There is probably more than a few people who have gone to extremes to explain their reaction to experiencing God, because they couldn't find a suitable answer in the conventional way. Some people describe their reaction to a confrontation with God as their real religion. That's why I like this Carl G. Jung saying.
"Religion is a defense against the experience of God."
http://www.people.ubr.com/authors/by-first-name/c/carl-gustav-jung/carl-gustav-jung-quotes.aspx
I keep trying to definitively remember the first time I consciously met up with what might be described as God, but the problem is that I don't know what God is, and I don't think anybody else does either.
I remember joining the Baptist church when I was nine years old, but there were other incidents of confronting God that happened before that, which make me suspicious my joining the church wasn't the first time. It may have been the first time I could abstractly construct an image of God as a mental reference. It took me a long time to realize that just because I joined a Protestant church, it didn't mean that participating in their services was my actual religion.
In the past, when someone would ask me what church I belonged to, I had a tendency to get confused because I felt like they were saying something equivalent to claiming that I was a made man. I might reply that I didn't "belong" to or believe I was owned by a group of people by the mere act of baptism and becoming a member of their organization. My making such denials in front of other church members is all it took to invite some fanatical attack on my integrity.
Sometime I think my denial of being "owned" by the denomination of church my family attended was indeed an experience or confrontation with God. God, that is, as put forth by a formal religion. My only real religion was fighting those attacks on my integrity. I felt like I had to protect my right to decide for myself who I am is. I found myself constantly reaching for something that would allow me to keep these people as my friends or allies, and yet, still remain my own person. Those efforts I made to come up with some sort of rhetoric with which to defend that right to decide for myself, is the only ti-me I actually behave in a religious manner.
Remaining my own person and staying on good terms with the people I grew up with has proved impossible. First, I would have to know "my own person" from a hole in the ground. That's probably the most serious problem. Who I am appears to be up to the Other. I can act out my beliefs about who-I-think-I-am forever and a day, but the Other has to interpret my behavior as if I were them instead of me.
I had to have a way to find out what or who the Other thought I was. That's the real reason I started hitch-hiking. It usually put me in a car with a person who only knew me as a stranger they'd never see again. I asked hundreds if not thousands of people who didn't know me or my background who they thought I was. It took years for me to conclude that they couldn't do that. I was wasting my time. All they could tell me was who they thought they would be if they emanated the appearance I did to them. Their description of me was who-they-thought-they-were-or-would-be.
My realizing that I was asking the impossible of them finally took me off the road. I wasn't being fair. They could only perceive their own idea of who they would be if they were me, and they were not. No blame, but that facticity does support at least one of the Ten Commandments of Mosaic Law, "Thou shalt not worship any other God before me."
In consideration of this realized fact that the Other couldn't "see" anybody but themselves in me, I don't have any choice but to worship my own me. It's the only me I gnow. My idea of myself is the only God I know/no/deny. The Me is an abstract construction of God. We create ourselves in our own image. In our own "I" mage. In our own eye-mage. Shape shifters. My experience might force me to say shape choosers.
I've tried to describe this many times without feeling that I've actually done it. There is a zero point. A null point where I'm no thing. Nothing. From that null point I can be-co-me any thing. Anything. So can any body. Anybody. Only two conditions or situations have to be met. First, you have to become one with the null point, and the second is that you have to realize you still possess volition in the null point state, and exercise it as if to reach for some thing. Something.
This is the basis for what a voice I heard say when I was returning from an out-of-body experience. "Everything is nothing, but the idea that it's something, and it could be anything at All."
I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
Religion Is A Defense
It was when I was approaching Gallup, New Mexico that I saw the blue plastic shelter beside the road about a half-mile outta town. There was some people inside it. I saw a pair legs sticking out from underneath it, and that was about all that happened. I don't know exactly why that very brief glimpse would create such an indelible memory. It was a hooch, man, just like any other hooch anywhere in the world. This one had a cover over it, but I've stayed in a many of them that didn't.
I've never ridden the rails, thus I was never a Hobo, but only a bum. Being a Hobo was a little too high on the social ladder for me. I'd have to give myself airs. I lived the life of a homeless beggar off and on for about 7-8 years. Doing that influenced me more than I can tell. It subsumes the rest of what I call my life.
One of the biggest reasons I hitch-hiked around the country so much was to meet all kinds of people. Riding the rails wouldn't have done the trick for me. I wasn't out there bumming around to meet other bums. Neither bums nor hoboes. I avoided them like the plague. I had the feeling the other seekers avoided me too. We're not seeking what we can find in the Other. I write that, but in truth, how can one gnow what they're seeking for. If such was so, then why on Earth would we be seeking?
It's that business of giving oneself airs that was the problem for me. I found that I couldn't afford to do that to any degree, because once I got back on the road I was going to have to let any attitude that led to the least bit of bragging could cost me a meal or a safe place to stay. My needs as a human had to be right out front for everybody to perceive or some people were liable to think they needed to teach me a lesson or two.
I got the most out of my bumming around when I was reduced to having two basic needs fulfilled. Getting food to eat without stealing it or taking it from a more helpless person, and finding a safe place to lay down and sleep. When I got uppity and started wanting more than that from people they usually shut me down.
A lot of people picked me up hitch-hiking because they wanted a stranger who didn't know them or anybody they knew to talk to about their troubles. I listened to a lot of people over the years. I've had many drivers tell me they had driven a long way past where they were initially going in order to get their whole story out. Listening to people's stories was the one guarantee I'd get something to eat when they were done. They felt obligated I guess. I owned a little part of them. I knew things about them that nobody else in the world knew.
The secrets people told me were so trite it was almost unbelievable. They drove themselves crazy over the most mundane, banal events I could imagine. Stuff that most anybody else wouldn't thing twice about, but here they were driving themselves nuts over something that didn't amount to a hill of beans. People will do anything to think they're special. That, they're important to somebody about something.
One of the most important questions a person can persistently ask themselves about their own careactor is whether what they're doing is to make themselves feel important or not. The need for self-importance is one of the most destructive forces the individual can embrace. It makes a difference whether you're doing what you're doing for-yo'self or for-the-other. It's an ongoing proposition that has to be addressed moment to moment. There ain't no end-all or be-all to it that a person can take for granite, and rely on it as some sort of religious tenet that stays the sa-me constantly.
"Religion is a defense against the experience of God." ~Jung
I've never ridden the rails, thus I was never a Hobo, but only a bum. Being a Hobo was a little too high on the social ladder for me. I'd have to give myself airs. I lived the life of a homeless beggar off and on for about 7-8 years. Doing that influenced me more than I can tell. It subsumes the rest of what I call my life.
One of the biggest reasons I hitch-hiked around the country so much was to meet all kinds of people. Riding the rails wouldn't have done the trick for me. I wasn't out there bumming around to meet other bums. Neither bums nor hoboes. I avoided them like the plague. I had the feeling the other seekers avoided me too. We're not seeking what we can find in the Other. I write that, but in truth, how can one gnow what they're seeking for. If such was so, then why on Earth would we be seeking?
It's that business of giving oneself airs that was the problem for me. I found that I couldn't afford to do that to any degree, because once I got back on the road I was going to have to let any attitude that led to the least bit of bragging could cost me a meal or a safe place to stay. My needs as a human had to be right out front for everybody to perceive or some people were liable to think they needed to teach me a lesson or two.
I got the most out of my bumming around when I was reduced to having two basic needs fulfilled. Getting food to eat without stealing it or taking it from a more helpless person, and finding a safe place to lay down and sleep. When I got uppity and started wanting more than that from people they usually shut me down.
A lot of people picked me up hitch-hiking because they wanted a stranger who didn't know them or anybody they knew to talk to about their troubles. I listened to a lot of people over the years. I've had many drivers tell me they had driven a long way past where they were initially going in order to get their whole story out. Listening to people's stories was the one guarantee I'd get something to eat when they were done. They felt obligated I guess. I owned a little part of them. I knew things about them that nobody else in the world knew.
The secrets people told me were so trite it was almost unbelievable. They drove themselves crazy over the most mundane, banal events I could imagine. Stuff that most anybody else wouldn't thing twice about, but here they were driving themselves nuts over something that didn't amount to a hill of beans. People will do anything to think they're special. That, they're important to somebody about something.
One of the most important questions a person can persistently ask themselves about their own careactor is whether what they're doing is to make themselves feel important or not. The need for self-importance is one of the most destructive forces the individual can embrace. It makes a difference whether you're doing what you're doing for-yo'self or for-the-other. It's an ongoing proposition that has to be addressed moment to moment. There ain't no end-all or be-all to it that a person can take for granite, and rely on it as some sort of religious tenet that stays the sa-me constantly.
"Religion is a defense against the experience of God." ~Jung
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Something... When Anything Will Do
Even though I don't work anymore my schedule at home is controlled to some degree by the people who do. All entertainment including television and the internet is scheduled toward who is going to be watching or participating at any one time. Television in the morning is made for hausfraus, and not very interesting for men. Nothing much happens that most men might be interested in doesn't start until about the time they get off work. The news sites on the internet hardly has anything to offer on weekends. The people who might report it are all off work on the weekends. Even e-mail discussion groups don't have much traffic over the weekend, because many, if not most of the participants do their communicating at their computer at work. By seven o'clock at night the discussion stops for the most part. People are with their families. No blame.
There are deep pockets of pain in my elbows and the lower biceps just above my elbows, but they only hurt when I turn my hands a certain way. I'm beginning to realize I'm probably going to have this pain for the rest of my life, and the side-effects of the pain-killer pills seem to add up over time. I'm avoiding them when I feel like I can do without them. Today has been a pretty good day.
One of the strongest side-effects from the prescribed medicine I'm taking comes from aspirin. Aspirin helps with lots of everyday aches and pains, but when you take it regular it starts to mess your kidneys up. I'm trying to avoid that. I use ibuprofen and naproxen sodium pills as a relief from the Tylenol 3 type pills that use aspirin instead of Tylenol. It seems to have worked okay so far.
This type of arthritis is called rheumatoid because it moves around in the body. It doesn't always hurt in the same place, but appears and disappears as it will. This reminds me a lot of the Kundalini experiences I had. I've experienced some periods of ecstasy due to Kundalini, in the past, but that may have been merely a precursor to what I'm experiencing presently. The only biography of a man in India I've read did not have a lot of good things to say about the experiences he had. He swore that some of the symptoms nearly killed him. The gifts he received from it hardly seemed worth it to him, and he was in constant fear that the people in India would find out about it and kill him in a stampede for his services.
The book Tom Patterson wrote about Eddie Martin seem to contain some interesting thoughts about what happened when he started reading cards down in Georgia. A great majority of his customers were blacks. In fact, he said that he dreaded reading for white people, and said why. I agreed with him about that. White people are weird about things like fortune telling. It's like they have to take a condescending attitude toward the reader or they can't go through with it. It's always been like that. Even in the Dark Ages in Europe before the Druids became the Catholic church in Rome. That may change with the coming Depression.
I'm re-reading Sartre. His writing is very powerful with me. Since I don't have any formal education much about philosophy the way I read Sartre might prove difficult to cope with to minds that have been institutionalized through education. It wouldn't surprise me if Sartre might not think highly of the way I interpret his work. Tough shit. He's dead, so it ain't like it matters how I interpret his writings, because they don't lead to immortality.
There are deep pockets of pain in my elbows and the lower biceps just above my elbows, but they only hurt when I turn my hands a certain way. I'm beginning to realize I'm probably going to have this pain for the rest of my life, and the side-effects of the pain-killer pills seem to add up over time. I'm avoiding them when I feel like I can do without them. Today has been a pretty good day.
One of the strongest side-effects from the prescribed medicine I'm taking comes from aspirin. Aspirin helps with lots of everyday aches and pains, but when you take it regular it starts to mess your kidneys up. I'm trying to avoid that. I use ibuprofen and naproxen sodium pills as a relief from the Tylenol 3 type pills that use aspirin instead of Tylenol. It seems to have worked okay so far.
This type of arthritis is called rheumatoid because it moves around in the body. It doesn't always hurt in the same place, but appears and disappears as it will. This reminds me a lot of the Kundalini experiences I had. I've experienced some periods of ecstasy due to Kundalini, in the past, but that may have been merely a precursor to what I'm experiencing presently. The only biography of a man in India I've read did not have a lot of good things to say about the experiences he had. He swore that some of the symptoms nearly killed him. The gifts he received from it hardly seemed worth it to him, and he was in constant fear that the people in India would find out about it and kill him in a stampede for his services.
The book Tom Patterson wrote about Eddie Martin seem to contain some interesting thoughts about what happened when he started reading cards down in Georgia. A great majority of his customers were blacks. In fact, he said that he dreaded reading for white people, and said why. I agreed with him about that. White people are weird about things like fortune telling. It's like they have to take a condescending attitude toward the reader or they can't go through with it. It's always been like that. Even in the Dark Ages in Europe before the Druids became the Catholic church in Rome. That may change with the coming Depression.
I'm re-reading Sartre. His writing is very powerful with me. Since I don't have any formal education much about philosophy the way I read Sartre might prove difficult to cope with to minds that have been institutionalized through education. It wouldn't surprise me if Sartre might not think highly of the way I interpret his work. Tough shit. He's dead, so it ain't like it matters how I interpret his writings, because they don't lead to immortality.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Worshiping Pets As God
So I'm still reading this book by Tom Patterson about a guy from Georgia who went to New York City (off and on) during the Great Depression to live because he was a little too different to stay in Georgia and express his true feelings. The book is called St. EOM In The Land Of Pasaquan. The EOM stood for Eddie Owens Martin. He made his living in New York City as a gay hustler and then returned to Georgia when he got old and proclaimed himself a saint because of the way he had suffered. No blame.
The saying about "If you can make it in New York, then you can make it anywhere" seemed to work for this guy in some ways. Despite that, he got run off from a lotta other places. This guy killed himself one rainy night in Georgia, and some might question whether making it New York counted when it came to being an old queen in the Bible Belt. There is something very sad about this man's life, but there is something very sad about most people. Some people cover it up better than others.
I wrote the author recently and told him this story reminded me of Jamie Herlihy. James Leo Herlihy wrote two books and probably other stuff too. He had one famous novel called Midnight Cowboy and another novel not quite as famous he entitled All Fall Down, which was my favorite of the two. His characters in these books reminded me of St. EOM. I not only think of Jamie's books as I currently read this book, because Jamie ended up murdering himself too. I seem to understand why both of them killed themselves. One poor as a church mouse, and the other rich and famous, sa-me result.
The steroids that brought such relief from the rheumatoid arthritis have worn completely off, and it's a very painful deal to type this blog entry. I can't even imagine it's not going to get worse, and eventually I won't be able to write at all. What a drag, man. Writing is about the only thing that gives me pleasure any more, and even that's being taken away. No blame. I've been a mean-spirited asshole all my life, and I guess I deserve it.
Many of the problems I've had in my life is because I'm such a talented liar. I can spin a tale that rings so true even I believe it for a while, but in the end I realize that I didn't get by with it at all. One of the lies I've convinced many people of is how liberal I am with lovers. I act like I can put up with any way they wanna act, and that's the furtherest thing from the truth. I'm not only jealous, but very possessive. Like a lotta men, I seem attracted to people that can't be owned, and they seem attracted to me. I got double-standards big time.
I keep waiting for the Sun to come back out. We've had cloudy, rainy weather seems like for weeks now. I'm guessing we've had at least 15 inches (38 cm) of rain in the last month alone. Back in the Spring we had the longest drought on record, and during the Summer we made up for that, and now it won't quit raining. I don't mind the rain so much, but the grey clouds hanging around for so long is depressing.
I wrote this paragraph in a post to a discussion group. I'm very pleased to have captured these drifting thoughts. Particularly the last line:
"Which makes me wonder? Is creating a defense against the experience of God not the sa-me process used to create one's own identity during puberty by rejecting the ways of the natal family? Isn't this the sa-me principle inherent in going on a vision quest to find one's familiar to put on an altar in the family's place?"
It makes me remember some of the contestants on the games shows where the emcee will interview them and ask them to say something about themselves. Some of the married contestants who have no children will proclaim proudly that instead of children they have pets that they treat like children. They say it like these pets are their familiars. Much like the black cats witches traditionally use as familiars to do their underhanded work.
Again, I reach for the saying from the Gospel of Thomas I seem to quote a lot:
55 Jesus said, "Whoever does not hate father and mother cannot be my disciple, and whoever does not hate brothers and sisters, and carry the cross as I do, will not be worthy of me."
http://users.misericordia.edu//davies/thomas/Trans.htm
I don't think many people would admit they use a beloved pet to replace the parents and siblings they hate as a substitute for religion, and metaphorically enshrine them like a golden calf on an altar. "Kick my dog, and you've kicked me." People will kill you for harming their pets, but they don't realize that what you've really done is disrespect their religion.
The saying about "If you can make it in New York, then you can make it anywhere" seemed to work for this guy in some ways. Despite that, he got run off from a lotta other places. This guy killed himself one rainy night in Georgia, and some might question whether making it New York counted when it came to being an old queen in the Bible Belt. There is something very sad about this man's life, but there is something very sad about most people. Some people cover it up better than others.
