Nature the Interrruption

As the sun begins to set in the west, again revealing its dominance over any passing storm no matter how lengthy or obnoxious, I cannot help but pay tribute to the way the sun manages to light up the cotton swab clouds with such unceasing ability and color beyond any palette.  It’s in these moments where it’s no wonder that our ancestors used to pray to the elements, for where else than fire, wind and water can we procure a sunset with little fluffy clouds.  I suppose one could look towards the properties of water and the action of photons, but that would be like asking Manet to do a paint by number, but even getting what we seek in those instances somehow really takes the joy out of “Ooohh, look at that!”
     So we’ll leave the topic of nature and begin to think of human, the most unnatural animal to ever crawl from the sea.  I’ve learned as of late that many people are failing to be unnatural however.  There is a small but dedicated group that seems hell bent on maintaining that we still have impulses that cannot and should not be repressed by drugs or therapy, a rouge faction that threatens to spend time naturally producing vitamin D instead of getting it from their daily multivitamin.  While the rest of society becomes, as we can only hope, more dependant on things they do not understand, there are some who just will not conform.  You would think that eradicating this group would be a matter on par with small pox:  difficult, but very possible.  I mean think about it:  this loose affiliation of members, I don’t even believe that they communicate except by chance (although I will say that when the do meet, they have a lot of trouble separating), yet they manage to remain functional on their own.  Society dangles money, all the best material possessions (think about how much sun you could get in your $2.5 million sun room), arm candy, celebrities, Reality TV, Crime Dramas, a cartoon for a president, and the overwhelming ability to allow technology to perform all of the functions of daily life for you, thinking included.  Just think, with enough devotion and gumption we could eventually become brains in a vat:  hooked up machines to satisfy every whim.  
Just think of the ramifications.  Without your body, you could theoretically live forever.  We would hook you up, make sure that all the right centers of the mind are functioning optimally.  Imagine a life where you are psychologically driven to succeed, where the chemicals in you r brain have been designed by our specialists to force the right decisions?  What are the right decisions?  Well, that’s up to you, we have options available.  Even you, silly defectors:  we can put you in your grassy field without all of the troubles that you currently see.  Don’t like skyscrapers?  Gone.  Spraw?  We’ll control the population of your mind so that it never gets too crowded.  It’s the best lucid dream ever.
Some however will just cannot take the hint.  You getting your information from the printed page.  You who can still make food that isn’t frozen or canned.  You who dares to think for yourself, you who lives with the primal drive to carve your own niche.  All of you who remember that there are global climate zones.  All of you who know how a light bulb works.  To all of you who have decided that self-regard and freedom of choice are the only options in living I have just one thing to say:  congratulations.  You embody the parts of life are actually worth making a habit of, and it is folks like you and sunsets like this evening’s who combined reveal the need to hold sacred to all the idea that the meaning of life may be found in the unique and beautiful way we interact with nature, and not in the way that we dominate it.

Blackberry Winter

At times absence is the best way to move forward; it is only when we are left to ourselves where we may even begin to see where we might be going. Over the last week or so, coincidently with the rise and return and sweet delicious spring, comes the recognition that there are other people out there, people to meet, people to get to know, people to have a sleepover with, people to do all (or none) of the above with. With the rise of life comes the recognition of life, old, returning, and sui generis. So much life in one place forces a pause in the minutes of a given day (in all days if one is so lucky to be afflicted with a bout of the heady simplicity that comes with warm air, barbeque on the back porch, and the general disdain for clothing that only the rise of the vernal stretch of our year can inspire).

Springtime, the season that both defies and defines description. The season where the groggy inhabitants of our globe begin to emerge back out in the world. The season where suddenly members of preferred attraction once again stand in bold and fascinating relief to the whirl and whoosh of the green swaths ubiquitously and flawlessly painted by the hand of Mother Nature herself. Springtime is the season where life has a smell, when the rain provides the medium to coax all that is renewal out of a barren, scarred rock. Spring is our reward for the battery of winter; it is the time when we again heed the call of the sunshine; it is the time when we attempt to photosynthesize, failing yet turning a healthier shade of ourselves in the process. It is the time of both young loves and old flames, the season of poets and adventure, of remembering that the meaning of life has a much to do with money and stability as oxygen does with the vacuum of space.

All bombastic expositions aside, with the arrival of spring comes also the memory of all that would like renewal yet does not have the privilege of being tied intimately and necessarily to life in theory. Especially, I’ve been struck lately by just how many old friends there are out there that we slowly lose sight of: so many truly exceptional individuals who are silently (at least to us) carving their own swaths of existence through the world. These may not even be friends that we held particularly close, yet all the people we went to school, played a sport of just generally wasted some time with, for whatever reason, had a small yet essential role in shaping who we are today.

So how is getting in touch with our past like the glorious spring? Well, as far as I can tell, both set us up to figure out just how we have and have not changed. My time runs short now, for my eyelids are slowly yet steadily dimming the boundaries of my vision, yet still the comparison needs to drawn. Our memories and our past are the seeds of our future. It sounds cheesy, but even the smallest encounters shape who I am now. from the first girl I French kissed, at a LaSalle dance in 8^th grade to Comedown by Bush to the girl who took my virginity (I will not say who, yet for those who might care she had an affinity for butterflies and getting high. No more hints) to the first person I threw a chair off a balcony with: every person, in each moment that I have been kicking about this sphere has shaped who I was, who I am, and who I shall be, and as such they deserve to be remembered, and in the best cases, we might just get the chance to restore/create anew a relationship with those we once thought far gone.

So if there is one thing that has really stood out for me as of late is the need to get in touch with those who changed us, and see where they are. I’m pretty sure the point of all this technology is to allow to do that sort of thing (or perhaps our technology is best suited to the perfect beer friendly lazy-boy), and when we get surprised, we get really surprised. For example, I learned today that a girl that I had just a wicked crush on in high school listens to a lot of the same music that I do and now has an advanced degree. Considering I want to be a professional geek for a living (a college professor, for those who don’t know the dirty secret of academics) is I really should’ve been more forward in high school. Another friend of mine recently reemerged after a long absence on the opposite side of the country I ever thought I would find her in; she is still the same girl who got me into Buddhism and my equal through and through when it comes to the “madness to live” ideal. My past reminds me how I got to where I am today, reminds me of what has and hasn’t changed over the years and always, with the rosy glow of memory, reminds me that I have been really lucky to be surrounded with such amazing people for so long. See what we can learn by turning back the clock in the springtime?

Help!

To anyone who might be sympathetic, or just bored, my soul is owned until Tues at 1 pm when I finally get done with my comps (senior thesis, in other words). It's a lonely process being academic, especially when the sun calls to me in a way in hasn't since August. Flagrant as it is, I'll take any well wishes, and espcially distraction, so feel free to give me a call, anything to help me remember that the world is composed of more than the subtleties of the non-conceptual content of experience. Thanks in advance.

P.S. Apologies for the long, long lapse in post: life is just wild, in the most boring way.

An Amigo, Ami, Vriend, Freund by any other name...

