Friday, June 4, 2010
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Weird history
I'm in a place that has been through a lot, in human and non-human terms. I'm at the foot of the wall known as the Rocky Mountains. I'm sure it's been called many things other than that which are now long forgotten. On this side, the Front Range, it's rolling hills covered in grass and stream bottoms with cottonwoods growing to massive widths. The mountains and hills and grass and the trees have been here for a lot longer than any person. That proves that land cannot be owned. Not by the first people to hunt mega-fauna here 13,000+ years ago, nor Dell Webb (motherfucker). This land is used and has been. And how it shows.
The first things here were the rocks and dirt being pushed together by the continental plates and forcing themselves to rise into the sky. Thankfully they did because they became the Rockies, the most dramatic feature on this continent. After them (as if they have stopped changing) came the plants and animals to occupy every niche therein. From the grasses down low to the spruce and fir of the treeline, to the aspens and ponderosa pine in the middle. The prairie dogs and bison on the plains, the magpies and squirrels a little higher, mountain sheep and hawks on the slopes far above. Then the people.
First, nomadic bands coming from the north (most likely) following game and warmth (during an ice age after all). After them more and more people. People on foot from every direction. Most roaming and gathering and hunting. Some people stopping to plant crops along rivers and streams. And for thousands of years it was just these people moving around the land doing what people do. They became native to the land. Then, not too long ago came people from the south, then the east and north. People who were nothing like those who lived here already. These people more or less destroyed the people who were native to the land and became native on the land.
Theirs is the history I saw today while driving between and through the solid string of towns from what is now Fort Collins to south of Denver. The front range is a place full of, shows a history of and defines development. From 13kya to now.
Evidence of the first development of this land is found in the land. Spear points, Folsom and Clovis fall out of stream banks and are tilled up by tractors (getting to that). Undeveloped development of hunting grounds. Then came the extermination of the bison to be replaced by cattle and the horrible romanticism that is the American cowboy. Then came the farmers who replaced the cowboys (sitting on their horses next to a barbed-wire fence looking at a farm house and windmill with a tear drop in their eye). Then came the miners. Looking for anything, anything. Then little towns sprung up. Then those little towns weren't so little. Then people decided they still wanted more towns, but less towns too (wait, what?). So they kept building towns, but in a “smart” way. More roads, more people. They decided that some land was more important to save than others and created (created!) open space so people could know what it was like before they moved into their “smartly” built and developed subdivision (78 miles of trails, shitty Mexican food, empty streets!). Here it is today.
This place now sees development and inevitable (place=people). Some areas are more important than others. “Well, if we want more people to come we have to have somewhere to put them, but we will make sure there's somewhere for them to go and feel better about owning a plastic box.”
What made me think of all of this was the drive I eluded to earlier. There are a few types and ages of development. My favorite and best example for me is highway 287. That means nothing of course if you've never been there. Driving through towns from north to south you see a lot. Mostly middle-class type towns with similar histories. Settled in the latter part of the 19th century many started out as mining towns or farming communities. When that all ended they became places for people to live who couldn't afford (or didn't want to) to live in Denver or Boulder. Downtowns are turn of the century brick. Behind them are houses spreading out in chronological order and building technique and integrity from then to now. You see the life changes in the facades of the buildings. Mercantiles to hardware stores to abandonment then “rediscovery” as a coffee shop, pizza joint (oh so hip), resale shop, boutiques of all kinds. In the neighborhood I am in now the last houses were built probably in the 1970s or so. But in between are older homes from the early 20th century, and old churches as well. The larger buildings are long gone (I believe) because even “old town” doesn't look so old. You see developments from the 70s, 80s, 90s, and today (radio station promo?). There's evidence of those who were here all over the place. In one town (Loveland?) there's a huge, huge, statue of a screaming native American wearing a loin cloth (loin skin?) holding a spear over his head (which sits on his perfectly sculpted 15 foot tall body) whilst standing over what appears to be one of his dead comrades (killed by the white man?). Really? I have no idea what this statue is about but it's so odd. I think it's funny enough that Arapaho is the name of a major road. Is this a reminder to the few native people who live in the area (Vanilla Valley) that this is where their ancestors were killed in the thousands and this land could very well still “belong” to them? Regardless, this is part of the history of how this place has become what it is now. There are also some funny examples of how recent developments have been incorporated into one another. There are strip malls and housing developments that have old farm buildings as parts of their entryways. Because every development has some sort of theme and they all have something to do with views (vista), ranches, ridges, or farms. Weird. So if there's a silo might as well plant some ivy at the bottom and build a sign in front of it displaying the name of the cookie-cutter housing block that sits directly behind it (Vista View at Table Mesa at Rio River). The classic days of American agriculture. “Dolores and I can retire better from selling our farm to get drilled for natural gas then developed into houses than giving the land to the kids ever will let us.” Rusty machinery and the root fans of trees are sold for top dollar to decorate the lawns and pond-sides of the rolling hills covered in box house hell.
It's a history of inevidabilities. From the driving out of native peoples and bison, to the driving out of cattle, to the closing of the mines, to the ceaseless building of stale housing tracts, to the development of “open space” (developing nature?). I find this place to be incredibly interesting, but know I could never really live here. There's too much blatant history that is too depressing. It's just an odd place to be and to see. And I wonder how many people here do even see it?
The first things here were the rocks and dirt being pushed together by the continental plates and forcing themselves to rise into the sky. Thankfully they did because they became the Rockies, the most dramatic feature on this continent. After them (as if they have stopped changing) came the plants and animals to occupy every niche therein. From the grasses down low to the spruce and fir of the treeline, to the aspens and ponderosa pine in the middle. The prairie dogs and bison on the plains, the magpies and squirrels a little higher, mountain sheep and hawks on the slopes far above. Then the people.
First, nomadic bands coming from the north (most likely) following game and warmth (during an ice age after all). After them more and more people. People on foot from every direction. Most roaming and gathering and hunting. Some people stopping to plant crops along rivers and streams. And for thousands of years it was just these people moving around the land doing what people do. They became native to the land. Then, not too long ago came people from the south, then the east and north. People who were nothing like those who lived here already. These people more or less destroyed the people who were native to the land and became native on the land.
Theirs is the history I saw today while driving between and through the solid string of towns from what is now Fort Collins to south of Denver. The front range is a place full of, shows a history of and defines development. From 13kya to now.
Evidence of the first development of this land is found in the land. Spear points, Folsom and Clovis fall out of stream banks and are tilled up by tractors (getting to that). Undeveloped development of hunting grounds. Then came the extermination of the bison to be replaced by cattle and the horrible romanticism that is the American cowboy. Then came the farmers who replaced the cowboys (sitting on their horses next to a barbed-wire fence looking at a farm house and windmill with a tear drop in their eye). Then came the miners. Looking for anything, anything. Then little towns sprung up. Then those little towns weren't so little. Then people decided they still wanted more towns, but less towns too (wait, what?). So they kept building towns, but in a “smart” way. More roads, more people. They decided that some land was more important to save than others and created (created!) open space so people could know what it was like before they moved into their “smartly” built and developed subdivision (78 miles of trails, shitty Mexican food, empty streets!). Here it is today.
This place now sees development and inevitable (place=people). Some areas are more important than others. “Well, if we want more people to come we have to have somewhere to put them, but we will make sure there's somewhere for them to go and feel better about owning a plastic box.”
What made me think of all of this was the drive I eluded to earlier. There are a few types and ages of development. My favorite and best example for me is highway 287. That means nothing of course if you've never been there. Driving through towns from north to south you see a lot. Mostly middle-class type towns with similar histories. Settled in the latter part of the 19th century many started out as mining towns or farming communities. When that all ended they became places for people to live who couldn't afford (or didn't want to) to live in Denver or Boulder. Downtowns are turn of the century brick. Behind them are houses spreading out in chronological order and building technique and integrity from then to now. You see the life changes in the facades of the buildings. Mercantiles to hardware stores to abandonment then “rediscovery” as a coffee shop, pizza joint (oh so hip), resale shop, boutiques of all kinds. In the neighborhood I am in now the last houses were built probably in the 1970s or so. But in between are older homes from the early 20th century, and old churches as well. The larger buildings are long gone (I believe) because even “old town” doesn't look so old. You see developments from the 70s, 80s, 90s, and today (radio station promo?). There's evidence of those who were here all over the place. In one town (Loveland?) there's a huge, huge, statue of a screaming native American wearing a loin cloth (loin skin?) holding a spear over his head (which sits on his perfectly sculpted 15 foot tall body) whilst standing over what appears to be one of his dead comrades (killed by the white man?). Really? I have no idea what this statue is about but it's so odd. I think it's funny enough that Arapaho is the name of a major road. Is this a reminder to the few native people who live in the area (Vanilla Valley) that this is where their ancestors were killed in the thousands and this land could very well still “belong” to them? Regardless, this is part of the history of how this place has become what it is now. There are also some funny examples of how recent developments have been incorporated into one another. There are strip malls and housing developments that have old farm buildings as parts of their entryways. Because every development has some sort of theme and they all have something to do with views (vista), ranches, ridges, or farms. Weird. So if there's a silo might as well plant some ivy at the bottom and build a sign in front of it displaying the name of the cookie-cutter housing block that sits directly behind it (Vista View at Table Mesa at Rio River). The classic days of American agriculture. “Dolores and I can retire better from selling our farm to get drilled for natural gas then developed into houses than giving the land to the kids ever will let us.” Rusty machinery and the root fans of trees are sold for top dollar to decorate the lawns and pond-sides of the rolling hills covered in box house hell.
It's a history of inevidabilities. From the driving out of native peoples and bison, to the driving out of cattle, to the closing of the mines, to the ceaseless building of stale housing tracts, to the development of “open space” (developing nature?). I find this place to be incredibly interesting, but know I could never really live here. There's too much blatant history that is too depressing. It's just an odd place to be and to see. And I wonder how many people here do even see it?
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Only by the night
In recent times I haven't been much of a night person. I've grown fond of early mornings and early nights. My favorite time of the day is as the sun is coming up. I was lucky to have a lot of those this past summer. I used to like the night. I think that's because I drank at night and stayed up late being drunk and writing crazy ramblings. It seems that I don't need the alcohol to do that anymore. I've find that even though I don't stay up as late as I used to I still look back on events in my life and remember in what phase the lunar cycle was. Also, I have made some of the most important decisions and come up with the most profound ideas at night. I am always moving when outside at night. It's hard for me to sit still no matter which celestial beings are present in the sky. But there is nothing like being outside on a clear night. If it's breezy it's even better. Tonight was a great example of my night thinking. I rode my bike all over town, like I used to in my poorer college days (a very romantic time, I'll tell you about it sometime). I just rode. This town is not a great place to just ride around. Everything is somewhat of a hill and there are cars everywhere, but I make it work. I rode so that I forced myself to ride up the biggest hill in town and stayed in the highest gear I could. I made it hurt a lot and was sucking wind, a little. Amazing. Full moon, tons of stars, cold and breezy. I started out with two long sleeve shirts, a vest and gloves. By the time I got back I had on only my tshirt and rolled down my socks. I wanted to feel the night and lets the thoughts get out of me. I spoke to the air while catching my breath. I was reminded of all the time throughout my life where I have done this. Spoken to the night. By vocalizing to the dark I have found out a lot of things about myself. Confirmed beliefs, made more questions than answers, arguments, affirmations, laughs. I did this as a young kid in the summer chasing fireflies. I've done it drunk in the middle of winter as a highschooler in the blinding snow. I've done it as a lonesome college student with too much homework taking a break to hit every dumpster in town. I can only do it alone. Seeing people's lights on at midnight, 2am, wondering what is going on. Hearing crashes in alleys or hearing elk bugle close by, watching cats run under street lamps. There's nothing like it. Being out on a weekend in town, or any night in the woods. It's some of the most fun I've ever had. Melancholy fun. An odd concept. I suppose it's me letting things go, in, clarifying, understanding, coming to terms with. And when I get back to where it is I sleep, it all is the same, but I feel a little newer, a little more enlightened. Ready to sleep as the sweat dries and makes me shiver (never have enough money to keep the heat on too high). I'm pretty sure I haven't explained a thing. I don't think I can. Only I understand what happens on these nights, and even then I'm not sure. I'm just glad they happen.
If you could only see me now
First, I am selfish, very much so. I think about me a lot. That will be left for another post. Second, life is the coolest and most interesting thing I've ever been a part of. I'm not talking about evolution and whatnot, but the human experience. Everyday I am fascinated by it all. Third, I am damn lucky. Lucky to be able to make this post, lucky to have time and energy to think about and express "luxury complaints" (thanks e via k). Fourth, I'm damn selfish.
For those people that know me I am very active. In the physical sense, and in other ways too, I guess. I run six days a week, I do one of the most physically demanding jobs I could find, a lot of my personal goals have something to do with doing physical activities better. Where did this all come from? Very good question me. I've flirted with running since I was in my early teens (did I know what flirting even was?). I never really got into it, and as was posted earlier I got way more into smoking and drinking things, very very bad things. I like to tell people that once I quit smoking, drinking and began a plant based diet I was motivated to get into shape. That's sort of true. I realized that I haven't been honest, mostly with myself. The whole convincing yourself of a personal myth and then believing that when you tell other people it's the truth. I began obsessing about running initially to prove something. I don't think it really had anything to do with physical fitness. My change in lifestyle coincided exactly with the end of a very long and life defining relationship. It must be that i needed to prove to her that I could go on with my life. That meant pushing myself towards some goal that manifested itself as running and pushups. I gauged my success on how I though she would react to me. Of course it was never good enough. I pushed myself more and more. I still do. It's an odd realization that this is how I got into everything that consumes so much of my life now. That's almost besides the point.
I grew up with god. I always felt as if he was watching. I was always good, pretty much. Even after I realized there wasn't a god, I always did things as though someone was watching, as if someone cared. I have to say that has made me a pretty honest person. Mostly because I have realized that I don't do things I know would be bad if someone was watching me. Whew. Anyway, I still do things for people who aren't around, be they alive or dead, or even people who I haven't seen in years. I am still inspired by my grandmother who died over three years ago. I still talk to her gravestone when I am there. I suppose "doing things" for people makes it more worthwhile to try and do my best, to be a good person. It may not even matter, but I suppose it might.
Interesting.
For those people that know me I am very active. In the physical sense, and in other ways too, I guess. I run six days a week, I do one of the most physically demanding jobs I could find, a lot of my personal goals have something to do with doing physical activities better. Where did this all come from? Very good question me. I've flirted with running since I was in my early teens (did I know what flirting even was?). I never really got into it, and as was posted earlier I got way more into smoking and drinking things, very very bad things. I like to tell people that once I quit smoking, drinking and began a plant based diet I was motivated to get into shape. That's sort of true. I realized that I haven't been honest, mostly with myself. The whole convincing yourself of a personal myth and then believing that when you tell other people it's the truth. I began obsessing about running initially to prove something. I don't think it really had anything to do with physical fitness. My change in lifestyle coincided exactly with the end of a very long and life defining relationship. It must be that i needed to prove to her that I could go on with my life. That meant pushing myself towards some goal that manifested itself as running and pushups. I gauged my success on how I though she would react to me. Of course it was never good enough. I pushed myself more and more. I still do. It's an odd realization that this is how I got into everything that consumes so much of my life now. That's almost besides the point.