I wrote the author recently and told him this story reminded me of Jamie Herlihy. James Leo Herlihy wrote two books and probably other stuff too. He had one famous novel called Midnight Cowboy and another novel not quite as famous he entitled All Fall Down, which was my favorite of the two. His characters in these books reminded me of St. EOM. I not only think of Jamie's books as I currently read this book, because Jamie ended up murdering himself too. I seem to understand why both of them killed themselves. One poor as a church mouse, and the other rich and famous, sa-me result.
The steroids that brought such relief from the rheumatoid arthritis have worn completely off, and it's a very painful deal to type this blog entry. I can't even imagine it's not going to get worse, and eventually I won't be able to write at all. What a drag, man. Writing is about the only thing that gives me pleasure any more, and even that's being taken away. No blame. I've been a mean-spirited asshole all my life, and I guess I deserve it.
Many of the problems I've had in my life is because I'm such a talented liar. I can spin a tale that rings so true even I believe it for a while, but in the end I realize that I didn't get by with it at all. One of the lies I've convinced many people of is how liberal I am with lovers. I act like I can put up with any way they wanna act, and that's the furtherest thing from the truth. I'm not only jealous, but very possessive. Like a lotta men, I seem attracted to people that can't be owned, and they seem attracted to me. I got double-standards big time.
I keep waiting for the Sun to come back out. We've had cloudy, rainy weather seems like for weeks now. I'm guessing we've had at least 15 inches (38 cm) of rain in the last month alone. Back in the Spring we had the longest drought on record, and during the Summer we made up for that, and now it won't quit raining. I don't mind the rain so much, but the grey clouds hanging around for so long is depressing.
I wrote this paragraph in a post to a discussion group. I'm very pleased to have captured these drifting thoughts. Particularly the last line:
"Which makes me wonder? Is creating a defense against the experience of God not the sa-me process used to create one's own identity during puberty by rejecting the ways of the natal family? Isn't this the sa-me principle inherent in going on a vision quest to find one's familiar to put on an altar in the family's place?"
It makes me remember some of the contestants on the games shows where the emcee will interview them and ask them to say something about themselves. Some of the married contestants who have no children will proclaim proudly that instead of children they have pets that they treat like children. They say it like these pets are their familiars. Much like the black cats witches traditionally use as familiars to do their underhanded work.
Again, I reach for the saying from the Gospel of Thomas I seem to quote a lot:
55 Jesus said, "Whoever does not hate father and mother cannot be my disciple, and whoever does not hate brothers and sisters, and carry the cross as I do, will not be worthy of me."
http://users.misericordia.edu//davies/thomas/Trans.htm
I don't think many people would admit they use a beloved pet to replace the parents and siblings they hate as a substitute for religion, and metaphorically enshrine them like a golden calf on an altar. "Kick my dog, and you've kicked me." People will kill you for harming their pets, but they don't realize that what you've really done is disrespect their religion.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Does One's Familiar Replace The Need For A Family?
*
Sometime I sense that many people's only religion is trying to prove their parents, priests, and preachers weren't just out and out liars. They know they are lying, but that's okay, they're just human. They don't expect much out of themselves, they just don't want the precious people who taught them to lie to be liars themselves.
*
I composed the paragraph above in order to express a thought I woke up with this morning. I'm pretty sure this theory springs from one of the saying in the Gospel of Thomas, an ancient gnostic text that was found in Egypt in 1945 in a large ceramic jar along with many other Gnostic texts. They were written in the Coptic language. It seems to be logically presumed that the literature in that era was buried to keep the Catholics from burning it. Gnosticism developed from people having a direct experience of God. The more I learn about it, the more it reminds me of the practice of going on a vision quest used by the American Indians and the Australian aborigines.
Going on a vision quest during the ancient days any where on Earth seemed to have a similar ritual. The initiate going on a quest left their home and went alone out into the wilderness without enough provisions to get back without divine intervention. There was a documentary on PBS about cave paintings and how they were a lot alike all over the world. The documentary makers speculated that whoever painted on the cave walls existed in a state of ecstasy induced by various herbal hallucinogens. That was supposedly part of the initiation process.
The initiate went looking for a spirit guide. Some were animals. Once they found their spirit guide they went to these caves and holy sites and painted a picture to prove they had been there. Then, they had to get back to their home even though they had used up their provisions and manifest the gifts their spirit guide had provided them with. That gave them enough moxie to fool most of the people most of the time. Then, they symbolically got run outta town by the dominant alpha shaman, because they couldn't be healers or prophets in their home town.
That one principle that was operant even before the written word was invented still holds true today. Some people are more believable than others, but nobody ever really believes somebody they grew up with from childhood can actually prophecy or heal.
I woke up with this image and didn't compose it well. You know how it is with dreams. I have to at least get something down in writing that I can try to make sense (manifest in the sensory dimension) of later.
I was trying to write that each of us as individuals might accept that we ourselves are liars. We know ourselves too well to pretend otherwise. For a while I tried to pretend that my parents were better than that, and in that sense, that they weren't actually human. That way, I wouldn't have to forgive them for being human when and if they erred. I didn't want them to be human like I was, because mere humans couldn't forgive me for what I did to them in order to fulfill the prophecy in this saying:
55 Jesus said, "Whoever does not hate father and mother cannot be my disciple, and whoever does not hate brothers and sisters, and carry the cross as I do, will not be worthy of me."
http://users.misericordia.edu//davies/thomas/Trans.htm
Which makes me wonder. Is creating a defense against the experience of God not the sa-me process used to create one's own identity during puberty by rejecting the ways of the natal family? Isn't this the sa-me principle inherent in going on a vision quest to find one's familiar to put on an altar in the family's place?
Sometime I sense that many people's only religion is trying to prove their parents, priests, and preachers weren't just out and out liars. They know they are lying, but that's okay, they're just human. They don't expect much out of themselves, they just don't want the precious people who taught them to lie to be liars themselves.
*
I composed the paragraph above in order to express a thought I woke up with this morning. I'm pretty sure this theory springs from one of the saying in the Gospel of Thomas, an ancient gnostic text that was found in Egypt in 1945 in a large ceramic jar along with many other Gnostic texts. They were written in the Coptic language. It seems to be logically presumed that the literature in that era was buried to keep the Catholics from burning it. Gnosticism developed from people having a direct experience of God. The more I learn about it, the more it reminds me of the practice of going on a vision quest used by the American Indians and the Australian aborigines.
Going on a vision quest during the ancient days any where on Earth seemed to have a similar ritual. The initiate going on a quest left their home and went alone out into the wilderness without enough provisions to get back without divine intervention. There was a documentary on PBS about cave paintings and how they were a lot alike all over the world. The documentary makers speculated that whoever painted on the cave walls existed in a state of ecstasy induced by various herbal hallucinogens. That was supposedly part of the initiation process.
The initiate went looking for a spirit guide. Some were animals. Once they found their spirit guide they went to these caves and holy sites and painted a picture to prove they had been there. Then, they had to get back to their home even though they had used up their provisions and manifest the gifts their spirit guide had provided them with. That gave them enough moxie to fool most of the people most of the time. Then, they symbolically got run outta town by the dominant alpha shaman, because they couldn't be healers or prophets in their home town.
That one principle that was operant even before the written word was invented still holds true today. Some people are more believable than others, but nobody ever really believes somebody they grew up with from childhood can actually prophecy or heal.
I woke up with this image and didn't compose it well. You know how it is with dreams. I have to at least get something down in writing that I can try to make sense (manifest in the sensory dimension) of later.
I was trying to write that each of us as individuals might accept that we ourselves are liars. We know ourselves too well to pretend otherwise. For a while I tried to pretend that my parents were better than that, and in that sense, that they weren't actually human. That way, I wouldn't have to forgive them for being human when and if they erred. I didn't want them to be human like I was, because mere humans couldn't forgive me for what I did to them in order to fulfill the prophecy in this saying:
55 Jesus said, "Whoever does not hate father and mother cannot be my disciple, and whoever does not hate brothers and sisters, and carry the cross as I do, will not be worthy of me."
http://users.misericordia.edu//davies/thomas/Trans.htm
Which makes me wonder. Is creating a defense against the experience of God not the sa-me process used to create one's own identity during puberty by rejecting the ways of the natal family? Isn't this the sa-me principle inherent in going on a vision quest to find one's familiar to put on an altar in the family's place?
Thursday, September 25, 2008
It seems a little strange the way things feel these days. I blame it on the Presidential Election. People seem to be looking for solutions neither candidate can resolve. At the base of it is the Iraq war. This personal vendetta by one group of capitalists to manipulate the crisis to put money in their own Swiss bank accounts at the taxpayer's expense is a done deal. Bush's legacy never mattered. Sure, he would like for it to be marvelous, but the bottom line is the money, and they've already got that in their pocket. The very people who got into office promising security are the very ones who used that fear to help themselves. I don't guess I blame them. I'm not sure I wouldn't do the same thing myself if I got the chance. The fact that I never got the chance speaks for itself. I never wanted to be much more than to be somewhat of a bum. I still don't.
I received a book in the mail yesterday. It was sent to me as a gift from the author. He visited my house with my sister-in-law's cousin a couple of weeks ago. We had an enjoyable time talking to each other and comparing the experiences we hold in common. The book is about a careactor I seem to have some things in common with also, but not really. His artistic pursuit was painting and mine is writing. He never traveled as a child. Neither of us are successful economically in our artistic pursuits. I think he tried a little harder to get recognized than me. I seem to have settled for small potatoes since I've never submitted any of my writing for publication. I publish on the internet using a series of blogs like this one. This is good enough for me. More people read this blog than the local newspaper because it's available on the internet for free. That doesn't bring up nearly the effort that getting some big company to think they can make money trying to sell it.
That's not to say that i haven't thought about it. Not some much for the recognition of my genius, but only about getting rich selling lots of books. I don't know anybody that never thinks about what they'd do if they were rich. I buy lottery tickets just to indulge that specific whim. I keep a valid lottery ticket. I don't expect to win. I know the odds. I buy lottery tickets just to daydream about what I'd do if I did win. Right this minute I'm thinking about it, because when I was watching the news last night they showed the Wednesday Powerball results, and I know i at least have the Powerball number right. What I'm thinking about right now is how many other numbers I got to go with it. If I browse to the website to check, then the suspense will be all over. I like milking suspense.
I looked up the meaning of rheumatoid arthritis yesterday and hooked up with the Wikipedia site to get some general information. The most interesting part of my quest was the definition of "rheuma". It means flowing. Like a river. In regard to arthritis, it means that the affected area moves. Yesterday the pain was in my left elbow, but this morning it moved up into the outside of my upper left arm. Last week it was in my right elbow area. It moves.
I've been using this expression for a few years now. It moves. In the past I've used it to descriptor for a docetic spirit and for how Kundalini expresses itself. It moves too. This makes me wonder if this affliction I'm experiencing now is not part of the arthritis. The nurse during my last appointment asked me if anybody in my family had experienced arthritis, and I told her it ran in my mother's family. "Yep", she said, with a Spanish accent, "it runs in families."
I won't be outside walking today. The TV weathermen don't know exactly how to describe this rain we're getting. It's coming in off the ocean like a tropical storm, but it doesn't fit the characteristics of what they know of as a tropical storm. It's supposed to rain all day, and maybe part of tomorrow. Part of the sidewalk at the strip mall is covered with metal awnings. I might go there to see if I can dart from awning to awning in between showers. The wind is blowing up to fifty miles an hour (80.5 km).
I'm not fond of high winds. To me it's just nature trying one more time in one more way to kill me. It's almost succeeded too many times. I've spent years on the road with no sure place to hide from the elements. One of the most memorable was under an overpass outside of Salem, Oregon when it rained for three solid days without a break. The overpass kept the rain off of me for the most part, but it didn't stop the wind. I know the wind will be the last thing I hear upon the event of my death.
I buy a quart of coffee liqueur a couple of times a year, and most of the time I drink it straight from the bottle until it's gone. I might mix it in some coffee on occasion, but most of the time I use it basically as a replacement for candy. It's too sweet and has too little alcohol in it to get high off of. It usually takes me two or three days to drink it for the same reason. Too much sugar at one time to get drunk on it in one sitting. I bought the bottle I'm drinking from now over in Fayettenam while I was over there for my appointment at the VA.
The medicine i'm taking now doesn't go well with booze. It's clear to me from the way it feels that I'm gonna have to cut back. My old kidneys can only take so much before they start warning me to slack off. The one of the most inconvenient indications of aging. I can't keep my bad habits up. I miss my bad habits. They have practically everything to do with me being a social animal. Without them I don't like being around people that much. I only drink too much when I'm around people I'm not attracted to.
Unfortunately, that's most of them these days. In the past, it was the urge of my libido that caused me to abide with the habits of attractive people. It didn't matter too much whether I liked their personalities or not if I wanted to have sex with them. Now that the urge for procreation is gone, I don't suffer fools kindly. In the past, I kept wondering why anybody would wanna be around me that wasn't looking to have sex with me. I assumed that most people copped the same attitude I did about sex. Apparently I was wrong about them. I never have been all that mistaken about my own attitude, in that regard, but other people seem to think there is more to life than sex. I still think they're just wrong.
I received a book in the mail yesterday. It was sent to me as a gift from the author. He visited my house with my sister-in-law's cousin a couple of weeks ago. We had an enjoyable time talking to each other and comparing the experiences we hold in common. The book is about a careactor I seem to have some things in common with also, but not really. His artistic pursuit was painting and mine is writing. He never traveled as a child. Neither of us are successful economically in our artistic pursuits. I think he tried a little harder to get recognized than me. I seem to have settled for small potatoes since I've never submitted any of my writing for publication. I publish on the internet using a series of blogs like this one. This is good enough for me. More people read this blog than the local newspaper because it's available on the internet for free. That doesn't bring up nearly the effort that getting some big company to think they can make money trying to sell it.
That's not to say that i haven't thought about it. Not some much for the recognition of my genius, but only about getting rich selling lots of books. I don't know anybody that never thinks about what they'd do if they were rich. I buy lottery tickets just to indulge that specific whim. I keep a valid lottery ticket. I don't expect to win. I know the odds. I buy lottery tickets just to daydream about what I'd do if I did win. Right this minute I'm thinking about it, because when I was watching the news last night they showed the Wednesday Powerball results, and I know i at least have the Powerball number right. What I'm thinking about right now is how many other numbers I got to go with it. If I browse to the website to check, then the suspense will be all over. I like milking suspense.
I looked up the meaning of rheumatoid arthritis yesterday and hooked up with the Wikipedia site to get some general information. The most interesting part of my quest was the definition of "rheuma". It means flowing. Like a river. In regard to arthritis, it means that the affected area moves. Yesterday the pain was in my left elbow, but this morning it moved up into the outside of my upper left arm. Last week it was in my right elbow area. It moves.
I've been using this expression for a few years now. It moves. In the past I've used it to descriptor for a docetic spirit and for how Kundalini expresses itself. It moves too. This makes me wonder if this affliction I'm experiencing now is not part of the arthritis. The nurse during my last appointment asked me if anybody in my family had experienced arthritis, and I told her it ran in my mother's family. "Yep", she said, with a Spanish accent, "it runs in families."
I won't be outside walking today. The TV weathermen don't know exactly how to describe this rain we're getting. It's coming in off the ocean like a tropical storm, but it doesn't fit the characteristics of what they know of as a tropical storm. It's supposed to rain all day, and maybe part of tomorrow. Part of the sidewalk at the strip mall is covered with metal awnings. I might go there to see if I can dart from awning to awning in between showers. The wind is blowing up to fifty miles an hour (80.5 km).
I'm not fond of high winds. To me it's just nature trying one more time in one more way to kill me. It's almost succeeded too many times. I've spent years on the road with no sure place to hide from the elements. One of the most memorable was under an overpass outside of Salem, Oregon when it rained for three solid days without a break. The overpass kept the rain off of me for the most part, but it didn't stop the wind. I know the wind will be the last thing I hear upon the event of my death.
I buy a quart of coffee liqueur a couple of times a year, and most of the time I drink it straight from the bottle until it's gone. I might mix it in some coffee on occasion, but most of the time I use it basically as a replacement for candy. It's too sweet and has too little alcohol in it to get high off of. It usually takes me two or three days to drink it for the same reason. Too much sugar at one time to get drunk on it in one sitting. I bought the bottle I'm drinking from now over in Fayettenam while I was over there for my appointment at the VA.
The medicine i'm taking now doesn't go well with booze. It's clear to me from the way it feels that I'm gonna have to cut back. My old kidneys can only take so much before they start warning me to slack off. The one of the most inconvenient indications of aging. I can't keep my bad habits up. I miss my bad habits. They have practically everything to do with me being a social animal. Without them I don't like being around people that much. I only drink too much when I'm around people I'm not attracted to.
Unfortunately, that's most of them these days. In the past, it was the urge of my libido that caused me to abide with the habits of attractive people. It didn't matter too much whether I liked their personalities or not if I wanted to have sex with them. Now that the urge for procreation is gone, I don't suffer fools kindly. In the past, I kept wondering why anybody would wanna be around me that wasn't looking to have sex with me. I assumed that most people copped the same attitude I did about sex. Apparently I was wrong about them. I never have been all that mistaken about my own attitude, in that regard, but other people seem to think there is more to life than sex. I still think they're just wrong.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Shorter Days, Longer Nights
The wind is blowing steadily outside. It has something to do with a tropical storm and a cold front confronting other near here. By "near here" I simply mean this particular war of nature's gods is happening in this small area of the world. The rest of the world is having it's own struggles. I'm having my own struggles.
