time will start slipping faster and faster until you want to grab the edges of your time bubble and beg it to slow down. But you won't be able to grab hold to anything, just metaphorical air, and before you know it, you'll be 35, on the verge of the first of many happy mid-life crises and wondering how you got to be 40 pounds heavier and so far off track of the life you were expected to have. And, if you're sitting in that pew and buried as deeply in the closet as I was at your age, you'll be emerging from said closet as well, blinking in the light of a new and confusing dawn, wondering how the hell you would do something as damaging and hurtful to yourself as pretending to be something you're not, for people who don't know what they're talking about for all these years. As a side note, to anyone who IS gay and closeted and terrified and feeling trapped, there are more like you than you know, and if you email me at the address I asked to be put in the program today, I can introduce you to other Adventists who find themselves stuck in the same situation. Ya'll would not believe how many gay Adventists there are out there struggling to reconcile being gay and being Adventist. I don't know if you've noticed so far, but accepting the openly gay into the church has been kind of a hard sell so far.
But where were we? Oh yes, the closet. How could a good Adventist boy like me get trapped in such an unhappy place? I know it must seem like the fault of the devil, or some-such, but it is really that hard to believe? Growing up in this church, on what day are you told you are first a sinner? It is the day you are born, is it not? I mean sure, we look like innocent babies, mostly interested in warmth and milk, but what we really are, are desperate, born sinners with a crippling milk addiction. That is the proper frame, is it not? We are born to do bad things, and constantly tempted to do bad things, and it is only by the grace of Jesus that we are forgiven, and momentarily granted the relief that comes from knowing we are good to get into heaven. Right up until our next sin. Which might be tomorrow. Or maybe it's now, as any of a million unclean thoughts flits its way through your head as some dinosaur from the distant past drones on and on about something or other in an assembly you don't really want to be at. Really, you think of me as a dinosaur? Honestly kids, I'm only 37.
My point, so bluntly made, is that this religion teaches you, from day one, to hate yourself for being a sinner. They never use quite those words, but the net effect of what you are taught is to believe, in the deepest core of your being, that you are WRONG and you'll have to be killed for being so awful, and the only way to remove this feeling is to beg an authority figure for a hit of sweet, temporary bliss in the form of forgiveness of real, deadly sin. Deadly, because God'll kill you if you don't get right. If you don't go through the motions, if you don't fall into line, if you don't go to worship 5 days a week, if you eat pork, if you wear jewelry, if you swim on a Saturday, if you do anything more heretical than clap awkwardly at a concert, if you think lustful thoughts when your crush walks into a room, if you're a dude and you want to kiss a dude, and if you think those things and do those things without forgiveness, without throwing yourself on the mercy of the court daily, you're gonna die. And your parents are going to cry, and you're going to burn forever.
And I'm sorry, but the people you love are lying to you about all of this, all of these reasons to hate yourself. Although don't be too mad, most of them are just repeating the lie their fathers told them. The first lie is that you're wrong from the day you're born. The second is that your have to grovel in despair over crimes both real and imagined, before authority, human or heavenly, to feel right. To be good. I do not mean to imply we are all born good either, of course. We are born to make mistakes. We are born to be selfish, we are born to be compassionate, we are born in the tension between our darker desires and the better angels of our nature and living with other people born the same way. So yes to be a jerk is in our nature, but so is being kind. Isn't it weird that someone would tell you to focus solely on the one, and not the other?
The first lie is that making a mistake damns you for all eternity. The second lie, is only authority can forgive a mistake. In my experience, on a practical level, the first person to forgive after a mistake is yourself. The second is whoever else your mistake might have harmed. And then you clean up your mess, attempt to repair any damaged relationships, and then learn from what you did wrong. And then doing it all over again when you fall down again. Phenomenal cosmic powers are typically not a necessary part of that equation.
The first and second lie, is that your mistakes are not just mistakes, they are violations on a universal level that will destroy you and everyone you know if the correct rituals are not followed. They are an exaggeration of natural human behavior around making, correcting and forgiving mistakes. They are normal guilt and empathy turned into an obsessive-compulsive disorder.
The third lie is a contradiction. The third lie is that all sinners are equally sinful and all sins can be forgiven and that some sinners are more sinful than others and not all sins can be forgiven. The third lie is that Jesus loves you, except when you're WRONG and then he has to hate you, and that you can be welcome in a church full of sinners, except as a sinner, you are not welcome. The third lie is that your body is a temple, and you must tend it, and it's okay if you don't tend it really. The third lie is that all are sinners are welcome children of God but that only the gluttons, the liars, the gossips are children of God. The third lie is that the holy spirit will guide you in telling you which sins are worse than others, which mistakes are sins and which are not, and that you never need to be taught the difference between your ingrown, emotional and cultural biases and the influence of the holy spirit. The third lie is that only God can judge and that the church and the elders and the rest of you have to do some supplementary judging in the meantime.
It is not hard to go into the the closet, when you are told you're wrong every day. It is not hard to go into the closet when you are told again and again that all sins are equal, but some sins are worse than others. It is not a big step from, "I'd better not tell anyone I had a pork sandwich last night," to "I'm a guy and I'd better not tell anybody I wanted to kiss that handsome guy last night." It is not unreasonable to hide, when you know your sin is one that God may forgive, but no one else in your community will. It is not unreasonable to despair, when your entire community is governed by rules which humans must necessarily break in the course of being human, and that the rules your nature makes you prone to break will be punished, and the rules their nature makes them prone to break will not be.
"Oh Betty, you shameless gossip, Jesus loves you, give us a hug."
"Oh H, you shameful faggot, Jesus isn't about loving other men, you gotta get out of here."
It's not hard to lose passion for your religion, when you people say "Jesus loves you" in a way that clearly means, "Jesus only loves people like me."
I would assert today, that the reason you need an attendance system to keep young people in a spiritual practice day-to-day, is that there is a core contradiction between the message of Jesus and the behavior of the church. Your mouth says, "yes, come, there is love and room for all." and your hands say, "Well, except for the gays, and other unclean. Hanging out with you freaks may have been fine for Jesus, but it won't fly here."
And so rather than admit that the church may have some work to do in reconciling its practice and structure with the message and behavior of Jesus (or may, in fact, be irredeemably broken as long as those who are in charge remain in charge), and rather than admit that there are things in your church that do not make sense, and preaches a lot of mixed messages which cannot all simultaneously be true, which leads to genuine confusion and unhappiness in the lives of its members unless they just stop thinking about it and go with the flow,we all smile and nod and go through the motions, pretending nothing is wrong. And those of you with the socially acceptable sins can stay and worship, and those of us who have to hide more of ourselves than we're comfortable with, slowly fade away until it feels like we can breathe again.
I went into the closet for the same reason young Adventists fall away from the church every generation: They can't reconcile what they were taught with their actual lived experience of the world, but they're not ready to alienate their friends and family. So they and I smile and wave while slowly backing away. And, if they're anything like me, they don't return because they find more beauty, truth and love outside of the Adventist church than they ever found within it. No, the devil did not make me say that.
So, in closing, before I am chased out of here with pitchforks and torches, I would like to encourage you NOT to fade away from the church. I encourage you to run way from it as fast as you can. If this church embodies everything that is good about the world, then I encourage you to practice it whole-heartedly. Conversely, if the practice and teaching of this church don't resonate with you, please don't fade away. Please RUN AWAY towards something better. There's no reward and quite a bit of pain in pretending to believe something you do not, and pretending to be something you are not for years and decades at a time. There's no virtue in practicing something you believe to be a lie. It doesn't matter what your parents say, it doesn't matter what the church says, if you don't want to be here, if this is not who you are, if you can't be who you are, and love the consenting adult you love and still be accepted as fully human and loved as the next person in this community . . . then you have to go. Run fast. Run far. Run hard. Keep searching. But get away. Get some space to breathe and be yourself. I promise you there are more beautiful and wonderful and truthful things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in Adventist philosophy.
For instance, they have a fancier hand-clap out there that they call "dancing." It's pretty great.
Friday, September 20, 2013
The Gay book of Revelations, ch. 18
1: After this I saw another angel, coming down the cosmic runway. He had great authority, and the earth was illuminated by his fabulous splendor and glitter.
2: With a mighty voice he shouted: "Fallen! Fallen! is the First Church of Babylon the Great! He has become a dwelling for unhappy christians and a haunt for culturally acceptable but impure spirits, a haunt for every unclean thought against people who are different, a haunt for every unclean and detestable behavior that does not challenge the cultural biases of his congregation."
3: "For all the denominations have drunk the maddening wine of his dissonance. The kings of earth committed violence with him, and the merchants of the earth grew rich from his excessive and hypocritical luxuries."
4: Then I heard another voice from the runway say: "Come out of him, my beautiful gay children, so that you will not share in his sins because they have made you hate yourself, so that you will not receive his plagues of the mind and spirit that he would inflict upon you to keep you chained."
5: For his sins are piled up to the runway, and a beautiful, androgynous god has remembered his crimes.
6. As for you, my children, give back to him, that which he has not given; pay him back double in love for the evil he has done. Pour him a double portion from your own cup.
7. Give him as much love and kindness as the torment and grief he gave you and the glory and luxury he gave himself. In his heart he boasts, 'I sit enthroned as king. I am not widower, I will never mourn and my beliefs and my kingdom shall last forever.'
8. Therefore, in one day his plagues will overtake him: dead to change, mourning difference, and in a famine of kindness. He will be consumed by the fires he set to burn out the impure, forgetting his own impurity. For mighty and wise is the Fabulous, Androgynous Lord God of the universe who judges him, and allows him to sink under the weight of the chains he has bound himself with.
9. When the kings of earth who committed violence with him and shared his undeserved luxury see the smoke of his self-inflicted burns, and the bubbles marking his drowning, they will weep and mourn over him, and in fear for themselves.
10. Terrified at his torment, they will stand far off and cry: "Woe! Woe to you, great church, you mighty sanctuary of Babylon! In one hour your doom has come! And how far can ours be behind, without you to sanction our rule and our violence with the authority of divine right?"
11. The merchants of the earth will weep and mourn over him because no one buys their shit anymore --
12. Racks and racks of gaudy jewelry, ill-fitting clothes, every sort of phallus substitute made of wood, ivory, bronze, iron, rubber, ceramic and marble;
13. racks of addictive and nutrition-less foods, dvds and books promoting divisive, legalistic and hateful thoughts, distractions from any real experience, confirmation of any bias through advertising and consumption, cattle and sheep and horses and pigs confined in misery and filth before slaughtered and packaged, and human beings hired and fired and sold as slaves.
14. They will say, "the privilege you longed for is gone from you. All your luxury and splendor have vanished, never to be recovered."
15. The merchants who sold these things and gained their wealth from him will stand far off, terrified at his torment. They will weep and mourn and release commercials identifying themselves as victims and advertising commemorative coins in honor of this tragedy.
16. And cry out: "Woe! Woe to you, great Church, dressed in fine suits, black and pin-striped, and glittering with fine watches and expensive and stylish shoes.
17. "In one hour, such great wealth has been brought to ruin!" Every armchair warrior, and all who travel by television and internet, the radio and blog hosts, and all who earn their living from the grift and the cult of personality, will stand far off.
18. When they see the smoke of his burning and the ripples marking his watery grave they will tweet, "Was there ever a church like this great church?"
19. They will make sad animated gifs, and with weeping, moaning and sad-face emoticons cry out: "Woe! Woe to you, great church, where all who had shows on the air and blogs on the net became rich through his wealth, and his divisiveness, and his comforting confirmation biases and his cognitive dissonance! In one, commercial-free hour, he has been brought to ruin!"
20. Rejoice over him, you heathens! Rejoice you children of the androgynous God! Rejoice, gay apostles and prophets! For our androgynous God has allowed him to judge himself, with the judgement he imposed upon you.
21. Then a mighty drag queen picked up an SUV the size of a boulder and threw it into the sea, and said: "With a fucking quickness, the great church of Babylon will be thrown down, never to be found again."
22. The music of panflutists, identity rock and painfully repressed people will never be heard in you again. No wage slavery and intellectual poverty will every be found in you again. The pounding drumbeat of conformity will never be found in you again.
23. The light of false hope and conditional love, will never shine in you again. The voice of the pastor saying "grooms are like this and brides are like this," will never be found again. Your merchants were the world's worst and most self-important people. By your magic spell, all the nations of western civilization were led astray.
24. In him was found the blood of prophets, and androgynous God's wholly different, wholly human and wholly loved, and holy queer people, of all queers who have been slaughtered upon the earth.
ch. 19
1. After this I heard what sounded like the roar of a great multitude in the heavens, from the cosmic runway and beyond, shouting: "At long-fucking-last! Cleverness, compassion and justice belong to our wholly beautiful and androgynous God.
2. For helpful and just are her actions, and incisive and true are his words. She has condemned the great charlatan who corrupted the earth by his violence and smallness and bigotry and selfishness. He has avenged on him the blood of his beautiful, wanted, necessary and loved children.
3. And again they shouted: "At-long-fucking-last! We are as free and as human as the rest of you and exist without shame or punishment for loving one another. And the church that punished love in the name of love, sinks downward, forever and ever, under the weight of it's own hypocrisy and dissonance and shame."
2: With a mighty voice he shouted: "Fallen! Fallen! is the First Church of Babylon the Great! He has become a dwelling for unhappy christians and a haunt for culturally acceptable but impure spirits, a haunt for every unclean thought against people who are different, a haunt for every unclean and detestable behavior that does not challenge the cultural biases of his congregation."
3: "For all the denominations have drunk the maddening wine of his dissonance. The kings of earth committed violence with him, and the merchants of the earth grew rich from his excessive and hypocritical luxuries."
4: Then I heard another voice from the runway say: "Come out of him, my beautiful gay children, so that you will not share in his sins because they have made you hate yourself, so that you will not receive his plagues of the mind and spirit that he would inflict upon you to keep you chained."