I grew up with god. I always felt as if he was watching. I was always good, pretty much. Even after I realized there wasn't a god, I always did things as though someone was watching, as if someone cared. I have to say that has made me a pretty honest person. Mostly because I have realized that I don't do things I know would be bad if someone was watching me. Whew. Anyway, I still do things for people who aren't around, be they alive or dead, or even people who I haven't seen in years. I am still inspired by my grandmother who died over three years ago. I still talk to her gravestone when I am there. I suppose "doing things" for people makes it more worthwhile to try and do my best, to be a good person. It may not even matter, but I suppose it might.
Interesting.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
So, I found god right?
This is a piece of writing that I thought had been lost to the mysts of time, and the binary code of the internet. But I found it today and I'm amazed. It's something I assumed was lost forever and now here it is. I've never wanted to rediscover something more than this. It's not even very good. It's somewhat terrible. Written in 2004.
when i met her, god when i was seventeen, i met god, exactly where she should've been if god was to be somewhere, visiting, new york city. she said "you look lost" to me. it was true. in the mayhem after leaving central park i had been misplaced from my, well, friends. i said something like "yea." she said while looking me in the eyes, "it'll all be fine. just stay by me and you'll be ok." the only part of me she could see was my eyes and i hers. they were dark and warm. she was short. much shorter than i anyway (which now when i look back i see as ironic). she then said "hi, my name is god." i told her some name i can't rightly remember. she then grabbed my hand and we moved with the rest of the group. she told me that she was from canada. of course, it all then made sense. of course god is from canada. the police came and came at us over and over. i held tightly on to gods hand and arm. what i assume was one of her angels or profits or someone was on my other arm. his strength was firm and he was silent. she kept saying "hold on, we'll be ok. if we all stick together we'll all be ok." god was exactly what i never knew i wanted her to be. the cops finally broke through and everyone was either tackled, fallen, running, or in relative custody. the last i saw of god was her reaching hand being drawn back into the wailing crowd of black and homemade patches of resistance. as i ran it became clear that i had been touched by the hand of god and her power was all around me. for those minutes or however long, the most beautiful girl in the world was dressed in all black and i never got to see her face. that is the day i met god and how she let me know that everything was ok, and to prove it she gave me her hand and her eternal blessing.
when i met her, god when i was seventeen, i met god, exactly where she should've been if god was to be somewhere, visiting, new york city. she said "you look lost" to me. it was true. in the mayhem after leaving central park i had been misplaced from my, well, friends. i said something like "yea." she said while looking me in the eyes, "it'll all be fine. just stay by me and you'll be ok." the only part of me she could see was my eyes and i hers. they were dark and warm. she was short. much shorter than i anyway (which now when i look back i see as ironic). she then said "hi, my name is god." i told her some name i can't rightly remember. she then grabbed my hand and we moved with the rest of the group. she told me that she was from canada. of course, it all then made sense. of course god is from canada. the police came and came at us over and over. i held tightly on to gods hand and arm. what i assume was one of her angels or profits or someone was on my other arm. his strength was firm and he was silent. she kept saying "hold on, we'll be ok. if we all stick together we'll all be ok." god was exactly what i never knew i wanted her to be. the cops finally broke through and everyone was either tackled, fallen, running, or in relative custody. the last i saw of god was her reaching hand being drawn back into the wailing crowd of black and homemade patches of resistance. as i ran it became clear that i had been touched by the hand of god and her power was all around me. for those minutes or however long, the most beautiful girl in the world was dressed in all black and i never got to see her face. that is the day i met god and how she let me know that everything was ok, and to prove it she gave me her hand and her eternal blessing.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
the sex talk
This will be interesting. First drugs and alcohol and now for our culture's biggest obsession, sex. Sex has a few incarnations in my mind and life. There's sex as an act. Nothing too crazy, just straight up doin' it (for lack of a not funny term). Then there's sex as is perpetuated in the media and society at large. Cultural sex, I suppose. When I think of sex a lot of things come to mind, but the basis of my thinking is how sex, no matter how defined, is used. That's what I am going to focus on.
First, sex is how we make more of us, fundamentally. Going further humans have made sex into something oddly beyond that. From this basic perspective sex is something two (or more) people share and hopefully enjoy and gain something from. Of course this isn't always true but I'll get to that. Looking at it like this, for me, sex is cool, to sound a like a dude, for sure. It's a really interesting way to know someone else. For me, it brings me to a basic level of human interaction. Unless one person really isn't enjoying it but appearing to, the act is incredibly revealing. You're both naked and therefore unable to hide what you may feel you should, or are ashamed of. Hopefully the other person doesn't really care about that so much. Sex, in this way, is not only about physical sensations that can be incredible, but sensations that stimulate emotions and emotional feelings between the people involved. It's a good feeling to know that you're not the only one enjoying the moment. Or the moments afterwards when it seems that maybe what just happened didn't. Because I don't think those moments can be captured and relived. They happen and are always different. They're the kinds of moments you want to relive but are not sure you should in fear of tainting a beautiful memory. It's when these moments aren't what they were and the act becomes routine or worse, painful, that sex can be a bad thing. When it's not special, when it loses what makes it beautiful. This is where I have had a hard time with sex.
To be blunt (how weird, me, blunt) sex frustrates and disgusts me. Not good, fun, happy sex, but sex as a tool (I've been trying not to think of what innuendos I am unintentionally inserting here, damn!). I get tired of seeing movies where there may be no reason for it but somehow sex comes along and makes an oddly placed appearance. Sex is certainly part of the collective human experience, but it's an obsession. I don't find pornography appealing, funny yes, but there's no part of me that seeks out that kind of stimulation. Here's a good example of something that happened a couple of days ago. Our water heater died, so I went over to the next condo to take a shower. I subsequently used the toilet as well. On the back of it were a bunch of magazines. Snowboarding, outdoors stuff, a boot catalog, and a porn magazine. So I thought to myself “Ok Matthew, let's check this out, just to see what the fuss is all about.” I looked at the whole thing and wasn't turned on at all. It was all so fake and weird. I'm sure the look on my face was quite funny. I felt puzzled. Am I the only guy here (there's 18 of us) who thinks this magazine is kind of gross and an odd piece of our culture? I probably am. Since I looked at it I have thought a lot about it. I don't know those women or care to see their naked bodies so much. They're grotesque. Huge boobs, massive. Way too smooth skin (photoshop?), no non-head hair, anywhere. What the hell? Is that the ideal? Is that what I'm supposed to want? Where does this shit come from? Fuck. It's hard for me to really express what I feel. I feel perplexed. Is this exploitation of women? Forcing them to augment their bodies so that for a few years they can pose in what I assume must be uncomfortable positions so that other people can gawk at them. Do women really aspire to that or are they just taking advantage of our weird culture? I don't know. I've seen a few porn movies, but that was in high school and my friends and I laughed more than anything (probably because we didn't want each other to figure out we all had huge boners). I do remember getting a little queasy and sickened. It was just gross. I was literally turned off from sex. And to this day I still have an odd aversion to it. That has a lot to do about how I see women treated.
So as I said before I see sex as a tool, a lot of the time. Everyone knows that sex is used to show dominance and as a way to force people to know who is the dominator. That's really when I get disgusted. By far sex crimes and the misuse of sex is perpetuated by men, the world over. I am a man, a guy anyway, I have a penis. I find that when I get frustrated with how the world acts (I'm reluctant to say works, because it doesn't) I try to oppose it. Sex is a great example of it. I'm turned off my sex because of it is used by men, abused. I certainly do not do anything that is abusive sexually towards anyone, but I associate what is dangling between my legs with that of those who use what's between their legs for ill purposes. I feel an association. I probably shouldn't, but I am of the sex (culturally gender) that perpetuates this abuse. I get so tired of sex being about power or one persons pleasure. I just get sick of it. Sex is used to degrade and dehumanize enemies, or even non-enemies. It's used to subjugate. And boy do I dislike subjugation. It is hard for me to get over that. I struggle with it and I suppose that limits my capabilities in sexual relationships I may find myself in. I am also very conscious of personal space. This can lead to funny situations as I've learned, and it's something that I'm working on. I think I also resent men. Not all, but the worst of men. Men who rape and abuse and use sex to make them think they have power. I need to get over that. I'll be a male until I die and after I die I will have been a male. There's nothing I can do to change that. I try to change what a male can be, and so do a lot of others. And that is a good thing. It's no wonder that I have often hung out with and felt most comfortable with women. Here I am surrounded by total dude fest and thinking about the philosophies of sex. Because everything here is a sex joke. You have to prove that you're a man and not a homo by either talking down to gay people or women. Awesome. Why am I here? Different post. But anyway, I see a lot and read a lot and I get tired, physically and mentally, of how women are treated, treated by this penis and quick satisfaction culture.
That's that. And this is this.......I have a lot more thinking about this to do. On one hand sex is so cool and awesome, but also so messed up and misused. I don't want to misuse it. And I don't thin I do or will, but there's that fear, and I need to get over that fear. Maybe I just need to have more sex. That'll solve it. (I just laughed, chuckled, good for me).
First, sex is how we make more of us, fundamentally. Going further humans have made sex into something oddly beyond that. From this basic perspective sex is something two (or more) people share and hopefully enjoy and gain something from. Of course this isn't always true but I'll get to that. Looking at it like this, for me, sex is cool, to sound a like a dude, for sure. It's a really interesting way to know someone else. For me, it brings me to a basic level of human interaction. Unless one person really isn't enjoying it but appearing to, the act is incredibly revealing. You're both naked and therefore unable to hide what you may feel you should, or are ashamed of. Hopefully the other person doesn't really care about that so much. Sex, in this way, is not only about physical sensations that can be incredible, but sensations that stimulate emotions and emotional feelings between the people involved. It's a good feeling to know that you're not the only one enjoying the moment. Or the moments afterwards when it seems that maybe what just happened didn't. Because I don't think those moments can be captured and relived. They happen and are always different. They're the kinds of moments you want to relive but are not sure you should in fear of tainting a beautiful memory. It's when these moments aren't what they were and the act becomes routine or worse, painful, that sex can be a bad thing. When it's not special, when it loses what makes it beautiful. This is where I have had a hard time with sex.
To be blunt (how weird, me, blunt) sex frustrates and disgusts me. Not good, fun, happy sex, but sex as a tool (I've been trying not to think of what innuendos I am unintentionally inserting here, damn!). I get tired of seeing movies where there may be no reason for it but somehow sex comes along and makes an oddly placed appearance. Sex is certainly part of the collective human experience, but it's an obsession. I don't find pornography appealing, funny yes, but there's no part of me that seeks out that kind of stimulation. Here's a good example of something that happened a couple of days ago. Our water heater died, so I went over to the next condo to take a shower. I subsequently used the toilet as well. On the back of it were a bunch of magazines. Snowboarding, outdoors stuff, a boot catalog, and a porn magazine. So I thought to myself “Ok Matthew, let's check this out, just to see what the fuss is all about.” I looked at the whole thing and wasn't turned on at all. It was all so fake and weird. I'm sure the look on my face was quite funny. I felt puzzled. Am I the only guy here (there's 18 of us) who thinks this magazine is kind of gross and an odd piece of our culture? I probably am. Since I looked at it I have thought a lot about it. I don't know those women or care to see their naked bodies so much. They're grotesque. Huge boobs, massive. Way too smooth skin (photoshop?), no non-head hair, anywhere. What the hell? Is that the ideal? Is that what I'm supposed to want? Where does this shit come from? Fuck. It's hard for me to really express what I feel. I feel perplexed. Is this exploitation of women? Forcing them to augment their bodies so that for a few years they can pose in what I assume must be uncomfortable positions so that other people can gawk at them. Do women really aspire to that or are they just taking advantage of our weird culture? I don't know. I've seen a few porn movies, but that was in high school and my friends and I laughed more than anything (probably because we didn't want each other to figure out we all had huge boners). I do remember getting a little queasy and sickened. It was just gross. I was literally turned off from sex. And to this day I still have an odd aversion to it. That has a lot to do about how I see women treated.
So as I said before I see sex as a tool, a lot of the time. Everyone knows that sex is used to show dominance and as a way to force people to know who is the dominator. That's really when I get disgusted. By far sex crimes and the misuse of sex is perpetuated by men, the world over. I am a man, a guy anyway, I have a penis. I find that when I get frustrated with how the world acts (I'm reluctant to say works, because it doesn't) I try to oppose it. Sex is a great example of it. I'm turned off my sex because of it is used by men, abused. I certainly do not do anything that is abusive sexually towards anyone, but I associate what is dangling between my legs with that of those who use what's between their legs for ill purposes. I feel an association. I probably shouldn't, but I am of the sex (culturally gender) that perpetuates this abuse. I get so tired of sex being about power or one persons pleasure. I just get sick of it. Sex is used to degrade and dehumanize enemies, or even non-enemies. It's used to subjugate. And boy do I dislike subjugation. It is hard for me to get over that. I struggle with it and I suppose that limits my capabilities in sexual relationships I may find myself in. I am also very conscious of personal space. This can lead to funny situations as I've learned, and it's something that I'm working on. I think I also resent men. Not all, but the worst of men. Men who rape and abuse and use sex to make them think they have power. I need to get over that. I'll be a male until I die and after I die I will have been a male. There's nothing I can do to change that. I try to change what a male can be, and so do a lot of others. And that is a good thing. It's no wonder that I have often hung out with and felt most comfortable with women. Here I am surrounded by total dude fest and thinking about the philosophies of sex. Because everything here is a sex joke. You have to prove that you're a man and not a homo by either talking down to gay people or women. Awesome. Why am I here? Different post. But anyway, I see a lot and read a lot and I get tired, physically and mentally, of how women are treated, treated by this penis and quick satisfaction culture.
That's that. And this is this.......I have a lot more thinking about this to do. On one hand sex is so cool and awesome, but also so messed up and misused. I don't want to misuse it. And I don't thin I do or will, but there's that fear, and I need to get over that fear. Maybe I just need to have more sex. That'll solve it. (I just laughed, chuckled, good for me).