I went to the VA yesterday to get a bone density test. I didn't have a clue how that was done. I assumed it was sort of like the metal or mineral tests where they drive a spring-loaded point down into whatever they're testing to measure the hardness. It won't nothing like that. They just had me lay down on a table and had this movable arm make a bunch of passes over my body. Then, they told me to get up, put my clothes back on, and leave.
I was able to find out what's going on with them sending me to the Durham VA. That particular hospital has a special rheumatology clinic. My doctor was able to see that I have an appointment there next month, but I still haven't gotten an appointment letter from them with the exact date yet. They're supposed to send me a letter. That's how bureaucracy works.
I've been sort of stupid about whether I get travel pay to go to the Fayetteville VA. They have a window in the same room as the pharmacy. I was there to refill my ibuprofen prescription. I finally got up the nerve to go up to the travel window and ask if I rated any money to help me pay for gas. The disgruntled government worker just looked at me like I was an idiot and told me to give him my VA ID card. All those windows in the pharmacy room have bullet-proof glass with a slot at the bottom of them in order to conduct their business.
I slid my ID card through that slot to him and he started punching in my info into his computer, and then punched Enter. He handed me the printout and told me to take it over to the Cashier's window in the same waiting room. I did, and a much cheerier government worker gave me $5.50. It wasn't enough to pay for the gas it took, especially these days, but every little bit helps. I could have been getting this money every time I've gone over. Working this VA gig can be a hit and miss proposition, but I'm not complaining. It doesn't cost me anything, and just yesterday would have cost thousands.
It got cool just in time for the Autumnal Equinox. It's the opposite of Spring, but just as surprising. It's not unusual to get a couple of cool days during the long summer months, but when the nights cool down into the fifties (10-15 C) and stays there for at least a week, it's a warning that more cool weather is on the way. Just like the Spring announces the coming of the green, Fall announces the brown colors of the next Winter to be.
Around my house a more reliable indicator of the coming of the even shorter days is my fig tree. It may not be for true the earliest deciduous tree to shed it's leaves, but it's one of the first, and the closest tree to my house anyway. It's too close. That's why I'm trying to get another fig tree growing out toward the edge of the woods.
A strange thing happened to the commercial cutting I bought at Lowes. It's leaves started shrinking, and I thought it might die. I had already put as much fertilizer on it as I dared. I put some bamboo stakes around it and beat them into the ground. Afterward, I would go hit the stakes with my hammer to vibrate the ground around the new cutting in order to drive away any moles by the vibration.
I was only just so much dedicated to my mole defense program. I stopped beating those bamboo stobs after a few weeks. I was surprised when I noticed some new green buds on the smaller limbs a week or so ago, and this new fig bush has now got new leaves on it. I'll probably have to wait until next Spring to find out if it's gonna live.
This arthritis has gotten me to remembering some stuff I read about the Swedes up in Minnesota had a tendency to live longer than any other group of people in the United States. I'm thinking the article might have mentioned that was largely due to the cooler weather up there. The connection with arthritis is that it's caused by inflammation. More recently I've been made aware that inflammation is the root cause for lots of diseases.
If I add these memories to my present experience of sitting here barefooted, and think about how cold it has to get before I'm willing to start wearing it shoes, I wonder if the cool weather helps the body resist inflammation, and thus prevents disease. After all, this current arthritis bout started with inflammation in my feet. Maybe I oughta see if I can sleep with fewer blankets this winter, and allow my body to get as cold as I can and still sleep.
I went to the VA yesterday to get a bone density test. I didn't have a clue how that was done. I assumed it was sort of like the metal or mineral tests where they drive a spring-loaded point down into whatever they're testing to measure the hardness. It won't nothing like that. They just had me lay down on a table and had this movable arm make a bunch of passes over my body. Then, they told me to get up, put my clothes back on, and leave.
I was able to find out what's going on with them sending me to the Durham VA. That particular hospital has a special rheumatology clinic. My doctor was able to see that I have an appointment there next month, but I still haven't gotten an appointment letter from them with the exact date yet. They're supposed to send me a letter. That's how bureaucracy works.
I've been sort of stupid about whether I get travel pay to go to the Fayetteville VA. They have a window in the same room as the pharmacy. I was there to refill my ibuprofen prescription. I finally got up the nerve to go up to the travel window and ask if I rated any money to help me pay for gas. The disgruntled government worker just looked at me like I was an idiot and told me to give him my VA ID card. All those windows in the pharmacy room have bullet-proof glass with a slot at the bottom of them in order to conduct their business.
I slid my ID card through that slot to him and he started punching in my info into his computer, and then punched Enter. He handed me the printout and told me to take it over to the Cashier's window in the same waiting room. I did, and a much cheerier government worker gave me $5.50. It wasn't enough to pay for the gas it took, especially these days, but every little bit helps. I could have been getting this money every time I've gone over. Working this VA gig can be a hit and miss proposition, but I'm not complaining. It doesn't cost me anything, and just yesterday would have cost thousands.
It got cool just in time for the Autumnal Equinox. It's the opposite of Spring, but just as surprising. It's not unusual to get a couple of cool days during the long summer months, but when the nights cool down into the fifties (10-15 C) and stays there for at least a week, it's a warning that more cool weather is on the way. Just like the Spring announces the coming of the green, Fall announces the brown colors of the next Winter to be.
Around my house a more reliable indicator of the coming of the even shorter days is my fig tree. It may not be for true the earliest deciduous tree to shed it's leaves, but it's one of the first, and the closest tree to my house anyway. It's too close. That's why I'm trying to get another fig tree growing out toward the edge of the woods.
A strange thing happened to the commercial cutting I bought at Lowes. It's leaves started shrinking, and I thought it might die. I had already put as much fertilizer on it as I dared. I put some bamboo stakes around it and beat them into the ground. Afterward, I would go hit the stakes with my hammer to vibrate the ground around the new cutting in order to drive away any moles by the vibration.
I was only just so much dedicated to my mole defense program. I stopped beating those bamboo stobs after a few weeks. I was surprised when I noticed some new green buds on the smaller limbs a week or so ago, and this new fig bush has now got new leaves on it. I'll probably have to wait until next Spring to find out if it's gonna live.
This arthritis has gotten me to remembering some stuff I read about the Swedes up in Minnesota had a tendency to live longer than any other group of people in the United States. I'm thinking the article might have mentioned that was largely due to the cooler weather up there. The connection with arthritis is that it's caused by inflammation. More recently I've been made aware that inflammation is the root cause for lots of diseases.
If I add these memories to my present experience of sitting here barefooted, and think about how cold it has to get before I'm willing to start wearing it shoes, I wonder if the cool weather helps the body resist inflammation, and thus prevents disease. After all, this current arthritis bout started with inflammation in my feet. Maybe I oughta see if I can sleep with fewer blankets this winter, and allow my body to get as cold as I can and still sleep.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Waiting For My Turn In LIne
One thing is for sure about what's going on with this blog and my writing. Here's an article that addresses the money aspect of blogging:
http://news.cnet.com/8301-17939_109-10048448-2.html?part=rss&subj=news&tag=2547-1_3-0-5
I don't have anywhere near the number of readers that are being used in this article. There is only one conclusion I can reach from reading it. My writing stinks. There may be more to it than I'm taking into account, like advertising this site or the other ones I've used before. I don't make any efforts to promote the site to potential readers. The reason is that I don't write for-the-other. I oughta, I guess, but I just don't. As it states in the main header above, I have my own reason for writing. That reason is to capture drifting thoughts with words. If I don't attract readers it can only be for two reasons. Either I choose uninteresting drifting thoughts to attempt to capture with words or the words I'm using to capture them are ill chosen. I don't actually care so much, but if my life depended on it I'd probably try to change my ways.
I can't assume that other people agree with me that what I write is pretty much meaningless. They should, but they just don't. Sometime I wonder why they encourage me. I believe they want something somebody writes that they actually know to mean something they feel but just can't express in a way that satisfies them. I believe that's their problem with accepting that I'm just making this shit up. Anything can mean anything if you just want it to.
The endgame for me is that I can't afford to give a shit about what people think about my writing if I want it to work for me as planned. Some days what I write bores the hell outta me, but other days not. I can't tell ahead of time if a topic or subject is gonna reveal something I've been trying to understand about myself or not. There have been times when I rushed to sit down at my computer and start writing about something that inspires me, and after a few minutes, the whole deal peters out. Other times I write a disingenuous first paragraph or two, and then a whole new world opens up for me. For me. For-me. Being for-myself.
I am beginning to suspect that it's not that easy for some people to do for themselves. They've been taught that it's better to give rather than receive. So was I. Doing for others was what I rebelled against as a pubescent teenager. I didn't understand why I shouldn't be selfish. I still don't. I don't have to concern myself with doing for the other because I've been raised to it. I can't not consider the other. It's considering myself that I have difficulty with.
This is going nowhere, so I'll get up tomorrow and give it another go.
http://news.cnet.com/8301-17939_109-10048448-2.html?part=rss&subj=news&tag=2547-1_3-0-5
I don't have anywhere near the number of readers that are being used in this article. There is only one conclusion I can reach from reading it. My writing stinks. There may be more to it than I'm taking into account, like advertising this site or the other ones I've used before. I don't make any efforts to promote the site to potential readers. The reason is that I don't write for-the-other. I oughta, I guess, but I just don't. As it states in the main header above, I have my own reason for writing. That reason is to capture drifting thoughts with words. If I don't attract readers it can only be for two reasons. Either I choose uninteresting drifting thoughts to attempt to capture with words or the words I'm using to capture them are ill chosen. I don't actually care so much, but if my life depended on it I'd probably try to change my ways.
I can't assume that other people agree with me that what I write is pretty much meaningless. They should, but they just don't. Sometime I wonder why they encourage me. I believe they want something somebody writes that they actually know to mean something they feel but just can't express in a way that satisfies them. I believe that's their problem with accepting that I'm just making this shit up. Anything can mean anything if you just want it to.
The endgame for me is that I can't afford to give a shit about what people think about my writing if I want it to work for me as planned. Some days what I write bores the hell outta me, but other days not. I can't tell ahead of time if a topic or subject is gonna reveal something I've been trying to understand about myself or not. There have been times when I rushed to sit down at my computer and start writing about something that inspires me, and after a few minutes, the whole deal peters out. Other times I write a disingenuous first paragraph or two, and then a whole new world opens up for me. For me. For-me. Being for-myself.
I am beginning to suspect that it's not that easy for some people to do for themselves. They've been taught that it's better to give rather than receive. So was I. Doing for others was what I rebelled against as a pubescent teenager. I didn't understand why I shouldn't be selfish. I still don't. I don't have to concern myself with doing for the other because I've been raised to it. I can't not consider the other. It's considering myself that I have difficulty with.
This is going nowhere, so I'll get up tomorrow and give it another go.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Nemesis
I've been using the term "nemesis" incorrectly. There is an entire mythology about this term, particularly if it's capitalized. Nemesis was a Greek goddess. Wouldn't you know it. A female goddess with a long history even before she became Greek. She goes back a long way. Here is an interesting link that lays out the whole deal.
http://thanasis.com/modern/nemesis.htm
This makes a lot more sense to me. Women have always been my nemesis. No man I've ever encountered could compete with the women that have come into my life as far as exacting punishment for my hubris is concerned.
This article and myth substantiates the quote I use from Alexander Pope, "Modesty is the art of power." The I Ching has an entire Hexagram called Modesty. It's renown for not having any oracle lines that indicate misfortune.
It took me a long time to understand how this principle works. If, indeed I do. It's been taught to me from childhood in one form or the other. I guess I was in my forties before I understood that it was responsible for many, if not most of my misfortunes. In some of the Asian religions it's called karma.
The older I get the more I realize that my misfortunes have been self contained. I set my own self up for the fall. My ulterior motives were not a secret from that part of me that administers judgment of this nature. The payoff for me has been humiliation. Humiliation through and through. I learned how to be humble by being humiliated. There's gotta be a better way. Behaving in such a way that brings humiliation in it's train got to be too expensive a burden to bear.
Here's another link with a well-organized presentation. It's even got the same picture of Nemesis on it.
http://www.theoi.com/Daimon/Nemesis.html
http://thanasis.com/modern/nemesis.htm
This makes a lot more sense to me. Women have always been my nemesis. No man I've ever encountered could compete with the women that have come into my life as far as exacting punishment for my hubris is concerned.
This article and myth substantiates the quote I use from Alexander Pope, "Modesty is the art of power." The I Ching has an entire Hexagram called Modesty. It's renown for not having any oracle lines that indicate misfortune.
It took me a long time to understand how this principle works. If, indeed I do. It's been taught to me from childhood in one form or the other. I guess I was in my forties before I understood that it was responsible for many, if not most of my misfortunes. In some of the Asian religions it's called karma.
The older I get the more I realize that my misfortunes have been self contained. I set my own self up for the fall. My ulterior motives were not a secret from that part of me that administers judgment of this nature. The payoff for me has been humiliation. Humiliation through and through. I learned how to be humble by being humiliated. There's gotta be a better way. Behaving in such a way that brings humiliation in it's train got to be too expensive a burden to bear.
Here's another link with a well-organized presentation. It's even got the same picture of Nemesis on it.
http://www.theoi.com/Daimon/Nemesis.html
A Morbid Morning
I'm still suspicious of the motives of the Bush administration. Just this week they have nationalized several of the largest money markets, and are trying to nationalize the entire economic foundation of the U.S., and cancel the elections in order to make Bush the dictator of the entire country. Who's gonna stop them? They have the elite troops of the military all outside of the country. Once they establish martial law, they're gonna bring out the white sheets again to straighten all this immigration business out, and put the blacks back in their place. I'm just glad I saved my Confederate dollars and family Bible. The only downfall I foresee presently is that I"m a registered Democrat. That might be the end of me.
I sorta think there is going to be a nuclear bomb explosion by somebody soon to throw the world into greater turmoil than it is already. Probably in Pakistan. The administration is just looking for an excuse to start blowing people up. They've already proved they're nothing but a bunch of warmongers. My personal problem with this is that Pakistan and India are on about the same degree of northern latitude as the United States, and all that radiation will come to get us via the westerly winds as the world turns. I'd move to Australia if I could afford it. At least they're located in the southern hemisphere. I don't wanna get slowly burned to death by radiation, but I don't have a lot of influence with the powers that be, so I guess I'll have to take what comes with the rest of the people. Goodbye cruel world... eh?
Otherwise, the cows are out from next door and running around on my lawn. I don't care. I've chased enough cows in my life to suit me. They're not my cows. I hate owning cows. We rent my father's old pastures out to a neighbor and if they get out in the road and cause somebody to have a car wreck, it's no skin off my back. I might get a steak or two out of the deal if that happens.
I watched the news this morning on TV. That's a little unusual. I generally satisfy my curiosity about what's going on in the larger world by scanning the news sites on the internet. That's not reliable anymore. There's getting to be less and less news appearing on these sites since they rely on the newspapers, and the newspapers are apparently going under because they can't compete with the internet. What a mess.
Most of the news was about Texans still trying to get back to their houses. Those people are idiots for living on one of the prime targets of the hurricanes in this part of the world. The same kind of idiots live in the flood plains of the big rivers. It's one thing to use your disposable cash to build a vacation home on the ocean that you can spend time in during your spare time, it's quite another to move in there lock, stock, and barrel.
The people in this area all the way up to the capitol of Raleigh have always had a beach cottage if they could afford it, but it's never been their primary abode. It's those nincompoops from outta state that take up residence on the beaches. Anywhere within fifty miles of the ocean front of North Carolina, in fact the entire Southeastern coast line of the Southern states, is subject to the force of the hurricanes that come through here. We get a lot of wind damage through here when the hurricanes come through here, but it's the tidal surge that does most of the damage, and that don't usually reach this far inland. Flooding from the intense rains that accompany hurricanes can ruin yo' day, but that only happens up in the piedmont where the hills force the runoff water into the bottom lands. You gotta be crazy to build a house in the wetlands.
I got two appointments at the VA tomorrow. One of them is to take a bone density test to see how much osteoporosis I've suffered. I've know about that one for a few weeks. What I don't know about is the second one that was scheduled just a day or two ago. The nurse called me and told me to come in early to see my doctor. She has something she wants to talk to me about. It's probably about the last blood workup I got during my last visit. This doesn't bode well. I may not be here when Armageddon arrives. C'est la morte.
I sorta think there is going to be a nuclear bomb explosion by somebody soon to throw the world into greater turmoil than it is already. Probably in Pakistan. The administration is just looking for an excuse to start blowing people up. They've already proved they're nothing but a bunch of warmongers. My personal problem with this is that Pakistan and India are on about the same degree of northern latitude as the United States, and all that radiation will come to get us via the westerly winds as the world turns. I'd move to Australia if I could afford it. At least they're located in the southern hemisphere. I don't wanna get slowly burned to death by radiation, but I don't have a lot of influence with the powers that be, so I guess I'll have to take what comes with the rest of the people. Goodbye cruel world... eh?