5: For his sins are piled up to the runway, and a beautiful, androgynous god has remembered his crimes.
6. As for you, my children, give back to him, that which he has not given; pay him back double in love for the evil he has done. Pour him a double portion from your own cup.
7. Give him as much love and kindness as the torment and grief he gave you and the glory and luxury he gave himself. In his heart he boasts, 'I sit enthroned as king. I am not widower, I will never mourn and my beliefs and my kingdom shall last forever.'
8. Therefore, in one day his plagues will overtake him: dead to change, mourning difference, and in a famine of kindness. He will be consumed by the fires he set to burn out the impure, forgetting his own impurity. For mighty and wise is the Fabulous, Androgynous Lord God of the universe who judges him, and allows him to sink under the weight of the chains he has bound himself with.
9. When the kings of earth who committed violence with him and shared his undeserved luxury see the smoke of his self-inflicted burns, and the bubbles marking his drowning, they will weep and mourn over him, and in fear for themselves.
10. Terrified at his torment, they will stand far off and cry: "Woe! Woe to you, great church, you mighty sanctuary of Babylon! In one hour your doom has come! And how far can ours be behind, without you to sanction our rule and our violence with the authority of divine right?"
11. The merchants of the earth will weep and mourn over him because no one buys their shit anymore --
12. Racks and racks of gaudy jewelry, ill-fitting clothes, every sort of phallus substitute made of wood, ivory, bronze, iron, rubber, ceramic and marble;
13. racks of addictive and nutrition-less foods, dvds and books promoting divisive, legalistic and hateful thoughts, distractions from any real experience, confirmation of any bias through advertising and consumption, cattle and sheep and horses and pigs confined in misery and filth before slaughtered and packaged, and human beings hired and fired and sold as slaves.
14. They will say, "the privilege you longed for is gone from you. All your luxury and splendor have vanished, never to be recovered."
15. The merchants who sold these things and gained their wealth from him will stand far off, terrified at his torment. They will weep and mourn and release commercials identifying themselves as victims and advertising commemorative coins in honor of this tragedy.
16. And cry out: "Woe! Woe to you, great Church, dressed in fine suits, black and pin-striped, and glittering with fine watches and expensive and stylish shoes.
17. "In one hour, such great wealth has been brought to ruin!" Every armchair warrior, and all who travel by television and internet, the radio and blog hosts, and all who earn their living from the grift and the cult of personality, will stand far off.
18. When they see the smoke of his burning and the ripples marking his watery grave they will tweet, "Was there ever a church like this great church?"
19. They will make sad animated gifs, and with weeping, moaning and sad-face emoticons cry out: "Woe! Woe to you, great church, where all who had shows on the air and blogs on the net became rich through his wealth, and his divisiveness, and his comforting confirmation biases and his cognitive dissonance! In one, commercial-free hour, he has been brought to ruin!"
20. Rejoice over him, you heathens! Rejoice you children of the androgynous God! Rejoice, gay apostles and prophets! For our androgynous God has allowed him to judge himself, with the judgement he imposed upon you.
21. Then a mighty drag queen picked up an SUV the size of a boulder and threw it into the sea, and said: "With a fucking quickness, the great church of Babylon will be thrown down, never to be found again."
22. The music of panflutists, identity rock and painfully repressed people will never be heard in you again. No wage slavery and intellectual poverty will every be found in you again. The pounding drumbeat of conformity will never be found in you again.
23. The light of false hope and conditional love, will never shine in you again. The voice of the pastor saying "grooms are like this and brides are like this," will never be found again. Your merchants were the world's worst and most self-important people. By your magic spell, all the nations of western civilization were led astray.
24. In him was found the blood of prophets, and androgynous God's wholly different, wholly human and wholly loved, and holy queer people, of all queers who have been slaughtered upon the earth.
ch. 19
1. After this I heard what sounded like the roar of a great multitude in the heavens, from the cosmic runway and beyond, shouting: "At long-fucking-last! Cleverness, compassion and justice belong to our wholly beautiful and androgynous God.
2. For helpful and just are her actions, and incisive and true are his words. She has condemned the great charlatan who corrupted the earth by his violence and smallness and bigotry and selfishness. He has avenged on him the blood of his beautiful, wanted, necessary and loved children.
3. And again they shouted: "At-long-fucking-last! We are as free and as human as the rest of you and exist without shame or punishment for loving one another. And the church that punished love in the name of love, sinks downward, forever and ever, under the weight of it's own hypocrisy and dissonance and shame."
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Love in a time of fandom
I find myself more and more wanting to write that star wars/wolverine mash-up. I call it: Operation Mega-mash. I think I can fit elements of Star Wars, x-men, Doctor who, stargate, firefly, star trek and maybe sliders into a coherent, if terrible story. It will be the most beautiful train wreck you can't look away from. Spoilers: Wolverine pisses off jabba, is hunted by Boba Fett, who is an agent for the confederate government, who are controlled by goa'uld brain slugs created by the daleks. Wolverine steals the doctor's companion and the ultimate villain turns out to be Q, or maybe tremaine, who, as so aptly pointed out by futurama, is just an intemperate fanboy with godlike powers. So it ALL MAKES SENSE.
Monday, September 09, 2013
Undead Posts
Every time Gabe says another stupid thing, this dickwolves post gets a few hits (750 to date!). I remain happy about my decision to stop paying much attention to them. I haven't missed their comics, I haven't missed their insular, persecuted worldview, I haven't missed their inability to empathize with people unlike themselves unless people are shaking them furiously and figuratively yelling, "what's wrong with you?"
Some of the best aspects of the gaming community come from Penny Arcade, especially Child's Play, although I have small issues with that as well, which I will probably anger people by going into later. Unfortunately, some of the worst elements of gaming culture come from penny arcade and fans. Like instituting a no "booth babes" policy so women feel more welcome, but going out of their way to market and wear ostensibly pro-rape shirts that are hard to explain and expecting people to get over it because a gamer bro's freedom to say and do offensive shit and still be lauded and loved must never be questioned.
Look, I play a shit ton of games. I've had my consciousness so far into Eorzea for the last few weeks I'm lost track of which body is my real body (Oh right, this fat one). It's as legit a hobby for winding down/relaxing as sports or movie watching, obviously.
But I don't call my self a gamer because I don't think rape jokes are by default hilarious and necessary for perfect human freedom.
I don't call myself a gamer because it is about the least challenging thing I do every day. I'd rather be known as a scientist, since that's my actual job, and because it's genuinely challenging. It's like calling yourself a "book colorer" because you passionately love coloring books and have since you were a kid. "I color inside the lines really well, I think it's really matured as a medium." you tell people at parties moments before they drift off to talk to someone who does something actually challenging or meaningful with their lives. I mean, at least people who knit can make you a sweater.
Largely, I don't call myself a gamer because I don't want to be associated with or represented by gaming culture, and the nastier elements of Penny Arcade. Especially the parts that think rape is just a harmless, funny joke that guys must be free to make at any time, and simultaneously what they will threaten you with if you are a woman and have the temerity to point out that those type of guys don't exactly making "gaming culture" a welcome environment. I mean, guys who defend Penny Arcade under the banner "Team Rape" making people uncomfortable? Unpossible. Unless you hate freedom.
I don't call myself a gamer because I'm interested in associating with people who have a broader world view beyond constant, defensive justification of their own hobbies who don't freak out at the merest hint of disapproval regarding offensive behavior or someone reporting that their lived experience is different somehow. And frankly, I'm tired of associating with immature dudes who can't handle their shit and have zero skills for coping with life outside the bro-verse.
Some of the best aspects of the gaming community come from Penny Arcade, especially Child's Play, although I have small issues with that as well, which I will probably anger people by going into later. Unfortunately, some of the worst elements of gaming culture come from penny arcade and fans. Like instituting a no "booth babes" policy so women feel more welcome, but going out of their way to market and wear ostensibly pro-rape shirts that are hard to explain and expecting people to get over it because a gamer bro's freedom to say and do offensive shit and still be lauded and loved must never be questioned.
Look, I play a shit ton of games. I've had my consciousness so far into Eorzea for the last few weeks I'm lost track of which body is my real body (Oh right, this fat one). It's as legit a hobby for winding down/relaxing as sports or movie watching, obviously.
But I don't call my self a gamer because I don't think rape jokes are by default hilarious and necessary for perfect human freedom.
I don't call myself a gamer because it is about the least challenging thing I do every day. I'd rather be known as a scientist, since that's my actual job, and because it's genuinely challenging. It's like calling yourself a "book colorer" because you passionately love coloring books and have since you were a kid. "I color inside the lines really well, I think it's really matured as a medium." you tell people at parties moments before they drift off to talk to someone who does something actually challenging or meaningful with their lives. I mean, at least people who knit can make you a sweater.
Largely, I don't call myself a gamer because I don't want to be associated with or represented by gaming culture, and the nastier elements of Penny Arcade. Especially the parts that think rape is just a harmless, funny joke that guys must be free to make at any time, and simultaneously what they will threaten you with if you are a woman and have the temerity to point out that those type of guys don't exactly making "gaming culture" a welcome environment. I mean, guys who defend Penny Arcade under the banner "Team Rape" making people uncomfortable? Unpossible. Unless you hate freedom.
I don't call myself a gamer because I'm interested in associating with people who have a broader world view beyond constant, defensive justification of their own hobbies who don't freak out at the merest hint of disapproval regarding offensive behavior or someone reporting that their lived experience is different somehow. And frankly, I'm tired of associating with immature dudes who can't handle their shit and have zero skills for coping with life outside the bro-verse.
Tuesday, September 03, 2013
Now Kiss
Do any sports fans ship their favorite athletes in slash fiction? Or
is that just something us nerd types are prone to do? I mean geek
fandom is becoming this giant mish-mash where everyone metaphorically
grabs their favorite universes, mashes them together and says, "Kiss!
Kiss! You love each other!" until Wolverine is a bounty hunter in
Jabba's palace who flies the Serenity on smuggling missions out of Mos
Eisley. Maybe sports fans are just content to leave it at fantasy
football seasons, and keep their erotic shipping way down in the depths
of their most secret desires. Unless fantasy football has more
erotic/relationship content than I've been led to believe.
Asking for a friend.
Asking for a friend.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Blind Spots
I have been having trouble relating to people recently. I have trouble relating to people when I'm in a relationship. I have trouble relating to people when they're in a relationship. I have trouble relating to people when I'm in a relationship and they're in a relationship.
I'm good at and comfortable with being alone. I'm good at and mostly comfortable with being attached to and living with someone. Got some problems with the in-between bits.
I'm good at and comfortable with being alone. I'm good at and mostly comfortable with being attached to and living with someone. Got some problems with the in-between bits.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
How I Built my Time Machine
I learned to time travel when I was 21. Or maybe it was 20. I'm not exactly sure when the exact turnover date was in retrospect, but at some point I just stopped and the world kept on truckin'. I know this, because I just woke up and it's 2013, and when I went to sleep it was 1997. They have a fancy name for and a hit-or-miss sitcom in homage to this phenomenon, but really, when you're the one experiencing it, the best way to describe is "time travel."
I know I'm not the only one staggering confused, into a bright, confusing dawn. And I know there are still more, safely ensconced in their pods, skin coated in a non-adaptive shell that ensures that information born by experience will never penetrate the outer layer and disrupt the sleeper within. Like me, they'll just keep replaying the same dreams in the same loop over and over until their shell cracks, until their shell has no purpose anymore, one way or the other.
I don't know how it feels for them, but for me it was and is like being stuck in a loop, an endless groundhog day, except unlike Bill Murray's character, the rest of the world kept on flowing by without me and I wasn't really learning anything. Also no Andie McDowell.
I have lived out the same crushes, over and over, with the same people, long after the window to forge a bond had passed. I would reach out to them, later in the day, to clear up a problem we'd just had yesterday, to find they'd traveled forward in time a few years and had long since moved on. They were just as confused as I was I think. You don't meet a time traveler every day. I did this over and over, and I could never remember my chance with them had passed. Why would I? We had been good friends just yesterday. And it was only the next day. It was always the same day, the next day. How could their feelings change so much in just one day?
It was always the same day, and I was always that bright college kid full of potential. Tomorrow I was going to fulfill my potential. Tomorrow I was going to change the world. Tomorrow I was going to meet the right girl. Tomorrow I was going to find some sort of compromise between objective reality and the religious worldview I'd been raised in. Tomorrow I was going to tell my parents I wasn't quite the person they thought I was. Tomorrow I was going to figure it out. As soon as it quit being today. As soon as it quits being today. Man I've had a long day.
I think there's a glitch in my software. I think there's a glitch in my software. I think it triggers when I can't reconcile my internal world with the external world and I just start looping. I think I glitch when my internal and external worlds aren't flush. I don't think I ever really wanted to be a physicist, I think it was just expected of me, and I, in my youthful idiocy, which I remember like it was yesterday (because it was), thought it would be a great way for people to think I'm smart. "Oh you're a scientist? How smart you must be." they might say. And some did say. All day, on that same day. And I would glitch. My brain would itch and I would glitch. I don't feel that smart today.
Having stepped outside of my time machine, having re-engaged my shell with the Flow of Things, having gotten on the fucking ski lift chair that I mostly just watch as it scoots on by, for a few precious moments, from time to time, in what I understand is considered Objective Reality proceeding at the Usual Pace, I think I have seen that I am not the best scientist. It was hard to tell on that endless day, but I don't have the interest in it. I'm smart enough to process the results, I'm probably smart enough to do it well, but I don't think it interests me enough. The smell of it. The everyday of it. The culture surrounding it. Although it might be too early to tell, I've only been doing it for a day.
I don't think I have the right temperament for the Grand Pursuit of Science. I think it is Not For Me. I think I would honestly be happier just reading about it. I think my passions lie in different realms that rest on a slightly different philosophical premise. I think I know this, but I've been thinking that all day. Has anyone noticed the sun has set more than a few times today? Why doesn't anyone else find that strange?