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
something a little stronger
Ok, so here's something I thought of while brushing my teeth. I have an odd perception and relationship with alcohol and to a somewhat lesser extent drugs. The last time I had a drink was January 1, 2003. Pretty easy to remember. Got way drunk with friends on New Year's Eve and was still drinking, alone, as the sun began to hint at rising then passed out waking a few hours later to drive my girlfriend home and then myself. I was incredibly drunk and hungover I don't know how I did it. But I do know why, because, to be blunt, alcohol fucks you up. I drank to drink and no other reason. That was one of the few times when I drank that I wasn't overly conscious of myself and what I was doing. I think I had my first drink when I was 13 or 14. Who knows. I remember nursing a Coors Light while watching Woodstock '99 live with my much older cousin. We watched Metallica. I don't think that was my first drink, but it's the earliest I can remember. From that point I was pretty much a responsible drunk. I got drunk but not too drunk so that I was able to make sure my friends and fellow drinkers didn't get themselves into too much trouble. I think I really began drinking when I started getting into 1960s culture and more specifically when I began listening to The Doors and reading Jim Morrison's poetry and books about getting fucked up in Southern California and London and wherever else. I drank (and did drugs) not out of peer pressure (because none of my friends at that age did anything their parents would disapprove of), but because I wanted to see what it was like. When I drank and got high I wrote a lot and played music. Not that any of it was any good or legible but it was a release, or something to that effect. Eventually I did meet people who drank and did drugs and hung out with them. I did do some stupid stuff but never blacked out (well, once, I think). My parents knew I drank but for some reason they trusted me enough not to ground me forever, not that I would have listened anyway, I knew everything at 17. After that New Year's day I was so disappointed in myself that I couldn't drink for a while. It's been 6 ½ years now. Weird. I don't resent people who drink simply for drinking. Just like with anything else if it affects me in a negative way then yes I'll be upset. The only people I know who don't drink are my family. In a weird way I feel like a drinker on occasion. I know how to interact with drunk people and actually have fun doing it. I find it interesting as well how when people noticing me not drinking they get offended or standoffish (off fish!). It's funny. I guess they think I'm weird or a creeper. Maybe so. Ok, back to what inspired this history of my drinking life. I find myself every so often contemplating drinking again. I make plans for when I'll have a drink, just one. But when I get to that point I don't drink. I have a few reasons. One is a reason from when I did drink. I used to play music with older college kids when I was in high school and they provided me with access to all kinds of drink and drug (women too oddly enough). I was always welcome to sleep on their couch and I often took up the offer but I usually liked to sleep in my own bed at my folks house. That was a half-hour drive and damn if I was going to drive drunk and get pulled over. So I wouldn't drink, or limit myself to one or two beers. That worked. That's one of the reasons I still don't drink. Though these days I don't have my own bed so much, but it still applies. Another reason is hangovers. I really only had a couple of times when I can say I had a real hangover. One ended with me shotgunning the remnants of my fourth malt liquor 40 and talking to a dog who watched me and then passing out. I awoke in pain. That was horrible. Since I quit drinking I have changed a lot as a person. Anyone who knows me knows how much I exercise and am obsessed (I'll say it!) with personal health and wellbeing. I like waking up early and enjoying the daylight as opposed to staying up late (it's 11pm right now, what the hell?). I have no room in my life for hangovers and feeling shitty in general. That seems to be one of the big reasons for me not drinking. I feel, be it founded in reality or not, that even if I have one or “just a couple” of drinks I'll feel like shit in the morning. But then sometimes I eat too much food on the weekends and wake up feeling like shit. It may be that I really dislike having headaches. Really dislike. Though being sick has become somewhat of a novelty for me, being as that I do not often get ill. I'm weird. Straight up. I then think what will drinking get me? Nothing really. Less money, more possibilities for things to go wrong. I also think it's funny that I seem (at least I think so) like a guy who likes to drink and party. Maybe I don't come across that way when folks know me a little better, but I'm thinking more of first impressions. I always like the question “You don't drink? Why?” (somewhat flabbergasted). It's translated more as “Why the fuck are you here then?” i.e. where people are drinking. I do like to drunk watch, when I know the drunks. They're fun to talk with a fun to confuse. I'm a bastard. So that's drinking.
Drugs are a whole new place. I can say, be it quantity, quality and hours spent, I have been high on drugs more than drunk. Totally. I started smoking weed when I was 12 or 13. I feel old when I can't quite remember. I've never not liked getting high. Even after I stopped drinking I kept smoking weed. I was never a stoner so much. I just liked getting high when I could. I did other drugs too, but mostly weed. I liked codeine and morphine, but they were too good. So was the cocaine. Too damn good. I used my head when it came to that stuff. I did acid, mushrooms, mescaline, and other things I don't quite know what they were but messed me up good. Got into cough medicine too. Fuckin stupid. Never did anything crazy and never will. I always knew the really hard stuff wasn't worth it. Like alcohol, I think of smoking weed, or doing it more often. I've done it a few times in the last three years or so, but had a good long time when I didn't smoke at all. Some two years I think. Basically college. Most of my peers were high or drunk while I was at home reading Orwell books and drinking tea and writing prose. Weird. My best friend in high school put being high on weed so succinctly that I have yet to find a better description. He said when you're high everything is a mission. It's so true. That's why it's so hard to do more than one thing at a time. No multi-tasking while high. There's no way you can keep track. I think that's why I don't smoke so much anymore. I don't need to be on a mission. It's not relaxing. Playing guitar or reading is enough. I really am an old man. Shit. I really have to be in the right state of mind and place to get high. And I don't hang out with people who smoke anyway. They mostly get drunk, and some complain about pot smokers and how bad weed is. Oh the irony. Indeed.
The question I come back to in many parts of my life and this one in particular is “how will this or does this make my life any better? Will it be better if I do it? What do I gain, or what can I lose?” I lose money, a soft bed, and maybe self-respect. That said, and for some reason I think of Cody laughing at me, I will drink again, that's for certain. But who knows when or why, but that'll be a funny day.
Drugs are a whole new place. I can say, be it quantity, quality and hours spent, I have been high on drugs more than drunk. Totally. I started smoking weed when I was 12 or 13. I feel old when I can't quite remember. I've never not liked getting high. Even after I stopped drinking I kept smoking weed. I was never a stoner so much. I just liked getting high when I could. I did other drugs too, but mostly weed. I liked codeine and morphine, but they were too good. So was the cocaine. Too damn good. I used my head when it came to that stuff. I did acid, mushrooms, mescaline, and other things I don't quite know what they were but messed me up good. Got into cough medicine too. Fuckin stupid. Never did anything crazy and never will. I always knew the really hard stuff wasn't worth it. Like alcohol, I think of smoking weed, or doing it more often. I've done it a few times in the last three years or so, but had a good long time when I didn't smoke at all. Some two years I think. Basically college. Most of my peers were high or drunk while I was at home reading Orwell books and drinking tea and writing prose. Weird. My best friend in high school put being high on weed so succinctly that I have yet to find a better description. He said when you're high everything is a mission. It's so true. That's why it's so hard to do more than one thing at a time. No multi-tasking while high. There's no way you can keep track. I think that's why I don't smoke so much anymore. I don't need to be on a mission. It's not relaxing. Playing guitar or reading is enough. I really am an old man. Shit. I really have to be in the right state of mind and place to get high. And I don't hang out with people who smoke anyway. They mostly get drunk, and some complain about pot smokers and how bad weed is. Oh the irony. Indeed.
The question I come back to in many parts of my life and this one in particular is “how will this or does this make my life any better? Will it be better if I do it? What do I gain, or what can I lose?” I lose money, a soft bed, and maybe self-respect. That said, and for some reason I think of Cody laughing at me, I will drink again, that's for certain. But who knows when or why, but that'll be a funny day.
Friday, August 14, 2009
of interest
I remembered something that I wrote last fall, in Nebraska I think. This is it.
I've learned to accept a lot of things in and about my life. I know that I cannot change most things. I can only change how I look at things. I accept how great and awful things can be. It's hard and frustrating and heartbreaking. this said, there is one thing that I cannot accept: that I am alone, that I have to be, that I was born to be. There are many people who I share commonalities with, people who I am like. there just seems to be something missing. One part of me that's not in them. Soul hunger. Can I give that part of myself to someone else? Would they even know that's what I am doing? Regardless, there comes a point when being alone gets old. It starts with the idea that it's only temporary, that sometime soon something else will come along. Then comes the virtuosity of being alone. The joy of solitude. Oh, how glorious it is to bask in its vast palette of opportunity. Then is ambivalence, or just not having time to notice. And when you stop and breathe out, you see how at every turn you wished there was someone there. Because what is a sunset, a view, an adventure, and idea, without someone else to share it with? After a time these thins seem futile, mediocre, empty, wasted. It's difficult to describe beautiful for someone. It's easy to show them.
It was after writing this that I told myself I was going to start really living. Even if it hurt, or didn't make any sense. I think it's working.
I've learned to accept a lot of things in and about my life. I know that I cannot change most things. I can only change how I look at things. I accept how great and awful things can be. It's hard and frustrating and heartbreaking. this said, there is one thing that I cannot accept: that I am alone, that I have to be, that I was born to be. There are many people who I share commonalities with, people who I am like. there just seems to be something missing. One part of me that's not in them. Soul hunger. Can I give that part of myself to someone else? Would they even know that's what I am doing? Regardless, there comes a point when being alone gets old. It starts with the idea that it's only temporary, that sometime soon something else will come along. Then comes the virtuosity of being alone. The joy of solitude. Oh, how glorious it is to bask in its vast palette of opportunity. Then is ambivalence, or just not having time to notice. And when you stop and breathe out, you see how at every turn you wished there was someone there. Because what is a sunset, a view, an adventure, and idea, without someone else to share it with? After a time these thins seem futile, mediocre, empty, wasted. It's difficult to describe beautiful for someone. It's easy to show them.
It was after writing this that I told myself I was going to start really living. Even if it hurt, or didn't make any sense. I think it's working.
Monday, July 27, 2009
It's hard enough
I recently brought up my “things I like post” in conversation and have been thinking more about that lately, and of course science too. Going along with that I've been thinking about the idea of beauty in the world and in my life.
Much of what we do as humans (or for any other organism) is based on reproducing to create further generations. To quote the quotable Richard Dawkins “That is why we love life, love sex and love children.” True enough. There are many things that I enjoy in life that are a result of natural selection and evolution in general. For instance, I like to watch the flickers behind my house looking for food in the grass then see them fly away with their striped wing patterns and chest markings. I know that their colorization has an adaptive reason, but I do not enjoy it less because of that. I just like to watch flickers, or any other bird mostly because they're fun to watch and they have markings that are amazing either pecking around a tree or in flight. There is no reason why one should be tainted by the other. They can both be appreciated for their beauty and complexity. The other example is people. I feel that a lot of people dislike science because they feel it is sterile and heartless. Sometimes, but if you are able to appreciate how beautiful a cell or a process is then it is a joyous thing to observe. I'm an archaeologist (of sorts, I know) and I have seen a lot of beautiful pieces of pottery, architecture, and stone work. A lot of the time artifacts or sites are simply turned into data. That helps us quantify things and hopefully help us learn more. At the same time I often look at a piece of pottery with a sense of awe not only because of its age or location but also because of its beauty and the fact that I know another person made it with their own hands. It's also funny to think about aesthetics in the archaeological record. We always look at site location in terms of utilitarianism, though I have often looked at a site and though “yea, I'd build here, it's got a great view.”
The Dawkins quote really sums up what I'm try to pin down. Humans have appreciated beauty for a long time. I tend to think of more simple things in nature or human emotions. It makes sense that things like sex and sexual attraction exist. If we had no motivation to have sex and reproduce then our species would be out the door quick. That said one would be hard up to find a scientist who rejects sex and intimate relationships because they're simply evolutionary tactics to get us to make offspring. Sure that's why, but at the same time having relationships and sex are very enjoyable despite their intention (they should be anyway). People coming together and creating something positive, even if it based on evolution, isn't a bad thing. Particularly for those people. That goes for the feelings parents have for children and vise versa. It makes sense from a scientific side but also enriches our lives because humans have created this crazy thing we call culture. We've essentially created the idea of feelings and let them affect how we interact and deal with the world and one another.
I care why something is beautiful on the basis of fitness or adaptation but also care that something is beautiful when it makes me feel good to observe or be a part of it. There is no reason to let one or the other dominate all the time and restrict how one sees the world. It's easy to get lost in either one. I'll still marvel at mitochondria and feel so humbled when standing under a massive 400 year old Ponderosa pine with my arms stretched as wide as I can around it. Sometimes some things make one feel totally irrational and silly but are totally worth it.
Much of what we do as humans (or for any other organism) is based on reproducing to create further generations. To quote the quotable Richard Dawkins “That is why we love life, love sex and love children.” True enough. There are many things that I enjoy in life that are a result of natural selection and evolution in general. For instance, I like to watch the flickers behind my house looking for food in the grass then see them fly away with their striped wing patterns and chest markings. I know that their colorization has an adaptive reason, but I do not enjoy it less because of that. I just like to watch flickers, or any other bird mostly because they're fun to watch and they have markings that are amazing either pecking around a tree or in flight. There is no reason why one should be tainted by the other. They can both be appreciated for their beauty and complexity. The other example is people. I feel that a lot of people dislike science because they feel it is sterile and heartless. Sometimes, but if you are able to appreciate how beautiful a cell or a process is then it is a joyous thing to observe. I'm an archaeologist (of sorts, I know) and I have seen a lot of beautiful pieces of pottery, architecture, and stone work. A lot of the time artifacts or sites are simply turned into data. That helps us quantify things and hopefully help us learn more. At the same time I often look at a piece of pottery with a sense of awe not only because of its age or location but also because of its beauty and the fact that I know another person made it with their own hands. It's also funny to think about aesthetics in the archaeological record. We always look at site location in terms of utilitarianism, though I have often looked at a site and though “yea, I'd build here, it's got a great view.”
The Dawkins quote really sums up what I'm try to pin down. Humans have appreciated beauty for a long time. I tend to think of more simple things in nature or human emotions. It makes sense that things like sex and sexual attraction exist. If we had no motivation to have sex and reproduce then our species would be out the door quick. That said one would be hard up to find a scientist who rejects sex and intimate relationships because they're simply evolutionary tactics to get us to make offspring. Sure that's why, but at the same time having relationships and sex are very enjoyable despite their intention (they should be anyway). People coming together and creating something positive, even if it based on evolution, isn't a bad thing. Particularly for those people. That goes for the feelings parents have for children and vise versa. It makes sense from a scientific side but also enriches our lives because humans have created this crazy thing we call culture. We've essentially created the idea of feelings and let them affect how we interact and deal with the world and one another.
I care why something is beautiful on the basis of fitness or adaptation but also care that something is beautiful when it makes me feel good to observe or be a part of it. There is no reason to let one or the other dominate all the time and restrict how one sees the world. It's easy to get lost in either one. I'll still marvel at mitochondria and feel so humbled when standing under a massive 400 year old Ponderosa pine with my arms stretched as wide as I can around it. Sometimes some things make one feel totally irrational and silly but are totally worth it.
Friday, June 26, 2009
and good
The future is very close, well that's how I feel anyway. Things are coming together as they often do in my mind. This time, though, I am being somewhat reasonable and confident. With fire season as slow as it is I have been able to examine things that would otherwise go un-thought-about. It's almost a good thing that I'm not making hundreds of dollars a day for weeks on end. Almost. I have been noticing things that a year ago I did not. Even when we have been on fires I have found myself enjoying the green of the flora, the breeze through the pines (best sound in the world), the birds fleeing the fire (how morbid) or just swooping around through the tree tops, the smells of a long awaited summer. I keep getting reminded of my childhood summers. The feelings of a carefree existence. It's so odd. I have one of the most physically brutal jobs I will ever have, and yet I have time to feel. I'm not mindless. I see more to the woods than how it should burn and how much my next paycheck will be. It's odd, wonderful. I have come to a point of caring. Not caring about some things, and caring more about others. I do suppose that this could find me in a bad situation if I am not vigilant at a time when I need to be. Though, with my insane infatuation with the fact that the woods burns with some frequency, I find it hard to believe that I'll be caught too off guard by the cunning mistress that the superintendent warns us is most capable of lulling us into complacency. I'll survive, I'd better dammit.