Otherwise, the cows are out from next door and running around on my lawn. I don't care. I've chased enough cows in my life to suit me. They're not my cows. I hate owning cows. We rent my father's old pastures out to a neighbor and if they get out in the road and cause somebody to have a car wreck, it's no skin off my back. I might get a steak or two out of the deal if that happens.
I watched the news this morning on TV. That's a little unusual. I generally satisfy my curiosity about what's going on in the larger world by scanning the news sites on the internet. That's not reliable anymore. There's getting to be less and less news appearing on these sites since they rely on the newspapers, and the newspapers are apparently going under because they can't compete with the internet. What a mess.
Most of the news was about Texans still trying to get back to their houses. Those people are idiots for living on one of the prime targets of the hurricanes in this part of the world. The same kind of idiots live in the flood plains of the big rivers. It's one thing to use your disposable cash to build a vacation home on the ocean that you can spend time in during your spare time, it's quite another to move in there lock, stock, and barrel.
The people in this area all the way up to the capitol of Raleigh have always had a beach cottage if they could afford it, but it's never been their primary abode. It's those nincompoops from outta state that take up residence on the beaches. Anywhere within fifty miles of the ocean front of North Carolina, in fact the entire Southeastern coast line of the Southern states, is subject to the force of the hurricanes that come through here. We get a lot of wind damage through here when the hurricanes come through here, but it's the tidal surge that does most of the damage, and that don't usually reach this far inland. Flooding from the intense rains that accompany hurricanes can ruin yo' day, but that only happens up in the piedmont where the hills force the runoff water into the bottom lands. You gotta be crazy to build a house in the wetlands.
I got two appointments at the VA tomorrow. One of them is to take a bone density test to see how much osteoporosis I've suffered. I've know about that one for a few weeks. What I don't know about is the second one that was scheduled just a day or two ago. The nurse called me and told me to come in early to see my doctor. She has something she wants to talk to me about. It's probably about the last blood workup I got during my last visit. This doesn't bode well. I may not be here when Armageddon arrives. C'est la morte.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
They Love Me For Hating Them
That silver trumpet Sidney's wealthy grandfather bought him was the most beautiful object I'd ever held me my hands. Even if it was for just a little while. I was eleven years old. It was the most complicated machine I'd ever seen. I stared in amazement at how the elongated tube twisted and turned and how the air Sidney blew into the end of it was manipulated by the valves. I wanted one. I wanted a silver trumpet like that more than anything I ever wanted. I begged my parents to buy me one. Their adamant refusal was the first time I realized they were too poor to buy something that expensive.
That wasn't the end of it though. My father talked to the band director, who suggested that a brass cornet would be less expensive than a silver trumpet, and to appease me, he bought that instead without me knowing it. My mother couldn't contain herself. I knew that she had been working on my father to try and buy me that instrument so I would at least play a musical instrument. Her previous effort to get me to take piano lessons hadn't worked out.
\
They gave me the cornet as a surprise at the dinner table one night. The whole family was there. They worked up the suspense until they brought out the brown plaid covered instrument case and proudly handed it to me. I knew when I saw how short the case was that this wasn't what I wanted. It wasn't a trumpet, but something less than that. I was disappointed beyond measure. I got so angry I tried to destroy it. My father's disappointment was palpable. He couldn't afford what he bought me, and I was bitter and ungrateful.
I wasn't just ungrateful. I went berserk. Why would I not? It's my trademark. Worse, my having a hissy fit because I didn't get what I wanted defined my relationship with my father. He didn't deserve being treated that way. Now that I'm an old man sitting around reflecting on my past life I regret what happened back then. It's happening a lot these days.
I suspect that's the real reason I never learned how to read sheet music. I refused to learn to play that cornet. Oh, I played it alright, but as an instrument of torture. My resentment and spitefulness knew no bounds. Eventually, the new band director switched me over to playing the tuba, but I still refused to learn to play it by note. I memorized my parts to play them. I still don't understand very well why that wasn't good enough.
My father was born in Libra. He was an idealist that bordered on being extremely opinionated. I didn't start studying astrology until I was in my early thirties. When I was a boy living in my father's house I didn't knew that Librans are particularly sensitive to their public image. I thought it was exactly what I was told. That my parents held public jobs as school teachers, and that anything their children did was a reflection on them, and threatened their livelihood. It was especially true back when I was young, and even more so in Mississippi.
I learned to manipulate my parents by the behavior I displayed in my formative years. It wasn't that unusual a thing for me to do. I manipulated every situation I could back then, and still do. That's what you do when you have a Scorpio Ascending sign. I didn't know that either when I was growing up. I was told I was evil because I was an ungrateful brat. I didn't know that manipulating people is normal for a Scorpio anything.
Everybody got Scorpio somewhere in their natal chart, and wherever it's located, the aspect of life that location pertains to is where the native is gonna manipulate the world around them. So, it's not just me if that's what you're thinking. It is me, however, that's responsible for figuring out why I"m such an asshole. Everybody got Libra somewhere in their natal chart, and wherever that happens to be will be that part of their life where they're sensitive about their relationship with the public. I just happened to focus on how to manipulate that region of people's lives because it worked with my father sometime.
Everybody gotta do something and have somewhere to go. I don't know why that is, but it seems true enough. The way things went for me is that my spitefulness and bitterness toward the world turned me inward. Soon enough, I realized that I projected my idea of the world on to the other people around me. When that realization occurred, around the age of thirty years old, I eventually realized that wasn't peculiar to me.
Everybody projected who-they-think-they-are upon the other. It didn't take much more figuring to actually see that despite my realization of how things are, that practically everyone else, if they did understand projection, ignored it. For me, that became my real career. Nothing is more entertaining or amusing to me than slyly causing other people to realize they're exactly what they accuse other people of being, and that their ignorance of it makes for great fun. I can't lose. Just making fun of them is exactly what they're looking for help with. That's true misanthropy. They love me for hating them.
That wasn't the end of it though. My father talked to the band director, who suggested that a brass cornet would be less expensive than a silver trumpet, and to appease me, he bought that instead without me knowing it. My mother couldn't contain herself. I knew that she had been working on my father to try and buy me that instrument so I would at least play a musical instrument. Her previous effort to get me to take piano lessons hadn't worked out.
\
They gave me the cornet as a surprise at the dinner table one night. The whole family was there. They worked up the suspense until they brought out the brown plaid covered instrument case and proudly handed it to me. I knew when I saw how short the case was that this wasn't what I wanted. It wasn't a trumpet, but something less than that. I was disappointed beyond measure. I got so angry I tried to destroy it. My father's disappointment was palpable. He couldn't afford what he bought me, and I was bitter and ungrateful.
I wasn't just ungrateful. I went berserk. Why would I not? It's my trademark. Worse, my having a hissy fit because I didn't get what I wanted defined my relationship with my father. He didn't deserve being treated that way. Now that I'm an old man sitting around reflecting on my past life I regret what happened back then. It's happening a lot these days.
I suspect that's the real reason I never learned how to read sheet music. I refused to learn to play that cornet. Oh, I played it alright, but as an instrument of torture. My resentment and spitefulness knew no bounds. Eventually, the new band director switched me over to playing the tuba, but I still refused to learn to play it by note. I memorized my parts to play them. I still don't understand very well why that wasn't good enough.
My father was born in Libra. He was an idealist that bordered on being extremely opinionated. I didn't start studying astrology until I was in my early thirties. When I was a boy living in my father's house I didn't knew that Librans are particularly sensitive to their public image. I thought it was exactly what I was told. That my parents held public jobs as school teachers, and that anything their children did was a reflection on them, and threatened their livelihood. It was especially true back when I was young, and even more so in Mississippi.
I learned to manipulate my parents by the behavior I displayed in my formative years. It wasn't that unusual a thing for me to do. I manipulated every situation I could back then, and still do. That's what you do when you have a Scorpio Ascending sign. I didn't know that either when I was growing up. I was told I was evil because I was an ungrateful brat. I didn't know that manipulating people is normal for a Scorpio anything.
Everybody got Scorpio somewhere in their natal chart, and wherever it's located, the aspect of life that location pertains to is where the native is gonna manipulate the world around them. So, it's not just me if that's what you're thinking. It is me, however, that's responsible for figuring out why I"m such an asshole. Everybody got Libra somewhere in their natal chart, and wherever that happens to be will be that part of their life where they're sensitive about their relationship with the public. I just happened to focus on how to manipulate that region of people's lives because it worked with my father sometime.
Everybody gotta do something and have somewhere to go. I don't know why that is, but it seems true enough. The way things went for me is that my spitefulness and bitterness toward the world turned me inward. Soon enough, I realized that I projected my idea of the world on to the other people around me. When that realization occurred, around the age of thirty years old, I eventually realized that wasn't peculiar to me.
Everybody projected who-they-think-they-are upon the other. It didn't take much more figuring to actually see that despite my realization of how things are, that practically everyone else, if they did understand projection, ignored it. For me, that became my real career. Nothing is more entertaining or amusing to me than slyly causing other people to realize they're exactly what they accuse other people of being, and that their ignorance of it makes for great fun. I can't lose. Just making fun of them is exactly what they're looking for help with. That's true misanthropy. They love me for hating them.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
The Whole Of Holiness
It's so slow even for a Saturday. There's not any news on the news sites on the internet. There was a couple of e-mails in my Inbox. The most exciting thing going on around here is a physical reminder that the weather can still turn cool. Good sleeping weather. I slept with two comforters over me and didn't get too warm. I think that's why some people like living in desert areas. It may get rather warm during the day, but at least it cools down at night. Thats the reason desert cultures party all night. It's too hot during the day.
Living in Key West for six or seven years taught me something about that. Every day at the approach of sunset a group of people gather at the big wharf where the ocean liners tie up to celebrate sunset. Key West is not quite far enough south to be in the tropics, but it never freezes there, and winter is hardly noticeable to visitors, some of whom, after driving down in the winter from Minnesota, think they're in a virtual paradise. No blame.
There is a natural reason people gather at that pier located at Mallory Square. It faces west and is one of the best places for watching the sun go down, unless there is a big ocean liner parked there. People still gather there even when the big ships block the excuse people use for gathering. They gather to celebrate the coming of the cool of the evening, but mostly they gather to celebrate the arrival of the darkness.
While it's not a true tropical climate in the Florida Keys, the heat can be oppressive. Granted, the keys (cays) are islands and there is usually a breeze blowing in from either the Gulf of Mexico or the Atlantic side of the islands, but it's the persistence of the heat that gradually wears a body down. It doesn't take long for the morning sun to hot things up, and then it usually stays that way until sunset.
There is also the glare of the sun bouncing off the surface of the salt water that surrounds the islands. In Key West (which is fairly large for one of the cays), you're never that far from the shoreline. The sun reflects off the water, and when there are clouds the reflected light off the ocean re-reflects off the bottom of the clouds. That's one of the touristy features of the Florida Keys. The air is full of light. It's like no other place I've ever been.
The people gather at Mallory Square to celebrate a respite and surcease from all that light. They glad to see it the next day, but enough is enow. It's time to party. Break out the drums and the guitars. Dance the night away. It's a festival every night in Key West. Mostly because of it's location as the southernmost point of the continental U.S., and all those tourists that come down to participate in the nightly charade, but the atmosphere happens just about any tropical place they celebrate the blessings of the night.
I haven't spent that much time in adobe buildings, but I understand why they're so favored in the southwest on down into Mexico and Central America. It's the thickness of the walls that retain the cool of the night well into the day. It's a little like how caves stay the same temperature all year long.
I stayed a couple of days at a place called the New Buffalo Commune outside of Taos, New Mexico a long time ago. The regular commune people were adding an adobe building to the group of adobe buildings that were already there. I enjoyed watching them putting the adobe bricks together and then stacking them up to make walls. I had never witnessed nothing like it here on the coastal plains. They'd never last. Too much rain. Monsoons by comparison with out in New Mexico.
When I sit around and gab with the boys down to the greasy spoon about what we'd do if we won the lottery, there's not much doubt about what I'd do in my mind. None of them good ol' boys believe a word I say, but I tell 'em anyway about how I'd use all that money just to move from place to place during different times of the year, just to be there when what happened there and no place else, did what it did like it was just for me.
I'd open me up a travel agency that catered to nobody else but me and my happy retinue. The phone bill alone would be humongus. Attention to every detail of my comfort would be of the highest importance. Somebody would be checking and double-check on every facet of my travels. All the bills incurred would only be paid through this agency, and if some local person approached me about any part of a bill for their services, somebody gonna get fired!
I'm pretty sure there is some sort of universal, ongoing plot to make sure I never have much disposable cash to play around with. I'd be the meanest asshole that ever walked the Earth. I know from my own experience of being used by wealthy people how to use money to manipulate and torment poor people. That's why God is good to me and makes sure I never have any money. It's not so much for me, but for the good of the world.
I'm familiar with the term "misanthropy". The I Ching warns it's adherents to never let it happen to them. Under the penalty of extreme misfortune. Misfortune within and without. It suggests a penalty that's a lot like what the Gospel of Thomas offers for those who blaspheme the whole-y spirit.
44 Jesus said, "Whoever blasphemes against the Father will be forgiven, and whoever blasphemes against the son will be forgiven, but whoever blasphemes against the holy spirit will not be forgiven, either on earth or in heaven."
http://users.misericordia.edu//davies/thomas/Trans.htm
Living in Key West for six or seven years taught me something about that. Every day at the approach of sunset a group of people gather at the big wharf where the ocean liners tie up to celebrate sunset. Key West is not quite far enough south to be in the tropics, but it never freezes there, and winter is hardly noticeable to visitors, some of whom, after driving down in the winter from Minnesota, think they're in a virtual paradise. No blame.
There is a natural reason people gather at that pier located at Mallory Square. It faces west and is one of the best places for watching the sun go down, unless there is a big ocean liner parked there. People still gather there even when the big ships block the excuse people use for gathering. They gather to celebrate the coming of the cool of the evening, but mostly they gather to celebrate the arrival of the darkness.
While it's not a true tropical climate in the Florida Keys, the heat can be oppressive. Granted, the keys (cays) are islands and there is usually a breeze blowing in from either the Gulf of Mexico or the Atlantic side of the islands, but it's the persistence of the heat that gradually wears a body down. It doesn't take long for the morning sun to hot things up, and then it usually stays that way until sunset.
There is also the glare of the sun bouncing off the surface of the salt water that surrounds the islands. In Key West (which is fairly large for one of the cays), you're never that far from the shoreline. The sun reflects off the water, and when there are clouds the reflected light off the ocean re-reflects off the bottom of the clouds. That's one of the touristy features of the Florida Keys. The air is full of light. It's like no other place I've ever been.
The people gather at Mallory Square to celebrate a respite and surcease from all that light. They glad to see it the next day, but enough is enow. It's time to party. Break out the drums and the guitars. Dance the night away. It's a festival every night in Key West. Mostly because of it's location as the southernmost point of the continental U.S., and all those tourists that come down to participate in the nightly charade, but the atmosphere happens just about any tropical place they celebrate the blessings of the night.
I haven't spent that much time in adobe buildings, but I understand why they're so favored in the southwest on down into Mexico and Central America. It's the thickness of the walls that retain the cool of the night well into the day. It's a little like how caves stay the same temperature all year long.
I stayed a couple of days at a place called the New Buffalo Commune outside of Taos, New Mexico a long time ago. The regular commune people were adding an adobe building to the group of adobe buildings that were already there. I enjoyed watching them putting the adobe bricks together and then stacking them up to make walls. I had never witnessed nothing like it here on the coastal plains. They'd never last. Too much rain. Monsoons by comparison with out in New Mexico.
When I sit around and gab with the boys down to the greasy spoon about what we'd do if we won the lottery, there's not much doubt about what I'd do in my mind. None of them good ol' boys believe a word I say, but I tell 'em anyway about how I'd use all that money just to move from place to place during different times of the year, just to be there when what happened there and no place else, did what it did like it was just for me.
I'd open me up a travel agency that catered to nobody else but me and my happy retinue. The phone bill alone would be humongus. Attention to every detail of my comfort would be of the highest importance. Somebody would be checking and double-check on every facet of my travels. All the bills incurred would only be paid through this agency, and if some local person approached me about any part of a bill for their services, somebody gonna get fired!
I'm pretty sure there is some sort of universal, ongoing plot to make sure I never have much disposable cash to play around with. I'd be the meanest asshole that ever walked the Earth. I know from my own experience of being used by wealthy people how to use money to manipulate and torment poor people. That's why God is good to me and makes sure I never have any money. It's not so much for me, but for the good of the world.
I'm familiar with the term "misanthropy". The I Ching warns it's adherents to never let it happen to them. Under the penalty of extreme misfortune. Misfortune within and without. It suggests a penalty that's a lot like what the Gospel of Thomas offers for those who blaspheme the whole-y spirit.