     Today is a day for friends.  I can’t really say what sparked it, but I cannot deny a tribute to all of the friends that we manage to pick up over this journey from here to, um, uh, wherever it is we actually go to depending on your beliefs.  All the types of friends:  from the drunken buddy to the profound too-bad-I-don’t-swing-that-way-or-I would-take-you-as-my-bride friend.  So a toast to you dear friends in all of the incarnations in which you appear: you are the only way in which I can and have become better than myself.
     I say better than myself because I’m a big fan of the idea that it is through our friends that we improve and grow.  In the ideal case.  Our friends are reflections of our opinions, decisions and habits, so a good friend, whatever the depth of length of the relationship, manages to help you work through those existential crises that we all go through:  whether through a kind word, getting trounced because it’s the only thing to do or just saying nothing, softly letting us know that whatever dis-ease our mind may be suffering will soon pass.
     That isn’t to say that all friends are “friends” in the sense I speak of before.  There are friends of situation:  the drinking buddy, the friend you got high with everyday, the f*ck buddy (is pretty popular); the list goes on and on.  They are the people that you go to simply to let off some steam about the world.  Whether you get along as people isn’t as important as the fact that you engage in the same potentially addictive behavior together; while I can’t say that this type of buddy is healthy, they serve and essential role in our growth.  Thanks destructive friends.
     Of course this isn’t to say that all friends fall into these categories exclusively.  As it is with most theories in action, the types mentioned are simply a broad classification of the roles that the significant others we have play in our existence.  For example I have a couple of close compadres who happen to be self-destructive and wonderfully insightful (at different times, but eh).  I also have acquaintances that I only see perhaps 3 times a year:  we have a great time together, and then poof, out of sight out of mind.  You might know who you are, and if not, well whatever.  The point is that as people we can only do so much by ourselves, and the roles our friends ideally fill are those which complete the gaps in our joy of living, whatever that means to us.
     One thing involved in friendship that I’ve always found crucial is the idea of trust.  A friend without trust is a mere acquaintance, for how can we share ourselves with someone who we don’t believe to be honest (I mean, it entails that they obviously need a little more work before they can even have friends as such:  I suggest perhaps for a bit they need a case worker).
     A friend must also fundamentally have our best interests in mind.  “Our” is vague, and intentionally so:  at worst, our friends need to have our mutual interests at heart.  A selfish friend after all doesn’t see us as friends:  more as a wall to talk at and use for personal purpose.  I would call those types contacts more than friends, and thankfully so:  what would friends be if we had to worry about being used.  It’s hard to have a good time, that’s for sure.
     There are many other types of friends as well:  those who are profound even when it’s unnecessary, those who are truly kind without a thought in their heads, our perfect matches, sports friends, topical friends:  the list goes on forever.  As long as there are things to do that require (or suggest) more than 1, our friends are crucial to us.  As long as desire a companion, it is our friends who are there.  When we feel like feeding the science club, our friends are there.
     And we are there for them.  There is something so nice about knowing that you’ve got someone’s back (It’s pretty great knowing they’ve got yours too, but that’s implied, I think):  that whatever dumb, average or brilliant thing that they do, you will be there.  A friend in trouble is an opportunity to do real good in the world.  It’s hard to say that your constant street canvassing on mercury pollution and toxic fish is doing good, yet lightening a dark mood of someone you care about: priceless.
     So to all the friends I have had, do have and will have I say: congrats.  Friendship at times can be a thankless unpaid position, but it is always rewarding.  Even friendships that have worn out their relevance, for what it’s worth, I had a lot of fun when we did, and I now wish you nothing but the best.  So call up someone you haven’t kept in the best touch with (I sure they’ll be happy to hear from you) and take another out for a drink:  either way your friends deserve unmitigated acts of kindness, so let ‘em know – we would all like a reminder that we’re a positive influence somewhere after all, and for everyone that has seen the ups and downs in, don’t they deserve at least a specially directed how do you do?
     

Hi

     You know, there are times when all the words in the world refuse to amount to anything more than exercise for the lungs.  It is then (currently, then is now), when I just want to go out and run rickshaw through the teeny tiny city that I call home.  Between the approaching warm weather (all doubters, you’re on notice) and the vast amounts of people watching that has been afforded to me, I want to get out and meet some new folks ASAP.
     What spawns this acute span of gregariocity (word?) one might ask?  Simply stated, I’m finally starting to hammer down what I miss most about college, and I cannot wait to go back.  It isn’t the party scene:  you all know I’ve worked that down to somewhat of a science in my time there.  It isn’t the lack of sleep, although at various times I have and do think that it’s for the weak.  No, I’ve figured out what it is, and….arrggh!
     What I miss is being crammed in close quarters with 1900 other people of similar age and ability.  I miss there always being someone new to meet, and somewhere new to meet them.  With each passing day, I rested content in the knowledge that I could very easily meet someone who I had not really talked to before.  Let the days work out as they did and…damn, it’s no wonder I hate sleep, there’s was a lot to do.  
     To those who don’t go to Carleton, a brief refresher.  The common Carl is the end of an odd devil’s bargain:  trading social skills for those big sexy brains we all hear so much about.  Carls are really socially inept on the whole, lost in their thoughts most of the time, and are more prone to glaze over when asked simple questions about sports or recreation.  Except if it’s esoteric:  Alaskan skydiving or ultramarathon unicycling, you could probably get quite a bit out of them then.  But before I’m lynched by current and former students alike, let me say that that is exactly what I miss.
     With each new situation, the learned people watcher notices that rules and standards start to come forth which are unique to their little slice of geography and culture.  For example, I had not gotten drunk and into an argument about quantum physics at the same party before:  and while that may not seem like a great time to many let me just say that, well, you had to be there, and yes, dimensionless particles are the fundamental units of our physics damn it!  Anyway, some of us come equipped with a natural craving to play amidst many different types of social situations, with the realization that pushing our boundaries should be the norm, not the exception.  I also believe that meeting someone new is like opening a new chapter of your life, and while it can be tough to write multiple chapters at once, I believe we all agree that the hassle is well worth the reward.
     So it is from between bouts of nostalgia and an incessant desire to plant both feet firmly in the city and shake it a little that I heed a call to action.  While I hear those who say that meeting new people is hard to do, I cannot agree especially when the payoff can be so high.  We meet literally hundreds of thousands of people in our lifetimes, whether the interaction is for but an instant or far longer, and of them any one could be the best thing that ever happened to you.  Think of the close friends that we all share.  I can say with pride that of my best friends walking the earth now, I can attribute one to reefer and Aerosmith, another to a Guy Ritchie movie and pouring rain, and I could go on, but you get the idea.  Other friends I have met over:  underage drinking (I don’t think I’m alone here), the Boston Red Sox, and my favorite, sunrise; the list goes on and on.
     I guess the point is that I really relish and miss the absurdity of getting to know someone I didn’t just 30 minutes before.  We really cannot see when we get started who the next important person to us might be, and in the meanwhile we can accumulate some fabulous stories (did I tell you that one about splitting that handle and waking up in field?  Or the one about…nah, you don’t want to know).  I’ve learned pretty much as much as I would like to know about myself, so if we end up in the same place at the same time, I look forward to some hijinks and shenanigans: we could be best friends, we may never meet again, but the stories…something for the kids (one day, much later on) when they ask “Dad what did you do for fun in your day?” To which I must reply “Well son, funny you should ask…”

A helping hand

     With the coming of spring, it also seems that the mind renews as well.  Ideas left nebulous by the freezing cold, seeded deep in a mind more bent to carry on then to prosper, now take root.  Although no one knows when those notions may blossom, with the coming of spring the question is moot:  for all the answers we need become baldly apparent somewhere in between our nearest star, improbably giving us life, and the ground beneath us, impossibly giving rise to us and all we can perceive.  At this moment, words this world fails, so I must turn to another for help:

UNDER ONE SMALL STAR

My apologies to chance for calling it necessity.
My apologies to necessity if I’m mistaken, after all.
Please, don’t be angry, happiness, that I take you as my due.
May the dead be patient with the way my memories fade.
My apologies to time for all the world I overlook each second.
My apologies to past loves for thinking that the latest is the first.
Forgive me, distant wars, for bringing flowers home.
Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger.
I apologize for my record of minutes to those who cry from the depths.
I apologize to those who wait in railway stations for being asleep today at five a.m.
Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing from time to time.
Pardon me, deserts, that I don’t rush to you bearing a spoonful of water.
And you, falcon, unchanging year after year, always in the same cage,
Your gaze always fixed on the same point in space,
Forgive me even if it turns out you were stuffed.
My apologies to the felled tree for the table’s four legs.
My apologies to the great questions for small answers
Truth, please don’t pay me much attention.
Dignity, please be magnanimous.
Bear with me, O mystery of existence, as I pluck the occasional thread from your train.
Soul, don’t take offense that I’ve only got you now and then.
My apologies to everything that I can’t be everywhere at once.
My apologies to everyone that I can’t be each woman and each man.
I know I won’t be justified as long as I live,
Since I myself stand in my own way.
Don’t bear me ill will, speech, that I borrow weighty words,
Then labor heavily so that they may seem light.
                         -----  Wistawa Symborska


Enough said.