I think I solved the biggest glitch though. I think it is fixed. I think that part of my brain has been de-bugged. Patch 1.5 has been deployed. I did that yesterday I think. I think it's a hell of a thing to find men incredibly attractive. I think when I felt that way, and I saw my father making fun of Liberace, it caused a glitch. I think when my camp director disowned his son for serving the Grand Pursuit of Satan because his son was honest about what he wanted and what he wanted wasn't girls, it caused a glitch. It was going to be tomorrow, but then it was today again. Because tomorrow I was gay. Or bisexual. Or some fucking other that wasn't a straight boy sitting in church with a wife and four children. Tomorrow I was asking that boy out. Tomorrow I might get disowned or sent to reparitive therapy or get made fun of or get the shit kicked out of me or killed because I smiled at the wrong guy. So today there was a glitch. Today I can just watch the ski lift chairs go by, people chatting happily as they are dragged into tomorrow, further up and further in. They are not screaming as they are dragged into tomorrow. I really envy them for not screaming.
My therapist calls it dissociation. I think dissociation is just a fancy word for time travel. Well, relativity makes labels hard. Either I'm traveling back, further back, fast enough to stay exactly where I am, or you lot have secrets you're not telling me and you're all rocketing forward into the future. How dare you. Tell me your secrets. I must know. Seriously, I don't want to die this way.
I pulled up anchor when I came out of the closet to frolic with like-minded sailors. I left my Tardis when the constant abrasions of a bad relationship and the ceaseless flow of temporal sand became too painful to stay still. I found a golden line attached to the Usual Pace and pulled until I was floating along the same as the rest of you.
But time traveling is not a habit you give up easily. It is powerful and seductive being a weird sort of timelord. From time to time I still drop anchor when I can't make sense of the world. When the world has to stop for a while so I can make sense of what I see tomorrow. So I can figure out how to live with being a 20-year-old in a 37-year-old body. "It's okay, I'm living out some sort of Freaky Friday narrative with no good jokes," I can tell nobody. I've been trying to figure out how to process that today. It's been today for 3 months now.
As powerful as my time travel abilities are, I can't keep my shell from aging. I've become keenly aware that however long I linger on today, this shell will eventually reach it's natural expiration date without me and I sill be dragged on to whatever's next. Tomorrow will eventually win the war. Tomorrow is already winning. I am losing ground against tomorrow. Oddly, I am the least afraid of dying as I've ever been, even though I no longer believe in the traditional afterlife promised in my youth to all good stewards of the church. It is still today, but I understand I could die today if the universe seemed hellbent on the idea. It's not my idea of a good time, but ultimately one has to accept one is not an immortal god who will not be saved by science, Jesus or faeries. One has to accept that one's shell has an egg timer on it that will eventually pop your toast, as the kids say. Even in my time machine I have noticed that nobody's shell seems to get out of here alive, no matter what they believe, think or do. The nice thing about today is that it is not yesterday, that long, endless yesterday, and I have learned things today. Only a couple things, but I have learned them. And one of them is that our shells are designed to grow and to bloom but also to whither and die, but that's okay. So I don't fear dying, I just fear dying today. Dying with all the shit I've wanted to do tomorrow undone. That shit I've wanted to do since it was yesterday. That shit has not been on the docket today.
I think a warrior would not have a problem with today. Or tomorrow. He would just keep slicing at tomorrow until it looked more like today. Charging the borders between now and then until he'd annexed tomorrow and looted its precious natural resources. Tacking hard against the wind and the endless flow of time to chart his own course. Dancing nimbly as the ground shifted unceasingly under his feet. A whirling cyclone of chaos and change, carving into the future. I admire warriors. I hear they have a guild. I am thinking of applying. I want to come out and play.
Tomorrow maybe. I've been stuck in this goddamn time machine all day.
I know I'm not the only one staggering confused, into a bright, confusing dawn. And I know there are still more, safely ensconced in their pods, skin coated in a non-adaptive shell that ensures that information born by experience will never penetrate the outer layer and disrupt the sleeper within. Like me, they'll just keep replaying the same dreams in the same loop over and over until their shell cracks, until their shell has no purpose anymore, one way or the other.
I don't know how it feels for them, but for me it was and is like being stuck in a loop, an endless groundhog day, except unlike Bill Murray's character, the rest of the world kept on flowing by without me and I wasn't really learning anything. Also no Andie McDowell.
I have lived out the same crushes, over and over, with the same people, long after the window to forge a bond had passed. I would reach out to them, later in the day, to clear up a problem we'd just had yesterday, to find they'd traveled forward in time a few years and had long since moved on. They were just as confused as I was I think. You don't meet a time traveler every day. I did this over and over, and I could never remember my chance with them had passed. Why would I? We had been good friends just yesterday. And it was only the next day. It was always the same day, the next day. How could their feelings change so much in just one day?
It was always the same day, and I was always that bright college kid full of potential. Tomorrow I was going to fulfill my potential. Tomorrow I was going to change the world. Tomorrow I was going to meet the right girl. Tomorrow I was going to find some sort of compromise between objective reality and the religious worldview I'd been raised in. Tomorrow I was going to tell my parents I wasn't quite the person they thought I was. Tomorrow I was going to figure it out. As soon as it quit being today. As soon as it quits being today. Man I've had a long day.
I think there's a glitch in my software. I think there's a glitch in my software. I think it triggers when I can't reconcile my internal world with the external world and I just start looping. I think I glitch when my internal and external worlds aren't flush. I don't think I ever really wanted to be a physicist, I think it was just expected of me, and I, in my youthful idiocy, which I remember like it was yesterday (because it was), thought it would be a great way for people to think I'm smart. "Oh you're a scientist? How smart you must be." they might say. And some did say. All day, on that same day. And I would glitch. My brain would itch and I would glitch. I don't feel that smart today.
Having stepped outside of my time machine, having re-engaged my shell with the Flow of Things, having gotten on the fucking ski lift chair that I mostly just watch as it scoots on by, for a few precious moments, from time to time, in what I understand is considered Objective Reality proceeding at the Usual Pace, I think I have seen that I am not the best scientist. It was hard to tell on that endless day, but I don't have the interest in it. I'm smart enough to process the results, I'm probably smart enough to do it well, but I don't think it interests me enough. The smell of it. The everyday of it. The culture surrounding it. Although it might be too early to tell, I've only been doing it for a day.
I don't think I have the right temperament for the Grand Pursuit of Science. I think it is Not For Me. I think I would honestly be happier just reading about it. I think my passions lie in different realms that rest on a slightly different philosophical premise. I think I know this, but I've been thinking that all day. Has anyone noticed the sun has set more than a few times today? Why doesn't anyone else find that strange?
I think I solved the biggest glitch though. I think it is fixed. I think that part of my brain has been de-bugged. Patch 1.5 has been deployed. I did that yesterday I think. I think it's a hell of a thing to find men incredibly attractive. I think when I felt that way, and I saw my father making fun of Liberace, it caused a glitch. I think when my camp director disowned his son for serving the Grand Pursuit of Satan because his son was honest about what he wanted and what he wanted wasn't girls, it caused a glitch. It was going to be tomorrow, but then it was today again. Because tomorrow I was gay. Or bisexual. Or some fucking other that wasn't a straight boy sitting in church with a wife and four children. Tomorrow I was asking that boy out. Tomorrow I might get disowned or sent to reparitive therapy or get made fun of or get the shit kicked out of me or killed because I smiled at the wrong guy. So today there was a glitch. Today I can just watch the ski lift chairs go by, people chatting happily as they are dragged into tomorrow, further up and further in. They are not screaming as they are dragged into tomorrow. I really envy them for not screaming.
My therapist calls it dissociation. I think dissociation is just a fancy word for time travel. Well, relativity makes labels hard. Either I'm traveling back, further back, fast enough to stay exactly where I am, or you lot have secrets you're not telling me and you're all rocketing forward into the future. How dare you. Tell me your secrets. I must know. Seriously, I don't want to die this way.
I pulled up anchor when I came out of the closet to frolic with like-minded sailors. I left my Tardis when the constant abrasions of a bad relationship and the ceaseless flow of temporal sand became too painful to stay still. I found a golden line attached to the Usual Pace and pulled until I was floating along the same as the rest of you.
But time traveling is not a habit you give up easily. It is powerful and seductive being a weird sort of timelord. From time to time I still drop anchor when I can't make sense of the world. When the world has to stop for a while so I can make sense of what I see tomorrow. So I can figure out how to live with being a 20-year-old in a 37-year-old body. "It's okay, I'm living out some sort of Freaky Friday narrative with no good jokes," I can tell nobody. I've been trying to figure out how to process that today. It's been today for 3 months now.
As powerful as my time travel abilities are, I can't keep my shell from aging. I've become keenly aware that however long I linger on today, this shell will eventually reach it's natural expiration date without me and I sill be dragged on to whatever's next. Tomorrow will eventually win the war. Tomorrow is already winning. I am losing ground against tomorrow. Oddly, I am the least afraid of dying as I've ever been, even though I no longer believe in the traditional afterlife promised in my youth to all good stewards of the church. It is still today, but I understand I could die today if the universe seemed hellbent on the idea. It's not my idea of a good time, but ultimately one has to accept one is not an immortal god who will not be saved by science, Jesus or faeries. One has to accept that one's shell has an egg timer on it that will eventually pop your toast, as the kids say. Even in my time machine I have noticed that nobody's shell seems to get out of here alive, no matter what they believe, think or do. The nice thing about today is that it is not yesterday, that long, endless yesterday, and I have learned things today. Only a couple things, but I have learned them. And one of them is that our shells are designed to grow and to bloom but also to whither and die, but that's okay. So I don't fear dying, I just fear dying today. Dying with all the shit I've wanted to do tomorrow undone. That shit I've wanted to do since it was yesterday. That shit has not been on the docket today.
I think a warrior would not have a problem with today. Or tomorrow. He would just keep slicing at tomorrow until it looked more like today. Charging the borders between now and then until he'd annexed tomorrow and looted its precious natural resources. Tacking hard against the wind and the endless flow of time to chart his own course. Dancing nimbly as the ground shifted unceasingly under his feet. A whirling cyclone of chaos and change, carving into the future. I admire warriors. I hear they have a guild. I am thinking of applying. I want to come out and play.
Tomorrow maybe. I've been stuck in this goddamn time machine all day.
Wednesday, August 07, 2013
Moments on a Funeral Day
Cousin K will not stop talking on the drive over. I got up insanely early, I'm too tired to do more than grunt in reply to most sentences, and yet the chatter never stops. Just brief pauses, a taste of silence and the open road, before it is snatched away by tales of how he likes to tease his son with asperger syndrome about his liberal views on gun control. Or how he likes to ride by himself into the mountains on his motorcycle where there are no cell phones. I don't believe it. I don't see how he can ride for that long without talking to someone. Maybe he just talks to himself. That I can see.
I like cousin K, but man he can talk.
******
Cousin D has jokingly threatened to shave my hair the same way he always does when I appear something other than conservative, republican and christian. No, I would not have dyed my hair blue if I'd known I was coming to a funeral today with this half of the family. I laugh amiably.
"I will cut his hands off if he touches my hair," I think. I'm not really violent, but I have a hard time with the constant "why don't you conform better to my sensibilities?" kind of ribbing I typically get from him. I try and remember that everyone is sad today under the surface. And this time, the visit doesn't have to be about me, my super gayness and how much I don't fit with this family anymore. It's a funeral day and it's not about me. It's kind of a relief to be honest.
I end up reminding myself of this a lot throughout the day.
******
"So H, when you getting married?" my Uncle R asks. I like uncle R, but I'm surprised he doesn't know. There was a panicked flurry of phone calls discussing the horrible news when I first came out, but apparently it never made it's way to him.
"Not for a long time," I say lightly. I decline to get into the specifics.
******
My cousin A is at the funeral home for the viewing. We have one of the best talks we've ever had as she unloads about how hard everything has been. Apparently she took a lot of the work load, along with her aunt V in caring for great aunt D (her grandmother) the last few months of her life. A has three children and a full time job so to say it's been a sacrifice is an understatement.
Her father, cousin D, won't come see his mother's body. Neither will any of the other two brothers. One doesn't even come up for the funeral (although how much that was a fear of flying and a refusal to face loss I don't know). It is here I learn that cousin D has been in absolute denial since his mother decided to stop treatment a just do pain management. he has been finding any excuse not to help, to be away, to not deal with the loss of his mom. He does not have the tools to process this event, and because my family is built on Adventist patriarchy, there is no one above him to call him on his shit, in a tough love kind of way. His daughter is furious at him. Both because he hasn't been helping and he apparently spoke to her dismissively about all she'd done to help his mom.
I feel sympathy for cousin A. She is good people. Selfishly, I feel much better about the constant teasing from my elder cousins. They don't have their shit together either, even though they plant all the right tribal markers. But I imagine the death of a loved one is enough to make anyone burst a little at the seams. I try and take it as another reminder to be kinder.
******
Great aunt D's viewing is lovely. They did an amazing job on her body. She looks peaceful, beautiful. I can almost see her breathing.
The only thing that bothers me is the only thing that ever bothers me at a funeral: the fingers. The fingers don't look right with no animating force. They look too flat. They are not how fingers should look. I don't like that so much. But I march up and take a quiet moment to pay my respects anyway. It's a funeral day, and it isn't about me. Aunt D was always nice to me.
******
The service is rough. Everyone is having a hard day. My great aunt D's brother V died the day after she did, also of natural causes, but his daughter is there anyway, just to be around family. There's way more Jesus talk than I'm comfortable with, and I have to remind myself again that it's not about me. The belief that they will get to see their departed loved ones again is a balm to them, and I understand that.