44 Jesus said, "Whoever blasphemes against the Father will be forgiven, and whoever blasphemes against the son will be forgiven, but whoever blasphemes against the holy spirit will not be forgiven, either on earth or in heaven."
http://users.misericordia.edu//davies/thomas/Trans.htm
Friday, September 19, 2008
There Are Black Holes On Earth
Yesterday I went for a walk to the lower back pasture and walked back. It's about a mile walk. I crisscrossed by my brother's house to see if he was home. The path I took meant that I probably wasn't going to see anybody else back there. People around here are pretty good about not trespassing on other people's property. I was very aware during this walk that I was going slow. Almost stutter stepping. I tried to liven things up, but found it difficult to change pace.
This morning I walked about the same distance using the broad concrete sidewalk in front of the stores at the Wal-Mart strip mall. I like walking there because I can stumble along not watching where I'm going so particularly. Hardly ever do I run into people on the sidewalk except for when they're going from their parked cars to the store entrances and back to their car again. The driving area to and among the different parking areas is located right beside the sidewalk, so the people in their cars driving by me can see everything I do. Not like back in the woods behind my house.
I walked on the sidewalk at a good, steady pace looking like a much healthier person. I did that totally aware that I was moving around in the public eye. I was aware of my posture and my pace. The exact opposite of the stutter stepping I was doing back in the woods. In the woods I was walking for-myself, while on the sidewalk in public view, I was walking the way I did for-the-other.
When I was in public view on the sidewalk in front of the shopping mall, it's easy for me to do a walking meditation. One of the reasons I can do that out in public has something to do with the fact that the sidewalk is so wide and usually so unoccupied that I don't have to pay much attention to where I'm going. About the only reason I have to stay alert is for people coming in and out of the shops.
The SuperCenter is the last store on the western end of the strip mall. I don't walk in front of it, but start on the east end of that building and do my walking away from all that traffic. When I do one round and return to where the Wal-Mart is, I turn around before I get to it, and go back the other way. I do have to watch where I'm going in that area, so I don't try to walk there.
I'm not sure I can explain why being in public forces me to dwell within myself better than if nobody can see me, but I do know it's the sa-me dynamic involved with me publishing my journal on the internet. It forces me to dig deeper and to come up with something that's at least an entertaining curiosity to me. I don't have any control over what the people who read this blog thinks about what I've written. It's only important to me that it's available for anybody who comes here to read.
One thing is for sure. With a million people a day creating a new blog, there is not much chance anybody is gonna read what I write here, and yet according to the counter, I got more readers on the internet than people who read the county newspaper. More readers, even, than there are residents in this county. About 50,000, and unfortunately, growing.
I also know I don't understand how this dynamic of how I act different when I'm alone than when I'm in public. I spent around 7-8 years, off and on, hitch-hiking around North America. Mostly the continental United States of America. There is not a lot of people who have done that. I would have seen them. I've seen a few.
I did it because of what I read in the King James Version of the Bible. "Go ye therefore into all the world.... yadda, yadda, yadda." I don't know if that was my original motivation or whether I remembered what it said after I ran away from home when I was fifteen years old. I had to return home under threat of the law, but I never forgot I could just go do that. Anytime I got tired of being where I was with myself, I could go out to the nearest through road and stick out my thumb. I did it a lot. It's not a respectable thing to do. It makes a soul seem irresponsible. Why would I not be? Who will tell me "No!"? Nobody knows. Nobody cares.
"Do what thy wilt is the whole of the law." ~Aleister Crowley
The reason I'm writing about hitch-hiking in the same breath as taking my constitutional in front of the shopping mall is that when I was hitch-hiking I was in the public eye 24/7. True, there were times when I could find a hiding place to be unseen for a while. I got real good at it. But, being in the public eye drove me inside myself for privacy, and that's why the Jesus stories recommended going ye therefore.
I've tried to tell about this to people, but they don't have the ears to hear me with. It's not like it's my idea. I don't have anything on the line whether they do it or not. Lots of people are in the public view much of their lives, but their personal survival don't depend on their direct behavior. When one goes on a vision quest such as the "go ye therefore" one, it matters a lot, for your survival WILL depend on whether you can turn inside to yourself for direction/amusement or not. There are black holes out there on the road you gotta recognize and decieve.
Being on my own like that for months and years at a time made me look different. I learned to deliberately telegraph my punch. I made sure people would see me coming. There is not a way in hell I could ever teach somebody to do that. It can only be learned solo. There are songs, poems, and tall tales told about it:
"You got to walk that lonesome valley.
You gotta go there by yo'self.
There ain't nobody here can go there for you.
You got to go there by yo'self."
This morning I walked about the same distance using the broad concrete sidewalk in front of the stores at the Wal-Mart strip mall. I like walking there because I can stumble along not watching where I'm going so particularly. Hardly ever do I run into people on the sidewalk except for when they're going from their parked cars to the store entrances and back to their car again. The driving area to and among the different parking areas is located right beside the sidewalk, so the people in their cars driving by me can see everything I do. Not like back in the woods behind my house.
I walked on the sidewalk at a good, steady pace looking like a much healthier person. I did that totally aware that I was moving around in the public eye. I was aware of my posture and my pace. The exact opposite of the stutter stepping I was doing back in the woods. In the woods I was walking for-myself, while on the sidewalk in public view, I was walking the way I did for-the-other.
When I was in public view on the sidewalk in front of the shopping mall, it's easy for me to do a walking meditation. One of the reasons I can do that out in public has something to do with the fact that the sidewalk is so wide and usually so unoccupied that I don't have to pay much attention to where I'm going. About the only reason I have to stay alert is for people coming in and out of the shops.
The SuperCenter is the last store on the western end of the strip mall. I don't walk in front of it, but start on the east end of that building and do my walking away from all that traffic. When I do one round and return to where the Wal-Mart is, I turn around before I get to it, and go back the other way. I do have to watch where I'm going in that area, so I don't try to walk there.
I'm not sure I can explain why being in public forces me to dwell within myself better than if nobody can see me, but I do know it's the sa-me dynamic involved with me publishing my journal on the internet. It forces me to dig deeper and to come up with something that's at least an entertaining curiosity to me. I don't have any control over what the people who read this blog thinks about what I've written. It's only important to me that it's available for anybody who comes here to read.
One thing is for sure. With a million people a day creating a new blog, there is not much chance anybody is gonna read what I write here, and yet according to the counter, I got more readers on the internet than people who read the county newspaper. More readers, even, than there are residents in this county. About 50,000, and unfortunately, growing.
I also know I don't understand how this dynamic of how I act different when I'm alone than when I'm in public. I spent around 7-8 years, off and on, hitch-hiking around North America. Mostly the continental United States of America. There is not a lot of people who have done that. I would have seen them. I've seen a few.
I did it because of what I read in the King James Version of the Bible. "Go ye therefore into all the world.... yadda, yadda, yadda." I don't know if that was my original motivation or whether I remembered what it said after I ran away from home when I was fifteen years old. I had to return home under threat of the law, but I never forgot I could just go do that. Anytime I got tired of being where I was with myself, I could go out to the nearest through road and stick out my thumb. I did it a lot. It's not a respectable thing to do. It makes a soul seem irresponsible. Why would I not be? Who will tell me "No!"? Nobody knows. Nobody cares.
"Do what thy wilt is the whole of the law." ~Aleister Crowley
The reason I'm writing about hitch-hiking in the same breath as taking my constitutional in front of the shopping mall is that when I was hitch-hiking I was in the public eye 24/7. True, there were times when I could find a hiding place to be unseen for a while. I got real good at it. But, being in the public eye drove me inside myself for privacy, and that's why the Jesus stories recommended going ye therefore.
I've tried to tell about this to people, but they don't have the ears to hear me with. It's not like it's my idea. I don't have anything on the line whether they do it or not. Lots of people are in the public view much of their lives, but their personal survival don't depend on their direct behavior. When one goes on a vision quest such as the "go ye therefore" one, it matters a lot, for your survival WILL depend on whether you can turn inside to yourself for direction/amusement or not. There are black holes out there on the road you gotta recognize and decieve.
Being on my own like that for months and years at a time made me look different. I learned to deliberately telegraph my punch. I made sure people would see me coming. There is not a way in hell I could ever teach somebody to do that. It can only be learned solo. There are songs, poems, and tall tales told about it:
"You got to walk that lonesome valley.
You gotta go there by yo'self.
There ain't nobody here can go there for you.
You got to go there by yo'self."
Pomposity And Cowardice
I know all about depression. I don't need a group of deranged cowards to tell me about depression and whether I'm exhibiting it. They try to hide their depression with much more vigor than I attempt to express mine. Here is an article about the attributes of conservative types. All my nemesis' are of this ilk. They seem attracted to me because i don't react to wot life sots before me in the way that they do. They wanna learn from me how I'm able to stay cool in dire straits. Fools. I can't teach them that. They're born that way the same as I'm born the way I am. Here is another article about why conservatives act the way they do, and why they vote Republican:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/09/18/AR2008091802265.html?hpid=topnews
Here's the link I posted the other day about why people vote Republican so you can compare notes:
http://www.edge.org/3rd_culture/haidt08/haidt08_index.html
The people I'm writing about know who they are. You should try to understand why you're the way you are and stop trying to get me to teach you something that can't be taught. IF there is something that can be done about the nature of your persona, then it's you that has to do it. Hopefully, you'll do that and leave me alone to my own ways. Ways I can't do anything about any more than you can do anything about the way it is for you. Candidly, we're both lucky I haven't squashed you like an irritable bug.
Up to now I've had to guess why certain people have treated me the way they have. It's not for the reasons they claim. They want something from me that I can't give them for either love or money. Granted, I've always known I wasn't like them. I've often wished I were more like them in some ways. It's not that what they want from me is something I studied for at some esoteric school and can teach them what I was taught. I'm as stuck in my own ways as they are in their own way.
There is no limit to what they won't do in order to get what they can't have from me. They're the world's most talented sychophants, and some of them are very wealthy and have resources they can use to tempt me with. Believe me, I can be tempted. I have been tempted, and of course, failed miserably.
I've worried needlessly about becoming helpless in my old age, and taking a long time to die while in abject physical pain. I was right. The pain the steroids got shed of is coming back, and it's not because of practicing the piano scales too long and too often. It's not because I've been typing 10-12 hours a day. It's because I have rheumatoid arthritis (it runs in my mother's family), and avoiding these activities ain't gwine help with my healing.
I'm pretty sure I'll be murdered in cold blood by one of my nemesis', because I'm gonna eventually get crippled by this arthritis, and not able to live up to what they expect of me as their model for life. Even a coward can kill an invalid who can't fight back. The love they feign for me is not sexual. That's why I hate about these assholes bugging me. They love me for what they're not. It absolutely disgusts me that they're not sexual deviants like I am is. We coulda had some fun. Instead, they indignantly interrupt the sordid way I conduct my personal affairs, because they want me to be publicly worthy of their unctuous condescension.
I became somewhat convinced it was me that was insane instead of them, but now i realize it's the other way around. For one thing, the court system would never let them walk away from the state hospital after thirty days like they did me. The weird part is that they might act out and refuse to leave, because they feel safe there. Crazy is about unmitigated fear gone awry. If you handle your own fears without being put in a strait-jacket or murdering innocent people, you probably ain't crazy, but like these people, a real annoyance and a guaranteed pain-in-the-ass.
I've spent a lifetime dealing with these people's attempts to convince me I was just like them. Either that or me trying to convince them they were just like me. I didn't wanna be like them, but they sure as hell wanted to be like me. I just didn't understand why they couldn't get what they wanted and leave me alone. These are some over-the-top moralistic ideologues. Why am I always the last to know?
I began to get the picture a little from what my oldest and only child of my first marriage told me about what her mother did after we got divorced. She said her mother joined an adventure club that went on trips that were normally considered dangerous and life threatening. They rappelled down steep cliffs and did hang gliding and rode rafts down white water canyons. She wanted to learn to be brave from me. I couldn't teach her that. I liked her just fine, personality-wise. She wasn't my type sexually, and if she hadn't stayed mad at me half the time we were together because she wasn't getting what she wanted from our marriage, we would probably still be married.
It was an arranged marriage, which was fine with me, I knew it was arranged because she arranged it. It took years before I found out she had ulterior motives for wanting to marry me. I knew she didn't love me romantically. Who could? The reason I give the appearance of being what my nemesis think I am is because I'm driven by my own ulterior motives. I do what I do to give the impression that I'm a real man instead of a compromised eunuch. I'm much too good at this buffoonery.
Ain't that a hell of a match. A wounded healer and his covey/coven of cry babies. They want something they think I've got that only I know for sure I haven't. I don't deliberately trick these people to harm them. I'm not out to trick anybody but myself. My only conscious effort, in this regard, is to fool myself into thinking I'm what they're obviously not, but for my own reasons. My treating them like they're not an important part of my emotional life is because I ain't got much socially motivated compassion to give. Sartre explains this very well. It's a matter of being-for-the-other or being-for-myself. The kind of person attracted to me have a hard time instituting a ground of being-for-themselves.
Something significant and unexpected about my person was revealed to me while I was taking those steroids for the arthritis. The Prednisone healed more than just the angry spots I've described previously. They healed a deeper, more prevailing pain that I guess I was so acclimated to I must have ignored it. The loss of this more pervasive pain made me feel like a child again. It was truly like the weight of the world was removed from my entire body. It was a euphoria I only experienced as a care free child. The angry spots in my old body, like my joints and the muscles around them are returning, but for now, I"m still free of the weight.
'The Weight'
I pulled into Nazareth, I was feeling about half past dead;
I just needed some place where I can lay my head.
"Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed?"
He just grinned and shook my hand, and 'No' was all he said.
Take a load off Fanny,
Take a load for free;
Take a load off Fanny,
And (and) (and) you put the load right on me.
http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/txt/1374.txt
A lotta people have wanted to kill me, in the past, because I'm such a phony. They really needed me to live up to their expectations and my own pretentiousness. They don't have a clue they're projecting what they want for themselves. Why would I feel any empathy for them that they fooled themselves with me? My eunuchiness makes a compassion of that order practically impossible. Why do you think I've been able to walk away with such niggardly aplomb. I can't even teach them how to do that. I have been able to inspire them to walk away, hell, I"ve driven them away with anger, but only ti-me can give them that feeling of aloofness they sense from me. I have mentioned I studied acting as my major course of study in college, right?
I made the mistake of falling in love with my second wife. She is a little dumb like many beautiful women are. It took years and two babies later to figure me out. I literally had to tutor her in order for her to get the point. Once she did, however, she didn't waste no ti-me trying to find a replacement. No blame. She didn't. It was her older brother who became my surrogate. Nobody knows her accusations of me were truer than me. It still hurt. I certainly didn't figure on loving the children, and in the endgame, it was that love she used to nail me to the cross. She shouldn't have oughta done that for the children's sake. Now, it's too late. They got their own lives, and may God bless them with that.
I am trying to forgive her. I am trying to forgive myself. I doubt if our children will forgive either one of us. No blame.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/09/18/AR2008091802265.html?hpid=topnews
Here's the link I posted the other day about why people vote Republican so you can compare notes:
http://www.edge.org/3rd_culture/haidt08/haidt08_index.html
The people I'm writing about know who they are. You should try to understand why you're the way you are and stop trying to get me to teach you something that can't be taught. IF there is something that can be done about the nature of your persona, then it's you that has to do it. Hopefully, you'll do that and leave me alone to my own ways. Ways I can't do anything about any more than you can do anything about the way it is for you. Candidly, we're both lucky I haven't squashed you like an irritable bug.
Up to now I've had to guess why certain people have treated me the way they have. It's not for the reasons they claim. They want something from me that I can't give them for either love or money. Granted, I've always known I wasn't like them. I've often wished I were more like them in some ways. It's not that what they want from me is something I studied for at some esoteric school and can teach them what I was taught. I'm as stuck in my own ways as they are in their own way.
There is no limit to what they won't do in order to get what they can't have from me. They're the world's most talented sychophants, and some of them are very wealthy and have resources they can use to tempt me with. Believe me, I can be tempted. I have been tempted, and of course, failed miserably.
I've worried needlessly about becoming helpless in my old age, and taking a long time to die while in abject physical pain. I was right. The pain the steroids got shed of is coming back, and it's not because of practicing the piano scales too long and too often. It's not because I've been typing 10-12 hours a day. It's because I have rheumatoid arthritis (it runs in my mother's family), and avoiding these activities ain't gwine help with my healing.
I'm pretty sure I'll be murdered in cold blood by one of my nemesis', because I'm gonna eventually get crippled by this arthritis, and not able to live up to what they expect of me as their model for life. Even a coward can kill an invalid who can't fight back. The love they feign for me is not sexual. That's why I hate about these assholes bugging me. They love me for what they're not. It absolutely disgusts me that they're not sexual deviants like I am is. We coulda had some fun. Instead, they indignantly interrupt the sordid way I conduct my personal affairs, because they want me to be publicly worthy of their unctuous condescension.
I became somewhat convinced it was me that was insane instead of them, but now i realize it's the other way around. For one thing, the court system would never let them walk away from the state hospital after thirty days like they did me. The weird part is that they might act out and refuse to leave, because they feel safe there. Crazy is about unmitigated fear gone awry. If you handle your own fears without being put in a strait-jacket or murdering innocent people, you probably ain't crazy, but like these people, a real annoyance and a guaranteed pain-in-the-ass.