So anyway, the future. It's so reasonable and accomplishable. Things are lining up because I have lined them up, and if all the forces I cannot control keep cool most things should be great. The one thing that really energizes me is the strong possibility that I'll be able to leave the country for a while, and not alone. A lifelong goal so close, so close.
I can't say I've had a better two days off. It must be the book that I'm reading.
I am struggling with the feelings that I am having about this job. It's cool and fun and it pays well, but I want it to be over as soon as possible. I still have a good four months left. It'll be long in some ways I'm sure and short in others. The whole inevitable future thing walks beside me through each day, and I realize that where I am now is not my future. I am feeling more confident in myself and about my abilities as a person. I hope to be put in a leadership position this year for a while. I know that I can lead people, I just need more fire knowledge. There are people whom with I work that are in no position to be in the positions that they hold. I feel that if I show my skills as a leader their lack of abilities will come out. That sounds bad. It is, but it's different when everything your job involves could kill you very easily.
I bought some cilantro, that is also something that raises my spirits, a loaf of bread too.
Not sure what it is I just wrote, but it was fun, and good.
So anyway, the future. It's so reasonable and accomplishable. Things are lining up because I have lined them up, and if all the forces I cannot control keep cool most things should be great. The one thing that really energizes me is the strong possibility that I'll be able to leave the country for a while, and not alone. A lifelong goal so close, so close.
I can't say I've had a better two days off. It must be the book that I'm reading.
I am struggling with the feelings that I am having about this job. It's cool and fun and it pays well, but I want it to be over as soon as possible. I still have a good four months left. It'll be long in some ways I'm sure and short in others. The whole inevitable future thing walks beside me through each day, and I realize that where I am now is not my future. I am feeling more confident in myself and about my abilities as a person. I hope to be put in a leadership position this year for a while. I know that I can lead people, I just need more fire knowledge. There are people whom with I work that are in no position to be in the positions that they hold. I feel that if I show my skills as a leader their lack of abilities will come out. That sounds bad. It is, but it's different when everything your job involves could kill you very easily.
I bought some cilantro, that is also something that raises my spirits, a loaf of bread too.
Not sure what it is I just wrote, but it was fun, and good.
Monday, June 22, 2009
well
Here I am, sitting up late at night once again thinking about the past. This I often find myself doing. I suppose it's because of the lack of things to think about at the moment. The past comes to me and I often look at moments that I look at often. I think about “being over” things, but I never really am. It's pretty much impossible to be. There is a set of moments that I think about, with some frequency when in this state of contemplation. I have decided that what I feel is not regret. It's the feeling of knowing that an opportunity was lost. And was what was lost worth being where I am now? I'm not sure. Many good things have happened since, but who knows what would have happened. I realize that the opportunity lost was what I am still looking for. I guess that makes it harder, that's why it keeps me up late at night when I should be catching up on fourteen nights of lost and uneasy sleep.
Sitting here wondering about all of this makes me feel that I'm not in the right place. Be it physically or mentally. I am certainly somewhere, regardless. Too bad the somewhere is a place that I need to get out of as soon as possible. It's almost an addiction. Terrible and soothing. Mindless. I suppose that's the problem. I have nowhere to think. No time to remember me. No time for my mind to wander beyond the next twenty-four hours. My feet move constantly, but that's only life proving to me that it still exists and it's happening all the time.
The past two weeks often found me seeing where I was from a different perspective from the one that I usually find myself in. I noticed the greens of the trees, the songs of birds, the needle covered logs, the intricacies of sound, the pain in my feet. Things we get used to ignoring. I found my mind wandering to the simple. Where I wished to be. My life is really easy, at least for now. I have people thinking for me, which makes it harder to find myself after all is quiet, smoldering. There's a bad metaphor in there.
Well, anyway my glasses and my small computer makes my hands look even bigger and veiny as I type in the darkness on the verge of instant sleep.
Sitting here wondering about all of this makes me feel that I'm not in the right place. Be it physically or mentally. I am certainly somewhere, regardless. Too bad the somewhere is a place that I need to get out of as soon as possible. It's almost an addiction. Terrible and soothing. Mindless. I suppose that's the problem. I have nowhere to think. No time to remember me. No time for my mind to wander beyond the next twenty-four hours. My feet move constantly, but that's only life proving to me that it still exists and it's happening all the time.
The past two weeks often found me seeing where I was from a different perspective from the one that I usually find myself in. I noticed the greens of the trees, the songs of birds, the needle covered logs, the intricacies of sound, the pain in my feet. Things we get used to ignoring. I found my mind wandering to the simple. Where I wished to be. My life is really easy, at least for now. I have people thinking for me, which makes it harder to find myself after all is quiet, smoldering. There's a bad metaphor in there.
Well, anyway my glasses and my small computer makes my hands look even bigger and veiny as I type in the darkness on the verge of instant sleep.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Fot it
As of late I have been reading books that are well outside of my areas of study and I have therefore been exposed to new concepts and ideas that to a lot of people are quite elementary. But they really excite me. How giddy am I! Most of the ideas I have been exposed to are within the realms of physics, in which I have no background at all. These new ideas have gotten me thinking a lot about the universe and how things work and how those things came into existence.
The Heisenberg uncertainty principle of quantum mechanics says that the motion of a particle cannot be predicted with absolute certainty, and that much that happens in the universe is random (this statement is pretty much verbatim from Victor J. Stenger's God: The Failed Hypothesis). As I said a lot of this physics stuff is new but I feel I can trust scholars who write books to give me a good overview of these concepts. Being a novice I may be buying into some weird propaganda pushed by the authors but I feel with their credentials and their constant citing of sources that they are not bullshitting too badly. That aside, back to the Heisenberg uncertainty principle. One of the few things I have investigated in this field are the works of Heisenberg and Bohr. I first found out about them after seeing the made for television version of the play Copenhagen which is a semi-fictional account of Heisenberg, Bohr, and Bohr's wife. What really fascinates me with this principle is the idea of randomness. I like the idea that if the universe were to start over again that things would probably be completely different. How awesome! This theory/fact/idea/concept explains so much so easily. It also makes me feel good, good about everything. I find it freeing, oddly liberating. Stenger uses it to disprove god, or God, or gods, or Gods. But it can be used for so many different things. I feel that I am moving beyond even questioning if there is a god or anything that we would consider “supernatural”. Every point and counterpoint that I have read leads me to the conclusion that there is probably no such thing as the supernatural and therefore nothing but the universe controlling the universe. That said, because of Heisenberg's uncertainty principle nothing in and of itself is controlling the universe. The universe is not controlled. It contains processes that as far as we know are universal per say, and seem to follow several “laws”. How cool is that? The constant in the universe is change. That said, not all things change. Atoms are always atoms, but may constitute different matter. The speed of light in a vacuum is always what it is. That isn't to say that there isn't a process that contradicts these constants, but with the information and technology that we have we have no reason to think otherwise.
I think I am infatuated with science. I know exactly why. Science is good at explaining things that happen. But, and a big BUT, it is (or should) always willing to be proven otherwise. As we say in archaeology (a so called soft science), we take what we find and observe, and from the data we give the best possible answer we can at that time. That is not to say we cannot be refuted or our findings reinterpreted in the future, but that (hopefully) we are doing our best with the information we have from which we can derive the best possible explanation. It is my hope as a scientist that I will always be open to being proven wrong. I think that is the best quality of a rational human being as well as any scientist trying to find the illusive thing we call the truth.
So how does randomness make me feel good? What it does is just further support what I already think about my own life. I do not have to do anything. There is nothing dictating what it is that I do. I am lucky to be alive. I choose what I want to do or not do. But because of culture and the rise of complex societies I have to stay within certain boundaries to enjoy my life. Randomness also makes me laugh at homo sapiens sapiens even more than I already do. I do not deny that in the context of this planet we are special, because we certainly are. We are the first animals (as far as we know) to develop a super sense of self and what is often defined a consciousness. That specialness aside, it is funny to see our evolution as random. There is no scientific reason for our existence. We are purposeless and meaningless within the universal context. At this I chuckle (can't you just hear it?). That is so liberating! Or at least it should be, but again culture and our specialness gets in the way. We're lucky to be here, but think of it not as in your personal situation, but in the sense that we are lucky that the universe has come together in a way that allows us to evolve and to the extent we have! It's so basic, it's wonderful. And I'm sure that's why people have a hard time coming to grips with the fact that there may be nothing more to humans than exactly what we see. We might just be naked apes with oversized sex organs know as brains. And then, and then! When you look at the essence of every process we can examine none of them require any property or intervention by en entity or substance we cannot account for. Dark matter may be an exception, but even that I starting to become less dark.
Why are we here? Are we alone in the universe? Is life worth living? Who cares? I seem to care less and less. I feel that it is not why I am here, but what I do while I am here. I figure if I can't make this world a better place, I might as well try to not make it worse. As a scientist I have to as why question all the time, and that makes sense. But why am I here? is not one of them, and I think that makes sense. That is what religion does, and them fucks everything else up in the process. I think people fear science because it doesn't quantify morality. It has no opinion one way or another. It simply presents its findings and allows one to interpret those findings. A friend of mine with whom I have these sorts of discussions with at least once a month calls science a religion and that one day the spiritual world and the scientific world will become one. Nope. Not as long as no spiritual being is needed to complete a process. The comparison is not a “same book different page” argument as much as it is a “different book different oceans”. The fact that one can explain the other with evidence that is tangible but not vise-versa is the closest one can get to trumping the other. And unlike religion or spirituality, science isn't (or shouldn't be) 100%. One should always be at the most 99%. Religion is often 100%. I really don't want to discuss religion because I want to be over it. But I never will be.
Randomness! Yes, randomness. It's just cool. I can't really describe how it makes me feel. Humbled I think. Though any of my friends would laugh at me self-labeling to such an extent. I think that when one comes to conclusions that make life a little simpler(?) it is easier to deal with other things that one has to deal with. Worries become easier to deal with when not feeling an obligation to the intangible or unbelievable. I feel that I can focus on myself as a person and my interaction with others. That may be the thing I am wost at, or have the least experience with. I have decided to change who I am, constantly. Though not sea changes so much as little pieces of me that I know need work. I feel that I am more myself than I have been in a while. I'm ok with the universe, it's the world that kills me.
Nothing has to be. There is no inevitable. Not in the human realm anyway. The sun will always come up, the moon will always wax and wain, until the earth finally fizzles away, which is hope is a beautiful moment. The sun will expand, swallow the earth, the moon and all of the planets. Then there'll be little left of what humans have done. Our legacy will be the billions of waves we have sent off into space that may someday be heard, or interpreted by something that is nothing like us. Or they will just go on forever, chasing the edge of the universe into deep time where there may be things we can never know, and may be better for it.
The Heisenberg uncertainty principle of quantum mechanics says that the motion of a particle cannot be predicted with absolute certainty, and that much that happens in the universe is random (this statement is pretty much verbatim from Victor J. Stenger's God: The Failed Hypothesis). As I said a lot of this physics stuff is new but I feel I can trust scholars who write books to give me a good overview of these concepts. Being a novice I may be buying into some weird propaganda pushed by the authors but I feel with their credentials and their constant citing of sources that they are not bullshitting too badly. That aside, back to the Heisenberg uncertainty principle. One of the few things I have investigated in this field are the works of Heisenberg and Bohr. I first found out about them after seeing the made for television version of the play Copenhagen which is a semi-fictional account of Heisenberg, Bohr, and Bohr's wife. What really fascinates me with this principle is the idea of randomness. I like the idea that if the universe were to start over again that things would probably be completely different. How awesome! This theory/fact/idea/concept explains so much so easily. It also makes me feel good, good about everything. I find it freeing, oddly liberating. Stenger uses it to disprove god, or God, or gods, or Gods. But it can be used for so many different things. I feel that I am moving beyond even questioning if there is a god or anything that we would consider “supernatural”. Every point and counterpoint that I have read leads me to the conclusion that there is probably no such thing as the supernatural and therefore nothing but the universe controlling the universe. That said, because of Heisenberg's uncertainty principle nothing in and of itself is controlling the universe. The universe is not controlled. It contains processes that as far as we know are universal per say, and seem to follow several “laws”. How cool is that? The constant in the universe is change. That said, not all things change. Atoms are always atoms, but may constitute different matter. The speed of light in a vacuum is always what it is. That isn't to say that there isn't a process that contradicts these constants, but with the information and technology that we have we have no reason to think otherwise.
I think I am infatuated with science. I know exactly why. Science is good at explaining things that happen. But, and a big BUT, it is (or should) always willing to be proven otherwise. As we say in archaeology (a so called soft science), we take what we find and observe, and from the data we give the best possible answer we can at that time. That is not to say we cannot be refuted or our findings reinterpreted in the future, but that (hopefully) we are doing our best with the information we have from which we can derive the best possible explanation. It is my hope as a scientist that I will always be open to being proven wrong. I think that is the best quality of a rational human being as well as any scientist trying to find the illusive thing we call the truth.
So how does randomness make me feel good? What it does is just further support what I already think about my own life. I do not have to do anything. There is nothing dictating what it is that I do. I am lucky to be alive. I choose what I want to do or not do. But because of culture and the rise of complex societies I have to stay within certain boundaries to enjoy my life. Randomness also makes me laugh at homo sapiens sapiens even more than I already do. I do not deny that in the context of this planet we are special, because we certainly are. We are the first animals (as far as we know) to develop a super sense of self and what is often defined a consciousness. That specialness aside, it is funny to see our evolution as random. There is no scientific reason for our existence. We are purposeless and meaningless within the universal context. At this I chuckle (can't you just hear it?). That is so liberating! Or at least it should be, but again culture and our specialness gets in the way. We're lucky to be here, but think of it not as in your personal situation, but in the sense that we are lucky that the universe has come together in a way that allows us to evolve and to the extent we have! It's so basic, it's wonderful. And I'm sure that's why people have a hard time coming to grips with the fact that there may be nothing more to humans than exactly what we see. We might just be naked apes with oversized sex organs know as brains. And then, and then! When you look at the essence of every process we can examine none of them require any property or intervention by en entity or substance we cannot account for. Dark matter may be an exception, but even that I starting to become less dark.
Why are we here? Are we alone in the universe? Is life worth living? Who cares? I seem to care less and less. I feel that it is not why I am here, but what I do while I am here. I figure if I can't make this world a better place, I might as well try to not make it worse. As a scientist I have to as why question all the time, and that makes sense. But why am I here? is not one of them, and I think that makes sense. That is what religion does, and them fucks everything else up in the process. I think people fear science because it doesn't quantify morality. It has no opinion one way or another. It simply presents its findings and allows one to interpret those findings. A friend of mine with whom I have these sorts of discussions with at least once a month calls science a religion and that one day the spiritual world and the scientific world will become one. Nope. Not as long as no spiritual being is needed to complete a process. The comparison is not a “same book different page” argument as much as it is a “different book different oceans”. The fact that one can explain the other with evidence that is tangible but not vise-versa is the closest one can get to trumping the other. And unlike religion or spirituality, science isn't (or shouldn't be) 100%. One should always be at the most 99%. Religion is often 100%. I really don't want to discuss religion because I want to be over it. But I never will be.