The pictures from her life are beautiful. She had a hard life, much harder than mine, and made quite a bit with it. She didn't have a room of her own until she was married. She slept on the couch through her entire childhood because the houses only ever had two room and it was six brothers in the one and her parents in the other. She became a registered nurse who married a non-adventist soldier, who died tragically in a construction accident at age 54. She never remarried because he was the only one for her and she wanted to be reunited with him at the resurrection. I'm not sure the world works that way, but I admire her loyalty and love just the same.
******
My grandfather doesn't recognize me at first. I've been warned he's not "there" as much as he used to be. He has a sharp motorized chair now, and an elevator device so my grandmother doesn't have to muscle him into a tall truck anymore. Honestly, how she ever muscled him into the truck without it is somewhat amazing to me. Even in a wheelchair he has enough left-over mass from a life of hard ranch work to make the task difficult. My grandmother is the living embodiment of Norwegian stoicism and toughness.
He scoots over in our general direction, going off on a tangent for no discernible reason. It's honestly hard to tell if he's just playing, or doesn't really know what's going on. He was always somewhat mute and inscrutable even in the best of health. My grandmother asks if he recognizes "this guy", pointing at me. We make eye contact, and there's not a glimmer of recognition.
"No, don't think so." he says.
"Sure you do, it's your grandson H, V's boy." my grandmother says loudly, his hearing is going too. He looks at me again and a light dawns, and then he smiles. "Well, it's hard to tell, he keeps changing!" We all laugh. I have blue hair, and the time before it was green, and the time before it was a terrible pony-tail with a bad black dye job and the time before it was something else I'm sure. It's a more insightful response than anyone was expecting, but I know what I saw. He didn't recognize me for a second. Mom says he's kind of confused about where he is and what he's doing in general sometimes.
I don't know what to do with or about this information, but I have sympathy. His body betrayed him with a stroke, and now his mind is starting to slip a little too. I imagine this is difficult for someone as notoriously self-reliant as my grandfather.
At the viewing he won't go in at first. His daughter C finally gets him to go, forcing him to look. I leave the room. It seems too crowded suddenly. He leaves with tissue in his hands and red eyes. I think he is "there" enough to know his only sister is gone. I suspect he is more "there" than anyone is giving him credit for and his sorrow is the proof. Like the rest of the men in my family, he probably doesn't have a great tool set for dealing with his own emotions. I wish I knew how to help him.
I shake his hand, and say good-bye as I get ready to leave. Cousin K is edging towards the door, and the line of well-wishers snagging him into long goodbyes will only last so long, so I'd better be ready to go. Grandpa snags my sleeve as grandma rolls him by a couple minutes later, and looks up at me with watering eyes. He knows me, he loves me, he wants me to come see them at the ranch sometime.
"Anytime," grandma says. No mention is made of my boyfriend. But today is not about me.
******
My dad asks about my boyfriend M. His interest seems unforced. Makes sure I tell him "hi." Mom does the same. I have a good conversation with him about why he can't stand onions. It was hard to tell at first, but I think things are getting better now that I'm not hiding the truth about myself.
******
Cousin K is very quiet on the ride home, it has been a long day for all of us. I am very grateful for the relative silence. We stop at a Mcdonalds in a gas station int he middle of nowhere. There is a guy watching a video on the free wi-fi in the lobby. He must drive trucks. I don't understand why he'd stop and waste time in middle of a journey otherwise.
I arrive home to noisy, demanding cats and a handsome boyfriend who has been waiting patiently. The cats would probably insist I switch those adjectives, but of course cats would. I don't know how many funerals my family expects me to attend without my own emotional support in tow, but I don't know how many more days like that I want to do solo either. I suspect bringing the man I love will cause a bigger stir than blue hair. I think I have the right to having a supportive partner nearby on a hard day as much as they do and it frustrates me that it would even be an issue. But it would. Or so I imagine.
I admit, I find it frustrating to find the line on what is right in dealing with my family, especially on days that are not about me.
I like cousin K, but man he can talk.
******
Cousin D has jokingly threatened to shave my hair the same way he always does when I appear something other than conservative, republican and christian. No, I would not have dyed my hair blue if I'd known I was coming to a funeral today with this half of the family. I laugh amiably.
"I will cut his hands off if he touches my hair," I think. I'm not really violent, but I have a hard time with the constant "why don't you conform better to my sensibilities?" kind of ribbing I typically get from him. I try and remember that everyone is sad today under the surface. And this time, the visit doesn't have to be about me, my super gayness and how much I don't fit with this family anymore. It's a funeral day and it's not about me. It's kind of a relief to be honest.
I end up reminding myself of this a lot throughout the day.
******
"So H, when you getting married?" my Uncle R asks. I like uncle R, but I'm surprised he doesn't know. There was a panicked flurry of phone calls discussing the horrible news when I first came out, but apparently it never made it's way to him.
"Not for a long time," I say lightly. I decline to get into the specifics.
******
My cousin A is at the funeral home for the viewing. We have one of the best talks we've ever had as she unloads about how hard everything has been. Apparently she took a lot of the work load, along with her aunt V in caring for great aunt D (her grandmother) the last few months of her life. A has three children and a full time job so to say it's been a sacrifice is an understatement.
Her father, cousin D, won't come see his mother's body. Neither will any of the other two brothers. One doesn't even come up for the funeral (although how much that was a fear of flying and a refusal to face loss I don't know). It is here I learn that cousin D has been in absolute denial since his mother decided to stop treatment a just do pain management. he has been finding any excuse not to help, to be away, to not deal with the loss of his mom. He does not have the tools to process this event, and because my family is built on Adventist patriarchy, there is no one above him to call him on his shit, in a tough love kind of way. His daughter is furious at him. Both because he hasn't been helping and he apparently spoke to her dismissively about all she'd done to help his mom.
I feel sympathy for cousin A. She is good people. Selfishly, I feel much better about the constant teasing from my elder cousins. They don't have their shit together either, even though they plant all the right tribal markers. But I imagine the death of a loved one is enough to make anyone burst a little at the seams. I try and take it as another reminder to be kinder.
******
Great aunt D's viewing is lovely. They did an amazing job on her body. She looks peaceful, beautiful. I can almost see her breathing.
The only thing that bothers me is the only thing that ever bothers me at a funeral: the fingers. The fingers don't look right with no animating force. They look too flat. They are not how fingers should look. I don't like that so much. But I march up and take a quiet moment to pay my respects anyway. It's a funeral day, and it isn't about me. Aunt D was always nice to me.
******
The service is rough. Everyone is having a hard day. My great aunt D's brother V died the day after she did, also of natural causes, but his daughter is there anyway, just to be around family. There's way more Jesus talk than I'm comfortable with, and I have to remind myself again that it's not about me. The belief that they will get to see their departed loved ones again is a balm to them, and I understand that.
The pictures from her life are beautiful. She had a hard life, much harder than mine, and made quite a bit with it. She didn't have a room of her own until she was married. She slept on the couch through her entire childhood because the houses only ever had two room and it was six brothers in the one and her parents in the other. She became a registered nurse who married a non-adventist soldier, who died tragically in a construction accident at age 54. She never remarried because he was the only one for her and she wanted to be reunited with him at the resurrection. I'm not sure the world works that way, but I admire her loyalty and love just the same.
******
My grandfather doesn't recognize me at first. I've been warned he's not "there" as much as he used to be. He has a sharp motorized chair now, and an elevator device so my grandmother doesn't have to muscle him into a tall truck anymore. Honestly, how she ever muscled him into the truck without it is somewhat amazing to me. Even in a wheelchair he has enough left-over mass from a life of hard ranch work to make the task difficult. My grandmother is the living embodiment of Norwegian stoicism and toughness.
He scoots over in our general direction, going off on a tangent for no discernible reason. It's honestly hard to tell if he's just playing, or doesn't really know what's going on. He was always somewhat mute and inscrutable even in the best of health. My grandmother asks if he recognizes "this guy", pointing at me. We make eye contact, and there's not a glimmer of recognition.
"No, don't think so." he says.
"Sure you do, it's your grandson H, V's boy." my grandmother says loudly, his hearing is going too. He looks at me again and a light dawns, and then he smiles. "Well, it's hard to tell, he keeps changing!" We all laugh. I have blue hair, and the time before it was green, and the time before it was a terrible pony-tail with a bad black dye job and the time before it was something else I'm sure. It's a more insightful response than anyone was expecting, but I know what I saw. He didn't recognize me for a second. Mom says he's kind of confused about where he is and what he's doing in general sometimes.
I don't know what to do with or about this information, but I have sympathy. His body betrayed him with a stroke, and now his mind is starting to slip a little too. I imagine this is difficult for someone as notoriously self-reliant as my grandfather.
At the viewing he won't go in at first. His daughter C finally gets him to go, forcing him to look. I leave the room. It seems too crowded suddenly. He leaves with tissue in his hands and red eyes. I think he is "there" enough to know his only sister is gone. I suspect he is more "there" than anyone is giving him credit for and his sorrow is the proof. Like the rest of the men in my family, he probably doesn't have a great tool set for dealing with his own emotions. I wish I knew how to help him.
I shake his hand, and say good-bye as I get ready to leave. Cousin K is edging towards the door, and the line of well-wishers snagging him into long goodbyes will only last so long, so I'd better be ready to go. Grandpa snags my sleeve as grandma rolls him by a couple minutes later, and looks up at me with watering eyes. He knows me, he loves me, he wants me to come see them at the ranch sometime.
"Anytime," grandma says. No mention is made of my boyfriend. But today is not about me.
******
My dad asks about my boyfriend M. His interest seems unforced. Makes sure I tell him "hi." Mom does the same. I have a good conversation with him about why he can't stand onions. It was hard to tell at first, but I think things are getting better now that I'm not hiding the truth about myself.
******
Cousin K is very quiet on the ride home, it has been a long day for all of us. I am very grateful for the relative silence. We stop at a Mcdonalds in a gas station int he middle of nowhere. There is a guy watching a video on the free wi-fi in the lobby. He must drive trucks. I don't understand why he'd stop and waste time in middle of a journey otherwise.
I arrive home to noisy, demanding cats and a handsome boyfriend who has been waiting patiently. The cats would probably insist I switch those adjectives, but of course cats would. I don't know how many funerals my family expects me to attend without my own emotional support in tow, but I don't know how many more days like that I want to do solo either. I suspect bringing the man I love will cause a bigger stir than blue hair. I think I have the right to having a supportive partner nearby on a hard day as much as they do and it frustrates me that it would even be an issue. But it would. Or so I imagine.
I admit, I find it frustrating to find the line on what is right in dealing with my family, especially on days that are not about me.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Tales to WoW you, part 5
I realized I had been sitting on my last "tales to WoW you" for 6 years now. Probably because I was embarrassed to be writing World of Warcraft fan fiction. Having lost any sense of shame and decorum in the meantime, I present the next installment: Death and Taxes. For those not in a place to enjoy dark humor, this post is probably best avoided. The main characters are undead zombies known as the Forsaken. Their existence trends towards the morbid.
Of course, those interested in fine writing are encourage to keep on trucking as well. I wrote this yesterday because I had to and it entertained me. Your mileage may vary. Contents may settle, etc.
Age 37
*A small hillside covered in sickly grass, plagued weeds and diseased trees sits in the foreground, caught in the murky, mid-afternoon sunlight of Silverpine Forest. Demon hounds frolic mirthlessly in pursuit of an unwary traveler, scrambling in panic up the hillside. It soon becomes clear that the hounds are toying with him. *
*A word of power explodes behind them. The hounds start, whip around to face the newcomer, growling in the disturbing atonalities common to possessed wildlife. A second word of power booms across the hillside, and the hounds choose discretion over death and disappear over the top of the hill.*
Traveler *Wide eyed and panicked*: Oh, thank the light! If you hadn't come when you did I don't think I would have made it!
Hooded stranger: *speaking in a gravely, raspy voice the young traveler is too excited and naive to notice* It was no problem at all, my son, no problem at all. What do they call ye back home then?
Darren: It's Darren sir, and I'm pleased to meet you. *Darren is still visibly shaken*
Stranger: Here Darren, drink from this, it will calm your nerves. *Offering a tonic to Darren, who receives it gratefully and downs it in one gulp. The hooded stranger reaches into his robe, removes a small card and writes "Darren" in large, friendly letters on the face of it. He reaches out an pins the card to Darren's vest, before the other realizes what is happening.*
Stranger: Darren, a quality name, quite fine. *pointing at the card* That is so they know what to call you when you wake up.
Darren: When I wake up from what sir? Do you know of lodging nearby?
Stranger: Of a sort, lad, of a sort, we'll carry you there free of charge of course.
Darren: *Confused, and looking increasingly poorly.* Carry me, why would you do that?
Stranger: Because you'll be dead in about half a minute from the plague I put in your drink.
*Darren, looking alarmed, has fallen to his knees.*
Darren: *ack*
Stranger: *removes his cowl, revealing the cold, slick, unnaturally preserved skin of a Forsaken priest.* There's no need to thank me, my son. Soon you will be born to a glorious new world, where even death cannot defeat you!
*Darren dies quietly, confused.*
Stranger: *Looking off majestically into the distance.* I am but a humble midwife, bringing brave souls into the tender care of our Dark Lady.
*The stranger snaps himself out of his reverie, looking around.*
Stranger: *Mumbling to himself* But this isn't at all what I was here for, just a happy coincidence . . . *He unstraps his ornately carved staff from his back and begins weaving it in intricate patterns over a couple of unremarkable lumps in the ground nearby, chanting a dark spell the living would tremble to hear. The earth cracks, split with seams filled with light, before two sickly golden beams of unholy radiance burst launch skyward, throwing dirt, bones and debris every where.*
*A few moments pass, while the dust settles. One preserved hand, mostly bone, rises up and claws the rim of the newly excavated burial mound. Another, with a little more meat on it, joins it shortly. A Forsaken skull, worms and beetles still tangled in its hair, follows soon after. Gulveris the rogue of little renown pulls himself the rest of the way onto the ground.*
Gulveris: Oh man, what a rush! *He turns over on his back and starts laughing.* Kar, man, that was crazy. *There is no response.* Kar?