I've spent a lifetime dealing with these people's attempts to convince me I was just like them. Either that or me trying to convince them they were just like me. I didn't wanna be like them, but they sure as hell wanted to be like me. I just didn't understand why they couldn't get what they wanted and leave me alone. These are some over-the-top moralistic ideologues. Why am I always the last to know?
I began to get the picture a little from what my oldest and only child of my first marriage told me about what her mother did after we got divorced. She said her mother joined an adventure club that went on trips that were normally considered dangerous and life threatening. They rappelled down steep cliffs and did hang gliding and rode rafts down white water canyons. She wanted to learn to be brave from me. I couldn't teach her that. I liked her just fine, personality-wise. She wasn't my type sexually, and if she hadn't stayed mad at me half the time we were together because she wasn't getting what she wanted from our marriage, we would probably still be married.
It was an arranged marriage, which was fine with me, I knew it was arranged because she arranged it. It took years before I found out she had ulterior motives for wanting to marry me. I knew she didn't love me romantically. Who could? The reason I give the appearance of being what my nemesis think I am is because I'm driven by my own ulterior motives. I do what I do to give the impression that I'm a real man instead of a compromised eunuch. I'm much too good at this buffoonery.
Ain't that a hell of a match. A wounded healer and his covey/coven of cry babies. They want something they think I've got that only I know for sure I haven't. I don't deliberately trick these people to harm them. I'm not out to trick anybody but myself. My only conscious effort, in this regard, is to fool myself into thinking I'm what they're obviously not, but for my own reasons. My treating them like they're not an important part of my emotional life is because I ain't got much socially motivated compassion to give. Sartre explains this very well. It's a matter of being-for-the-other or being-for-myself. The kind of person attracted to me have a hard time instituting a ground of being-for-themselves.
Something significant and unexpected about my person was revealed to me while I was taking those steroids for the arthritis. The Prednisone healed more than just the angry spots I've described previously. They healed a deeper, more prevailing pain that I guess I was so acclimated to I must have ignored it. The loss of this more pervasive pain made me feel like a child again. It was truly like the weight of the world was removed from my entire body. It was a euphoria I only experienced as a care free child. The angry spots in my old body, like my joints and the muscles around them are returning, but for now, I"m still free of the weight.
'The Weight'
I pulled into Nazareth, I was feeling about half past dead;
I just needed some place where I can lay my head.
"Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed?"
He just grinned and shook my hand, and 'No' was all he said.
Take a load off Fanny,
Take a load for free;
Take a load off Fanny,
And (and) (and) you put the load right on me.
http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/txt/1374.txt
A lotta people have wanted to kill me, in the past, because I'm such a phony. They really needed me to live up to their expectations and my own pretentiousness. They don't have a clue they're projecting what they want for themselves. Why would I feel any empathy for them that they fooled themselves with me? My eunuchiness makes a compassion of that order practically impossible. Why do you think I've been able to walk away with such niggardly aplomb. I can't even teach them how to do that. I have been able to inspire them to walk away, hell, I"ve driven them away with anger, but only ti-me can give them that feeling of aloofness they sense from me. I have mentioned I studied acting as my major course of study in college, right?
I made the mistake of falling in love with my second wife. She is a little dumb like many beautiful women are. It took years and two babies later to figure me out. I literally had to tutor her in order for her to get the point. Once she did, however, she didn't waste no ti-me trying to find a replacement. No blame. She didn't. It was her older brother who became my surrogate. Nobody knows her accusations of me were truer than me. It still hurt. I certainly didn't figure on loving the children, and in the endgame, it was that love she used to nail me to the cross. She shouldn't have oughta done that for the children's sake. Now, it's too late. They got their own lives, and may God bless them with that.
I am trying to forgive her. I am trying to forgive myself. I doubt if our children will forgive either one of us. No blame.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
A Hatred Of Mankind
There have been times in the past that I wished I were born homosexual or gay. The problem with that is I don't like men any more than I like women. I guess it would be easy to surmise that I don't like people in general very much. There is a name for people like me, along with dire warnings from various wisdom books for people in general not to let themselves cop to that attitude.
Misanthropy means a hatred of mankind, but even that word doesn't describe my attitude, because i don't really love or hate anybody. Why would i bother? I want to like people. I'm always in the market for a friend, but people are incapable of friendship because they each have their own idea of what friendship amounts to, and they expect me to kowtow to their expectations. No blame.
There was a big cyclone in Asia recently. Probably as big and as devastating as the hurricane that wiped out New Orleans and the Mississippi Gulf Coast. The reporters that sneaked in there took pictures of dead people laying scattered helter skelter over the rice fields, and nobody knew who they were. Nobody seemed to care. Is that an example of misanthropy?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Misanthropy
It's interesting to me that when I read this article in Wikipedia, I was familiar with the work of most of the people mentioned there. I was especially impressed with the statement of Schopenhauer about the uselessness of suicide, because killing oneself doesn't get rid of will or volition. Will and/or volition is part of the monad that can be-co-me with any species or any other form of life, not just homo sapiens.
It's for sure I wasn't surprised to find Jean-Paul Sartre among the philosophers counted as a misanthropist. I was/am totally fascinated by his masterwork Being And Nothingness. At first it caught me off-guard and surprised me that more people haven't found his work inspiring, but the people I've met that even attempted to read his material felt like it was over their head. Maybe that requires a misanthropist to see what he's saying. I hadn't thought of that.
Misanthropy means a hatred of mankind, but even that word doesn't describe my attitude, because i don't really love or hate anybody. Why would i bother? I want to like people. I'm always in the market for a friend, but people are incapable of friendship because they each have their own idea of what friendship amounts to, and they expect me to kowtow to their expectations. No blame.
There was a big cyclone in Asia recently. Probably as big and as devastating as the hurricane that wiped out New Orleans and the Mississippi Gulf Coast. The reporters that sneaked in there took pictures of dead people laying scattered helter skelter over the rice fields, and nobody knew who they were. Nobody seemed to care. Is that an example of misanthropy?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Misanthropy
It's interesting to me that when I read this article in Wikipedia, I was familiar with the work of most of the people mentioned there. I was especially impressed with the statement of Schopenhauer about the uselessness of suicide, because killing oneself doesn't get rid of will or volition. Will and/or volition is part of the monad that can be-co-me with any species or any other form of life, not just homo sapiens.
It's for sure I wasn't surprised to find Jean-Paul Sartre among the philosophers counted as a misanthropist. I was/am totally fascinated by his masterwork Being And Nothingness. At first it caught me off-guard and surprised me that more people haven't found his work inspiring, but the people I've met that even attempted to read his material felt like it was over their head. Maybe that requires a misanthropist to see what he's saying. I hadn't thought of that.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
The Impossibility of Possibleness
Men are so expendable. We puff ourselves up into heros or villains, and the only thing we're really necessary for is procreation and as killing machines. Birth and death. I went to my daughter's wedding a few weeks ago out in Seattle. I realized even more strongly that men don't even matter at these sorts of affairs. They don't even need to be there. Particularly in this case. They had already been legally married for over a month.
I'm pretty sure I was just summoned to make an appearance for-the-other. I was used in this ceremony for reasons I don't even know are about. All I had to do was show up. For the most part I was literally ignored. No blame. The whole deal didn't have anything to do with me, and now that it's over I can just keel over and die as far as any of those people are concerned. How could I have ever thought I ever mattered to them in the first place?
I don't remember exactly where I read this. In some astrology interpretation book or the other. It stated that a person with my natal configuration would have only female children, and it is true as far as I know. I've heard rumors that I have some male bastards around, but that's never been confirmed, and it's likely that I made the whole thing up. I don't know anything about what's what in this regard. I'm beginning to wonder if it was just my name these women needed. That's why I only gave all three of my daughters just one name. None of them were given middle names at birth. Why bother? They were gonna have a string of names before it was all over with. Names are not what matters to women except in relation to their children.
There is a positive side to being dismissed by my second family. I'd already been dismissed by my first family. No blame. I don't think men like being dismissed by their so-called "family". After all, most of them really are bread-winners. That's the price they pay for hanging around after they've contributed all they really have to give. Sperm.
Men can apparently produce sperm for practically all their adult lives. Women are born with all the eggs they're ever gonna have. That puts a different slant on the idea of waste. Men are perpetual sperm-making machines. They think nothing about spurting out their seed on infertile ground. They'll make more. Billions more, and in a relatively short amount of time. That's not true for women. Just that one difference in their procreative systems could be what makes a difference in the psychology of the genders.
I don't know if the women in my life who arranged for me to go to my daughter's wedding even knew consciously why they brought me there. They were not the only people involved. I literally didn't do anything to make that trip happen but to pack my bag. The story of my life. I never chose any of these people to be a part of my life. They just showed up one day and made things complicated.
Exercising choice and volition is just not how things panned out for me. Besides that, sometime I can be as stupid as a box of rocks. All because I wanna feel important. The need to feel important is the original sin. It's not the species flaw Sartre implied. That's another dealio. A significant dealio, but not the original sin. The original sin is a social facticity. The species flaw is a singularity waiting to be discovered and the recognition of it brings about gnosis in it's train through atonement.
Every mistake I've ever made came about because of my desperate need to feel like my opinion counts. I've traveled around the world asking people to confirm this for-me. I've made a habit of going up to perfect strangers I think oughta be unbiased by familiarity, and ask them all, "What about this? What about that? My thoughts on these matters counts, right?" I should have worshiped the ones who laughed at me and my idiotic notions, and been very afraid of the ones who appeared to agree with me.
One of the problems I need to take care of (but probably won't) is that I don't have any screens to keep flying bugs out of my house. I don't have any screen doors, and I need 'em as much to keep my brother's dogs out of my house as the bugs. They just waltz right in here any time the door is open, walk up to where I'm sitting, and demand to be petted. Then, they usually turn around and leave soon after. If I were laying in here dead, they would drag my body out into the yard and eat my rotting corpse.
I don't worry about that eventuality too much. I'll be dead. The bugs though, drive me crazy while I'm still alive. Especially while I'm writing. That's another can of worms altogether.
Life can be so weird. I keep getting the impression from all the significant others in my life that they think I oughta become a "nice" person in my dotage. How can I do that and struggle against the dying of the light? I don't wanna be "nice" for the convenience of others, I want them to gleefully and joyously sing, "I'll be glad when you're dead, you bastard you."
I seem pretty sure I'll outlive my several nemesis'. I probably won't know it, and not necessarily because of dementia. Some of them have died already, and when I did find out about it, they'd been dead for a few years. I didn't even get to go to their funerals and gloat. My real nemesis don't die with the body they formerly occupied anyway. Usually, by the time I discover that they've changed bodies and become my new best friend, they're on their way out, and that gives me a chance to mourn them before they die.
It's that business about the species flaw that interests me presently. I have to do something with my time now that I'm no more use to my progeny or their supposed bearers. True, no matter what I do with my ti-me, it won't make me feel important. I've given up on that. I hope I've given up on that.
The species flaw is that homo sapiens can't know their possibles (future) in real time. They can create abstract possibilities with alarm clocks on them that warn them that what they created as their future is right around the corner. They can give the appearance of possessing prophecy by planning ahead, but doing that occupies the specious present in such a way that real ti-me is lost ON them.
How can a person recognize the future when they're occupied in real time with looking for possibilities that can only be recognized as history? I seem convinced one can only BE in the specious present by eliminating the future and the past. How can a homo sapiens remain in the specious present and entertain abstract strategies simultaneously? The only solution I'm aware of is to consider the incoming as plausible, but unconvincing. If the incoming future convinces you it's worth paying attention to, then how can you not follow it into the past, and thereby be lost to the eternal isness of right damn now?
I'm pretty sure I was just summoned to make an appearance for-the-other. I was used in this ceremony for reasons I don't even know are about. All I had to do was show up. For the most part I was literally ignored. No blame. The whole deal didn't have anything to do with me, and now that it's over I can just keel over and die as far as any of those people are concerned. How could I have ever thought I ever mattered to them in the first place?
I don't remember exactly where I read this. In some astrology interpretation book or the other. It stated that a person with my natal configuration would have only female children, and it is true as far as I know. I've heard rumors that I have some male bastards around, but that's never been confirmed, and it's likely that I made the whole thing up. I don't know anything about what's what in this regard. I'm beginning to wonder if it was just my name these women needed. That's why I only gave all three of my daughters just one name. None of them were given middle names at birth. Why bother? They were gonna have a string of names before it was all over with. Names are not what matters to women except in relation to their children.
There is a positive side to being dismissed by my second family. I'd already been dismissed by my first family. No blame. I don't think men like being dismissed by their so-called "family". After all, most of them really are bread-winners. That's the price they pay for hanging around after they've contributed all they really have to give. Sperm.
Men can apparently produce sperm for practically all their adult lives. Women are born with all the eggs they're ever gonna have. That puts a different slant on the idea of waste. Men are perpetual sperm-making machines. They think nothing about spurting out their seed on infertile ground. They'll make more. Billions more, and in a relatively short amount of time. That's not true for women. Just that one difference in their procreative systems could be what makes a difference in the psychology of the genders.
I don't know if the women in my life who arranged for me to go to my daughter's wedding even knew consciously why they brought me there. They were not the only people involved. I literally didn't do anything to make that trip happen but to pack my bag. The story of my life. I never chose any of these people to be a part of my life. They just showed up one day and made things complicated.
Exercising choice and volition is just not how things panned out for me. Besides that, sometime I can be as stupid as a box of rocks. All because I wanna feel important. The need to feel important is the original sin. It's not the species flaw Sartre implied. That's another dealio. A significant dealio, but not the original sin. The original sin is a social facticity. The species flaw is a singularity waiting to be discovered and the recognition of it brings about gnosis in it's train through atonement.
Every mistake I've ever made came about because of my desperate need to feel like my opinion counts. I've traveled around the world asking people to confirm this for-me. I've made a habit of going up to perfect strangers I think oughta be unbiased by familiarity, and ask them all, "What about this? What about that? My thoughts on these matters counts, right?" I should have worshiped the ones who laughed at me and my idiotic notions, and been very afraid of the ones who appeared to agree with me.
One of the problems I need to take care of (but probably won't) is that I don't have any screens to keep flying bugs out of my house. I don't have any screen doors, and I need 'em as much to keep my brother's dogs out of my house as the bugs. They just waltz right in here any time the door is open, walk up to where I'm sitting, and demand to be petted. Then, they usually turn around and leave soon after. If I were laying in here dead, they would drag my body out into the yard and eat my rotting corpse.
I don't worry about that eventuality too much. I'll be dead. The bugs though, drive me crazy while I'm still alive. Especially while I'm writing. That's another can of worms altogether.
Life can be so weird. I keep getting the impression from all the significant others in my life that they think I oughta become a "nice" person in my dotage. How can I do that and struggle against the dying of the light? I don't wanna be "nice" for the convenience of others, I want them to gleefully and joyously sing, "I'll be glad when you're dead, you bastard you."
I seem pretty sure I'll outlive my several nemesis'. I probably won't know it, and not necessarily because of dementia. Some of them have died already, and when I did find out about it, they'd been dead for a few years. I didn't even get to go to their funerals and gloat. My real nemesis don't die with the body they formerly occupied anyway. Usually, by the time I discover that they've changed bodies and become my new best friend, they're on their way out, and that gives me a chance to mourn them before they die.
It's that business about the species flaw that interests me presently. I have to do something with my time now that I'm no more use to my progeny or their supposed bearers. True, no matter what I do with my ti-me, it won't make me feel important. I've given up on that. I hope I've given up on that.
The species flaw is that homo sapiens can't know their possibles (future) in real time. They can create abstract possibilities with alarm clocks on them that warn them that what they created as their future is right around the corner. They can give the appearance of possessing prophecy by planning ahead, but doing that occupies the specious present in such a way that real ti-me is lost ON them.
How can a person recognize the future when they're occupied in real time with looking for possibilities that can only be recognized as history? I seem convinced one can only BE in the specious present by eliminating the future and the past. How can a homo sapiens remain in the specious present and entertain abstract strategies simultaneously? The only solution I'm aware of is to consider the incoming as plausible, but unconvincing. If the incoming future convinces you it's worth paying attention to, then how can you not follow it into the past, and thereby be lost to the eternal isness of right damn now?
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Am I So Mean I'll Outlive My Own Children?
It's so odd to me that some people tried to steal from me what I did my best to give to them. My poetry. They only had themselves to give in return, and it wasn't enough. No blame.
It rained after I went to bed last night. No warning. No thunder and lightning. It just started pouring down hard immediately, and then suddenly it stopped. I went outside this morning to see how much water had collected in the plastic bucket on the deck I now use as my front porch. An inch (2.54 mm) came down in a short duration of time. A cool front is sweeping all that heat out to sea, but it's taking it's own good time doing it. It's supposed to rain off and on all day today and tomorrow too. Maybe it's the last hurrah of the the 95/95 dog day afternoons for a while.
I can feel it in my bones. The arthritis has returned to my left elbow. Not as bad as it was. Comparatively, not bad at all. Unfortunately, it runs in the family, which gives me a fair idea of what to expect in the future. My understanding is that the doctors won't prescribe steroids on a continuous basis, but I don't know how often they will think it's okay. Ibuprofen is all she's giving me now. I got another notice from the VA that I'm supposed to come in on the 23rd for a bone-density test for the osteoporosis.