There's a gordian knot in my throat

     The hardest thing that I have done so far is to begin to learn to let go.  Let go of the notion that time can stop for more than a moment, ease away the idea that perhaps the relationships that we have will stay in the form we desire forever.  It’s a funny feeling, knowing when some of our friendships are slipping, beginning to lay fallow from neglect or distraction, from pain and argument, or even worse, simply from the withering facet of the unceasing march of time; unable to stop the awful snowball of dissolution as it gains speed and size down the slope of our personal lives.
     At times like this it seems that life can be boiled down to little more than various roads diverging in the wood.  With each new decision we have to face, we are confronted also with which path to begin walking down.  The misfortune is that all those we hold as dear friends also have to make those same decisions as we do (at least they come to the same crossroads).  The sadness in all of this is that being their own people, those who we care about, as they make their decisions, very easily become obscured by the forest which hides us from one another.
     I wish I could stop this process.  I wish I could call out (without metaphor, but I’ll take what I can get) a halt to my dear friend; a call that rings out in the forest of our lives for pause, perhaps even for return.  I want to somehow convey to this obscure figure through the trees my appreciation of all that they are, of all that we could be.  I want to shout to all those who can hear the adoration with which I hold the times we have spent;  to frighten the birds from their boughs with the boom of my exclamation of just how dear they are to both myself and the world.  I want to raise the heads of other travelers with the sound of this person, to let them know as I do that he/she is capable of anything in this world, given the opportunity.  But most of all, I want them to know that this is coming from me, and I mean what I say.
I’ve never been a believer in impossibility.  Anything that has seemed unattainable to others to me has seemed only a more worthy goal requiring more effort.  What I never stopped to consider was the idea that perhaps other minds were more dearly attached to the notion of impossibility that I was in infinite possibility, and now that I look back, there has been a long line of people who have told me that I couldn’t succeed.  All of them I proved wrong, all but a couple select individuals in my life.  And what do I remember?  Of course I can bring to mind all of the success that I have had which flew in the face of disbelievers, but what readily comes to mind are the times when I have been run again the spectacularly painful wall of failure.
And the trouble is, it is in perception alone where failure arises.  I firmly believe that we can only fail when we come away from a situation knowing that there was something else to be done; that we gave up before we truly exhausted all of our options.  At times though, we are not the only ones who make the decisions:  especially in relationships, be they platonic or romantic, we also have to consider the notion of another mind at work in decision making.  No matter how well we think out our actions, thoughts and decisions, we are still subject to the agreement of another to make our thoughts reality.
And it is in these moments that I have learned so painfully to let go.  Regardless of my calls out, irrespective of my cries of understanding, sometimes our friends and loved ones simply don’t/cannot/refuse to hear what we are trying to say, and it is too easy to blame ourselves.  What could I have done differently?  If only I had said instead…
I could have said anything, that wouldn’t have changed a thing.  The ways to disparage ourselves is endless, but we can only do so much.  In fact, we can only do what we know and are capable of.  That is the essence, I believe, of letting go.  The knowledge that we have done all we can, and must now leave it up to fate and the perceptual abilities of our long lost (and possibly soon found) relationships.  Yes, it will be horribly painful to watch what was once intimate and pure devolve in acquaintance or worse.  Of course it is agonizing to know that we might be blamed for things we haven’t done, or even worse, for the things that we have.  Although we can always carry the good times we have had with another with us, yet there is and may always be a nagging voice in the background wondering what went wrong.  That voice has a point, yet if we are the ones wondering I now believe that answer cannot be found by us at all:  if we are to know we will find out when the our lost friend is good and ready.
I have a particular person in mind here; through I refuse to name names (I think the party involved knows however).  Suffice to say that we can only feel real loss when we lose something that we value more than ourselves, and this person was the one of the greatest occasions to ever happen to me, person, place or thing and I appreciate that with every fiber of my being. Words cannot describe how dear you will always be to me.   I have to let you go now, for I don’t think you can see me for what I am, only for what you think me to be.  Good luck though, and I’ll always be here if you ever need, but for both your good and mine, it might be time to fly solo.  Fare thee well.

Living in a real world

     The idea of artificial life has always intrigued me.  From the early cognitive discussions of Turing and his test for an acceptable artificial mind through the seminal work of Dennet (read Brainchildren, crazy stuff) to Searle’s Chinese Room Problem – I’ve been there, all because of a fascination with the power of human mind, and our attempts to essentially “create” a working mind from circuits and electricity which comes from the wall, and not the workings of our neurons and cells.
     However, I’ve as of late become aware of a more insidious form of artificial life, which after further review I will call the ‘ersatz existence’.  This is not, as the name might imply, a new type of synthetic and potentially inferior intelligence. Well perhaps in a way, but that hopefully will become clear later on, and I’ll leave you, dear reader, to draw your own conclusions. Instead, I use it to refer to a life that is lived one or more degrees away from our senses: removed from the constant, unstoppable flow of experience and all that it holds
     How might one get away from his/her own senses?  There are myriad ways to it:  all essentially based in the idea of living in fantasy.  There are different degrees of participation in this:  from someone who holds dear an axiom which represents the world as it should be rather than how it is (of the type “if I just behave this way he/she will see all that I am” or “as soon as [thing x] happens I’ll be complete/feel better, whatever) to the more obvious version of those who spend a disproportional amount of time playing the Sims, fixing their Facebook profile or making sure their Myspace is ‘just right’:  both of these individuals believe in a fantasy that does not represent and in a very real way escapes the reality in which they live, breathe, love (hopefully), and grow.  That’s not to say that thinking in how the world should be (in fact, that is the only way in which progress is made), or by spending time in the cyber space working on your little segment of the web:  hell, I am as guilty as most on both of those -- the more important thing is the escapist mentality that drives the choice of activities.
     The escapist mentality can itself take many forms:  from the druggies who get high to forget their troubles to the pill poppers who just need to smooth themselves out, to the Myspace junkies who have decided that a cyber reality is an alternative as good or better to the world outside, to all the various subtle variations in between.  The common thread is the idea of diversion until things improve (After this bender I’ll get my life together; I can make him/her love me if I try a little harder; etc.), that there is some thing (activity, person, job, timeframe) that will fill the gaps in the ersatz existence, something external that will fill the holes inside.
     Apologies for the furious dead horse beatings, but as of late I have found myself in need of a decision.  I have quite a few friends (some quite close, some recent acquaintances) who suffer from some pretty serious ersatz behaviors:  one friend spends more time on Myspace than in real conversation, a few others have some serious drug problems, two Facebook junkies who operate all communiqué through the website at the expense of a phone call, still others fill my head at every conversation with their latest quick fix for the holes they have dug and continue to dig for themselves every day, and a couple others seem to have just given up (and by the day grow more pessimistic), who let me know that the world is an empty place devoid of care and hope and joy.  
So my conundrum is as follows.  I’ve been there:  the idea that there is someone or something other than myself who is responsible for my happiness/despair; be it money, sex, drugs, rock and roll, a fresh start elsewhere, whatever.  I’ve learned that it is only ourselves who are responsible for our feelings and perceptions, and yet to learn that fact I had to make mistakes, fail, myself.  I could listen to no one until I personally understood through experience.  The trouble is, I know what agony self-doubt can be, and the ersatz option is one of the three worst routes to choose.  And having been there, I want to be available as a good influence and bearer of good times and affirmation to the interests, desires and needs of others:  it’s just so difficult to stand by while watching those I care about drag themselves through the mud.  
     I guess the only thing left is to just let it go and hope for the best.  The teachings of people far wiser than I could ever be often speak of the idea that leading by virtue and example are the only real ways to affect positive change in others, especially those who deeply suffer.  They also say many other interesting things, but I’ll leave those for another day.  Suffice to say, the most important thing I have learned in the journey so far has been the notion that all we have is this moment, so be truly happy in it, for all that it is and is not; keep that up for long enough and eventually real life will become far more appealing than any ersatz activity.  That said, I’m always here to help in any way that I can; be that a conversation, a walk, a night out, or even just the knowledge that I am available.  Now however, I’ve got some fresh air to breathe, so stay well, we’ll be in touch soon.