*From the other mound, a muffled voice:*
Karibou: Why can't I die?! For the love of all that's unholy, why can't I die?
Gulveris: Why must you always be so negative?
Karibou: You! Your fault!
*A Forsaken soldier in seriously dented armor claws out of the earth, murder in his eyes. He advances towards Gulveris menacingly.*
Gulveris: *laughing carelessly* Oh what are you going to do Kar, kill me?
Karibou: Let's find out! *Kar draws his sword and takes a few practice swings, envisioning how, precisely, he will carve Gulveris into fine pieces.*
*Before Karibou can launch himself towards his adventuring buddy in the interests of science, experimentation and hyper-violent revenge, the hooded stranger barks another word of power, bringing them both up short with a wince.*
Stranger: Gentleman, I did not raise you both simply so you could tear each other apart.
Gulveris: Ah! The undead of the hour, to what do we owe this timely resurrection?
*Karibou is now simply staring at Gulveris, his teeth grinding loudly.*
Stranger: Ah, it is not me you owe so much as the Dark Lady.
Gulveris: Oh, of course, all hail Sylvannus, the Dark Lady of Lordearon!
Stranger: *coughs delicately.* Ah, it is not so much your praise you owe her, but there ARE some tax payments which, I'm afraid, you both are QUITE overdue on.
Gulveris: *Astonished.* Impossible! I paid my taxes in full two months ago! And Karibou's far too much of a square to have skipped it I am sure.
*Karibou snaps out of his murderous reverie and glances around the hillside before finally looking towards the stranger.*
Karibou: Oh no. How many years of taxes do we owe exactly?
Stranger: *Glances through a small book he brought with him.* Ah, gentleman, you both owe 7 years of back taxes I'm afraid, accrued while you took your rest out here in the country.
Karibou: Well, our rest wasn't exactly intentional now was it! *begins muttering to himself darkly about death, undeath, taxes and exactly what he was going to do to Gulveris later that afternoon.*
Gulveris: And how much do we owe, exactly?
Stranger: 40 gold pieces from each of you will be enough to satisfy your debt with the Dark Lady.
Gulveris: Well, that's not so bad, right Kar?
Karibou: *Mimicking Gulveris sarcastically* "That's not so bad, right Kar!"
Stranger: Oh, and, ah, of course 1 gold each for the resurrection fee.
Karibou: Well this is great Gul, because of you I can't die, I can't live and I'm broke. Fantastic.
*The stranger glances at Darren's poor body, and a wave of compassion overcomes him, he is a priest after all.*
Stranger: I'll tell you what, if you take this newborn to the nearest crypt for processing, I'll wave the resurrection fee, how does that sound?
Gulveris: See Kar? It's not so bad! *Gulveris fishes most of his gold out and hands it to the priest.*
Karibou: *Again, mimicking mockingly* "See Kar, it's not so bad!" *Karibou hands over most of his gold as well with a resigned air. The forsaken couldn't die, but the taxmen in Undercity could make the afterlife . . . unpleasant.*
*A screams splits the afternoon air, faintly to the south*
Stranger: Ah! Another soul in need of aid. I am off to continue our great work! Gentlemen, I bid you farewell. *The stranger moves swiftly off, in that unnatural lope most Forsaken seem prone to.*
Karibou: *Looks at Gulveris, now more depressed than anything.* You're like my own personal plague, you realize that don't you?
Gulveris: *Rolling his eyes so hard they nearly pop out.* Again with the drama. You love me with all the passion that cold heart can muster and you know it. Come on, help me with this body. The sooner we get it to a crypt, the sooner we can catch up on what's been happening since we've been gone.
Karibou: Well, it can't be anything THAT interesting if we slept through it, now can it?
*Karibou and Gulveris carry Darren the soon-to-be-reborn off into the distance, arguing re-animatedly. After a short time, the shadows on the hill lengthen, gather and solidify into a tiny goblin and a much larger void of demonic energy, bound with ornate, golden wristbands, staring thoughtfully at the corpses carting a corpse behind a copse of trees.
Ashauss: They'll do, don't you think?
Void Demon: *In an unearthly whisper* Release me. I don't like it here.
Ashauss: *Pats a wristband gently* Soon enough.
Of course, those interested in fine writing are encourage to keep on trucking as well. I wrote this yesterday because I had to and it entertained me. Your mileage may vary. Contents may settle, etc.
Death and Taxes
By Parallel HAge 37
*A small hillside covered in sickly grass, plagued weeds and diseased trees sits in the foreground, caught in the murky, mid-afternoon sunlight of Silverpine Forest. Demon hounds frolic mirthlessly in pursuit of an unwary traveler, scrambling in panic up the hillside. It soon becomes clear that the hounds are toying with him. *
*A word of power explodes behind them. The hounds start, whip around to face the newcomer, growling in the disturbing atonalities common to possessed wildlife. A second word of power booms across the hillside, and the hounds choose discretion over death and disappear over the top of the hill.*
Traveler *Wide eyed and panicked*: Oh, thank the light! If you hadn't come when you did I don't think I would have made it!
Hooded stranger: *speaking in a gravely, raspy voice the young traveler is too excited and naive to notice* It was no problem at all, my son, no problem at all. What do they call ye back home then?
Darren: It's Darren sir, and I'm pleased to meet you. *Darren is still visibly shaken*
Stranger: Here Darren, drink from this, it will calm your nerves. *Offering a tonic to Darren, who receives it gratefully and downs it in one gulp. The hooded stranger reaches into his robe, removes a small card and writes "Darren" in large, friendly letters on the face of it. He reaches out an pins the card to Darren's vest, before the other realizes what is happening.*
Stranger: Darren, a quality name, quite fine. *pointing at the card* That is so they know what to call you when you wake up.
Darren: When I wake up from what sir? Do you know of lodging nearby?
Stranger: Of a sort, lad, of a sort, we'll carry you there free of charge of course.
Darren: *Confused, and looking increasingly poorly.* Carry me, why would you do that?
Stranger: Because you'll be dead in about half a minute from the plague I put in your drink.
*Darren, looking alarmed, has fallen to his knees.*
Darren: *ack*
Stranger: *removes his cowl, revealing the cold, slick, unnaturally preserved skin of a Forsaken priest.* There's no need to thank me, my son. Soon you will be born to a glorious new world, where even death cannot defeat you!
*Darren dies quietly, confused.*
Stranger: *Looking off majestically into the distance.* I am but a humble midwife, bringing brave souls into the tender care of our Dark Lady.
*The stranger snaps himself out of his reverie, looking around.*
Stranger: *Mumbling to himself* But this isn't at all what I was here for, just a happy coincidence . . . *He unstraps his ornately carved staff from his back and begins weaving it in intricate patterns over a couple of unremarkable lumps in the ground nearby, chanting a dark spell the living would tremble to hear. The earth cracks, split with seams filled with light, before two sickly golden beams of unholy radiance burst launch skyward, throwing dirt, bones and debris every where.*
*A few moments pass, while the dust settles. One preserved hand, mostly bone, rises up and claws the rim of the newly excavated burial mound. Another, with a little more meat on it, joins it shortly. A Forsaken skull, worms and beetles still tangled in its hair, follows soon after. Gulveris the rogue of little renown pulls himself the rest of the way onto the ground.*
Gulveris: Oh man, what a rush! *He turns over on his back and starts laughing.* Kar, man, that was crazy. *There is no response.* Kar?
*From the other mound, a muffled voice:*
Karibou: Why can't I die?! For the love of all that's unholy, why can't I die?
Gulveris: Why must you always be so negative?
Karibou: You! Your fault!
*A Forsaken soldier in seriously dented armor claws out of the earth, murder in his eyes. He advances towards Gulveris menacingly.*
Gulveris: *laughing carelessly* Oh what are you going to do Kar, kill me?
Karibou: Let's find out! *Kar draws his sword and takes a few practice swings, envisioning how, precisely, he will carve Gulveris into fine pieces.*
*Before Karibou can launch himself towards his adventuring buddy in the interests of science, experimentation and hyper-violent revenge, the hooded stranger barks another word of power, bringing them both up short with a wince.*
Stranger: Gentleman, I did not raise you both simply so you could tear each other apart.
Gulveris: Ah! The undead of the hour, to what do we owe this timely resurrection?
*Karibou is now simply staring at Gulveris, his teeth grinding loudly.*
Stranger: Ah, it is not me you owe so much as the Dark Lady.
Gulveris: Oh, of course, all hail Sylvannus, the Dark Lady of Lordearon!
Stranger: *coughs delicately.* Ah, it is not so much your praise you owe her, but there ARE some tax payments which, I'm afraid, you both are QUITE overdue on.
Gulveris: *Astonished.* Impossible! I paid my taxes in full two months ago! And Karibou's far too much of a square to have skipped it I am sure.
*Karibou snaps out of his murderous reverie and glances around the hillside before finally looking towards the stranger.*
Karibou: Oh no. How many years of taxes do we owe exactly?
Stranger: *Glances through a small book he brought with him.* Ah, gentleman, you both owe 7 years of back taxes I'm afraid, accrued while you took your rest out here in the country.
Karibou: Well, our rest wasn't exactly intentional now was it! *begins muttering to himself darkly about death, undeath, taxes and exactly what he was going to do to Gulveris later that afternoon.*
Gulveris: And how much do we owe, exactly?
Stranger: 40 gold pieces from each of you will be enough to satisfy your debt with the Dark Lady.
Gulveris: Well, that's not so bad, right Kar?
Karibou: *Mimicking Gulveris sarcastically* "That's not so bad, right Kar!"
Stranger: Oh, and, ah, of course 1 gold each for the resurrection fee.
Karibou: Well this is great Gul, because of you I can't die, I can't live and I'm broke. Fantastic.
*The stranger glances at Darren's poor body, and a wave of compassion overcomes him, he is a priest after all.*
Stranger: I'll tell you what, if you take this newborn to the nearest crypt for processing, I'll wave the resurrection fee, how does that sound?
Gulveris: See Kar? It's not so bad! *Gulveris fishes most of his gold out and hands it to the priest.*
Karibou: *Again, mimicking mockingly* "See Kar, it's not so bad!" *Karibou hands over most of his gold as well with a resigned air. The forsaken couldn't die, but the taxmen in Undercity could make the afterlife . . . unpleasant.*
*A screams splits the afternoon air, faintly to the south*
Stranger: Ah! Another soul in need of aid. I am off to continue our great work! Gentlemen, I bid you farewell. *The stranger moves swiftly off, in that unnatural lope most Forsaken seem prone to.*
Karibou: *Looks at Gulveris, now more depressed than anything.* You're like my own personal plague, you realize that don't you?
Gulveris: *Rolling his eyes so hard they nearly pop out.* Again with the drama. You love me with all the passion that cold heart can muster and you know it. Come on, help me with this body. The sooner we get it to a crypt, the sooner we can catch up on what's been happening since we've been gone.
Karibou: Well, it can't be anything THAT interesting if we slept through it, now can it?
*Karibou and Gulveris carry Darren the soon-to-be-reborn off into the distance, arguing re-animatedly. After a short time, the shadows on the hill lengthen, gather and solidify into a tiny goblin and a much larger void of demonic energy, bound with ornate, golden wristbands, staring thoughtfully at the corpses carting a corpse behind a copse of trees.
Ashauss: They'll do, don't you think?
Void Demon: *In an unearthly whisper* Release me. I don't like it here.
Ashauss: *Pats a wristband gently* Soon enough.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
One small step for a man child
Why it happened at 1am I don't know, but I finally wrote the introduction to the story I've been dragging my feet on for over a year now. It will require some serious revising, but it actually turned out a little better than I thought it would. And most of all, it was fun! New ideas came to me as I put it together, which is, I guess, how the process works.
I am still second-guessing my ability to put words together in a fashion pleasing enough to pay me for (because my brain feels so out of shape right now), but I think I need to try anyway, because I think it's important to me to know I tried. Now if I can just break though my ever-present fears of failure and change long enough to finish the rest I'll be set to start cracking it apart again with revisions. I can already see where I'll need to re-write, or do more research so I sound like I know what I'm talking about. But I'm thinking I should write out what I think I want it to be, then fill in the gaps in my knowledge with research, and go back and make it more interesting.
Although maybe I should outline the plot before i get too much farther. Maybe things should happen somewhere between the beginning and the end.
1) Opening Scene
2) ?????
3) Victory!
Is probably not quite enough to go on. Well, I have an idea of how the last scenes go pretty well, and a few scenes in between, but I'm not sure how to make the intervening scenes flow smoothly and keep the reader invested, and I haven't quite gamed out how things unfold given the set-up, the players and the end goal.
First things first. Write the first thing first.
I am still second-guessing my ability to put words together in a fashion pleasing enough to pay me for (because my brain feels so out of shape right now), but I think I need to try anyway, because I think it's important to me to know I tried. Now if I can just break though my ever-present fears of failure and change long enough to finish the rest I'll be set to start cracking it apart again with revisions. I can already see where I'll need to re-write, or do more research so I sound like I know what I'm talking about. But I'm thinking I should write out what I think I want it to be, then fill in the gaps in my knowledge with research, and go back and make it more interesting.
Although maybe I should outline the plot before i get too much farther. Maybe things should happen somewhere between the beginning and the end.
1) Opening Scene
2) ?????
3) Victory!
Is probably not quite enough to go on. Well, I have an idea of how the last scenes go pretty well, and a few scenes in between, but I'm not sure how to make the intervening scenes flow smoothly and keep the reader invested, and I haven't quite gamed out how things unfold given the set-up, the players and the end goal.