I guess the trip I made to the Seattle area to attend my daughter's wedding connected me up with my ex-family again. We're all exchanging e-mails now. I guess they feel safe doing that. I still don't know where any of them live. I guess I'm being punished. It's been going on for twenty-seven years now. I suspect they're just being nice while they're actually waiting for me to die. I would accommodate them willingly, but I don't think I'll commit suicide for them. Other people are also concerned when it comes to that.
I still don't gnow if God is a who or a what. I devoted my life to that quest, and now it doesn't seem to matter. It costs me everything, and for what? I think I was chosen to go through what has happened to me. The very people who disrespect me the most are the most envious of my commitment, because they didn't even try. At least that's the way it appears to me. Personally, to quote Letterman, I wouldn't wish my life on a monkey on a rock.
I still haven't done much meditating. I intended to, but I just can't get it up to get started. I had a long practice going for over twenty years, until I had an automobile accident and ruptured a spinal disc. I took an operation that supposedly repaired the damage, but like with my hatha yoga practice, I had to stop for a while, and never cranked it back up. I know what all that was done for now, it seems, and I got no motivation anymore. I don't feel like trying.
I'm still prone to weeping on the spur of the moment. It doesn't take much. Either joy or sadness is enough to turn the spigot on. It seems always to be for-the-other, and not so much for-myself. There's nothing to be done for me anymore. I'm a goner. I'm happy I got to see my second family once more, although legally, I guess none of my children except my oldest daughter from my first marriage is still legally mine, and I haven't seen her for years. I don't have a clue where she's at. If the good die young, I'll outlive my own children, much less their mothers.
It rained after I went to bed last night. No warning. No thunder and lightning. It just started pouring down hard immediately, and then suddenly it stopped. I went outside this morning to see how much water had collected in the plastic bucket on the deck I now use as my front porch. An inch (2.54 mm) came down in a short duration of time. A cool front is sweeping all that heat out to sea, but it's taking it's own good time doing it. It's supposed to rain off and on all day today and tomorrow too. Maybe it's the last hurrah of the the 95/95 dog day afternoons for a while.
I can feel it in my bones. The arthritis has returned to my left elbow. Not as bad as it was. Comparatively, not bad at all. Unfortunately, it runs in the family, which gives me a fair idea of what to expect in the future. My understanding is that the doctors won't prescribe steroids on a continuous basis, but I don't know how often they will think it's okay. Ibuprofen is all she's giving me now. I got another notice from the VA that I'm supposed to come in on the 23rd for a bone-density test for the osteoporosis.
I guess the trip I made to the Seattle area to attend my daughter's wedding connected me up with my ex-family again. We're all exchanging e-mails now. I guess they feel safe doing that. I still don't know where any of them live. I guess I'm being punished. It's been going on for twenty-seven years now. I suspect they're just being nice while they're actually waiting for me to die. I would accommodate them willingly, but I don't think I'll commit suicide for them. Other people are also concerned when it comes to that.
I still don't gnow if God is a who or a what. I devoted my life to that quest, and now it doesn't seem to matter. It costs me everything, and for what? I think I was chosen to go through what has happened to me. The very people who disrespect me the most are the most envious of my commitment, because they didn't even try. At least that's the way it appears to me. Personally, to quote Letterman, I wouldn't wish my life on a monkey on a rock.
I still haven't done much meditating. I intended to, but I just can't get it up to get started. I had a long practice going for over twenty years, until I had an automobile accident and ruptured a spinal disc. I took an operation that supposedly repaired the damage, but like with my hatha yoga practice, I had to stop for a while, and never cranked it back up. I know what all that was done for now, it seems, and I got no motivation anymore. I don't feel like trying.
I'm still prone to weeping on the spur of the moment. It doesn't take much. Either joy or sadness is enough to turn the spigot on. It seems always to be for-the-other, and not so much for-myself. There's nothing to be done for me anymore. I'm a goner. I'm happy I got to see my second family once more, although legally, I guess none of my children except my oldest daughter from my first marriage is still legally mine, and I haven't seen her for years. I don't have a clue where she's at. If the good die young, I'll outlive my own children, much less their mothers.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Word Salad I'm Trying To Make Taste Better
I'm waiting for some cool weather. It's 95 degrees Fahrenheit (35C) and 95% humidity. It feels like hurricane weather, but there are no hurricanes on the immediate horizon. Hurricane Ike went into Texas and then up toward Chicago and is far away from the coastal plains of North Carolina. Of course, hurricanes are just tropical storms that get tightly wound. They're all dragons. They all destroy crops and blow your house down. They all spit and spew fire (lightning). They're dragons alright. So, even though there are no known or named storms in the area, the heat and the humidity makes it feel like there are. This musty phenomena by itself conjures old memories. Fortunately, a cool front is headed this way, and by tomorrow morning everything will be mo' bettah.
I'm usually a pretty cool customer. By that, I mean that I've been around long enough and have been duped and fooled enough times that even I catch on when the situation I find myself don't seem quite right. Back when I consulted the I Ching as an oracle daily, one of the first questions I'd ask it would be, "What's the situation with me presently?"
I'd toss the coins and build a Hexagram line by line from the bottom up, in order to augur what fate held in store for me that day. When i got the lines drawn, I'd look up the number of the Hexagram in the chart in the final section of the book, and read the the main gist of the Hexagram along with any special lines that might be indicated.
My next question was always. "What should I do?
I performed this ritual many times each day before I completed what the oracle required of me. I asked whether I should do this or that about whatever, even the most trivial things. Especially the trivial things. It drove the people around me nuts. It's not that I didn't care how they felt about how I occupied my ti-me. I didn't do what I did to irritate them. Anybody who was around me much in those days knew what they were getting into. I was obsessed with the Wilhelm/Baynes translation of the Emperor's Yellow Book.
Besides, people didn't have to be around me if they didn't want to. I moved around a lot in those days, and they had to wanna be around me bad enough to make the right inquiries from the right people. Some people just seemed to know without being told, but they didn't realize it was a two-way street. It wasn't like they could know about me without me knowing about them also. Some of them acted like I didn't, and then were surprised to find out I did. Granted, I didn't always know I knew. In the sa-me way I don't have to gnow where I am is to be there. In either case I'm still a witness.
In my natal astrology chart the Moon resides in the Seventh House of Partners. Uranus occupies the sa-me degree in the Seventh House. This configuration is said in astrology to be a conjunction with my Moon. The Moon is the more powerful of the two conjoined planets by a long shot. Not only is the Moon Exalted in Taurus, but it's one degree away from the power point in Taurus that is the foundation of the Four Horsemen Of the Apocalypse. An Earth-colored mare. Both the Moon and the sign Taurus are feminine symbols.
This very close conjunction in the Seventh House of partners means my partner will not only be a woman, but a nurturer as much as a wife. Uranus is the ruling planet of Aquarius. One of the Aquarian's most recognized traits is that of being an eccentric. I attract eccentric, nurturing women who keep forgetting I'm actually an adult man whose war-like ways is what attracted them to me in the first place. They wanted my babies, but got foolish and fell in love too. A recipe for pain. "Fuck with the Bull, and you get the horn."
Anybody who don't have Scorpio-rising don't know what the hell is possible about how far a person who does will go to ease their own self-inflicted pain is concerned. One thing is for sure, the people who do have Scorpio-rising usually don't know what they're capable of until it's too late. Why am I always the last to know? A snake-in-the-grass is merely the larva for what will become a soaring eagle.
Everything about having the Moon conjoined with Uranus in the Seventh House says I attract weird partners. Most of them just hate it, because their eccentric ways that I require is the very thing they wanna hide from the world. I just hate it for them, but I'm also a selfish man. I want what I need. Why would I not? If they weren't already what I needed they would end up alone. Now, is that any way to be treated by life?
I'm usually a pretty cool customer. By that, I mean that I've been around long enough and have been duped and fooled enough times that even I catch on when the situation I find myself don't seem quite right. Back when I consulted the I Ching as an oracle daily, one of the first questions I'd ask it would be, "What's the situation with me presently?"
I'd toss the coins and build a Hexagram line by line from the bottom up, in order to augur what fate held in store for me that day. When i got the lines drawn, I'd look up the number of the Hexagram in the chart in the final section of the book, and read the the main gist of the Hexagram along with any special lines that might be indicated.
My next question was always. "What should I do?
I performed this ritual many times each day before I completed what the oracle required of me. I asked whether I should do this or that about whatever, even the most trivial things. Especially the trivial things. It drove the people around me nuts. It's not that I didn't care how they felt about how I occupied my ti-me. I didn't do what I did to irritate them. Anybody who was around me much in those days knew what they were getting into. I was obsessed with the Wilhelm/Baynes translation of the Emperor's Yellow Book.
Besides, people didn't have to be around me if they didn't want to. I moved around a lot in those days, and they had to wanna be around me bad enough to make the right inquiries from the right people. Some people just seemed to know without being told, but they didn't realize it was a two-way street. It wasn't like they could know about me without me knowing about them also. Some of them acted like I didn't, and then were surprised to find out I did. Granted, I didn't always know I knew. In the sa-me way I don't have to gnow where I am is to be there. In either case I'm still a witness.
In my natal astrology chart the Moon resides in the Seventh House of Partners. Uranus occupies the sa-me degree in the Seventh House. This configuration is said in astrology to be a conjunction with my Moon. The Moon is the more powerful of the two conjoined planets by a long shot. Not only is the Moon Exalted in Taurus, but it's one degree away from the power point in Taurus that is the foundation of the Four Horsemen Of the Apocalypse. An Earth-colored mare. Both the Moon and the sign Taurus are feminine symbols.
This very close conjunction in the Seventh House of partners means my partner will not only be a woman, but a nurturer as much as a wife. Uranus is the ruling planet of Aquarius. One of the Aquarian's most recognized traits is that of being an eccentric. I attract eccentric, nurturing women who keep forgetting I'm actually an adult man whose war-like ways is what attracted them to me in the first place. They wanted my babies, but got foolish and fell in love too. A recipe for pain. "Fuck with the Bull, and you get the horn."
Anybody who don't have Scorpio-rising don't know what the hell is possible about how far a person who does will go to ease their own self-inflicted pain is concerned. One thing is for sure, the people who do have Scorpio-rising usually don't know what they're capable of until it's too late. Why am I always the last to know? A snake-in-the-grass is merely the larva for what will become a soaring eagle.
Everything about having the Moon conjoined with Uranus in the Seventh House says I attract weird partners. Most of them just hate it, because their eccentric ways that I require is the very thing they wanna hide from the world. I just hate it for them, but I'm also a selfish man. I want what I need. Why would I not? If they weren't already what I needed they would end up alone. Now, is that any way to be treated by life?
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Self-Imposed Dementia
This pretty woman is one of the mothers of some of my children.
Just beneath the bravado I place before the world is a little boy I've never abandoned. It hardly seems worth it. Just about every other symbol or sign that there is more to me than you can see has been removed or camouflaged so cleverly I don't even know it's there myself most of the time. In other words, nobody knows.
They couldn't know anyway. The other, all others, can only perceive what they've been taught is there, otherwise, not. Each of us only see the idea of the something we deign is this or that. The idea of some "thing" that's not-me. That's the bravado part. It's louder in some people than others. To use a current political term, it's like "putting lipstick on a pig". It's how we ideate the various objects in the world we find ourselves. To re-cog-nize them, we give them names. Not-me-s. Nay-me-s.
"It's something alright, but it's not me. I am is not like that." or "That's me alright. I am is the same way. I am is just like that."
Both statements are about me. How many do you know/no? Denial. Negation. Some people "think" we created the abstract world of not-me--s in the very moment we accuse the other of not being me. "You're not me! I don't rightly know what you are, but you're certainly not me. I am is the only me there is."
"I am is me. Not you."
"Wanna bet?"
I don't like trying to write dialogue. My effort betrays the fact that I probably don't really listen to what other people say. I store information for the purpose of mimicking what i find useful about what I'd be if I were you, but I try not to fool myself into thinking I am is you or that it's ultimately "you" I am is imitating. After all, what it is about you that impresses me is something or somebody you imitated yo'self, and is not your property. Not even you are you. I'll take what you think you own if I damned well please. Oddly enow, you won't know it if I do.
If I imitate you and portray what I caught drifting by me as your best hope of convincing the world you're actually an individual something, or the other, you won't recognize my portrayal of you as who-you-think-you-are, much less remind you of who you got the idea from originally.
My part of this deal is that of a rule-maker. That's what I am does for a living. It researches the Akashic Records for ready-made rules of conscience designed to make something out of nothing to support my imitation of you, and if it doesn't find a ready-made set of them that seems close enough, then it creates new rules it thinks will do the trick. I am is very, very clever his own field of play. The very persona you don't wanna try to beat at his own ga-me.
That's why I've started inserting the phrase "Nobody knows." more often than I oughta. I use it as a reminder to remember what's what. Sorta in the sa-me way I use the expressions "Shit happens." coupled with "Thangs change." The specious present waits for no mode of curiosity. I am is constantly must remember to perceive the incoming as plausible, but not convincing, or I find myself dealing with what things were or coulda been rather than what's what.
What could be is just as enticing. Creating a future you can recognize when it gets here to feign prophecy is just as delusional as reframing the past to support the present as the cat's meow.
Nobody knows me well enough to make judgement, but I wonder if today as the future of thirty-seven years ago indicates change. Not much I'd bargain:
THE STREETS OF GLORY
My friends ask me questions
and they give me this advice,
"Won't you ever stop drifting around?
You'll never find peace with all of this traveling,
won't you ever put yo' feet on the ground?"
the answer is "No.", but won't you listen?
There ain't one thing in this big ol' world
that stays like the way it's been,
so, I keep on truckin'.
Now folks I've heard of riches untold,
by people with lots of gold,
that gives a man peace that is never unending,
with a love that never grows cold,
and it ain't only Jesus
or the big Buddha man,
and the answer ain't found
unless you look around,
and ask yo'self questions.
I'm traveling my way
on the streets of glory,
and I've found the path again,
so, I keep on 'moving
while the lights are passing,
and I'm never gonna stop
and say "When...!"
Hallelujah, I'm rolling.
Down the road I go.
Where the things I see
are just a mirror of me...,
so I keep on trucking.
When the wind quits blowin'
does it stop forever,
never to blow again?
Does the Sun when it's down
stay gone forever
or come up in the morning friend?
I love the sunshine
and the morning wind,
and I wanna be free
just to look out for me,
so I keep on trucking.
felix manos peregrino
September, 1971
Edited: Today
Friday, September 12, 2008
Don't Do Me No Favors
A friend didn't understand why I entitled today's first entry A Lonely Death. For the most part it's because no one will even know if I get sick. I've isolated myself to such a degree that nobody will know. I don't expect to hook up with another woman. I can't afford one. I've never been able to afford a wife. Finances was the major reason both my marriages failed. I just wasn't dependable for bringing home the bacon. I been bad for getting the wanderlust. My wives competition wasn't other women, it was the road. I couldn't stay away from it. It was just too easy just to walk off and keep going. I got not couth. I got no "Never mind."
That certainly used to be true. I got nobody to run from anymore. No place to run to that I can afford, and I'm tired of sleeping on the ground or on some stranger's floor. I'm not so grateful as I used to be. Many people don't believe I could actually be poor enough to need to beg or be homeless, and in fact, I'm not really. I got an inside place to be, and a very small check that allows me to feign arrogance if I can pull it off, and I usually can. That's why I'll die a lonely death. Because one of the first days it's all gonna catch up with me in the most inconvenient way possible. No blame. Every time I've died to date, I didn't really, but that can and will change, and I won't even know it.
I got nobody to struggle against. Nobody to argue much with. I just got shed of another guy who came over here to drink and bitch about his wife and family. I pushed David away from me for the same reason. These people weren't my friends, they just needed somebody to bitch to about their families and current girl friends. They were thoroughly convinced that what friends are for. Why would a married man think some twice-divorced guy would wanna hear about all their problems with women? I'm divorced because I didn't get along being married. It's my fault I ever listened to them in the first place.
I still haven't thought of something I wouldn't want to happen to me or someone I loved to write about. Lots of stuff I haven't wanted to happen to me has. True, I wouldn't want what has happened to me to happen to someone I love. They couldn't stand it for a week, whereas I learned how to cope for months and even years. No blame.
I wouldn't wanna be tortured and then murdered for my troubles. I wouldn't want that to happen to anyone I love either. But then, I gotta wonder whether I really love someone, and I've never been able to figure that out until it was too late to act like it when needed. I didn't know I actually loved the only woman I really loved until I had driven her off. I wouldn't want that to happen to anybody I loved, but it did. Our children. What I didn't wanna happen to me happened to my children. When someone dies, it's usually their children that take care of them. My children won't. No blame. I can only hope they'll take care of their mothers.
The way I feel right now is that I must have been putting death off in case I ever got the chance to see my second wife and her/our children. Now that I have seen them after all these years, I sorta think I have given up a little more than before. I did get to see my only legitimate grandchild too. She's beautiful, of course, and very charming. i asked her to pretend she was a model and pose for me. She was a natural. When we were done, I gave her a quarter and told her she was now a professional model, but to never settle for getting paid a quarter ever again.