Randomness! Yes, randomness. It's just cool. I can't really describe how it makes me feel. Humbled I think. Though any of my friends would laugh at me self-labeling to such an extent. I think that when one comes to conclusions that make life a little simpler(?) it is easier to deal with other things that one has to deal with. Worries become easier to deal with when not feeling an obligation to the intangible or unbelievable. I feel that I can focus on myself as a person and my interaction with others. That may be the thing I am wost at, or have the least experience with. I have decided to change who I am, constantly. Though not sea changes so much as little pieces of me that I know need work. I feel that I am more myself than I have been in a while. I'm ok with the universe, it's the world that kills me.
Nothing has to be. There is no inevitable. Not in the human realm anyway. The sun will always come up, the moon will always wax and wain, until the earth finally fizzles away, which is hope is a beautiful moment. The sun will expand, swallow the earth, the moon and all of the planets. Then there'll be little left of what humans have done. Our legacy will be the billions of waves we have sent off into space that may someday be heard, or interpreted by something that is nothing like us. Or they will just go on forever, chasing the edge of the universe into deep time where there may be things we can never know, and may be better for it.
Friday, April 10, 2009
As of late I have been reading a lot of non-fiction science-based books. Lots of things to learn from very smart people who are involved in very different fields than mine. They have prompted me to have many thoughts and ideas of things to write about. One thing I find interesting is how one of the authors I have been reading a lot of often quotes literature and poetry in his works. This may be because of him being British where much of the greatest English writing has come from. I'm speaking of Richard Dawkins, but that is somewhat irrelevant. What I have been thinking of lately is the separation between science and the arts.
My first passions were both artistic. I have never been able to draw or paint or do anything of the sort. That lead me inadvertently towards music and writing. I have had music my whole life. Singing, bell choir, bassoon, bass, drums, guitar, mandolin, banjo, piano. That list is more or less chronological. I have always sung and to this day I sing all the time. I was even caught singing to myself in a very social context he other day which I found quite amusing. It is such a part of my life that I don't think about it. I also play drums a lot too. Well, with my hands on my thighs or my chest. I move my feet and toes to the beats that are only in my head. Not sure where they come from but they're there. I suppose all this music in my head is the result of listening to lots of music and combining ideas which manifest themselves in my foot tapping and humming. Besides writing and playing music I have had words on my side for a long time too. I have never found it difficult to write. It is very easy for me to get my point across in whatever context I find myself writing in. Though I do have a problem with longwindedness. I started writing stories and whatnot as soon as I could write. I won a few prizes for my writing but never did great in english classes. When I discovered poetry around age 11 my life changed. I realized that I didn't have to write in some organized fashion with punctuation. Then when I started reading Bukowski, Ginsberg, and the like everything changed. I began to be able to put down how I saw the world down on paper through abstraction. No rhyming or meter. What came out was in form and in word exactly how I felt and how I wanted to present the material, which was my mind on paper. Up through high school I knew all I wanted to do was write and play music. I often assumed that I would be a musicologist (history of musical origins) or some sort of writer. Well, that didn't work out did it? I discovered something amazing, science.
Science class during my primary education years was a pretty subject for me. Everything made sense. I really liked the scientific method and how scientists came to conclusions. Science was presented to me during those days in such basic terms that it was easy to accept and I never thought much of it. Only that I believed everything about the universe and about biology and the like. Science was never boring to me. That said I always went back to music. Orchestra was more than a class. Pretty much all of my friends were there or in band. We had a ton of fun, which I attribute mostly to my high school orchestras teacher. In us she cultivated a need to expand our musical horizons and look beyond what was on the sheet music or beyond our posture and technique. She encouraged us to listen to blues and rock music, jazz and bluegrass, funk and of course classical. She introduced us to the subversive nature of music which of course sparked many of our interests (i.e. Shostakovich). I credit her for my variant taste in music. Music became a refuge, as did the music wing of the school that was nonetheless entirely separate from the rest of the school.
I can't say I really discovered actual science until my senior year in high school. That year I went to the local technical college instead of going to my high school. My guidance counselor thought it would be best if I did that. It changed my life. That first semester I took four classes. One was philosophy in which I did poorly because I realized how absurd it all was. The one that changed everything was one that I knew nothing about, absolutely nothing, anthropology. That one class eight years ago has gotten me where I am today, for better or worse. It was then where I discovered science for real. We discussed cultural, physical, and archaeological anthropology. I was enthralled. It didn't hurt that the teacher was one of the funniest and best instructors I have ever had. Before my tenure was done at the tech school I had taken all of the anthropology courses they offered. Throughout that time I was still writing music and prose. I was in a few different hardcore bands and was heavily into metal and folk music. I was an odd one. That lead me eventually to Montana for school which then lead me to Arizona for the same. All the while I have been writing music and words. As always. This is my point I suppose. There is no reason for the arts and science to be exclusive.
There are people in both fields who see the other in an unflattering light. Artsy folks see science as removing the mystery and beauty from life, while scientists see artists as delusional fluffs obsessed with the abstract world of feelings. Thankfully there are folks who are both and can appreciate both. I think it is fun that I can play music and write songs while on an archaeological field trip. I think it is great that I can appreciate opera and a finely tuned chainsaw. I really enjoy the fact that my life transcends different parts of the (western) human experience. I can laugh at fart jokes and also have discussions on archaeological theory, often on he same day. And thank goodness. Both sides of my life can take themselves too seriously. I always like watching a friend of mine play music because of how he holds himself. He often plays very somber songs (dirges, ha!) and after he is done there is a nice bit of clapping then he lets out some hilarious comment or anecdote. Brilliance!
I like science because in it we are trying to prove ourselves wrong, more or less. I like music because we need to prove nothing. Unfortunately in both there are folks who don't believe that. Scientists who feel they cannot in anyway be wrong and musicians who spend more time trying to look good or trying to have perfect, logic defying technique and tone.
These two parts of my life balance me. When I come across an amazing archaeological site I often feel as I do when playing a song that I really like. Joy in a different place. I hope that in the future more people can be both drawn and participate in the arts and science. As Richard Dawkins and the late Carl Sagan have said, there is no reason why science cannot have as many artists as religion has had over the centuries. I hope that I am one, and will continue to be one for the rest of my life.
My first passions were both artistic. I have never been able to draw or paint or do anything of the sort. That lead me inadvertently towards music and writing. I have had music my whole life. Singing, bell choir, bassoon, bass, drums, guitar, mandolin, banjo, piano. That list is more or less chronological. I have always sung and to this day I sing all the time. I was even caught singing to myself in a very social context he other day which I found quite amusing. It is such a part of my life that I don't think about it. I also play drums a lot too. Well, with my hands on my thighs or my chest. I move my feet and toes to the beats that are only in my head. Not sure where they come from but they're there. I suppose all this music in my head is the result of listening to lots of music and combining ideas which manifest themselves in my foot tapping and humming. Besides writing and playing music I have had words on my side for a long time too. I have never found it difficult to write. It is very easy for me to get my point across in whatever context I find myself writing in. Though I do have a problem with longwindedness. I started writing stories and whatnot as soon as I could write. I won a few prizes for my writing but never did great in english classes. When I discovered poetry around age 11 my life changed. I realized that I didn't have to write in some organized fashion with punctuation. Then when I started reading Bukowski, Ginsberg, and the like everything changed. I began to be able to put down how I saw the world down on paper through abstraction. No rhyming or meter. What came out was in form and in word exactly how I felt and how I wanted to present the material, which was my mind on paper. Up through high school I knew all I wanted to do was write and play music. I often assumed that I would be a musicologist (history of musical origins) or some sort of writer. Well, that didn't work out did it? I discovered something amazing, science.
Science class during my primary education years was a pretty subject for me. Everything made sense. I really liked the scientific method and how scientists came to conclusions. Science was presented to me during those days in such basic terms that it was easy to accept and I never thought much of it. Only that I believed everything about the universe and about biology and the like. Science was never boring to me. That said I always went back to music. Orchestra was more than a class. Pretty much all of my friends were there or in band. We had a ton of fun, which I attribute mostly to my high school orchestras teacher. In us she cultivated a need to expand our musical horizons and look beyond what was on the sheet music or beyond our posture and technique. She encouraged us to listen to blues and rock music, jazz and bluegrass, funk and of course classical. She introduced us to the subversive nature of music which of course sparked many of our interests (i.e. Shostakovich). I credit her for my variant taste in music. Music became a refuge, as did the music wing of the school that was nonetheless entirely separate from the rest of the school.
I can't say I really discovered actual science until my senior year in high school. That year I went to the local technical college instead of going to my high school. My guidance counselor thought it would be best if I did that. It changed my life. That first semester I took four classes. One was philosophy in which I did poorly because I realized how absurd it all was. The one that changed everything was one that I knew nothing about, absolutely nothing, anthropology. That one class eight years ago has gotten me where I am today, for better or worse. It was then where I discovered science for real. We discussed cultural, physical, and archaeological anthropology. I was enthralled. It didn't hurt that the teacher was one of the funniest and best instructors I have ever had. Before my tenure was done at the tech school I had taken all of the anthropology courses they offered. Throughout that time I was still writing music and prose. I was in a few different hardcore bands and was heavily into metal and folk music. I was an odd one. That lead me eventually to Montana for school which then lead me to Arizona for the same. All the while I have been writing music and words. As always. This is my point I suppose. There is no reason for the arts and science to be exclusive.
There are people in both fields who see the other in an unflattering light. Artsy folks see science as removing the mystery and beauty from life, while scientists see artists as delusional fluffs obsessed with the abstract world of feelings. Thankfully there are folks who are both and can appreciate both. I think it is fun that I can play music and write songs while on an archaeological field trip. I think it is great that I can appreciate opera and a finely tuned chainsaw. I really enjoy the fact that my life transcends different parts of the (western) human experience. I can laugh at fart jokes and also have discussions on archaeological theory, often on he same day. And thank goodness. Both sides of my life can take themselves too seriously. I always like watching a friend of mine play music because of how he holds himself. He often plays very somber songs (dirges, ha!) and after he is done there is a nice bit of clapping then he lets out some hilarious comment or anecdote. Brilliance!
I like science because in it we are trying to prove ourselves wrong, more or less. I like music because we need to prove nothing. Unfortunately in both there are folks who don't believe that. Scientists who feel they cannot in anyway be wrong and musicians who spend more time trying to look good or trying to have perfect, logic defying technique and tone.
These two parts of my life balance me. When I come across an amazing archaeological site I often feel as I do when playing a song that I really like. Joy in a different place. I hope that in the future more people can be both drawn and participate in the arts and science. As Richard Dawkins and the late Carl Sagan have said, there is no reason why science cannot have as many artists as religion has had over the centuries. I hope that I am one, and will continue to be one for the rest of my life.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
viva
To say the least, I listen to a lot of NPR. Again, to say the least there is an immense East Coast bias and a tendency towards the Los Angeles area. As of late almost every story on Morning Edition, All Things Considered, The Diane Reem Show, and every other show is of course related somehow to the economy. With a sarcastically solemn tone I like to use the phrase, “Well, in these economic times...” It's very necessary to preface every statement with it. Just like “well, since September 11th it just hasn't been the same.” As a society we need these temporal markers every once in a while to gauge our situation and present and excusable excuse to justify wherever it is we are. I do have a point.
For a lot of people right now is a hard time. But, that is true everyday in every time somewhere. All in all things aren't that bad. I'm lucky that I have a job that allows me to make a lot of money in a short amount of time and pretty much have job security. What I am trying to get at is the way people are reacting to the economic situation. I have a few points and will expand on them herein.
The first issue I want to examine is the reactions I have heard on the radio from people affected, be it rich business people or now poor, unemployed people. The one theme that pervades in the idea that the apparent economic stability and prosperity would last forever and the fact that is hasn't just isn't fair. To be harsh and realistic, too bad. That's how it goes. If we as a world choose (or are made to believe we choose) to use a market based, capitalist, monetarily driven economy then we must expect to have times when people fail and a lot of them at that. I think it's funny how people are so shocked. This is how it goes. The system that we take part in cannot function without failing and would do so even more if we didn't have a majority of poor, struggling people who are the gears that run the machine. The machine that destroys their lives and worlds. There in a pervasive illusion that in the United States people have the choice to succeed and to be successful, in a market economy. If not choice, then a right. This is the fabrication of the so-called “American dream”, which is still hard to define and probably not as desirable as most people want to believe. This attitude among the “working” class is spread by those in power (corporation, government, and their armies of cronies) so that the people work harder to achieve a goal which isn't really attainable. This leads me to my next point.
Living where I do right now gives me a good chance to look at how a different part of the population of this country lives. They're group number 1 from a previous post. 100% republican most likely and they like machines. Pretty simple pigeonholing. I was talking to a friend of mine the other day about these folks. He also lives in an area where nuevo Western mountain hippies and rednecks co-exist. He was explaining to me how now the rednecks (as he labels all of them) are having to sell their toys, their machines. Things like four-wheelers, boats, snowmobiles, big trucks with huge lifts and tires. The kind of recreational devices that I have no use for and quite honestly loathe. We both sat laughing at all of this. Being hippies ourselves we talked about how we'd much rather walk around in the woods than shred it with the wheels of a box of metal that runs on fossil fuels. (I must caveat this in saying that this topic applies to more than just the so-called rednecks, I am simply using them as an area specific example. I'm sure people of like nature exist from Colorado, to Ohio, to Florida and Maine.) As for a lot of people these machines represent more than just recreation or a hobby, but a status symbol. The big truck think is huge down here. They're totally inefficient and really don't have any use. They're mostly driven on-road and are to big to take on many public land roads. In this economy, eh hem, there are folks selling their four-wheelers and those losing their whole life savings because of bad investing. An interesting dichotomy. Both groups share the same characteristics. They both came across money and decided to take risks and to enhance their social standing by boosting themselves with tangible and visible indicators of their success. Neither group was very smart. They both possessed the illusion that the goods times would last forever. I remember listening to NPR quite a few years ago and hearing some “expert” say something to the effect of “There is no housing bubble, therefore it can't collapse.” HA! Good stuff. I drove past a house yesterday not too far from where I live. A typical example of a house around here. Several trucks in the front and a fence (everyone has a fence). The garage door was open. There is no way you could even walk through the garage. Full of stuff. Above all people value stuff. Or as a good friend of mine says when mocking the name of a store “Country Shit You Don't Need”. So true my friend. One of the issues I hear discussed all the time in the media is the fact that in these economic times people aren't spending money like they were. Oh well. Is that a bad thing? To people who like capitalism and who make money off of people who buy lots of shit, yea it is. All I want to do is have less shit. Our economy and society needs more fiber, to get rid of all the shit. Just because you have money doesn't necessarily mean you need to spend it.
This is a segue.