I quit my job today

     I quit my job today.  As the days passed, I could not help but realize my growing dependence on external objects in order to rationalize the position that I had recently accepted.  As it turns out, the only salve for working one of the few positions truly repugnant to my character is to enjoy to the fullest all of the things that selling out will entail.  As it turns out though, there is just no substitute for being happy with the contribution that I (he/she/it/they/Fido) am making in the world.
     It’s funny, because there is just an enormous amount to unpack in the acquisition and eventual termination of my brief stint working for the man.  We could start by wondering on the allure of capitalism, the passive operants which made the idea of selling things for a faceless finance corporation palatable, yet alone acceptable.  We could talk about recoil, about a life that returns to from substantial self-destruction (all those memories I don’t have, and so on) all the way to the other extreme in the name of running from our true nature.  We could expound on more benign qualities of my time there:  meeting new people, exploring a subculture that only the United States could create, perhaps even the racial implications of work by shift date (I worked second shift, and suffice to say I was the Cracker minority).  We could talk about all of those things, and perhaps in time I will, but I cannot help but notice the reason which finally snapped me out of my cube monkey insanity:  the hidden assumption.
     The hidden assumption comes to light at a crucial period not only personally but in a societal way as well.  Basically, I am talking about all of the implications of holding a given belief, especially the ones that we are not aware of on the face of things.  Take my job for example:  by working for Wells Fargo (I won’t even get into the actual job description), I was forced to hold some beliefs which twist my stomach into a knot even in retrospect.  
Like the notion that Wells Fargo is Ok.  Now I know that some of you might do your banking there, some might be just overjoyed at the idea of banking with a company with wagons, but at the end of the day, in my world, the corporation is nothing more than one which took a grievous and naive error by yours truly and mercilessly pounded him for every dollar that they possibly could (I’ll spare the details, but it was gruesome).  So to work for that corporation is to betray what I believe, for how can one truly accept working for a company which can ask to overlook obvious and insidious conflict of interest.
So aside from asking me to forgive the evil empire, we’ll talk about my reasons for sticking with it as long as I did.  The money was fantastic, I had a window cubicle, and I got to read in between calls.  Now pause.  Wait for it, wait for it, wait for what?  Exactly, those are terrible reasons to hold any sort of employ, one which forced me to hold some things as dear which just could not be thus and so.
We’ll start with money.  All those who know me well, and many who are passingly acquainted will quickly tell you that “Doing it for the $$” just isn’t in the vernacular.  As a function of being crucially poor though, I tried it.  That belief that there was a price on what I hold dear, coupled with the necessity of proving that my job “wasn’t all bad” leads to the new belief that there are things which are ok assuming that the right price is involved.  Of course my only answer is that there is never a reason to do something which is good enough to overcome what you know to be wrong.  I could reiterate it throughout the remainder, in every paragraph to come (it’s implicit) but better to italicize and assume it to be true from here on out.  So to right the idea of working for the weekend, I also had to believe that things (esp. greenbacks and the things to be purchased with them) could be even nearly as rewarding as values.  So also says the junkie as he/she trades the spirit for a fix.
A window cubicle then?  No, no, no.  Remember, watching nature a poor facsimile for being in it.  I watched the day slip away, every day from 11:30-Sundown, reasoning that “At least I’ll get to watch the day go by, it could be worse.”  I won’t even honor that idea with a treatment.
Reading on the job.  The best reason of them all, yet still insufficient in terms of the trade (you know, my soul for creature comforts).  Suffice to say I was quickly reduced to reading only WF acceptable material, and if you can imagine what that might be, suffice to say if it wasn’t financial, I couldn’t read it.  Ugh.  Even better, the reason that I couldn’t read what I would like was under the idea that if a superior walked by, we would seem unprofessional.  Right, like staring vacantly out the window could ever compare.  Also, look at the further assumption here.  Now, I have to believe that because my job allows my to slack a little, that is, get paid to do something in addition to my primary responsibilities, that it is ok.  Forget that you are learning what you have only a passing interest in.  Don’t dare remember that your output to the world rewards no one but a potentially monopolizing company.  And so forth.
So I cannot claim that I necessarily got too much of a point across, but when we move on, we need to vent, hopefully in an interesting way at least.  That aside, we need to stop thinking that the idea of a trade-off is acceptable; for every rationalization we make, we are affecting the deeper value system that lay beneath it.  Just in saying we’re doing something for, say x, y & z, we are also inevitably relegating other, probably more important ideas to a less prominent place in order to sleep better at night.  I cannot escape the notion however, that the world has evolved to a place where we might just be able to tailor the world to our needs.  So never sell yourself short, and if you must make concessions (we all need to learn to play well with each other, after all), really be aware that the ripples of consequence will travel into areas that only become clear upon deeper examination.  That said, I’ll be outside, call me if you need anything.

Staring down the night

     At times, the best way to explain is to be simple.  To all those whom I have ever handled carelessly, my deepest apologies.  To those who have been unkind to me, you are forgiven.  There are few moments which can capture the understanding of all that there is in the world, a true realization that perhaps there is more beauty and reward in each moment and in each person than we can ever hope to take in, let alone understand.  To all the moments spent wasted in worry, trapped in what might have been/could become, to all those past freedoms I give nod.

So to each moment to come, I deeply bow.  You are the opportunity to reveal all the brilliance that lay just beneath the surface of the goings on.  Each instant to come provides for the generation/continuation of a picture of a world colored with a palate of my own design and choice.

And for the only moment I can truly have, this instant here and now, I applaud.  Perhaps you will be the beginning of an idea which will change the world.  Perhaps you will be forgotten from my conscious; either way you mark an instant which can never be again:  a sui generis point which can be only the way it is and no other way.  There are no alternate realities, right and wrong, good and bad, merely differing perceptions of the same ever unfolding timeline, made propositional by the schemes we create.  

Behind the words, behind the explanation, lies the ineffable.  It has no definition, and it cannot be pinned down.  It can be sensed, and occasionally communicated, but any attempts at quantification are rejected as trite, undeserving.  I see you as you truly are, at the same time everything and once and nothing at all.

And so to you, oh world I breathe you in.  I hear your silence, I feel your presence.  From the gentle envelope of gravity to the circulation of the blood throughout me I acknowledge your existence.  And by taking you in and affirming you I affirm every moment past and future.  So a toast, to all that is and what will be, and to all that was, and shall never be again.