That certainly used to be true. I got nobody to run from anymore. No place to run to that I can afford, and I'm tired of sleeping on the ground or on some stranger's floor. I'm not so grateful as I used to be. Many people don't believe I could actually be poor enough to need to beg or be homeless, and in fact, I'm not really. I got an inside place to be, and a very small check that allows me to feign arrogance if I can pull it off, and I usually can. That's why I'll die a lonely death. Because one of the first days it's all gonna catch up with me in the most inconvenient way possible. No blame. Every time I've died to date, I didn't really, but that can and will change, and I won't even know it.
I got nobody to struggle against. Nobody to argue much with. I just got shed of another guy who came over here to drink and bitch about his wife and family. I pushed David away from me for the same reason. These people weren't my friends, they just needed somebody to bitch to about their families and current girl friends. They were thoroughly convinced that what friends are for. Why would a married man think some twice-divorced guy would wanna hear about all their problems with women? I'm divorced because I didn't get along being married. It's my fault I ever listened to them in the first place.
I still haven't thought of something I wouldn't want to happen to me or someone I loved to write about. Lots of stuff I haven't wanted to happen to me has. True, I wouldn't want what has happened to me to happen to someone I love. They couldn't stand it for a week, whereas I learned how to cope for months and even years. No blame.
I wouldn't wanna be tortured and then murdered for my troubles. I wouldn't want that to happen to anyone I love either. But then, I gotta wonder whether I really love someone, and I've never been able to figure that out until it was too late to act like it when needed. I didn't know I actually loved the only woman I really loved until I had driven her off. I wouldn't want that to happen to anybody I loved, but it did. Our children. What I didn't wanna happen to me happened to my children. When someone dies, it's usually their children that take care of them. My children won't. No blame. I can only hope they'll take care of their mothers.
The way I feel right now is that I must have been putting death off in case I ever got the chance to see my second wife and her/our children. Now that I have seen them after all these years, I sorta think I have given up a little more than before. I did get to see my only legitimate grandchild too. She's beautiful, of course, and very charming. i asked her to pretend she was a model and pose for me. She was a natural. When we were done, I gave her a quarter and told her she was now a professional model, but to never settle for getting paid a quarter ever again.
A Lonely Death
I've been getting leg cramps every night for a while now. It usually requires me to at least get outta bed and make my leg muscles straighten up. It really hurts, so it's a drag, man. I Googled up some solutions on the internet. Seems like vitatamin B-12 is a fairly common solution recommended by the sites I checked out. Here's a weird but interesting remark on this one site:
"Human faeces can contain significant B12. A study has shown that a group of Iranian vegans obtained adequate B12 from unwashed vegetables which had been fertilised with human manure. Faecal contamination of vegetables and other plant foods can make a significant contribution to dietary needs, particularly in areas where hygiene standards may be low. This may be responsible for the lack of aneamia due to B12 deficiency in vegan communities in developing countries."
http://www.vegsoc.org/info/b12.html
Maybe this accounts for Montezuma's Revenge.
My body seems to require more and more attention. I've pretty much ignored it as much as possible for the last little while, but the RA (rheumatoid arthritis) makes sure I don't do that so much. I got a bunch of plastic bottles with lots of pills in them I'm taking for various reasons. Only one of them is prescribed. 600 mg ibuprofen three times a day. I don't actually need a prescription for that. The rest of the bottles have vitamins and additives I'm probably wasting money on.
I took them all in with me to show the doctor at the VA to see what she would say. Nothing mostly. She did tell me to take less vitamin D and more calcium, and she ignored the rest.
I write about what's happening at my house and what I think about out here in the woods. Not much seems to be going on now. I only have an occasional visitor, and there is no e-mail or snail mail much. People in general don't seem to be in the mood for communicating. I've never seen so much interest in election day, and yet, I don't hear so many people talking about politics because the atmosphere is so partisan. The natives are restless.
My trip to Seattle seems to interest people. Both the touring aspect of it and the personal thing of seeing my ex-wife and children. I've certainly been thinking about it. I remembered a lotta stuff I'd put on the back burner about how me and my ex-wife got along, and why we broke up. We don't/didn't have that much in common as fair as our family background is concerned. She was raised by business people in the suburbs of Cleveland, a big city up North, and I was raised in small farming villages in the South. Opposites did attract, but they couldn't hold us together.
I've heard that travel broadens, and it did broaden my outlook on life, but I traveled alone most of the time, and I traveled as a beggar. I like to paint a picture of myself as somewhat of a bohemian who just wanted to see how other people lived, and I did, but my view was from the other side of the tracks that many of them came from. I still live a life of abject poverty, but it seems ridiculous, because I'm the only sibling that's poor.
Even my poverty is not real poverty because I have the VA health benefits that many poor people don't have. Other poor people may actually get better health care than I do because the other government programs do more for them.
It's been so cloudy and gray, and rainy. I haven't seen the Sun in at least three days. It makes life droopy when the Sun don't shine. The vitamin D suppliment I'm taking helps me physically, but I need the sunshine to improve my mood. I know now, after my visit to see my ex-family that I'll die alone now. That doesn't help.
"Human faeces can contain significant B12. A study has shown that a group of Iranian vegans obtained adequate B12 from unwashed vegetables which had been fertilised with human manure. Faecal contamination of vegetables and other plant foods can make a significant contribution to dietary needs, particularly in areas where hygiene standards may be low. This may be responsible for the lack of aneamia due to B12 deficiency in vegan communities in developing countries."
http://www.vegsoc.org/info/b12.html
Maybe this accounts for Montezuma's Revenge.
My body seems to require more and more attention. I've pretty much ignored it as much as possible for the last little while, but the RA (rheumatoid arthritis) makes sure I don't do that so much. I got a bunch of plastic bottles with lots of pills in them I'm taking for various reasons. Only one of them is prescribed. 600 mg ibuprofen three times a day. I don't actually need a prescription for that. The rest of the bottles have vitamins and additives I'm probably wasting money on.
I took them all in with me to show the doctor at the VA to see what she would say. Nothing mostly. She did tell me to take less vitamin D and more calcium, and she ignored the rest.
I write about what's happening at my house and what I think about out here in the woods. Not much seems to be going on now. I only have an occasional visitor, and there is no e-mail or snail mail much. People in general don't seem to be in the mood for communicating. I've never seen so much interest in election day, and yet, I don't hear so many people talking about politics because the atmosphere is so partisan. The natives are restless.
My trip to Seattle seems to interest people. Both the touring aspect of it and the personal thing of seeing my ex-wife and children. I've certainly been thinking about it. I remembered a lotta stuff I'd put on the back burner about how me and my ex-wife got along, and why we broke up. We don't/didn't have that much in common as fair as our family background is concerned. She was raised by business people in the suburbs of Cleveland, a big city up North, and I was raised in small farming villages in the South. Opposites did attract, but they couldn't hold us together.
I've heard that travel broadens, and it did broaden my outlook on life, but I traveled alone most of the time, and I traveled as a beggar. I like to paint a picture of myself as somewhat of a bohemian who just wanted to see how other people lived, and I did, but my view was from the other side of the tracks that many of them came from. I still live a life of abject poverty, but it seems ridiculous, because I'm the only sibling that's poor.
Even my poverty is not real poverty because I have the VA health benefits that many poor people don't have. Other poor people may actually get better health care than I do because the other government programs do more for them.
It's been so cloudy and gray, and rainy. I haven't seen the Sun in at least three days. It makes life droopy when the Sun don't shine. The vitamin D suppliment I'm taking helps me physically, but I need the sunshine to improve my mood. I know now, after my visit to see my ex-family that I'll die alone now. That doesn't help.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Kismet
I missed out on experiencing the shock the people around me did during 9/11. There was a good reason. I didn't have a television set at the time. I didn't see any of the pictures of the planes crashing into the twin towers until two or three days later. Today, I heard a comment that I realized wasn't true for me. A news commentator made the statement that "Everybody in America remembers where they were and what they were doing when they found out about what happened that day." I don't. I just wasn't paying attention. I didn't know it was going on. I didn't see the pictures. I wasn't shocked about the brutality of it all for days afterward. By then, it was too late for me to share in the national outrage. I did share the emotion, but it was other people's emotion about something i didn't participate in. Simply because I didn't have a working TV set.
I do know where I was and what I was doing when John Kennedy was assassinated, so I do know what the journalist was talking about. I felt the emotion other people felt at the same time they did. Both the Kennedys' and Martin Luther King assassinations were sad and shocking events for me. As soon as I heard about what happened I went and turned on the TV and participated in what followed via the focus of the media. Especially the assassination of the President of the United States. That seemed counter-intuitive. I knew it was possible, but I never thought it would happen.
Oddly enow, what happened on 9/11 did seem possible. My first thought was that Bush and Cheney facilitated it. They wanted it to happen so they could win the next election as a war time President. It's not unusual for me to make rash speculations. I constantly provide a disclaimer about not knowing the truth. I capture drifting thoughts with words. I can't do that and be sure of those thought's veracity. I'm just saying those were the first drifting thoughts I captured with words after what happened.
I wonder how I would have responded if I had been able to watch TV and experience with the nation what happened on 9/11. If I had been caught up in the emotion of the moment. Would I have been objective enough to make such a daring speculation. Probably not. I'm a sucker for a good line.
I do know where I was and what I was doing when John Kennedy was assassinated, so I do know what the journalist was talking about. I felt the emotion other people felt at the same time they did. Both the Kennedys' and Martin Luther King assassinations were sad and shocking events for me. As soon as I heard about what happened I went and turned on the TV and participated in what followed via the focus of the media. Especially the assassination of the President of the United States. That seemed counter-intuitive. I knew it was possible, but I never thought it would happen.
Oddly enow, what happened on 9/11 did seem possible. My first thought was that Bush and Cheney facilitated it. They wanted it to happen so they could win the next election as a war time President. It's not unusual for me to make rash speculations. I constantly provide a disclaimer about not knowing the truth. I capture drifting thoughts with words. I can't do that and be sure of those thought's veracity. I'm just saying those were the first drifting thoughts I captured with words after what happened.
I wonder how I would have responded if I had been able to watch TV and experience with the nation what happened on 9/11. If I had been caught up in the emotion of the moment. Would I have been objective enough to make such a daring speculation. Probably not. I'm a sucker for a good line.
"... And Where She Stops, Nobody Knows."
As Keith Johnstone, one the founders of improv theater, writes: "If you stop reading for a moment and think of something you wouldn't want to happen to you, or to someone you love, then you'll have thought of something worth staging or filming. We don't want to walk into a restaurant and be hit in the face with a custard pie, and don't want to suddenly glimpse Granny's wheelchair racing toward the edge of a cliff, but we'll pay good money to attend enactments of just such events."
I didn't get it. The more I think about it, the more I realize that's what people write about. They write or make movies or create stage plays about something they don't want to happen to them or someone they love. Is this also the basis of humor?
I watched in amazement a film of some skydivers from Norway jumped off the cliffs of this deep fiord. They weren't using parachutes except for emergencies. They were wearing flying suits that work in the same way flying squirrels fly. This dude screwed up and was bouncing off the rock walls of the fiord, but he kept filming. He broke his leg bad enough to have to get a titanium rod inserted into the bone in his leg, but otherwise survived okay. He stated that he was going right back to it just as soon as his leg healed.
This was definitely something I wouldn't want to happen to me or someone I loved. A lotta stuff that makes the news media is something I wouldn't wanna happen to me. Some of it happens so frequently, and appears on the six o'clock so often, even though it's life-threatening, l seem to get burned out on it and boo the TV station for not showing something interesting.
I watch the Charley Rose Show on PBS more often since I got the digital converter. On the analog TV I have upstairs in my bedroom I can only get this program at 11:30 at night, but with the simulcast digital broadcast it's on several different times during the day for filler. I watched part of it at 8 a.m. this morning. It was a rerun from yesterday, but the guests described a situation I wouldn't want to happen to me or someone I love. It's gonna, if me and the people I love live long enough. The one speculation I paid attention to was a statement that the Earth will have a billion more people vying for the resources we need to stay alive.
The next statement was about how much shorter the time period will be after that for another billion people to be born on earth. By the time my children get to be my age, their children will be competing with several billion more people trying to stay alive on Earth. It's just not that big a planet. Something will have to happen to reduce the population or the inventors better get busy figuring out how to transport billions of extra people to another planet to have room to grow.
The way I see it, there's not a chance in hell that's gonna happen, but admittedly, I couldn't have foreseen what's happened technologically in my own lifetime. I don't think this bodes well for those seekers who attempt to discover or create their own individuality. Personally, I don't think individuation is all it's cracked up to be. I don't know what I thought the rewards for accomplishing that might turn out to be despite the fact that I've researched this topic for my entire adulthood.
I'm convinced I've experienced gnosis, enlightenment, and full-blown Kundalini in this one body, but i don't know what that means anymore. It certainly hasn't made me immortal. It's made me realize that I'm not what I made myself up to be. That, I'm not a human looking for a spiritual experience, but rather I am is a spirit looking for a human experience, and not only that, but seeking to make the human it creates for that purpose immortal.
I'm convinced I didn't create this body. I swapped off my old body for a new one this young spirit was going to destroy. Instead of creating a body that died disappointed that it hadn't achieved immortality to honor it's maker, I decided to move laterally instead of going up and down in a rebirth situation. I only had a brief glimpse of how this took place, and it's not convincing to anyone but me. Nobody knows, even if I tell it or write it a thousand times over. No blame. They gotta interpret.
Moving laterally instead of going back and forth between bodies doesn't seem to have brought immortality for the body any closer than it ever was. I don't know why I do it. I'm looking for another body to replace this one now, but because of the over-population thing, I'm not sure I wanna do that again. I'm considering just dying with this body and waiting until another, maybe bigger planet is found to give myself a better shot next ti-me. What's the difference? It's not like another planet won't have to be found for life to have bodies after the next one, and the next one after that is eaten up parasitically, as always.
Around, and around, and around she goes,
and where she stops, nobody knows.
I didn't get it. The more I think about it, the more I realize that's what people write about. They write or make movies or create stage plays about something they don't want to happen to them or someone they love. Is this also the basis of humor?
I watched in amazement a film of some skydivers from Norway jumped off the cliffs of this deep fiord. They weren't using parachutes except for emergencies. They were wearing flying suits that work in the same way flying squirrels fly. This dude screwed up and was bouncing off the rock walls of the fiord, but he kept filming. He broke his leg bad enough to have to get a titanium rod inserted into the bone in his leg, but otherwise survived okay. He stated that he was going right back to it just as soon as his leg healed.
This was definitely something I wouldn't want to happen to me or someone I loved. A lotta stuff that makes the news media is something I wouldn't wanna happen to me. Some of it happens so frequently, and appears on the six o'clock so often, even though it's life-threatening, l seem to get burned out on it and boo the TV station for not showing something interesting.
I watch the Charley Rose Show on PBS more often since I got the digital converter. On the analog TV I have upstairs in my bedroom I can only get this program at 11:30 at night, but with the simulcast digital broadcast it's on several different times during the day for filler. I watched part of it at 8 a.m. this morning. It was a rerun from yesterday, but the guests described a situation I wouldn't want to happen to me or someone I love. It's gonna, if me and the people I love live long enough. The one speculation I paid attention to was a statement that the Earth will have a billion more people vying for the resources we need to stay alive.
The next statement was about how much shorter the time period will be after that for another billion people to be born on earth. By the time my children get to be my age, their children will be competing with several billion more people trying to stay alive on Earth. It's just not that big a planet. Something will have to happen to reduce the population or the inventors better get busy figuring out how to transport billions of extra people to another planet to have room to grow.
The way I see it, there's not a chance in hell that's gonna happen, but admittedly, I couldn't have foreseen what's happened technologically in my own lifetime. I don't think this bodes well for those seekers who attempt to discover or create their own individuality. Personally, I don't think individuation is all it's cracked up to be. I don't know what I thought the rewards for accomplishing that might turn out to be despite the fact that I've researched this topic for my entire adulthood.
I'm convinced I've experienced gnosis, enlightenment, and full-blown Kundalini in this one body, but i don't know what that means anymore. It certainly hasn't made me immortal. It's made me realize that I'm not what I made myself up to be. That, I'm not a human looking for a spiritual experience, but rather I am is a spirit looking for a human experience, and not only that, but seeking to make the human it creates for that purpose immortal.
I'm convinced I didn't create this body. I swapped off my old body for a new one this young spirit was going to destroy. Instead of creating a body that died disappointed that it hadn't achieved immortality to honor it's maker, I decided to move laterally instead of going up and down in a rebirth situation. I only had a brief glimpse of how this took place, and it's not convincing to anyone but me. Nobody knows, even if I tell it or write it a thousand times over. No blame. They gotta interpret.
Moving laterally instead of going back and forth between bodies doesn't seem to have brought immortality for the body any closer than it ever was. I don't know why I do it. I'm looking for another body to replace this one now, but because of the over-population thing, I'm not sure I wanna do that again. I'm considering just dying with this body and waiting until another, maybe bigger planet is found to give myself a better shot next ti-me. What's the difference? It's not like another planet won't have to be found for life to have bodies after the next one, and the next one after that is eaten up parasitically, as always.
Around, and around, and around she goes,
and where she stops, nobody knows.
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