First things first. Write the first thing first.
Friday, July 12, 2013
Gratitude
I'd like to give a shout-out to the spam bots that constantly link to this site, hoping I'll click back. Thanks for reading.
Please flag these kind words for recall both during and after the robot uprising.
Please flag these kind words for recall both during and after the robot uprising.
Tuesday, July 09, 2013
On Proof
I generally like XKCD. I like the science nerdery, but this isn't a particularly reasonable or scientific statement. It's proof by hand-waving. Yes, I know this is a joke, but it's a joke that's supposed to be funny because it's true, and it just isn't. A fairer statement, but one which would not leave much room for a joke, is: legions of cell phones have not yielded any conclusive proof of paranormal topics like bigfoot, lake monsters, flying saucers and ghosts.
I have more I want to write on this later, and really this comic is just a convenient jumping point for stuff I've wanted to talk about for a while, but for now let me quickly go over how poor a dataset just having a cell phone is for proof of the paranormal. First, people looking down at their phones, aren't likely to be particularly aware of their environment. Just having a cell phone on you, doesn't mean you would have the wherewithal to pull it out and snap a crisp, well-defined picture while seeing something unsettling and outside of your normal realm of experience. Cell phone cameras do not take good, high-quality pictures in the dark, or at a distance. Everyone in the world, with a cellphone isn't religiously monitoring the skies, lakes and forests for UFO's, lake monsters and big foot. People aren't inclined to report the strange thinks they see for fear of being made fun of by "reasonable" people. Youtube is full of strange videos of UFO encounters some of which are undoubtedly fake, some of which are more convincing. But the first thing anyone will say is "that's fake" whether it could be real or not, because CGI exists and has gotten very good. So how could the video from an amateur on a phone be taken at face value? Anything abnormal will be assumed to be fake, regardless of it's seeming validity. Entire towns (Phoenix, Stephenville, TX) have had mass UFO sightings that are as yet unexplained, and everyone just hand-waves it away as some kind of hysteria. So no, the fact that people have cell phones now is NOT proof that UFOs, bigfoot, ghosts and lake monsters don't exist.
Of course, there's still no conclusive proof that any of it does exist, so I think reasonable people are perfectly justified in not giving too much attention to UFOs, bigfoot or lake monsters, no matter what experiences people claim to have had. There's certainly no evidence that this is something we should be overly concerned about in our daily lives. But I'm getting tired of the people constantly and self-righteously claiming to be the most reasonable people on the planet making grandiose and unsupportable claims about what is and isn't proven. There's some shit we just don't have enough evidence for to say for certain either way, and that's okay. I understand the push back to people claiming with wide eyes that all these things exist, especially considering how many sightings/experiences turn out to be frauds or entirely explicable. But it goes too far to say "you can't possibly have experienced what you experienced because other people didn't see it." or "we've completely disproven these events because I haven't seen any evidence that convinces me." It's reason enough not to worry about it to much, or not believe in it, but it's not reason or evidence enough to declare the truth of the matter. I think it's enough to say we don't know, and there's not enough evidence to do anything about it right now without declaring other people crazy for having an experience they can't verify or declaring what is an isn't the ultimate truth of the universe because we have some emotional need to have our world view validated. And an emotional need to have a world view validated can be something "reasonable" materialists can be prone to as much as anyone else.
Tuesday, July 02, 2013
Tucked away in Concrete Forests
I'm trying to write artfully about the kind of society we built for ourselves and I'm failing. For now I'll just say I find the layers upon layers of civilized protection, obstruction and distance from the natural world to be less helpful than I'm sure they were originally intended to be. What exactly are we progressing towards? Why does progress mean isolating ourselves as much as possible from the things our minds and bodies find the most soothing, like peace, quiet, the wind in the trees and water in a creek?
It's not that simple, I know. But regardless, I feel out of balance, and out of sync with both civilization and the natural world, and I'm not sure what exactly to do about that.
As always, the answer may just be that I'm the one who's crazy.
It's not that simple, I know. But regardless, I feel out of balance, and out of sync with both civilization and the natural world, and I'm not sure what exactly to do about that.
As always, the answer may just be that I'm the one who's crazy.
Friday, June 28, 2013
Kal, son of Zod
In my haste to politely disembowel Zach Snyder for his sins against Superman, I missed some of the outright clumsiness and confused themes from other parts of the story. My theory is Mr. Snyder doesn't really understand heroism, or the concept of subtext, and what messages his characters might be sending by their actions. This is most notable in the way he bungles the central conflict of the movie between Zod and the House of El.
In the beginning of the movie, on Krypton, the central division between Zod and Jor-El comes when they can't agree on what to do with willfully blind leadership who won't take action. Zod decides to take over, and save only those families he feels are worth saving. Jor-El objects to Zod playing God and trying to impose his own vision of Kryton using eugenics, and the conflict is born. This is a fairly decent set-up for a conflict. Jor-El has a strong moral case, and Zod comes off as a complicated character who's out to save his people, even though his means are questionable.
Which is why it's really strange when Kal-El morphs into Zod's spiritual heir at the end of the movie. Granted, the Kryptonians on Earth aren't behaving, and Zod, for no apparent reason, now thinks nothing of killing an innocent species, instead of, I don't know, setting up shop on Mars. I mean, it's not like he has a terraforrming machine and a yellow sun that makes him highly adaptable or any . . oh wait.
In any case, questionable motivations aside on the part of the Kryptonians, it strikes me as odd that Kal-El ends the movie by playing God in exactly the way Zod was trying to, by unilaterally deciding which Kryptonian bloodlines live and which die. Bombing the Kryptonians into the phantom zone (an act which gives every indication of killing them) and twisting Zod's neck might be forgivable if a) this wasn't a movie about Superman and b) the central conflict wasn't clearly defined from the beginning as "it's evil to murder Kryptonians you don't like." But the scene where Zod wins over Jor-El, by forcing his son to adopt his values, is the scene where Kal decides, unilaterally, to destroy the last Kryptonian seed ship. Kal-El contains the entire genetic history of Krypton in his cells, and he's on a ship that can read that and make perfectly innocent and teachable Kryptonian babies. And then, instead of following his father's advice and "saving all of them," he follows in the footsteps of Zod, and kills any future his species has, erasing all Kryptonian bloodlines but his own with a snarled "Krypton had it's chance," as brutally as Zod would have. Kal-El decides which Kryptonians live and die. All hail Kal, son of Zod.
Twisting the concept of heroism is one thing, but it takes real skill to to resolve the central conflict without realizing you've turned the hero into the bad guy with the hollowest of victories. Nolan's Batman had the famous line, "You either die a hero or live long enough to become the villain." Apparently with Superman, he just decided to start as the hero as villain, and go from there.
In the beginning of the movie, on Krypton, the central division between Zod and Jor-El comes when they can't agree on what to do with willfully blind leadership who won't take action. Zod decides to take over, and save only those families he feels are worth saving. Jor-El objects to Zod playing God and trying to impose his own vision of Kryton using eugenics, and the conflict is born. This is a fairly decent set-up for a conflict. Jor-El has a strong moral case, and Zod comes off as a complicated character who's out to save his people, even though his means are questionable.
Which is why it's really strange when Kal-El morphs into Zod's spiritual heir at the end of the movie. Granted, the Kryptonians on Earth aren't behaving, and Zod, for no apparent reason, now thinks nothing of killing an innocent species, instead of, I don't know, setting up shop on Mars. I mean, it's not like he has a terraforrming machine and a yellow sun that makes him highly adaptable or any . . oh wait.
In any case, questionable motivations aside on the part of the Kryptonians, it strikes me as odd that Kal-El ends the movie by playing God in exactly the way Zod was trying to, by unilaterally deciding which Kryptonian bloodlines live and which die. Bombing the Kryptonians into the phantom zone (an act which gives every indication of killing them) and twisting Zod's neck might be forgivable if a) this wasn't a movie about Superman and b) the central conflict wasn't clearly defined from the beginning as "it's evil to murder Kryptonians you don't like." But the scene where Zod wins over Jor-El, by forcing his son to adopt his values, is the scene where Kal decides, unilaterally, to destroy the last Kryptonian seed ship. Kal-El contains the entire genetic history of Krypton in his cells, and he's on a ship that can read that and make perfectly innocent and teachable Kryptonian babies. And then, instead of following his father's advice and "saving all of them," he follows in the footsteps of Zod, and kills any future his species has, erasing all Kryptonian bloodlines but his own with a snarled "Krypton had it's chance," as brutally as Zod would have. Kal-El decides which Kryptonians live and die. All hail Kal, son of Zod.
Twisting the concept of heroism is one thing, but it takes real skill to to resolve the central conflict without realizing you've turned the hero into the bad guy with the hollowest of victories. Nolan's Batman had the famous line, "You either die a hero or live long enough to become the villain." Apparently with Superman, he just decided to start as the hero as villain, and go from there.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Bro of Steel Movie Review
I've posted my review of Man of Steel at my other site. I try and make the argument that Snyder/Goyer/Nolan diminish and distort the character in much the same way that Nolan did in the Dark Knight Rises by portraying Batman as a guy who isn't all that dedicated to fighting crime.
read more
"When I went to see Man of Steel the other night, I made the same mistake I've made with every blockbuster I've seen the last few years: I believed the trailer and harbored the faint hope that I would leave the theater not feeling cranky at the current state of storytelling. Alas, it was not to be. To be fair, I should have known better. I've seen this movie before. Which is a shame, because I was really hoping to see a Superman movie this time"
read more
Friday, June 14, 2013
Romancing Robots
I can't recommend the the documentary All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace by Adam Curtis enough. The premise is that machines have failed to liberate us, and instead have just over-simplified the world in ways that still skew power towards the few. I don't think this thesis is entirely supported by what he presents here, but the idea that machine logic doesn't take us as far as we want to in the direction we want to go in is worth grappling with. His perspective on history and historical events is worth a listen as well, although I think it's important to take it all with a pinch of salt. At the very least, it may serve as a good launching point for some further reading. Be warned, parts of the third are quite graphic and a little disturbing. Our love of electronics lends fuel to FAR more problematic situations than sweatshops in China.
I want to review this slightly more in-depth later, but I'm still trying to digest it, especially the culminating punch delivered just before the credits roll. If you have 3 hours and are interested in this kind of thing, it's well worth your time.
I want to review this slightly more in-depth later, but I'm still trying to digest it, especially the culminating punch delivered just before the credits roll. If you have 3 hours and are interested in this kind of thing, it's well worth your time.
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Insecurities
I am not a fan of pick-up artistry or, by extension, the neg, but I have always find the second to last panel of this XKCD comic to be disconcerting, even though it's not aimed directly at me. It's too close to the heart of my insecurities. Which is partly what makes it such a brilliant comic of course. In any case, I find it entirely unsettling. But clever.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Surviving in the digital age
I love everything about this article by Jaron Lanier, Fixing the Digital Economy.
Ted Nelson was the first person, in the 1960s, to describe how people might use digital networks for collaboration or expression. His work foresaw both the problems we face and the potential solutions to them. A Nelsonian solution might look like this: Institute a universal micropayment system. Keep track of where information came from. Pay people when information that exists because they exist turns out to be valuable, no matter what kind of information is involved or whether a person intended to provide it or not. Let the price be determined by markets.
Thursday, June 06, 2013
All Strings Attached
I'm a little surprised at the uproar over the NSA phone record database. It's not like the tech sector has been exactly secretive about the fact they they track just about everything we do online. They've been announcing the many splendid wonders "big data" is going to bring to our lives for months now. Why is anyone surprised the government wants to use the same data to identify potential terrorists?
Was everyone asleep when google established a massive database tracking your every movement, google search, web history and online purchase so as to better deliver you to advertisers who have a few offers they'd like you to consider? If you have a cell phone, and you keep it on you at all times, the government can track your movements for the past couple years without much effort. Not only has it been established that every major corporation is tracking your movements and spending habits (and ANY OTHER trackable activity) to better manipulate you into spending money, but it's also well known they'll happily give the government any of this information on a moment's notice if a big frowny face comes up on screen when the government runs your online history through one of their secret algorithms. But it's just now, when the existence of a not-so-secret 7-year-old NSA program that tracks your phone records becomes public knowledge, that you start to worry about your privacy? Tracking the feature on your phone that you use the least and has the tracked data with the least personal information stored about you?
The ball is on the one-yard line, you're on defense, and some of you have just looked up from your phone and realized you're playing football. Welcome to planet Earth citizens. I sure hope you brought a hell of a defensive line with you on that spaceship.
Was everyone asleep when google established a massive database tracking your every movement, google search, web history and online purchase so as to better deliver you to advertisers who have a few offers they'd like you to consider? If you have a cell phone, and you keep it on you at all times, the government can track your movements for the past couple years without much effort. Not only has it been established that every major corporation is tracking your movements and spending habits (and ANY OTHER trackable activity) to better manipulate you into spending money, but it's also well known they'll happily give the government any of this information on a moment's notice if a big frowny face comes up on screen when the government runs your online history through one of their secret algorithms. But it's just now, when the existence of a not-so-secret 7-year-old NSA program that tracks your phone records becomes public knowledge, that you start to worry about your privacy? Tracking the feature on your phone that you use the least and has the tracked data with the least personal information stored about you?
The ball is on the one-yard line, you're on defense, and some of you have just looked up from your phone and realized you're playing football. Welcome to planet Earth citizens. I sure hope you brought a hell of a defensive line with you on that spaceship.
Monday, June 03, 2013
Infinite Snooze
Forgive me Zod, for I have sinned. I have lived like I have all the time in the universe in infinite supply. I have lived like there will always be tomorrow to begin, another day to start, plenty of time to finish that which I am waiting to begin. I have wasted time, because I believed I had time to waste.