Another thing I laugh at is how people talk about “cutting back” on expenses. It must be the NPR bias or the fact that I don't live like most Americans, but the stuff they're talking about is still much more excessive than how I live. Or they do things that I have been doing for a long time. I hear often about people not going out to movies or buying cheaper groceries or driving less. Well yeah, of course. I and lots of people I know (and many I don't I'm sure) live like that. It's how we survive. I always try to figure out how to get something fro free or very cheap before I spend any money. A good example is the library. Hell, I use that place all the time. I never buy a book (less shit) or rent a movie. It's silly to me to do either of these things when I have access to a library. Before I had my own computer I went to the library and used the free ones there. And now that I do have my own computer I try to find free wireless wherever I go. Living on the cheap and getting stuff for free is how I have learned to survive and I shake my head when I hear people not doing the things they did before which are all in all superfluous, and the doing some of the things I always do. Living simply is great. Or as simple as one can. I try to be simple but it isn't easy. I still have a car and a few bikes and a bunch of shit I don't need. When I hear what people are doing to cope with these economic times I laugh. “All the things we don't do now that we used to, to save money.” There is nothing wrong with not having a ton of shit and not spending money frivolously. It's good that people are canceling their cable and not going out to eat so much. A lot of people have families who they could spend more time with. Making meals together, doing activities that only involve other people, examining what's important. So much of what we do is total bullshit and it is funny that some people (in NPR land) are starting to see that.
This morning I heard a news article made by a woman who moved with her husband to LA (hell on earth). They ended up having a baby (unexpectedly) and her husband couldn't find a job. Her parents invited them back home where they could live in the woods and live a simple life with a garden and the possibility of jobs that would at least support and very modest lifestyle. She made it sound like such a huge sacrifice and a struggle. I find this odd because if I was in their situation I would be gone back home. I'd be out there planting vegetables, chopping wood and going to my low paying job. It's odd how their idea of a horrible sacrifice is how lots of folks would like to and do live. I guess people aren't used to providing for themselves. Personally I have chosen a path and live in a place that isn't conducive to living such a lifestyle. That isn't to say that I wouldn't like to be there someday. The idea of a young married couple struggling to make it has always had a sort of romantic appeal to me. I think it is because that's how my parents were before my sister and I were born. My dad was a school teacher and my mom worked at a five and dime in southwestern Iowa for a few years. All they had was each other. I hope that these economic times make people realize that what matters is each other. It shouldn't take a drained bank account, a lost job, or relocation to realize this, but if it does then all the better. Viva la recession!
For a lot of people right now is a hard time. But, that is true everyday in every time somewhere. All in all things aren't that bad. I'm lucky that I have a job that allows me to make a lot of money in a short amount of time and pretty much have job security. What I am trying to get at is the way people are reacting to the economic situation. I have a few points and will expand on them herein.
The first issue I want to examine is the reactions I have heard on the radio from people affected, be it rich business people or now poor, unemployed people. The one theme that pervades in the idea that the apparent economic stability and prosperity would last forever and the fact that is hasn't just isn't fair. To be harsh and realistic, too bad. That's how it goes. If we as a world choose (or are made to believe we choose) to use a market based, capitalist, monetarily driven economy then we must expect to have times when people fail and a lot of them at that. I think it's funny how people are so shocked. This is how it goes. The system that we take part in cannot function without failing and would do so even more if we didn't have a majority of poor, struggling people who are the gears that run the machine. The machine that destroys their lives and worlds. There in a pervasive illusion that in the United States people have the choice to succeed and to be successful, in a market economy. If not choice, then a right. This is the fabrication of the so-called “American dream”, which is still hard to define and probably not as desirable as most people want to believe. This attitude among the “working” class is spread by those in power (corporation, government, and their armies of cronies) so that the people work harder to achieve a goal which isn't really attainable. This leads me to my next point.
Living where I do right now gives me a good chance to look at how a different part of the population of this country lives. They're group number 1 from a previous post. 100% republican most likely and they like machines. Pretty simple pigeonholing. I was talking to a friend of mine the other day about these folks. He also lives in an area where nuevo Western mountain hippies and rednecks co-exist. He was explaining to me how now the rednecks (as he labels all of them) are having to sell their toys, their machines. Things like four-wheelers, boats, snowmobiles, big trucks with huge lifts and tires. The kind of recreational devices that I have no use for and quite honestly loathe. We both sat laughing at all of this. Being hippies ourselves we talked about how we'd much rather walk around in the woods than shred it with the wheels of a box of metal that runs on fossil fuels. (I must caveat this in saying that this topic applies to more than just the so-called rednecks, I am simply using them as an area specific example. I'm sure people of like nature exist from Colorado, to Ohio, to Florida and Maine.) As for a lot of people these machines represent more than just recreation or a hobby, but a status symbol. The big truck think is huge down here. They're totally inefficient and really don't have any use. They're mostly driven on-road and are to big to take on many public land roads. In this economy, eh hem, there are folks selling their four-wheelers and those losing their whole life savings because of bad investing. An interesting dichotomy. Both groups share the same characteristics. They both came across money and decided to take risks and to enhance their social standing by boosting themselves with tangible and visible indicators of their success. Neither group was very smart. They both possessed the illusion that the goods times would last forever. I remember listening to NPR quite a few years ago and hearing some “expert” say something to the effect of “There is no housing bubble, therefore it can't collapse.” HA! Good stuff. I drove past a house yesterday not too far from where I live. A typical example of a house around here. Several trucks in the front and a fence (everyone has a fence). The garage door was open. There is no way you could even walk through the garage. Full of stuff. Above all people value stuff. Or as a good friend of mine says when mocking the name of a store “Country Shit You Don't Need”. So true my friend. One of the issues I hear discussed all the time in the media is the fact that in these economic times people aren't spending money like they were. Oh well. Is that a bad thing? To people who like capitalism and who make money off of people who buy lots of shit, yea it is. All I want to do is have less shit. Our economy and society needs more fiber, to get rid of all the shit. Just because you have money doesn't necessarily mean you need to spend it.
This is a segue.
Another thing I laugh at is how people talk about “cutting back” on expenses. It must be the NPR bias or the fact that I don't live like most Americans, but the stuff they're talking about is still much more excessive than how I live. Or they do things that I have been doing for a long time. I hear often about people not going out to movies or buying cheaper groceries or driving less. Well yeah, of course. I and lots of people I know (and many I don't I'm sure) live like that. It's how we survive. I always try to figure out how to get something fro free or very cheap before I spend any money. A good example is the library. Hell, I use that place all the time. I never buy a book (less shit) or rent a movie. It's silly to me to do either of these things when I have access to a library. Before I had my own computer I went to the library and used the free ones there. And now that I do have my own computer I try to find free wireless wherever I go. Living on the cheap and getting stuff for free is how I have learned to survive and I shake my head when I hear people not doing the things they did before which are all in all superfluous, and the doing some of the things I always do. Living simply is great. Or as simple as one can. I try to be simple but it isn't easy. I still have a car and a few bikes and a bunch of shit I don't need. When I hear what people are doing to cope with these economic times I laugh. “All the things we don't do now that we used to, to save money.” There is nothing wrong with not having a ton of shit and not spending money frivolously. It's good that people are canceling their cable and not going out to eat so much. A lot of people have families who they could spend more time with. Making meals together, doing activities that only involve other people, examining what's important. So much of what we do is total bullshit and it is funny that some people (in NPR land) are starting to see that.
This morning I heard a news article made by a woman who moved with her husband to LA (hell on earth). They ended up having a baby (unexpectedly) and her husband couldn't find a job. Her parents invited them back home where they could live in the woods and live a simple life with a garden and the possibility of jobs that would at least support and very modest lifestyle. She made it sound like such a huge sacrifice and a struggle. I find this odd because if I was in their situation I would be gone back home. I'd be out there planting vegetables, chopping wood and going to my low paying job. It's odd how their idea of a horrible sacrifice is how lots of folks would like to and do live. I guess people aren't used to providing for themselves. Personally I have chosen a path and live in a place that isn't conducive to living such a lifestyle. That isn't to say that I wouldn't like to be there someday. The idea of a young married couple struggling to make it has always had a sort of romantic appeal to me. I think it is because that's how my parents were before my sister and I were born. My dad was a school teacher and my mom worked at a five and dime in southwestern Iowa for a few years. All they had was each other. I hope that these economic times make people realize that what matters is each other. It shouldn't take a drained bank account, a lost job, or relocation to realize this, but if it does then all the better. Viva la recession!
Saturday, March 14, 2009
I wrote recently:
The only thing I feel
is that I feel
I can't feel anything
Soft wind through the window
that's how I know you're here
but I guess that's kind of strange
when you're nothing
Can't get much more self-loathing and depressing than that. Might make a good song one of these days. I hate how these posts of late have been more like diary entries but it's what's been on my mind as of late. Something I said to a friend this week made me think of where I am now and of course where I have been. I said “It's the people that make the place.” I do suppose that is why this place I am at now isn't so great. No people. Not enough anyway. I think back not to the best times per say but the times when I felt I was living life in a way that provided me a sense of purpose and belonging. Certainly the good times are the best to think of, but also the bad times and the times that were just ok. It was always nice being able to call someone up after work and knowing we'd do something. It doesn't matter what. Had another dream with the girl in it, the one I saw for the longest time. I thought about her some more and it was strange for me to wrap my mind around the fact that at one time we did things together that people in our situation did. I feel that I am so far from any feeling like that it seems amazing that it is even possible and that I haven't forgotten fully how it is to feel. One likes to think that forgetting is easy or a curse. But I can still remember. There is a place in my memory that holds on to all of those moments and sometimes I am back there. Late nights driving home with a cigarette and the windows down. Or hating myself for having feelings that make me human. Or saying things that wouldn't make things easier. I thought of how there were things that we never said to one another. A set of three words comes to mind. Never once. Never even mentioned the word. We knew. That made it easier, I guess. I still hold onto that. We had such an immense understanding it was odd. We were two people who always held each other at somewhat of a distance. I do that to everyone. If I look at my life now I can trace a lot of what I have done back to her. I have done things to prove to myself that I don't need her and ever thinking “if she could only see me now.' Yeah, that'd show her. What? I guess that I've become a different person but not a better one. But I am a better one. Change has done me good. I have found places that help define me now. I have met people that I would never have had I stayed stagnant. I am glad in a lot of ways to be where I am, but also unsatisfied. That, I feel, I will always be. I only have everyday of my life to make it better. I need to start believing that and never stop living. I have been trying to do things slower, make my life slower. I feel that I miss a lot. I try to make my mind slower too. To think about things more and react after I have thought about something long enough. Just like proof reading your own paper it is had to do the damn thing with one's mind. I keep waiting for life to get better in a sudden and revelating way. It won't happen like that. It'll just sneak up on me and I'll be glad that it did. I'm glad for my life everyday. And I'm glad to be glad.
The only thing I feel
is that I feel
I can't feel anything
Soft wind through the window
that's how I know you're here
but I guess that's kind of strange
when you're nothing
Can't get much more self-loathing and depressing than that. Might make a good song one of these days. I hate how these posts of late have been more like diary entries but it's what's been on my mind as of late. Something I said to a friend this week made me think of where I am now and of course where I have been. I said “It's the people that make the place.” I do suppose that is why this place I am at now isn't so great. No people. Not enough anyway. I think back not to the best times per say but the times when I felt I was living life in a way that provided me a sense of purpose and belonging. Certainly the good times are the best to think of, but also the bad times and the times that were just ok. It was always nice being able to call someone up after work and knowing we'd do something. It doesn't matter what. Had another dream with the girl in it, the one I saw for the longest time. I thought about her some more and it was strange for me to wrap my mind around the fact that at one time we did things together that people in our situation did. I feel that I am so far from any feeling like that it seems amazing that it is even possible and that I haven't forgotten fully how it is to feel. One likes to think that forgetting is easy or a curse. But I can still remember. There is a place in my memory that holds on to all of those moments and sometimes I am back there. Late nights driving home with a cigarette and the windows down. Or hating myself for having feelings that make me human. Or saying things that wouldn't make things easier. I thought of how there were things that we never said to one another. A set of three words comes to mind. Never once. Never even mentioned the word. We knew. That made it easier, I guess. I still hold onto that. We had such an immense understanding it was odd. We were two people who always held each other at somewhat of a distance. I do that to everyone. If I look at my life now I can trace a lot of what I have done back to her. I have done things to prove to myself that I don't need her and ever thinking “if she could only see me now.' Yeah, that'd show her. What? I guess that I've become a different person but not a better one. But I am a better one. Change has done me good. I have found places that help define me now. I have met people that I would never have had I stayed stagnant. I am glad in a lot of ways to be where I am, but also unsatisfied. That, I feel, I will always be. I only have everyday of my life to make it better. I need to start believing that and never stop living. I have been trying to do things slower, make my life slower. I feel that I miss a lot. I try to make my mind slower too. To think about things more and react after I have thought about something long enough. Just like proof reading your own paper it is had to do the damn thing with one's mind. I keep waiting for life to get better in a sudden and revelating way. It won't happen like that. It'll just sneak up on me and I'll be glad that it did. I'm glad for my life everyday. And I'm glad to be glad.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
A brief note on a recent observation. I find myself getting down. Near the dumps even. But I don't seem to stay there. I am pretty good at not feeling bad for myself. I am good at realizing what I need to do to make my life a good one and I have no one to blame except myself. That's good. That makes me feel good. I mean, to be responsible for myself and know it. I'm glad I'm not too cool for school. Pants aren't tight enough.
It's so strange, how I'm living. There are a lot of things that I know I should do that would make my life better but I don't. Just weird. I think about doing them everyday. I make up excuses why I don't do them and that settles it, for that moment. So then I further dwell on the topic somewhat passively. I am under no illusion that everything I do is my own fault and that I have no one else to blame. The benefits of being alone all of the time. I don't have any friends here any more. They all moved away. It's odd. I'm sure that is why I don't like it here so much. I don't even see people on the street who I think I would like. The people I know are mostly from work and that is the thing we have in common. I'll be hanging out with them soon enough so I don't really want to right now.
In all honesty there is one thing that would make me feel the best, if someone called me because they were thinking of me and wanted to hang out. That would be great. That's the catch isn't it? There isn't anyone so they can't call and I have no one to connect with to meet people who might want to call me. Shit. I hate that I dwell on this. Pretty much all the time. I understand every angle of the problem and know what I would have to do to solve it. I just don't. It's easier to sit up late on a friday night writing on my computer unable to sleep because I wish I was out with people who I consider friends or sitting around with the girlfriend that exists only in my mind and who sometimes I feel will never be real. I must just be lazy. I don't want to try, and this is the price I pay. I think that now I can officially say that I'm lonely.
Last week I went into town at night to go to the library. On my way home I stopped at the stupid expensive grocery store. I was looking at the dates in the produce section, and as I was looking at them one of the packages fell off and slid across the floor. I said aloud “Well that didn't work out so well.” A woman around my age standing there said as she picked up the package and handed it to me “But it ended well.” I couldn't think of anything to say. I said nothing but smiled. As I was driving home in the dark a song came on my ipod that isn't a really emotional song and the lyrics are sort of tongue-in-cheek serious, but as it started to play I began to cry. Really cry. Sobbing while driving. I guess it was the melancholy melody and the fact that I felt exasperated. I then thought of the woman at the store and how I wish I had been able to say something. I wished how in some way someone would know how I feel. How worthless everyday feels sometimes even though I feel fine and can't really complain. I can't really be optimistic either. Mediocre. I cried because I wanted to feel something besides indifference and hopeless wishful thinking. I realized how much I am missing because I don't try. Because I am afraid of something. Because I have everything I want except one thing that voids everything else. Life is nothing if you have no one to share it with. I can only tell people what I have done and do. I want to be able to reminisce with people. It sounds corny but waking up alone gets old. Bed becomes an adversary. Even though it has been years since I haven't woken up alone. Not even waking up alone, doing everything alone. My only treatment is the fact that I explain how I feel and observations I make to myself. I talk to myself a lot. I always have but now, it's out of hand. I have philosophical conversations and make up jokes. Weird. I think I even do it when I'm around other people and I don't notice it. Odd.