To all who have shared in the journey, a round of applause.  To all who will be joining me, I look forward to your acquaintance.  To those with whom I have parted, for whatever reason, I carry you with me, and you will not be forgotten.  Goodnight, and sleep well

Diacriticism

Always something new to learn, always some new lead to follow up on, inevitably something else going on behind the scenes.  It had occurred to me that perhaps there has to be a reason why we all aren’t running around living our lives as we saw fit, and the expense of all the hassle and noise that inevitably seems to accompany our lives.  Perhaps there are a few reasons, but most important now is the notion that perhaps we all still live in one way or another on paradigms and ideas that are over 100 years old.

Now I know, I know, nothing Victorian about you:  you the enlightened youth and elders of the mid Otts.  You’re savvy, prejudice free.  Well, probably not (check back when you’ve clean out your closets), but the point remains that you’ve carved out your own little niche in the world:  you know your passions and pleasures, pains and problems, and they make up the unique individual called you.  But how does one manage to express these desires, to carve freely our own path, with a damn-you-if-I-must attitude to self actualization?

I’m still dealing with that little quirk of life, but it hit me recently that perhaps we shouldn’t be so hard on ourselves.  In fact, the idea of psychological individuation (being and behaving as we are) is one that has only seated itself very recently, in terms of history.  Think for a moment about the Industrial Revolution.  Before this great leap of technology, the only one’s who actually had the leisure time to figure out who they were and what they wanted to be were the wealthy:  everyone else was toiling in the fields, breaking their respective backs merely to eek out a living for themselves and their families (not much time for yourself, eh?).  

But with the Industrial Revolution things changed some.  In fact, they changed a lot, and for the more leisurely.  Good thing right?  Not necessarily.  The industries that flourished were those which allowed the lower-middle classes to behave like the social classes above them.  Thus the beginnings of being unique came in the form of buttons and hats, teapots and lace.  They had nothing to do with ideal; rather they were a salve, differentiation on a mass scale.

Now we may turn our eyes to the United States, where this production changed slightly, with it the opportunities to individuate.  Henry Ford furthered the ability of the common folks to further behave like the rich with this assembly line idea in the early 20th century.  

This is about when the idea of the unique self really began to blossom.  Now the leisure items of the rich were available to the masses.  What to choose?  Which style do I want?  In fact, what do I want? The questions seem trivial now, yet think for second the immense freedom our ancestors must have felt having the brainpower to spend on what particular luxury item they would like to complete themselves.  Thus we were handed the ability to be ourselves, as defined by the things that we want.

But we are still removed from the idea of supreme individuality of self.  The assembly line, the advances in technology, they were all focused on the notion of copying what the more affluent had/were up to  There were more choices now, and more leisure, now more celebrities to copy style from, more affluence to aspire to, more people to be like.  We were still on the cookie-cutter mentality, even though there swiftly because many, many cookie cutters to choose from.

But I digress.  One of the hardest things in my adolescence was having the ability to differentiate between the things I own and the thoughts that I think.  It’s easy to think that the items we have define who we are.  I smoke copious amounts of ganja, I must be a hippie.  I’m in khakis, must be a yuppie.  I am then out of step is I don’t behave like the stereotypes associated with the things that I own, got to align the ideals (I never consciously thought that, but it’s at play).  And so on.  In the end, coming to grips with the jock/stoner/intellectual/artist/insert-your-preferred-description-here meant understanding that none of those labels fit:  none of the cookie cutters could even touch what I had discovered to be my preferences and desires.

So if you’re having a day where you might not feel like you are being all that you can be, take heart: it is the generation of my contemporaries and I (and the era for everyone else) in which we are permitted and able to decide our lot in the world.  The saturation of personal services, from yogalates to scientology now allows our interaction with the world to be almost exactly and only what we make of it.  So just think that perhaps, the circumstances haven’t been right, but they certainly have become so.  Throw open the windows of how you actually think, rather than how you were told to.  People are ultimately defined by what they create, and there are no rules on creation except for the limits of your own imagination.  I cannot help but think that society is in a great position to redefine itself for the better:  and it is only through our free expression that this is possible.  Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

Witting unwit

Even in the realm of people watching, I have found that there are as many ways to analyze the extent and content of human interaction as there are to read the Cantos of Ezra Pound (if you haven’t read this, give it a shot, though I warn you, it’s quite the trip).  The other day I decided to change the way I look at third party interaction and, just like realizing what the Wall actually meant or figuring out why crack dealers still live with their mothers (it stands to reason that they might be able to better, but no, no, no).

Anyway, the new lens through which I focused discourse was in terms of power.  Mind you, when I started I used a very broad form of power, that being the control that one person or idea exerts over another.  To clarify:  most of us can look at a couple, or conversation, or even our own thoughts, and see who (or which, qua our minds) carries the most force (power, hand, clout, say it as you will).  Some would call this the interplay of dominion and submission, extravert and introvert, but whatever we use; the overwhelming idea is one of precedence.

Now with precedence I have to admit subjugation (natural antonyms), and to watch these concepts in action I couldn’t help but notice an interesting phenomenon.  In all of the interactions that involved these polar ideas, I couldn’t shake the underlying notion of choice that wove its ubiquitous hands throughout the very fabric of the interaction.  All narration aside, even the most one sided interactions had an unforeseen element of intentionality.

By that I mean that the people involved in my armchair psychology were always (if unconsciously) trying to cement the place that each actor thought he/she should have.  Said another way, whether we mean to or not, in all of our interactions we attempt to prove who we think we are, rather than what we could be.

Now I know, enough on the personal responsibility thing.  But the more I see the more I believe that our lot is life is one that we choose.  Perhaps we were not held as children, perhaps we were.  Perhaps being held meant grappling with drunken family, perhaps it meant a loving embrace.  There’s a chance we were told that we would amount to nothing.  There’s an even greater chance we were told we could be anything.  But did we believe it?  Did we see our childhood affection (or lack thereof) as a sign that we were worthy (or worthless, as the case may be.

At basic, I have to say that we are in charge of not only how we perceive ourselves, and nothing more.  We have no control how others perceive us, at least not insofar as objectively changing the perceptions of others:  the only change in how we are seen is through the manifestation of how we see ourselves.  Thus if we decide to know for  ourselves that others are better than ourselves, they will be; if we believe ourselves we deserve a kind, smart, attractive unique mate with an esoteric yet undeniably appealing character we will find one.

I mean, try this one on…can something other than what we believe actually be the case?  Don’t take this one lightly; really think about what holds real weight in your ontology (things that we propose exist).  Think of the major successes our lives (we all have at least a couple, no crap from the dramatic folks):  it was from an unwavering belief in the veracity of our actions which kept us from succumbing (sadly, it only takes a little faith in failure to make that the case, but that’s a whole other can of worms).  But in the end, we did it yea?  And we wanted to take a megaphone to the nearest rooftop and let all those who thought we couldn’t do it know that their lack of faith where they could shove those ideas.

But I believe I digress.  The pith of all this is the idea that we are and only can be what we believe we are and what we will be.  Thus our lot in life is no one’s fault but our own.  Just look very carefully at the thoughts you think and how those thoughts which you believe so easily and constantly reinforce themselves though conversation and general interaction.  And for those who are confused as to why they aren’t where they though they would be I would say only that it isn’t because you are failure, but because you fail to realize that there are a million different ways to achieve the same goal:  perhaps it isn’t you, just the paradigm you are currently running on.  I would argue that so long as you live as you would like to live (you, just you, be selfish for a minute) you will succeed in the way that you want to.  If you could lead a proactive life, how would you run things?  Would you like to render the latent disparity of power and its resulting influence all together?  It isn’t a pipe dream, it’s just been forgotten amidst the sound bites and self help seminars.  Stay well, and good night.

specious communication

Sound bites and talking heads, quips and quotations, synopses and summaries, small talk and casual exchanges:  as of late I’ve been noticed the superb lack of real, full communication that our society seems to tell us is ok.  Sitting at work yesterday, I began wondering about the ways we converse, be it via email, snail mail, over the phone, face to face, and the ways that most of those aren’t conducive to getting to know someone, let alone talk about something that actually captures reality.