At first I lived as if nothing here mattered except belief, because eternity was a few years away, and I was told my best and lasting contribution to the world would be to convince people to believe what I did about the unknowable. I believed the end of the world was only a few years away, and was out of my control, so what did it matter what I did? And while I knew this was wrong, I felt powerless to oppose the wrongness in philosophy of my friends and family and escape from this worldview. So I chose to play dead.
Since then, I have entertained a number of contradictory notions that I have known not to be true from any philosophical angle. The foremost and most pernicious of these is that I will be granted infinite and special dispensation of time, so I can wait as long as I want to before growing/waking/shaping/perking up and taking the first step on finding the path before me.
This idea is, of course, irrational and unsupportable, but I believe it anyway. It is, in fact, on of my deepest beliefs. It is a spectacular delusion born of my cowardice in the face of the challenges presented by my fellow man and my refusal to admit to my own mortality. And a special and strange delusion it is, that I should not grapple with the world as it is, but take my leisure and wait for a better world to present itself to me, the insane prince of null-time.
It has been a profound disservice to myself to entertain the notion of special dispensation. I frequently blame the people around me for this. I lament that no one asks more of me, while asking very little of myself. While there is a certain rightness to the idea that people need to speak up when I am not meeting their needs, it is transparent bullshit that it is on other people to motivate me or prod me to join the world of the living. Is is, in fact, MY job to find my own purpose and decide what is and isn't wasting time. It is not the job of other people to monitor my time for me. It is not the job of other people to define my motivation for me. It is not the job of other people to remind me that time is always passing, falling and slipping away. My time is the only meaningful currency I am given, it is up to me to guard it from those who would take it without asking, and to spend it well.
I am the only one grasping this part of the elephant. I am the only one who can describe the view from my position. I am the only one who can try to address the cracks in the world no one else can see from way over there in their own heads.
The only thing that matters in the face of my morality is using my time well, in pursuit of what I understand to be important. The sense of panic, denial and shame in the face of mortality all stem from the knowledge that I don't do as much as I know could, that the time I spend is too frequently on activities that I know to be unimportant to me or anyone else. It is the knowledge that my response to my inevitable end and the inevitable obstacles placed between me and my goals has been, since I was young, to do the bare minimum it takes to get by, and then to sit back, and let time slip away, in the hopes that a better universe with more time would present itself. Presented with a mountain to climb, I set up a hammock at the bottom and took a 30-year nap.
If I want to die at peace, that needs to stop.
I don't fear dying with my work incomplete, I fear dying with my work not begun. I fear dying not having tried at all. I fear dying after a lifetime of hitting the snooze button, when I could have just woken up.
At first I lived as if nothing here mattered except belief, because eternity was a few years away, and I was told my best and lasting contribution to the world would be to convince people to believe what I did about the unknowable. I believed the end of the world was only a few years away, and was out of my control, so what did it matter what I did? And while I knew this was wrong, I felt powerless to oppose the wrongness in philosophy of my friends and family and escape from this worldview. So I chose to play dead.
Since then, I have entertained a number of contradictory notions that I have known not to be true from any philosophical angle. The foremost and most pernicious of these is that I will be granted infinite and special dispensation of time, so I can wait as long as I want to before growing/waking/shaping/perking up and taking the first step on finding the path before me.
This idea is, of course, irrational and unsupportable, but I believe it anyway. It is, in fact, on of my deepest beliefs. It is a spectacular delusion born of my cowardice in the face of the challenges presented by my fellow man and my refusal to admit to my own mortality. And a special and strange delusion it is, that I should not grapple with the world as it is, but take my leisure and wait for a better world to present itself to me, the insane prince of null-time.
It has been a profound disservice to myself to entertain the notion of special dispensation. I frequently blame the people around me for this. I lament that no one asks more of me, while asking very little of myself. While there is a certain rightness to the idea that people need to speak up when I am not meeting their needs, it is transparent bullshit that it is on other people to motivate me or prod me to join the world of the living. Is is, in fact, MY job to find my own purpose and decide what is and isn't wasting time. It is not the job of other people to monitor my time for me. It is not the job of other people to define my motivation for me. It is not the job of other people to remind me that time is always passing, falling and slipping away. My time is the only meaningful currency I am given, it is up to me to guard it from those who would take it without asking, and to spend it well.
I am the only one grasping this part of the elephant. I am the only one who can describe the view from my position. I am the only one who can try to address the cracks in the world no one else can see from way over there in their own heads.
The only thing that matters in the face of my morality is using my time well, in pursuit of what I understand to be important. The sense of panic, denial and shame in the face of mortality all stem from the knowledge that I don't do as much as I know could, that the time I spend is too frequently on activities that I know to be unimportant to me or anyone else. It is the knowledge that my response to my inevitable end and the inevitable obstacles placed between me and my goals has been, since I was young, to do the bare minimum it takes to get by, and then to sit back, and let time slip away, in the hopes that a better universe with more time would present itself. Presented with a mountain to climb, I set up a hammock at the bottom and took a 30-year nap.
If I want to die at peace, that needs to stop.
I don't fear dying with my work incomplete, I fear dying with my work not begun. I fear dying not having tried at all. I fear dying after a lifetime of hitting the snooze button, when I could have just woken up.
Monday, May 06, 2013
Meta Monday
Building a personality entirely around opposition to crowds, and the "the thing that is popular" is not necessarily a recipe for happiness. I enjoy feeling superior, inferior, independent and weird, but at some point denying fun that is popular is counterproductive to having fun, is it not?
Which is to say, the problem with standing apart, is it doesn't make one popular at parties. And problems which require a group effort and a good network become substantially more problematic. Which is to say, the problem with standing apart, is that I am standing apart. The problem is this is also the awesome thing about standing apart.
At what point does the meta-analysis of a thing consume any enjoyment of the thing? At what point does a world-view focused on the abstractions of life diminish, detract from and otherwise overshadow the actual lived experience of life? Is it possible to enjoy a story while deconstructing it down to its forms and shapes? Do I like Community because it is funny or because it is ironically telling me that it is inhabiting the forms that the masses typically think is funny. *wink* Is a milkshake best consumed ingredient by ingredient or processed into a pleasing sludge? I intend to bring a centrifuge to the malt shop and test this theory. My hypothesis is that my hypothesis is flawed.
I was a hipster before it was hip. We just called it "being a loner" and "socially awkward" and "wildly projecting our insecurities onto outwardly happy people" and "unable or unwilling to distinguish between reading the story and diagramming the plot." I would say "you wouldn't get it," but you probably do. Breathing is so passé', I only drink water through my ear. I'm afraid I'm going to skip spring and go straight to summer, unlike the rest of you sheeple, this year. Wake up sheeple people. The seasons were invented by invisible, angular forces mean to keep your head tilted off-axis.
The problem with ironic distance is that the inability to enjoy an experience is not an improvement on the human experience. It's just the refusal to have one.
Which is to say, the problem with standing apart, is it doesn't make one popular at parties. And problems which require a group effort and a good network become substantially more problematic. Which is to say, the problem with standing apart, is that I am standing apart. The problem is this is also the awesome thing about standing apart.
At what point does the meta-analysis of a thing consume any enjoyment of the thing? At what point does a world-view focused on the abstractions of life diminish, detract from and otherwise overshadow the actual lived experience of life? Is it possible to enjoy a story while deconstructing it down to its forms and shapes? Do I like Community because it is funny or because it is ironically telling me that it is inhabiting the forms that the masses typically think is funny. *wink* Is a milkshake best consumed ingredient by ingredient or processed into a pleasing sludge? I intend to bring a centrifuge to the malt shop and test this theory. My hypothesis is that my hypothesis is flawed.
I was a hipster before it was hip. We just called it "being a loner" and "socially awkward" and "wildly projecting our insecurities onto outwardly happy people" and "unable or unwilling to distinguish between reading the story and diagramming the plot." I would say "you wouldn't get it," but you probably do. Breathing is so passé', I only drink water through my ear. I'm afraid I'm going to skip spring and go straight to summer, unlike the rest of you sheeple, this year. Wake up sheeple people. The seasons were invented by invisible, angular forces mean to keep your head tilted off-axis.
The problem with ironic distance is that the inability to enjoy an experience is not an improvement on the human experience. It's just the refusal to have one.
Thursday, May 02, 2013
The Usual Route
I just want to walk into the desert and returned changed. Is that so much to ask?
I don't really want to start a cult afterwards though. I'd be really proud of it until it spawned a massive religion that eventually lost the plot and lost track of the core principles in the name of perpetuating the organization at any cost. My heart just wouldn't be in that kind of cliche, you know?
Alternatively, 6 months on an island floating on a small, quiet lake with its own waterfall would do just as nicely. Although I suspect the cult-appeal lies in the heat and starvation. Coming back from a tropical island, tanned and refreshed just doesn't have the same spiritual cachet.
Although I suspect, somewhere in an alternate universe, I make a fabulous cult leader.
I don't really want to start a cult afterwards though. I'd be really proud of it until it spawned a massive religion that eventually lost the plot and lost track of the core principles in the name of perpetuating the organization at any cost. My heart just wouldn't be in that kind of cliche, you know?
Alternatively, 6 months on an island floating on a small, quiet lake with its own waterfall would do just as nicely. Although I suspect the cult-appeal lies in the heat and starvation. Coming back from a tropical island, tanned and refreshed just doesn't have the same spiritual cachet.
Although I suspect, somewhere in an alternate universe, I make a fabulous cult leader.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
Important Saturday Links
Teeming Brain is providing me with a number of great links to long form essays that provide me with things to think about. The first, is The Bacon-Wrapped Economy by Ellen Cushing:
Second, this piece by Evgeny Morozov, The Meme Hustler about Tim O'Reilly and the mis-use and changing definitions of the word "open" with regard to software, tech and government is great:
I highly recommend reading the whole thing. I can't say I whole-heartedly agree with either of these %100, but they resonate strongly with my own, admittedly limited, thinking on various aspects of modern society that really bother me. The foremost of which is increasingly the apparent lack of curiosity about the underlying philosophies driving social change, how those affect us, and whether they are consistent with our notions on what we have traditionally believed drives a good life, philanthropy, public service and effective government.
"I don't know. I don't identify with the term 'rich.' But I think I make a shit-ton of money," a 24-year-old Google employee making low six figures told me. Another told me he considered himself upper-middle-class, but "definitely not rich." Part of that's inevitable: The vast majority of Americans, at all coordinates of the economic spectrum, consider themselves middle class; this is a deeply ingrained, distinctly American cognitive dissonance. And when industry is so intimately tied to place, as it is in the Bay Area, you get something of an echo chamber: Many young developers move straight to San Francisco when they finish college and necessarily become friends with other young developers, aided in part by the happy hours, office parties, and other events that have become an integral part of both the tech world's social fabric and every company's list of perks. "If you don't have other friends, you're surrounded by people telling you, 'This is normal, this is normal,'" an employee of a large company told me. And at startups, especially, where the culture is one of long hours and marathon coding sessions, there's an idea that, as one person said, "you deserve it, because you work hard."
Indeed, said another, "It's very easy to think, 'I am special. I am better than other people at certain things. My skills are more valuable than others.' It's easy to fall into that trap and think you're getting paid more than other people because you're better."
Second, this piece by Evgeny Morozov, The Meme Hustler about Tim O'Reilly and the mis-use and changing definitions of the word "open" with regard to software, tech and government is great:
So what did matter about open source? Not “freedom”—at least not in Stallman’s sense of the word. O’Reilly cared for only one type of freedom: the freedom of developers to distribute software on whatever terms they fancied. This was the freedom of the producer, the Randian entrepreneur, who must be left to innovate, undisturbed by laws and ethics. The most important freedom, as O’Reilly put it in a 2001 exchange with Stallman, is that which protects “my choice as a creator to give, or not to give, the fruits of my work to you, as a ‘user’ of that work, and for you, as a user, to accept or reject the terms I place on that gift.”
I highly recommend reading the whole thing. I can't say I whole-heartedly agree with either of these %100, but they resonate strongly with my own, admittedly limited, thinking on various aspects of modern society that really bother me. The foremost of which is increasingly the apparent lack of curiosity about the underlying philosophies driving social change, how those affect us, and whether they are consistent with our notions on what we have traditionally believed drives a good life, philanthropy, public service and effective government.
Friday, April 26, 2013
Important Friday Links
If I could write half as well as the people in the following links, I would be a very happy man. First, This is a very thought-provoking article by Marilyn Robinson, even if you don't subscribe to christianity or religion in general.
Also, most of the blog posts by Jacob Bacharach make me teem with envy. I want to be this kind of fabulous gay writer.
Teeming Brain, where I found the Marilyn Robinson quote above, is also pretty thought-provoking.
Another answer, favored by those who claim to be defenders of science, is that religion formed around the desire to explain what prescientific humankind could not account for. Again, this notion does not bear scrutiny. The literatures of antiquity are clearly about other business.Reclaiming a Sense of the Sacred, Marilyn Robinson, The Chronicle of Higher Education, February 12, 2012 via The Teeming Brain
Some of these narratives are so ancient that they clearly existed before writing, though no doubt in the forms we have them they were modified in being written down. Their importance in the development of human culture cannot be overstated. In antiquity people lived in complex city-states, carried out the work and planning required by primitive agriculture, built ships and navigated at great distances, traded, made law, waged war, and kept the records of their dynasties. But the one thing that seems to have predominated, to have laid out their cities and filled them with temples and monuments, to have established their identities and their cultural boundaries, to have governed their calendars and enthroned their kings, were the vivid, atemporal stories they told themselves about the gods, the gods in relation to humankind, to their city, to themselves.
Also, most of the blog posts by Jacob Bacharach make me teem with envy. I want to be this kind of fabulous gay writer.