Had a birthday the other day. I'm not one to be concerned with getting older. It just happens. This birthday was different though. I was alone. No cake, no going out to eat. Opened a box from my folks by myself. Depressing on one level, but I took a more ambivalent approach. I could have been sad about it. But I wasn't. I'm ok with being alone but frustrated too. I don't feel like there are people in this town who I can relate too. They're all transplants, like me. But unlike me, a lot of folks seem to be here for some weird reason having to do with fashions, trends, and wanting this to be more like where they are from. I often say to myself that I'm just not cool enough for this town. My pants are too loose and my clothes are just too inexpensive in general. I'm not drunk enough either. No am I or anyone I know “just sooooooo amazing.” Fuck. This shit is seriously bringing me down.
Things are easier blogged than done, so they say.
Lots of Pink Floyd and bluegrass too.
(written March 6)
In all honesty there is one thing that would make me feel the best, if someone called me because they were thinking of me and wanted to hang out. That would be great. That's the catch isn't it? There isn't anyone so they can't call and I have no one to connect with to meet people who might want to call me. Shit. I hate that I dwell on this. Pretty much all the time. I understand every angle of the problem and know what I would have to do to solve it. I just don't. It's easier to sit up late on a friday night writing on my computer unable to sleep because I wish I was out with people who I consider friends or sitting around with the girlfriend that exists only in my mind and who sometimes I feel will never be real. I must just be lazy. I don't want to try, and this is the price I pay. I think that now I can officially say that I'm lonely.
Last week I went into town at night to go to the library. On my way home I stopped at the stupid expensive grocery store. I was looking at the dates in the produce section, and as I was looking at them one of the packages fell off and slid across the floor. I said aloud “Well that didn't work out so well.” A woman around my age standing there said as she picked up the package and handed it to me “But it ended well.” I couldn't think of anything to say. I said nothing but smiled. As I was driving home in the dark a song came on my ipod that isn't a really emotional song and the lyrics are sort of tongue-in-cheek serious, but as it started to play I began to cry. Really cry. Sobbing while driving. I guess it was the melancholy melody and the fact that I felt exasperated. I then thought of the woman at the store and how I wish I had been able to say something. I wished how in some way someone would know how I feel. How worthless everyday feels sometimes even though I feel fine and can't really complain. I can't really be optimistic either. Mediocre. I cried because I wanted to feel something besides indifference and hopeless wishful thinking. I realized how much I am missing because I don't try. Because I am afraid of something. Because I have everything I want except one thing that voids everything else. Life is nothing if you have no one to share it with. I can only tell people what I have done and do. I want to be able to reminisce with people. It sounds corny but waking up alone gets old. Bed becomes an adversary. Even though it has been years since I haven't woken up alone. Not even waking up alone, doing everything alone. My only treatment is the fact that I explain how I feel and observations I make to myself. I talk to myself a lot. I always have but now, it's out of hand. I have philosophical conversations and make up jokes. Weird. I think I even do it when I'm around other people and I don't notice it. Odd.
Had a birthday the other day. I'm not one to be concerned with getting older. It just happens. This birthday was different though. I was alone. No cake, no going out to eat. Opened a box from my folks by myself. Depressing on one level, but I took a more ambivalent approach. I could have been sad about it. But I wasn't. I'm ok with being alone but frustrated too. I don't feel like there are people in this town who I can relate too. They're all transplants, like me. But unlike me, a lot of folks seem to be here for some weird reason having to do with fashions, trends, and wanting this to be more like where they are from. I often say to myself that I'm just not cool enough for this town. My pants are too loose and my clothes are just too inexpensive in general. I'm not drunk enough either. No am I or anyone I know “just sooooooo amazing.” Fuck. This shit is seriously bringing me down.
Things are easier blogged than done, so they say.
Lots of Pink Floyd and bluegrass too.
(written March 6)
Friday, February 13, 2009
km
As of late my days, and subsequently my months and years, have not been defining. Defined. I do things and get a result. So is life and the universe. I think I live pretty rationally and try to apply that sensibility to life. I do. I am getting tired of such an overwhelming feeling of an inevitable mundane existence. I think about being younger, maybe ten years ago. I was into poetry and mind altering substances. I was much more creative and impulsive. I sought out irrationality and hoped that by the time I was my current age that I would be leading a life that came from my irrational creativeness. Well that is not where my life is. I think the 14 year old me would be disappointed. The 24 year old me is disappointed. Sure, I'm doing lots of cool things and experiencing things I never thought I would, but I'm not experiencing the things I thought I would. I still want to experience those things. Somehow in heel I haven't really left the country and only recently got a passport. I feel that I am failing the me inside of me. I need to change. I have said that a lot. And I am stuck in the cycle of “I will after I've...”. I already have another one of those planned. And it kills me inside. I feel I should have done and be doing more than I have and am. I want irrationality. Reading the stuff I wrote when I was in my early teens is wild because my brain was totally wild. It's total crap for prose but it's such an adventure. The writing was the manifestation of what I wanted to do in the future. Somewhere along the line I lost my romanticism. I lost the ability to be spontaneous and embrace the moment. I have become a low-level worrier. Not about big things, but about minute bullshit that in the long run doesn't matter. I find myself reading less literature per say and more books based on facts and scientific inquiry. I surely enjoy and take a lot away from these books. But the world of fiction is one in which there is so much to get lost in and I seem to just not be able to get lost anymore. As of late I know where I am going, which makes life boring. I have to figure out how to make life more beautiful, more random.
It's funny, I have a phone that I check. No one calls me. Who would? I don't know. It is hard for me to recall what it was like for someone to call me and want to hang out. Used to be the center of a group of friends. Mostly because my house was where we played music. Regardless, I always had people calling me to do something. There was always folks stopping by at random. I was quite popular. It's so strange to think of those days when now I can't even think of anyone to call to hang out with. What it comes down to is that I haven't been in one place for long enough to establish any sort of consistent relationships. It's amazing that I have the ones that I do. I have friends, but none that live even within driving distance. I suppose I am a loner (Dotty, a rebel). I guess. I like having friends though. I just don't know many people like me. Or many people. In all honesty I may live in the wrong place. That said I am still blaming myself for a lack of social interaction. I'm reading Bukowski again. At this point in my life I can relate to him even less so than I could when I was 16. I still enjoy every word. The one thing I can relate to is the title to a book of poetry that he wrote and which I have read, You Get So Alone at Times it Just Makes Sense. I think that's what I've come to. I've gotten comfortable with being alone and am losing something with that. I want to be able to take personal time because I have been around people too much. For most people that sounds pretty crazy I imagine. Sure soon enough I will want to take a break from people, but those people I won't even like that much. I want to be able to take a break from people that I like. Isn't that a weird concept? Many great people have taken great inspiration from being alone and sumersing themselves to solitude. I have just made a way of life out of it. I think about traveling the world and even the state in which I live. One of the main reasons I don't is because I don't want to do it alone. I'm tired of sharing my thoughts with myself. I'm not good at answering and that can lea to the perpetuation of bogus and stupid thoughts getting stuck in my head. I am disconnected.
I should start playing my drums again. I haven't for years. That's crazy. It makes me terribly sad. The instrument that I excel at and I never play. How stupid. My parents tell me that one thing they wish for me is that I be able to play music with a good group of musicians. I do too. Guitar is ok. Doesn't inspire much and I'll never be very good. The drums I know I can get better at. There has to be something I can get better at.
There is a girl who lives here. I have her number. She told me that she wanted to start being friends. I was really blown over by that. She's really great. I told her when I got back into town I would call her. I haven't. As usual I'm waiting until the perfect moment. Which as far as I can tell will be never. I think about calling her everyday. I usually come up with something to the effect of “it's too late”. Too late for what? I don't know. It's not too late nor will it be. I have to start do-ing.
I will start by buying a new snare drum and looking at plane tickets to India or Spain for the fall. I will life this life dammit. I hope it fucking kills me.
It's funny, I have a phone that I check. No one calls me. Who would? I don't know. It is hard for me to recall what it was like for someone to call me and want to hang out. Used to be the center of a group of friends. Mostly because my house was where we played music. Regardless, I always had people calling me to do something. There was always folks stopping by at random. I was quite popular. It's so strange to think of those days when now I can't even think of anyone to call to hang out with. What it comes down to is that I haven't been in one place for long enough to establish any sort of consistent relationships. It's amazing that I have the ones that I do. I have friends, but none that live even within driving distance. I suppose I am a loner (Dotty, a rebel). I guess. I like having friends though. I just don't know many people like me. Or many people. In all honesty I may live in the wrong place. That said I am still blaming myself for a lack of social interaction. I'm reading Bukowski again. At this point in my life I can relate to him even less so than I could when I was 16. I still enjoy every word. The one thing I can relate to is the title to a book of poetry that he wrote and which I have read, You Get So Alone at Times it Just Makes Sense. I think that's what I've come to. I've gotten comfortable with being alone and am losing something with that. I want to be able to take personal time because I have been around people too much. For most people that sounds pretty crazy I imagine. Sure soon enough I will want to take a break from people, but those people I won't even like that much. I want to be able to take a break from people that I like. Isn't that a weird concept? Many great people have taken great inspiration from being alone and sumersing themselves to solitude. I have just made a way of life out of it. I think about traveling the world and even the state in which I live. One of the main reasons I don't is because I don't want to do it alone. I'm tired of sharing my thoughts with myself. I'm not good at answering and that can lea to the perpetuation of bogus and stupid thoughts getting stuck in my head. I am disconnected.
I should start playing my drums again. I haven't for years. That's crazy. It makes me terribly sad. The instrument that I excel at and I never play. How stupid. My parents tell me that one thing they wish for me is that I be able to play music with a good group of musicians. I do too. Guitar is ok. Doesn't inspire much and I'll never be very good. The drums I know I can get better at. There has to be something I can get better at.
There is a girl who lives here. I have her number. She told me that she wanted to start being friends. I was really blown over by that. She's really great. I told her when I got back into town I would call her. I haven't. As usual I'm waiting until the perfect moment. Which as far as I can tell will be never. I think about calling her everyday. I usually come up with something to the effect of “it's too late”. Too late for what? I don't know. It's not too late nor will it be. I have to start do-ing.
I will start by buying a new snare drum and looking at plane tickets to India or Spain for the fall. I will life this life dammit. I hope it fucking kills me.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Judgement
I live in a middle between two people. I'm stuck. Two types of people. It seems that the middle ground I inhabit is sparsely populated wherever I go.
Type one I don't come in direct personal contact with very often, though I see them everywhere. They are everywhere. They seem to not think a lot outside of what to unfreeze for dinner or the size of some type of engine. There are some things that tis type and I have in common. Certain aspects of fashion seem to transcend our differences. We both know about certain things as well. Mostly dealing with football or chainsaws. That really seems to be it though. What separates us is how we see things. They see virtue in things like earning good money, appearing tough, not taking good advise because of who said it. These people can be religious or not. They, by and large, wouldn't deny the existence of a higher power. Horse power, maybe. These people like TV too, a lot. They like things that are funny because the rest of the country (who is just like them more or less) thinks it's funny. They don't mind listening to radio stations that play more commercials than what they consider music. Drive-time talk shows are hilarious. For some, alcohol is ok. Well, as long as it is domestic. Micro-brew beer is unheard-of and doesn't taste very good anyway, and it's just so expensive anyway. The other folks don't like alcohol at all. Drugs? Yea right. These people really like going to the standard American wedding, because they're just so much fun. Prom is important for the kids. So is the mall, which is the epitome of fashion. Looking like everyone else is fine and expected. Cars are important. Mostly because they are the only form of transportation. What's the deal with public transportation and bike lanes anyway? Vacations involve something to the effect of Disneyland or Las Vegas. The illusion of quality and fancy. Women have jobs outside the home for the most part. But they are expected, and expect themselves, to do the womanly things around the house. Men just don't get it, they never will. These folks tend not to live too far from where they grew up. If they do it is still in the same state or a neighboring state. If they live further away it's because the husband got a job offer somewhere else. But they really do miss home and have license plate frames and coozies of their favorite sports teams from home. These people believe that there is an american dream and that if they try hard enough they can achieve it. These are the folks who drive too fast on rural roads and think that by buzzing me on my bike is going to prove something to me. I guess that I need to be driving a car. These people believe what the news says. Why would they lie? These people feel they are being invaded and like to victimize themselves. They think that only if people pulled themselves up by their bootstraps that their lives would be better and need to stop complaining. These people think that telling racist jokes isn't racist if you don't mean it. They have a black friend, don't worry. There people resent people like me. They think people like me ruining this country and should just go to Europe where we belong. These people look at me through the tops of their eyes when I go into gas stations, if they are unfortunate enough to catch my gaze. I'm exactly what these people don't want their children to become, even though they never talk to me.
Type two I encounter be it personally or by proxy. The most important thing about type two is that they are educated. A bachelor's degree is a bare minimum. It isn't to say that there aren't folks who aren't so educated that can't infiltrate this field. These people are a novelty and maybe be treated a such. These people like the supposed finer things in life, but strive for purity in these things. Oh, it has hydroclorofinhainype? Don't you know that causes birth defects and increases rates of thyroid cancer in over 40% of test subjects? These people get really outraged about chemicals in food, so they of course buy organic, when they can. These people don't understand the scam that is corporate organics. These people try to do the right thing, as opposed to doing the right thing. They believe that by knowing what the right thing is pretty is the same as actually doing it. These people overuse phrases like “the most amazing...” or something to the effect of “best/funniest/tastiest/beautifulest ever!” These people have at least 200 people who they call friends, though they may only see/talk to/hear from every few weeks/months/years/decades, and often can't remember their name. Gosh, isn't that weird, I mean we used to be sooo close. These people are rarely amazing themselves, they're just ok. These people like to think they're open minded. These people can tell racist jokes because they have a black friend, it's ok. These people are for the most part left of center. They like to throw around the phrase progressive without realizing where it comes from and what it can mean. These people have ironic semi-political bumper stickers on their cars. These people think that there is a huge difference between republicans and democrats. These people loathe their type one neighbors and try not to talk to them, but then say that they are accepting of everyone. These people claim to hate the consumption of fossil fuels but continue to drive everywhere in cars that aren't as fuel efficient as they think. These people are amazed that you don't know what they do about such a simple topic. Really? you still do/use/see/don't get _____. These people don't try to see from other perspectives, but they think they try to. These people really like themselves. These people have dogs and think that you should like their dog as much as they do. Don't worry, Chance really likes you, that's why he jumped up on you and barked at you so loud, get down chance don't jump, haha. Some of these people have kids. Some don't. These people hold onto things from their college days, which they recollect with a sigh. They still listen to and reference bands that were around for a few of their college years that had a following in their college town, and were so great. These people think right now is ok, but 20 years ago before ____ everything was so much better. Like everyone else these people don't really grow up. They, more than most, try to hold onto their youths in ways that involve moving their bodies and staying active. That may just constitute wearing clothes that make them look like they're ready to go running or for a mountaineering expedition. These people go to semi-dive bars, like the ones they used to frequent in their younger days, or they are still in their younger days. These people like to do all sorts of outdoor activities, or they at least have all of the gear required to do many different kinds of outdoor activities. These people like to consider themselves simple, but they also like to consider themselves above the veld. These people think people like me are interesting, but a little down-home, too rustic even. These people treat people like me with restrained respect and follow conversations like those of a child. People like these think people like me are more like type one than them, though it may be false. These people are a lot more narrow than they think.