Said another way, I’ve noticed how little people actually listen to each other, in the sense that the listener actually tries to take in the point of what the speaker is trying to convey.  And to all those out there who like to think they are fantastic listeners, I invite you to remember the last time you empathized with someone.  Not in Hollywood sense, or the “I’ve been there” scenario; what I mean is talking with someone while assuming that my conversant is an intelligent, right individual.  

By intelligent, right individual, I mean a person whom we seek to understand.  Unless my approximation is off, in most conversation we still cling to the notion that our opinions are the ones that are actually backed in reason, while the opinions of others are in some way flawed, or misguided, or some other expression of poor design.  To get an idea of what I mean, take the first person you know that comes to mind when you think of “weird.”  Chances are this person just makes no sense, the type where you wonder if they aren’t perhaps dropped from the latest passing alien orbiter.  If the imagination doesn’t quite work, then take a good friend, or better yet, check yourself out.  That done, really try to think about what you know of them, really:  not the snap decisions or rumor or hearsay,   or what you think you think:  what do you really know of this person?  Try to understand them on their terms.

I only bring this up because I celebrated the Chinese New Year yesterday.  See in the real word, the Chinese New Year started in January, but in the corporate universe, we celebrate on a lazy Thursday to coincide with a birthday and training class “graduation” (seriously, Office Space has leaped from top 10 to top 3 as of late).  Point is, I had to mingle with my co-workers.  

Normally, I spend my days buried in a book, with breaks to talk to people on the phone.  I don’t get to chat much with my co-workers, except talk about that local sports team and other smallish chatter (although the weather remains untouched, probably because most of us stare out at the same windows with the same view; “heard its going to snow” doesn’t really matter when you can look out 8 ft windows to see for yourself).  Thursday though, we had to find someone we didn’t know, and learn about them.  So I learned that one co-worker never stops thinking about $$, ever.  She never talks to anyone, and what she told me is that when she gets home from work she goes to her computer to figure out how to make more.  I did not know this.  But what I also didn’t know, and started to become aware of, was that this was a woman who has made money her one true friend, and the thing was, she didn’t seem at all unhappy about that.  And while I would never really befriend this woman, it really has shed a whole new light on the reason why she never speaks to anyone except the customers who she beligerizes all day long.  She isn’t strange:  based upon the priorities she has her behavior is perfectly natural.  

Or another example.  I have a co-worker who is typically very quiet.  In fact, the longest conversation we have had consisted of “I heard there’s an enzyme in cheese which relaxes the mind” (I haven’t found if that is true, but in related news, milk has Vitamin D, which is also found with exposure to sunlight – go dairy).  What I found out when I finally got a real paragraph in was that she is a world traveler who actually mentors Romanian orphans.  Romanian orphans?!  No one expects Romanian orphans!

What I mean in all of this is the idea that perhaps we don’t know as much about what is going on as we would like to think.  This applies as much to misunderstandings and disagreements with our closest loved ones as it does with the examples above.  More than the words that come out of our mouths, it is the priorities behind them that carry the real meaning.  Next time ask yourself the why, as opposed to getting caught up in the what.  Because the minute you think you know what is going on, it will be proven abundantly clear to you that you don’t.

Note:  I’ve found that writing is in no way like riding a bike.  It only takes a week to really take the edge off the mind.  Now I sit, staring at the words that I have just written, and wonder if what I write will have any real relation to what I was trying to convey.  Regardless, I intend to better use language in the next couple posts, because we all have better things to do than wade our way through poorly expressed ideas.  And to everyone born in the Year of the Dog look out:  this year’s going to be wild!

The kairotic moment

     As the last of my tethers to the earth fall away, I cannot help but feel almost heavily as I lift off the ground.  The unbearable light of flight, I guess some tortured poet somewhere might say, but words, descriptions, they all sit heavily upon the ground.  As a youth I used to look skyward, but now, gently drifting farther away, I see all those below me as a fog.  A gentle, benign, yet all encompassing fog, it isn’t long before I can no longer see the people, the words, the experiences, all that I could see as the human condition; none of these have any defined boundaries any longer.  They all run together, as undulations in the effluvium:  here is a man taking advice too literally and seeing just how much better it is to “go fly a kite”, there sits two former soul mates, eating dinner in silence, with all that they have left to say effectively stopping any real connection that they still of course share…and me.
     Amidst the wonder of this new, seamless humanity that I see below, I see myself, though, that can’t be right, right?  There I am however, playing by the lake, or is that me flying the kite?  I almost want to stop my ascent, for a 12 story existential crisis is simply not what the doctor ordered, yet as my elevation grows in scope, so do does the disconnect from all that lay below.  I look around, to my trusted companion, yet I find no one.  I panic for a moment, only to remember that it is she who let loose the last of the fastenings, to unknowingly allow for the withdrawl from all that I though I knew.  Gosh is it pretty up here, who would have thought?
     I cannot relish the moment for too long though, for what washes over me is an intense sadness, one not befitting of the beautiful scene that lays spread so far below.  As I look around, expecting for the answer to leap out from behind, what exactly I don’t know, when it hits me square between the ears: nothing.  That’s what sets my head passionately a-spin, there is no one around, no one to share this beautiful moment, this moment of supreme detachment, this instant of unparalleled peace.  Stories always fall short: “you had to have been there” I heard one too often. A line I have told once too often, as I think now, clinging madly to what I see, the rushes of sound, the cold snap of the wind, the pleasant numb and rosy glow that I must be exuding:  even one ounce this twinkling slice of the time I call my life, I just want to take a snapshot and send it out as a Christmas card, a Hanukah card; damn, I want to send it for no reason.  And as I tilt suddenly askew, my question becomes not what might happen to me, but where I might be going.
     “The kairos is out there somewhere, and I can only hope I don’t lose everything that I know and love to find it.  In fact, what would I do with it when it finally comes across my path?”  Though for now I must push through these questions, there will be plenty of time to ask them when I become further removed from all that is common and safe.  And in the meanwhile, I could just swear that was a…

Introspect-reflect

I’ve never been a big one on cathartic blog posts:  in fact, I usually abhor the idea of folks sharing their personal lives in such an open forum as cyberspace.  From dating services to online self help seminars, I’ve always and firmly believed that your introspective self should stay within.

Every now and again though, I have to renege on my own ideas, especially when I cannot help but believe that someone might just benefit from the sharing of my inner ideas.  It is so easy to see the ways in which everyone is different, so easy to become a stoic, or a martyr when we believe that our pain and trauma and convolution is ours uniquely, that we are alone in an uncaring universe, that the advice of our friends and loved one cannot strike the true chord that resonates with us.

As my days roll on though, I have found that the fire that drives us out of bed in the morning, the fire that fuels our passions, our loves, our lives, is one which burns within all of humanity:  we are never alone, never unloved, unless in some way we choose it for ourselves.  Only we can be our own worst enemy, after all, and we can only get over ourselves with a bit of personal honesty.

Personal honesty.  It seems such a trivial and self-evident truth, yet we just cannot be honest with others unless we can be honest with ourselves.  This involves a lot more that merely taking account of what we think is going on inside us, it is a commitment; a commitment to reflexive translucence of the ever changing facts concerning who we are and how we feel.

My feelings on privacy prevent me from going on big rubbery one in cyberspace, yet suffice to say I’ve taken a bit of shock in the past couple of days, thus bringing this little post to life.  It’s just so easy to accept the status quo, no matter how unsatisfying it may be, in lieu of taking a look inside and realizing the necessary changes in our lives that must be made in order for us to continue to grow as people:  to move forward at all in fact, in the horizontal backwards moving escalator that is life.