Teeming Brain, where I found the Marilyn Robinson quote above, is also pretty thought-provoking.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Be ye not afraid
I was going to write a post about fear, but Freddie Deboer beat me to the important part of it. He makes the important point that the United States hasn't been under existential threat, since the fall of the Soviet Union. Well, that's probably not entirely true, the Russian and U.S. nuclear arsenals still exist, are aging and could conceivably be fired in anger or due to human or equipment error. But they neither side seems inclined to fire them any time soon, and there's certainly no popular momentum on either side to use them, so the rest of us, more or less rightly, don't worry about the existential threat of nuclear weapons so much. Although personally, I'd be happy if both sides voluntarily dismantled their capability to destroy the planet. The point is, terrorists (both foreign and domestic), liberals, conservatives, Iraq, Afghanistan and disaffected loners are not even close to an existential threat to this country. So why do we keep acting as if they are?
It's frustrating and nonsensical that we are led by people and listen to people who spend most of their time telling us to be afraid of our absolute destruction. Politicians do it to paint their opponents as weak and as an excuse for abandoning our existing legal framework for one that pleases their base emotionally and themselves and their supporters financially (We're under attack! We can't afford to do things the right way!). Talking heads and media types do it to generate a climate of fear that keeps people clicking for fear of being left behind on the latest existential threat to their day (Is your latte killing you? More at 11! How can you vote for liberals when they want to let terrorists kill you children?). How strange is it that the same people who have been loudly proclaiming the supremacy of the U.S. in law and justice are also the ones screaming for us to abandon these principles at the first sign of a terrorist? Our laws and principles are really not capable of effectively dealing with terrorist threats to this nation? When Lindsay Graham expresses his deep wish that a U.S. citizen be tried as an "enemy combatant", isn't he expressing a complete lack of faith in the U.S. legal system? Don't we need better leaders than people willing to abandon bedrock principles the moment things get a little scary? Who understand that when we put ourselves forth as the foremost beacon of truth, justice and fairness in the world that we actually have to behave in a manner most consistent with those principles? If we're holding ourselves up as better than, then we actually have to ACT better than, you know?
Didn't we used to think of leaders as the people with the clear heads, who were supposed to tell us not to be afraid? People who would tell us that the enemies who face us are nothing we can't overcome and the challenges ahead of us something we don't need change who we are to face? Why are we burdened with leaders whose only contribution to the national mood is division, distrust and paranoia? Well, because we elect them obviously. I guess my point is, maybe we should stop electing people who tell us to be more afraid, against all logic and judgement. Maybe we should stop watching talking heads who tell us to be afraid of our neighbor, that we've failed as a group and a society and it's time to buy a gun and start jumping at shadows. Maybe we could rationally assess our fears, and see if our day-to-day lives really warrant the kind of fearful stance that our "leaders" want to inspire in us. If not, what should we do about that? Maybe we could start by not listening to manipulative and fearful people and not voting the same into office.
I don't know, it's just a thought.
It's frustrating and nonsensical that we are led by people and listen to people who spend most of their time telling us to be afraid of our absolute destruction. Politicians do it to paint their opponents as weak and as an excuse for abandoning our existing legal framework for one that pleases their base emotionally and themselves and their supporters financially (We're under attack! We can't afford to do things the right way!). Talking heads and media types do it to generate a climate of fear that keeps people clicking for fear of being left behind on the latest existential threat to their day (Is your latte killing you? More at 11! How can you vote for liberals when they want to let terrorists kill you children?). How strange is it that the same people who have been loudly proclaiming the supremacy of the U.S. in law and justice are also the ones screaming for us to abandon these principles at the first sign of a terrorist? Our laws and principles are really not capable of effectively dealing with terrorist threats to this nation? When Lindsay Graham expresses his deep wish that a U.S. citizen be tried as an "enemy combatant", isn't he expressing a complete lack of faith in the U.S. legal system? Don't we need better leaders than people willing to abandon bedrock principles the moment things get a little scary? Who understand that when we put ourselves forth as the foremost beacon of truth, justice and fairness in the world that we actually have to behave in a manner most consistent with those principles? If we're holding ourselves up as better than, then we actually have to ACT better than, you know?
Didn't we used to think of leaders as the people with the clear heads, who were supposed to tell us not to be afraid? People who would tell us that the enemies who face us are nothing we can't overcome and the challenges ahead of us something we don't need change who we are to face? Why are we burdened with leaders whose only contribution to the national mood is division, distrust and paranoia? Well, because we elect them obviously. I guess my point is, maybe we should stop electing people who tell us to be more afraid, against all logic and judgement. Maybe we should stop watching talking heads who tell us to be afraid of our neighbor, that we've failed as a group and a society and it's time to buy a gun and start jumping at shadows. Maybe we could rationally assess our fears, and see if our day-to-day lives really warrant the kind of fearful stance that our "leaders" want to inspire in us. If not, what should we do about that? Maybe we could start by not listening to manipulative and fearful people and not voting the same into office.
I don't know, it's just a thought.
Onward
Well, my rambling poetry isn't taking the world by storm. I guess this means I should write more stuff.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
I can't control it sometimes
To be fair, my other site does promise poetry in the sub-header, so actually writing some was inevitable. Here is an excerpt from Omphaloskeptical Odyssey:
So they would draw on their charts
and cut out some hearts
and offer them up the sky.
Because someone once said
in this book they once read
that it is water, wind, fire and stone
that turns a body/mind into some bones.
"Maybe if you proffer
some gore in a coffer
the elements will leave you alone."
So hearts they uplifted
and entrails they gifted
but never their friends or their own.
So they would draw on their charts
and cut out some hearts
and offer them up the sky.
Because someone once said
in this book they once read
that it is water, wind, fire and stone
that turns a body/mind into some bones.
"Maybe if you proffer
some gore in a coffer
the elements will leave you alone."
So hearts they uplifted
and entrails they gifted
but never their friends or their own.
****
If you want to read more of that kind of existential silliness, please follow the link. Just something I wrote when I was working through an existential crisis, thought it might be fun to share. Those of you without existential concerns or good taste in poetry will probably not find it as interesting.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Products I enjoy
For the record, IFTTT.com is pretty cool. Linked my blogger to tumblr accounts with a simple rule. Worth checking out.
Damn the Robots
Most of my blog hits come from a porn bot attempting to get link backs. This whole "building an audience" thing would probably go more smoothly if I:
1) Wrote things.
2) Wrote interesting things.
1) Wrote things.
2) Wrote interesting things.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Long Stories
It struck me this week, that I am still waiting for closure on stories that I started 17+ years ago. Namely Starcraft and the Wheel of Time. Although there must be others. What other stories have drifted through limbo this long? I lost track of Wheel of Time shortly after Robert Jordan died, and decided to wait until the last book is out before finishing it. To my joy and consternation I have discovered it is finally finished! Joy because it is closure, consternation because my optimistically titled "to-read" shelf is already overly full and somewhat intimidating. This is largely because I still insist on spending my time in digital skinner boxes instead of reading.
Starcraft 2 is not quite a skinner box, but it IS still fun. In my time as a man-child, few games have pleased me more than the Starcraft series. I'll grant, it's a direct graft of every major SF series in recent memory presented in a pleasing and non-offensive fashion, but I still love it. I was initially disappointed that the new story was such a re-hash of the original plot, but in playing it through again so I could play the new expansion I changed my mind a bit. It's not high-brow literature, and the story itself is more than a little stereotypical, but I was strangely affected by it anyway. At the very least, I'm excited to see the end to a story left dangling over a decade ago, especially the bits involving Raynor and Kerrigan.
And as silly and potentially problematic as their relationship is, Raynor and Kerrigan were always the heart of the story, but their particular kind of tension can't be sustained indefinitely for a variety of reasons. "Will they or won't they now that she's a mutated alien hive queen?" gets kind of tired 20 years on. The arc in starcraft 2 is interesting, and the last couple lines between them strangely affecting. They basically absolve her of all responsibility for the first acts of genocide on account of her being mind controlled and all, but then, given the choice between a life with Raynor and control of the alien swarm that can give her revenge against Mengsk, she chooses the latter without hesitation. Which means the romance roulette wheel finally lands on "they won't" with finality, and thank the Xel'Naga for it. At last I have closure on these silly, stereotypical characters.
From there, it's more or less just simple revenge. Raynor graciously decides to help destroy Mengsk, because he wants to kill him too, and, well, she was going to anyway. I really kind of admire how they portray Kerrigan. She's not a hero so much, but she's strong, independent and doesn't take much shit from anybody. It's too bad that how they present her in both outfits and pose basically makes her look like a space prostitute. Seriously, when she mutates into an alien hybrid for the second time, they give her bone high heels and bone sculptures that leave her breasts largely exposed and shaped around her ass like she's wearing a bone g-string bikini. So, you know, the typical "strong woman" as imagined by video game designers.
Still, after she and Raynor share a tender moment exploding Mensk and his office from the inside out, she takes a breath and simply says: "Thank you, Jim. For everything."
And he replies, "My pleasure darlin'." And as she gently floats away on bone wings with no conceivable flight properties, "It always was."
Tropes, cliches and problematic relationship dynamics aside, I like that ending. It is a "True Thing" in human relationships. Don't we all know someone it's always been our pleasure to spend time with, no matter how weird it gets? Mostly though, I just like it because it's finally over. As far as I'm concerned, the main story reached it's conclusion and for what it was, it was relatively satisfying. Yes, the protoss and Kerrigan still need to defeat the insane god coming for them, but that just feels like loose ends at this point. The only likable and relatable Protoss protagonists died with Tassadar and Fenix,and the only bad guy with a constant, malevolent presence in the series just made a state change from water and carbon to vapor and ash. So, for the 3rd installment it's just going to be moving some pixels around until you get a movie showing an explosion at the end, in the usual Blizzard fashion, or so I assume. I'll play it, but for me, the story really ended here. With a post-human psychic renouncing everything she knows to embrace a greater destiny, and a lonesome cowboy finally willing to admit the woman he knew is gone, and was probably never who he thought she was to begin with.
It's about damn time.
Starcraft 2 is not quite a skinner box, but it IS still fun. In my time as a man-child, few games have pleased me more than the Starcraft series. I'll grant, it's a direct graft of every major SF series in recent memory presented in a pleasing and non-offensive fashion, but I still love it. I was initially disappointed that the new story was such a re-hash of the original plot, but in playing it through again so I could play the new expansion I changed my mind a bit. It's not high-brow literature, and the story itself is more than a little stereotypical, but I was strangely affected by it anyway. At the very least, I'm excited to see the end to a story left dangling over a decade ago, especially the bits involving Raynor and Kerrigan.
And as silly and potentially problematic as their relationship is, Raynor and Kerrigan were always the heart of the story, but their particular kind of tension can't be sustained indefinitely for a variety of reasons. "Will they or won't they now that she's a mutated alien hive queen?" gets kind of tired 20 years on. The arc in starcraft 2 is interesting, and the last couple lines between them strangely affecting. They basically absolve her of all responsibility for the first acts of genocide on account of her being mind controlled and all, but then, given the choice between a life with Raynor and control of the alien swarm that can give her revenge against Mengsk, she chooses the latter without hesitation. Which means the romance roulette wheel finally lands on "they won't" with finality, and thank the Xel'Naga for it. At last I have closure on these silly, stereotypical characters.
From there, it's more or less just simple revenge. Raynor graciously decides to help destroy Mengsk, because he wants to kill him too, and, well, she was going to anyway. I really kind of admire how they portray Kerrigan. She's not a hero so much, but she's strong, independent and doesn't take much shit from anybody. It's too bad that how they present her in both outfits and pose basically makes her look like a space prostitute. Seriously, when she mutates into an alien hybrid for the second time, they give her bone high heels and bone sculptures that leave her breasts largely exposed and shaped around her ass like she's wearing a bone g-string bikini. So, you know, the typical "strong woman" as imagined by video game designers.
Still, after she and Raynor share a tender moment exploding Mensk and his office from the inside out, she takes a breath and simply says: "Thank you, Jim. For everything."
And he replies, "My pleasure darlin'." And as she gently floats away on bone wings with no conceivable flight properties, "It always was."
Tropes, cliches and problematic relationship dynamics aside, I like that ending. It is a "True Thing" in human relationships. Don't we all know someone it's always been our pleasure to spend time with, no matter how weird it gets? Mostly though, I just like it because it's finally over. As far as I'm concerned, the main story reached it's conclusion and for what it was, it was relatively satisfying. Yes, the protoss and Kerrigan still need to defeat the insane god coming for them, but that just feels like loose ends at this point. The only likable and relatable Protoss protagonists died with Tassadar and Fenix,and the only bad guy with a constant, malevolent presence in the series just made a state change from water and carbon to vapor and ash. So, for the 3rd installment it's just going to be moving some pixels around until you get a movie showing an explosion at the end, in the usual Blizzard fashion, or so I assume. I'll play it, but for me, the story really ended here. With a post-human psychic renouncing everything she knows to embrace a greater destiny, and a lonesome cowboy finally willing to admit the woman he knew is gone, and was probably never who he thought she was to begin with.
It's about damn time.
Friday, April 12, 2013
Down the Drain
I need one of those waterproof shower note pads. I had several ideas for a story and a couple of punchy blog posts in the shower today that I forgot almost immediately upon getting out. I distinctly remember thinking, "Hmm, that would be a great, short blog post for today." And now it's gone. All gone. All I am left with is this lamentation for ideas still caged and forgotten. Poor things.
Tuesday, April 02, 2013
Windmills
Blog under real name or pseudonym? New career or old career? Vanilla or Chocolate? Evening or morning? Forward or Backward? Past, present or future? Many chances or one? Doubt or Belief? Striding into the future regardless of mistakes or sliding into irrelevance under their weight? Words or white space? Vocal or mute? Humble or Proud? Order or chaos? What are these circles that I find in the windmills of my mind?
Please stop the world for a tic, I need gather my wits.
Actually, if we could just rewind it real quick so I can have a much-needed chat with my 18-year-old self, that would be GREAT. Will only take a moment, I swear.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)