So who am I? Who are we? We're not the middle. It's hard to say who we are. We're not on a spiritual or political journey. We don't rely on idols of any sort to get us by. We like each other because we don't have to be perfect. We're not homogeneous. That's why we are who we are. We accept our differences because we like our similarities even more. We come all parts of the world. We like to laugh, especially at ourselves. We all are able to laugh at ourselves because we are able to laugh at the silly world in which we live. We don't strive for perfection. We do what we think is right, and if what we're doing isn't right we tell each other that, but not too strongly. We don't preach. We listen to preachers and come away somewhat flabbergasted. We're not afraid of telling our secrets to groups of people. We greet one another with hugs and sarcastic insults. We're not afraid of one another. We're not too petty. We don't try to change each other, though we change each other everyday. We easily and admittedly see and admit our mistakes. We try not to get too down, though we know that getting down is another way to get up. We try not to take ourselves too seriously, and when we do we call ourselves on it. We use smiles as cures. We are able to make fun of one another freely without consequence. We mock ourselves for the enjoyment of others. We listen to one another because we know it is important. We are only a category because we have one another. That is the one thing that binds us. We are one another, in an odd way. We are full of shit, thankfully.
Type one I don't come in direct personal contact with very often, though I see them everywhere. They are everywhere. They seem to not think a lot outside of what to unfreeze for dinner or the size of some type of engine. There are some things that tis type and I have in common. Certain aspects of fashion seem to transcend our differences. We both know about certain things as well. Mostly dealing with football or chainsaws. That really seems to be it though. What separates us is how we see things. They see virtue in things like earning good money, appearing tough, not taking good advise because of who said it. These people can be religious or not. They, by and large, wouldn't deny the existence of a higher power. Horse power, maybe. These people like TV too, a lot. They like things that are funny because the rest of the country (who is just like them more or less) thinks it's funny. They don't mind listening to radio stations that play more commercials than what they consider music. Drive-time talk shows are hilarious. For some, alcohol is ok. Well, as long as it is domestic. Micro-brew beer is unheard-of and doesn't taste very good anyway, and it's just so expensive anyway. The other folks don't like alcohol at all. Drugs? Yea right. These people really like going to the standard American wedding, because they're just so much fun. Prom is important for the kids. So is the mall, which is the epitome of fashion. Looking like everyone else is fine and expected. Cars are important. Mostly because they are the only form of transportation. What's the deal with public transportation and bike lanes anyway? Vacations involve something to the effect of Disneyland or Las Vegas. The illusion of quality and fancy. Women have jobs outside the home for the most part. But they are expected, and expect themselves, to do the womanly things around the house. Men just don't get it, they never will. These folks tend not to live too far from where they grew up. If they do it is still in the same state or a neighboring state. If they live further away it's because the husband got a job offer somewhere else. But they really do miss home and have license plate frames and coozies of their favorite sports teams from home. These people believe that there is an american dream and that if they try hard enough they can achieve it. These are the folks who drive too fast on rural roads and think that by buzzing me on my bike is going to prove something to me. I guess that I need to be driving a car. These people believe what the news says. Why would they lie? These people feel they are being invaded and like to victimize themselves. They think that only if people pulled themselves up by their bootstraps that their lives would be better and need to stop complaining. These people think that telling racist jokes isn't racist if you don't mean it. They have a black friend, don't worry. There people resent people like me. They think people like me ruining this country and should just go to Europe where we belong. These people look at me through the tops of their eyes when I go into gas stations, if they are unfortunate enough to catch my gaze. I'm exactly what these people don't want their children to become, even though they never talk to me.
Type two I encounter be it personally or by proxy. The most important thing about type two is that they are educated. A bachelor's degree is a bare minimum. It isn't to say that there aren't folks who aren't so educated that can't infiltrate this field. These people are a novelty and maybe be treated a such. These people like the supposed finer things in life, but strive for purity in these things. Oh, it has hydroclorofinhainype? Don't you know that causes birth defects and increases rates of thyroid cancer in over 40% of test subjects? These people get really outraged about chemicals in food, so they of course buy organic, when they can. These people don't understand the scam that is corporate organics. These people try to do the right thing, as opposed to doing the right thing. They believe that by knowing what the right thing is pretty is the same as actually doing it. These people overuse phrases like “the most amazing...” or something to the effect of “best/funniest/tastiest/beautifulest ever!” These people have at least 200 people who they call friends, though they may only see/talk to/hear from every few weeks/months/years/decades, and often can't remember their name. Gosh, isn't that weird, I mean we used to be sooo close. These people are rarely amazing themselves, they're just ok. These people like to think they're open minded. These people can tell racist jokes because they have a black friend, it's ok. These people are for the most part left of center. They like to throw around the phrase progressive without realizing where it comes from and what it can mean. These people have ironic semi-political bumper stickers on their cars. These people think that there is a huge difference between republicans and democrats. These people loathe their type one neighbors and try not to talk to them, but then say that they are accepting of everyone. These people claim to hate the consumption of fossil fuels but continue to drive everywhere in cars that aren't as fuel efficient as they think. These people are amazed that you don't know what they do about such a simple topic. Really? you still do/use/see/don't get _____. These people don't try to see from other perspectives, but they think they try to. These people really like themselves. These people have dogs and think that you should like their dog as much as they do. Don't worry, Chance really likes you, that's why he jumped up on you and barked at you so loud, get down chance don't jump, haha. Some of these people have kids. Some don't. These people hold onto things from their college days, which they recollect with a sigh. They still listen to and reference bands that were around for a few of their college years that had a following in their college town, and were so great. These people think right now is ok, but 20 years ago before ____ everything was so much better. Like everyone else these people don't really grow up. They, more than most, try to hold onto their youths in ways that involve moving their bodies and staying active. That may just constitute wearing clothes that make them look like they're ready to go running or for a mountaineering expedition. These people go to semi-dive bars, like the ones they used to frequent in their younger days, or they are still in their younger days. These people like to do all sorts of outdoor activities, or they at least have all of the gear required to do many different kinds of outdoor activities. These people like to consider themselves simple, but they also like to consider themselves above the veld. These people think people like me are interesting, but a little down-home, too rustic even. These people treat people like me with restrained respect and follow conversations like those of a child. People like these think people like me are more like type one than them, though it may be false. These people are a lot more narrow than they think.
So who am I? Who are we? We're not the middle. It's hard to say who we are. We're not on a spiritual or political journey. We don't rely on idols of any sort to get us by. We like each other because we don't have to be perfect. We're not homogeneous. That's why we are who we are. We accept our differences because we like our similarities even more. We come all parts of the world. We like to laugh, especially at ourselves. We all are able to laugh at ourselves because we are able to laugh at the silly world in which we live. We don't strive for perfection. We do what we think is right, and if what we're doing isn't right we tell each other that, but not too strongly. We don't preach. We listen to preachers and come away somewhat flabbergasted. We're not afraid of telling our secrets to groups of people. We greet one another with hugs and sarcastic insults. We're not afraid of one another. We're not too petty. We don't try to change each other, though we change each other everyday. We easily and admittedly see and admit our mistakes. We try not to get too down, though we know that getting down is another way to get up. We try not to take ourselves too seriously, and when we do we call ourselves on it. We use smiles as cures. We are able to make fun of one another freely without consequence. We mock ourselves for the enjoyment of others. We listen to one another because we know it is important. We are only a category because we have one another. That is the one thing that binds us. We are one another, in an odd way. We are full of shit, thankfully.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Here we go again
To say the least I have been on a streak of sorts. I have been reading, watching, and thinking about religion, or god, or spirituality, but mostly something I can't seem to pinpoint. My thought process about belief is this: I believe something because I have gathered evidence from my experience and from data collected an analyzed by others and presented in a credible manner. Well that's sort of confusing isn't it? That translates to: I believe something (proven to me) until I am given overwhelming evidence against it. That's pretty scientific I think which is how I like to look at the world in general. Certainly there are things which I do not require the scientific method to prove or justify. I mainly think of this in the context of emotions, which I know can be explained but are so amazingly powerful they are hard to deny, ignore, or be broken into the parts that make them. All of this aside for now, I have been thinking about religion and how it is a part of my life.
For lack of a better term I am an atheist. Or if you want a non-theist, or non-believer, or a godless heathen headed down the broad road to hell. Ok whatever. I just don't believe that there is an omniscient force that controls everything and has a personal interest in humans. So I was raised in a religious setting which I have discussed before, and as stated is probably the most influential aspect of my life so far. So I have a dilemma, and it occurs to me not only when discussing religious belief but any kind of belief. I will use the analogy that comes to mind the most. Here goes:
I am sitting around talking with my father about belief in God, the Christian one, and I present how I feel about it. My ideas are totally opposed to his. What I believe more or less disregards the purpose of most of his life. So say him and I have been having these hypothetical conversations for a few months or a year. I present all of the information and concepts that I have as does he. We go back and forth, blah blah blah. So, we arrive at a point where we really aren't discussing it so much and we are both able to assess what has been said and examine what we believe. A little while after that I still feel pretty strongly that there is no God and I'm ok with that and my life goes one la la la. No so much for my father. Now, everyday when he goes into work he thinks about what I have been saying. The evidence that I present that there is most likely no God (which cannot be proven or disproven for that mater). Well over time it starts to eat away at him, and he starts to do some research of his own. That being actually reading what people have written or expressed, and also looked into himself for answers. After a time (who knows how long) he realizes that there is now way he can believe in God, it just doesn't make sense. That leads to a personal crisis. Is what i have been doing for most of my life a futile endeavour? Look at all the time I wasted, all the opportunities I had to turn away because of my blind allegiance to an imaginary man. So he quits his job as a minister. He has no other skills and is too old, pretty much, to start a new career. His life is in shambles. Not only that but his family will find out and many will reject him, my mother goes crazy and sinks deeper into her already deep lifetime of depression, all because of me.
That is my problem, my dilemma, be it moral or ethical or both. I would feel bad mostly because I radically changed his belief, I destroyed his foundation. I convinced him that he is wrong. I probably fear this because I would have a similar reaction if someone told me one of my deepest beliefs was completely wrong and how about them apples? I also have an obsession with the value of the individual to make choices. It's almost as if I fear being influential. Right? Or maybe I don't have enough self-confidence to realize that i have the power to change how people think. This situation will not happen, most likely. But even in another context not related to metaphysical belief I think I would feel the same. I know for a fact that I have influenced people to change their lives, though i had no such intention. I guess I feel that being someone who changes people is a bad thing. I think of the oft mention fascist and nationalist dictators of the past who influenced people on a mass scale to commit awful things against other people just like themselves. I know I will never be very influential, but that fear still haunts me. I wouldn't want someone to abandon their beliefs because of me, who am I? Not anyone special or more special than anyone else I have ever known.
There is one real life example of this scenario that I know to have actually happened. I affected someone so much that another person who I had never met knew about me and knew my name. The person who I helped in changing thought that highly of me to tell other people long after our first meeting. My influence preceded me. My first reason was a laughing "Really? Crazy" as I am known to frequently say in circumstances less interesting. I still feel odd when I think about that. Who am I? I'm influential, if I believe it or not. I may just be good with words or appealing to people on some level but I can't say I try too hard. I try to be honest and fair, and try to see things from other angles. This proves that anyone can be influential. I just hope that when I am that it creates a net positive in the world.
For lack of a better term I am an atheist. Or if you want a non-theist, or non-believer, or a godless heathen headed down the broad road to hell. Ok whatever. I just don't believe that there is an omniscient force that controls everything and has a personal interest in humans. So I was raised in a religious setting which I have discussed before, and as stated is probably the most influential aspect of my life so far. So I have a dilemma, and it occurs to me not only when discussing religious belief but any kind of belief. I will use the analogy that comes to mind the most. Here goes:
I am sitting around talking with my father about belief in God, the Christian one, and I present how I feel about it. My ideas are totally opposed to his. What I believe more or less disregards the purpose of most of his life. So say him and I have been having these hypothetical conversations for a few months or a year. I present all of the information and concepts that I have as does he. We go back and forth, blah blah blah. So, we arrive at a point where we really aren't discussing it so much and we are both able to assess what has been said and examine what we believe. A little while after that I still feel pretty strongly that there is no God and I'm ok with that and my life goes one la la la. No so much for my father. Now, everyday when he goes into work he thinks about what I have been saying. The evidence that I present that there is most likely no God (which cannot be proven or disproven for that mater). Well over time it starts to eat away at him, and he starts to do some research of his own. That being actually reading what people have written or expressed, and also looked into himself for answers. After a time (who knows how long) he realizes that there is now way he can believe in God, it just doesn't make sense. That leads to a personal crisis. Is what i have been doing for most of my life a futile endeavour? Look at all the time I wasted, all the opportunities I had to turn away because of my blind allegiance to an imaginary man. So he quits his job as a minister. He has no other skills and is too old, pretty much, to start a new career. His life is in shambles. Not only that but his family will find out and many will reject him, my mother goes crazy and sinks deeper into her already deep lifetime of depression, all because of me.
That is my problem, my dilemma, be it moral or ethical or both. I would feel bad mostly because I radically changed his belief, I destroyed his foundation. I convinced him that he is wrong. I probably fear this because I would have a similar reaction if someone told me one of my deepest beliefs was completely wrong and how about them apples? I also have an obsession with the value of the individual to make choices. It's almost as if I fear being influential. Right? Or maybe I don't have enough self-confidence to realize that i have the power to change how people think. This situation will not happen, most likely. But even in another context not related to metaphysical belief I think I would feel the same. I know for a fact that I have influenced people to change their lives, though i had no such intention. I guess I feel that being someone who changes people is a bad thing. I think of the oft mention fascist and nationalist dictators of the past who influenced people on a mass scale to commit awful things against other people just like themselves. I know I will never be very influential, but that fear still haunts me. I wouldn't want someone to abandon their beliefs because of me, who am I? Not anyone special or more special than anyone else I have ever known.
There is one real life example of this scenario that I know to have actually happened. I affected someone so much that another person who I had never met knew about me and knew my name. The person who I helped in changing thought that highly of me to tell other people long after our first meeting. My influence preceded me. My first reason was a laughing "Really? Crazy" as I am known to frequently say in circumstances less interesting. I still feel odd when I think about that. Who am I? I'm influential, if I believe it or not. I may just be good with words or appealing to people on some level but I can't say I try too hard. I try to be honest and fair, and try to see things from other angles. This proves that anyone can be influential. I just hope that when I am that it creates a net positive in the world.
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