Moving forward, another surprisingly difficult truism of our lives.  It’s so easy to hide behind such wit and wisdom as “Take what you like and leave the rest,” and “Don’t throw the baby out with the bath water” and even “Know thyself.”  Especially “know thyself.”  What does this really mean?  I used to think that it involved merely being aware of the multitude of angles from which we attack the decisions which shape our lives:  I believe know that it also involves making the tougher comparison of knowing who you are as contrasted with where you want to be, for knowing thyself now is only useful in the present moment, nowhere in that phrase allows for the essential characteristic of improving the condition of our lives as a living organism.  While science may live in a vacuum, we do not and necessarily cannot.

What I mean is this.  I have had, in the past 48 hours, feelings which have lain dormant for quite some time have run screaming to the surface of my psyche and which, I have to admit, threw me for quite a loop.  What I had neglected in my inventory of self (my ontology, to be more specific), was what I managed to unconcern myself with because it wasn’t a part of my life.  I’m sorry to vague, but I need to keep confidential certain info to protect the guilty and innocent alike.  It did prove however, the necessity of making harsh choices in our lives, that sometimes the baby needs to go out with the bathwater for the ultimate good of ourselves.

For the one thing we really cannot control are others, and as much as we would like to say that we know them better than they know themselves (and oftentimes, we do) we can’t force them to see what is actually going on.  To use a really beaten analogue “You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink.”  I’ve turned down quite a bit of wise advice in my day, and my own offerings often fall on deaf ears, but I understand now truly that we also need others to help see ourselves (So to all of you who stuck by while I refused to listen, my apologies, kind world).

I guess where this is driving is the more final idea that we need to be right with ourselves, and put to hope and hope alone that those we care about will come to see the truth.  I have run myself ragged over the years trying to spread glad tidings and good times to others, often at the expense of myself, and it is only now that I can see the folly in that.  A lesson taught is not a lesson learned, especially when we don’t want to hear the moral that it teaches.

So as tough as it is to say, for today I have to preach a thoroughgoing “just let go.”  To treat others with respect to what we know about them rather than what they know about themselves is to set ourselves up for suffering:  someone really cannot be held responsible for what they don’t know is there.  That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t get frustrated, (for we care about these people damn it!) but all we can do is hope that when they finally come around (if they ever do), they have enough stop playing games with themselves, and especially others.

Happiness is not difficult, but it most frequently clashes with desire.  I’m not entirely sure yet how to maintain both joy and desire (my Buddhist koans specifically believe that you cannot, but I think that’s a cop out), how to walk the razor thin line between care and disregard, how to love without the pain of our love’s missteps.  For me, a life without desire is a life not worth living, yet a life which limits happiness in any way is almost as unsatisfactory.  My life is going to make some pretty wholesale changes shortly, so all of those out there who worry that the rut that they are in is a permanent endeavor can take heart:  it really doesn’t matter who you are or what makes you suffer and long for, you are in command of your own journey.  When you can look inside and try to find every fiber of your being, past, present and future, then truly, to use another analogy, the world is your oyster.

I call shenanigans!

I would normally have more to say about a beautiful Stella Award winner but I truly believe that this is explanation enough that things have gotten out of control. This black and white mentality that either threatens to or currently is polarizing this country has led a judge to be absurd, a mentally ill woman to threaten to break talk show hosts' legs in a court of law and get away with it. Bullocks to the whole business...

Dating back to his days at NBC, before he moved to CBS in 1993, late-night talk show host David Letterman was plagued by a persistent stalker.Margaret Mary Ray became the subject of headlines and the brunt of morethan a few jokes with her activities over the course of a decade, whichincluded breaking into Letterman's Connecticut home, stealing his car andintroducing herself to a highway toll-taker as his wife.

Before she knelt in front of an oncoming train in western Colorado in1998 to end her life, she had spent 10 months in prison and 14 months ina mental institution for stalking Letterman -- and had moved on tostalking astronaut Story Musgrave.

Colleen Nestler, too, fantasizes a special connection with Letterman.In December 2005, though, that imaginary relationship soured, at least inher mind. Nestler, 59, sought a temporary restraining order, contendingthat Letterman harmed her with "bankruptcy [sic], mental cruelty andsleep deprivation" continuously since 1994, a period during which shelived in New Jersey, Brooklyn, N.Y., Camden, Maine, and finally Santa Fe,N.M.

She checked off options on a form filed in New Mexico's First JudicialDistrict Court in Santa Fe to request that the TV personality be requiredto stay "at least 3 yards away" from her; not "threaten, harm, alarm orannoy" her or her family members; not block her in public places; and not(image placeholder)phone or contact her.

She additionally requested in her own handwriting that Letterman beordered not to "Think of me, and RELEASE ME from his mental harassment &hammering" (her emphasis).

The relationship she has concocted in her mind did not involvedelusions of phone calls or encounters in the physical world. It involvesmessages she contends Letterman communicated to her in code via his showafter he moved from NBC to CBS in 1993 to host "The Late Show With DavidLetterman" -- coded messages he sent to her, she said in her courtfiling, during every single show.

Among those "messages" she claims Letterman conveyed was a proposal ofmarriage when Letterman uttered, during a teaser for his show, "Marry me,Oprah" -- referring to her by "the first of many code names," inNestler's mind, rather than referring to daytime talk show host OprahWinfrey.

In a six-page, typewritten chronology of their "relationship," which,as she relates it, began when she was married and living in Nevada,Nestler holds Letterman responsible as the "root cause" of her slide intobankruptcy. She contends Letterman used words, "jestures" and "eyeexpressions" -- and even the songs of guests on his show -- to send hermessages and respond to her, and to urge her to train as his co-host. Shefurther describes following Letterman's coded instructions, includingstaying awake through the night to watch other TV shows at his behest andmoving to New York, only to receive the brush-off when he did not contacther at her hotel room or take her when he went on a Caribbean vacation.

Her story also ensnares Regis Philbin, Kathie Lee Gifford and"Frasier" star Kelsey Grammer, all of whom, she writes, also communicatedwith her through the TV and knew of her "relationship" with Letterman.

(image placeholder)But while Ray's delusions got her incarcerated, the judge in Nestler'scase has taken a different approach. Rather than do anything to try todiscourage her and thereby protect Letterman from yet another stalker, Judge Daniel Sanchez instead affirmed her delusions by granting herrequest and issuing a restraining order.

Sanchez signed the order prohibiting Letterman from contacting her andrequiring him to stay away from her -- all of which, no doubt, Lettermanwould have no difficulty abiding by. The judge also directed the TV starto appear for a hearing later on whether to make the restraining orderpermanent, although Sanchez granted a motion by Letterman's attorneys foran expedited hearing.

Letterman's lawyers, understandably, want to quash the restrainingorder. Jim Jackoway, his Los Angeles attorney, calls the charges inNestler's complaint "obviously absurd and frivolous" and "an unfortunateabuse of the judicial process."

"While Ms. Nestler may deserve compassion and assistance, allowing herto bring claims against Mr. Letterman is not in her interests or theinterests of justice," Letterman's attorneys said in their motionchallenging the restraining order. "Celebrities deserve protection oftheir reputation and legal rights when the occasional fan becomesdangerous or deluded."

The judge's move also has concerned at least one advocate for thementally ill.

Ginny Wilson, a Santa Fe representative for the National Alliance forthe Mentally Ill, won't criticize Sanchez, but says she wants to use thissituation as an opportunity to educate people about the signs ofpsychological problems. She calls Nestler's application "fantastical."

"It's obvious in [the] story that the judge has made a mistake," shesays. "And [now] other judges or lawyers can see that a lapse in judgment(image placeholder)can put a person in a public situation that could be dangerous for her.Maybe it will help a judge to recognize when a mentally ill person isattacking an organization or an individual out of their delusions."

Sanchez says he doesn't sign every temporary restraining order thatcomes before him, but will sign one when it's warranted.

"If they make a proper pleading, then I grant it," he said.

Perhaps, then, the judge has some delusions of his own.

In a follow-up hearing, Nestler said in court that "Should [Letterman] ever come to New Mexico -- and let it be recorded in this court -- if hecomes near me or sends someone on his behalf, I will break their legs andestablish proof of my story."

"Break their legs?" asked a shocked Judge Sanchez, finally waking up.

"Yes, I will," Nestler said. "It's the only recourse I have fortangible proof." Told to not make threats in court, Nestler continued,"It's not a threat. I'm saying it mainly because I want the court to knowI tried to avoid this. The man has plans to include me in his plans, andI refuse."

A plan to include her in his plans? Now that's planning!

"Who's to stop him from taking a flight here?" she continued. "Who'sto stop him from dressing up in some disguise? He has intentions with me.He constantly harasses me. He's a very powerful man. He's into mindcontrol. He's into control and manipulation."

Has he ever contacted her? Sanchez asked.


"He has called just to remind me to think of him by calling andhanging up," she said. "It's a trick he's done. He will use any device athis hand that's subtle and undetectable by any court of law."

With that, Sanchez had finally had enough and voided his previous(image placeholder)restraining order. It was in force for about two weeks.

2 freakin' weeks? A judge gave that woman restraining order? That's why I gotta call shenanigans, there is no way some judge would be that stupid. Seriously, say that people are getting dumber but that takes the cake and shares none with others. I say that there is something more sinister going on and I refuse to point fingers until I know for sure, but I might just have to devote more time to it. I think one of the causes is most likely disillusionment coupled with misdirection. Any ideas just let me know, but don't worry we can get through this mismanagement of humanity, just as we have countless times before.

Castle-builder extraordinaire

You know, through the haze of relaxation after a long days work, a thought popped into my mind, and I can’t help but say that it stuck.  Mind you, this was one of those quickly fleeing ideas of dubious base, one of those notions where upon waking the only utterance that fits was “This seemed like a good idea.”

Not in way that college lets us bandy it about, more of a fugacious (quickly withering) potential conceit that perhaps we should turn our sights to one of the basic characteristics of humanity:  the complex.  Now, we all most likely have a couple, and for sure most can recognize it in others, but for salience sake I would like to say that the existence of our neuroses is tenuous at best.  As any $19.99 self help book would attest (I would imagine, at least) who we are is some metaphysical spirit self who nurtures all of our positive qualities, while living freely of the negative qualities that people gossip about at the water cooler.  Now I couldn’t help but think if who we are involves the things that we betray ourselves about (i.e. “I just need to show the world how ______ I am”) is who we are we are inevitably destined for failure.

What I want to propose instead is perhaps a better way of gauging who we are is by who we want to be.  I don’t want to insinuate that the dreamers who dreams have no root in reality are the compass by which we should guide ourselves, but for isn’t it in striving rather than correcting that we learn all the lessons we need to?  I don’t know if I am just way behind the cool kids on this one, but is the better barometer where you are going then where you have been?

I wouldn’t bring this up except for my further forays into the corporate and ‘real world’ have taught me that my coworkers and contemporaries like to occasionally treat themselves to a fit of self-abuse.  From the folks that I trained with (we dropped from eight to four in a mere three days; I would imagine that there is more to follow) to the old salt on 2 weeks notice, I heard quite a bit about how most endeavors of both my employer and the position I was learning were just some big corporate scheme and how this job would ruin me and how they couldn’t hack it and why everyone they talked to was a big ol’ tool shed and so on.  

What were they thinking about?  What was wrong with the whole big thing rather than what could be right about the same enterprise.  Turns out the next day I ran into some folk who like to think about where they were going to go…I heard nothing about how damnedly evil my employ was, rather how much sweet extra cash they were raking in.  And I too partook in that sweet cash.

So after much rambling, I guess I am trying to say that attitude is dependent upon aspiration and aspiration is the measure of that which we truly are and who we present ourselves to the world to be.  If you had to choose, would you prefer someone who wanted to fix what was wrong or one who might plunge (how headlong is up to personal discretion and inclination) into where he/she might be going?  I guess I think you should hug your friendly local dreamer or, equally as excellent in my book, hug the kid who knows what he/she wants:  I really believe that inspiration is created only through those who dare to look towards the future.  I don’t know, the whole not what we are-what we ought to be thing.  Now looking ahead I see some rest:  I want to try to fly somewhere in REM tonight – stay tuned.

Rides and Riders

Rollercoasters and Merry-go-rounds.  I just can’t help but to admit that I both love and hate the little amusements:  they’re fantastic when drunk reliving my youth at Cooney Island or the Great Escape or your nearest 6 flags, but I truly and thoroughly despise the other, more insidious kind.  You know, I never really appreciated the subtlety of those two little phrases when it comes to our personal lives, yet they ring so true:  neither go anywhere fast, but the former at least has some peaks and valleys to keep it interesting, and goes nowhere a lot faster than its latter little cousin. More importantly though, through it all I’ve come to be aware that we don’t actually get to the point of making some lame metaphor (or simile, depending on context) without first making some choices (decisions might actually be better) which fly in the face of our good sense and intuition.

Whew, glad to get that out.  But aside from figuring out the nuances of carnival comparisons, it’s really hit home as of late that each alternative we decide to take we should do so with the utmost care.  I say this not from current personal experience (though the past few months did help bring the notion to the front of my mind) and the position that the choices we make mostly always carry with them hidden implications that we can only sort out long after they have become an entrenched part of our psyche.

I could use really personal, deep rooted ideas, the paradigms that have been the prime movers in turning me into who I am today.  I could do all that, but in the publicity of cyberspace I would also be that kid who’s throwing his heart out on his sleeve for people who he doesn’t even know.  NOPE.  If you want that, and care enough to know, drop me a line (and if the readership of this gets large enough, I might consider it too).  Instead I will use the generic abusive relationship, either mentally or physically.  Most of the folks I have talked to about f&^$*d relationships of this nature have always used the same reasons:  “I love him/her,”  “I just don’t know what I would do without him/her,”
“We’re soul mates,” that kind of thing.  Aside from the fact that this is maddeningly codependent, think for a moment of the implicit assumptions behind such statements.  What they are in effect saying is, respectively “I cannot love another like I love him/her (lies),”  “Without them I am less of a person (fuck that, you can’t be any less or more than yourself),”  and “Even though we have a lot of problems, through the powers of habit and perhaps a shared interest or two I have decided to cling to this thing running with the notion that I will never find someone else who makes me happy,” and so on.

Although the importance of smoothing out this little quirk of thought is self evident, I cannot help but go on.  I have see relationships of this type turn self-confident, outgoing members of the populace into shells of their former selves:  those same people forgetting why they start fooling around with their preferred gender in the first place.  What they missed along the way was the implicit assumption that they are in some way not good enough:  not good enough to be loved (by anyone), not good enough to make someone else happy.  

Basically the idea is that these people are somehow less than themselves, incomplete without an external force.  This can include the misuse of drugs and other inebriants, sex, food, decisions of a particular type, and so on.  I would never say that we should give up these things:  hell, I love them all.  But if one is not secure in the reasons why then they are unaware of the what that is going on.  I realized that some of my least liked traits began in grade school, for Christ sakes.  It is a different thing to believe that you know yourself, and quite another to actually know who you are (which never changes except through dedicated effort to yourself, it doesn’t come from any external source).  I’ve just hit critical mass with friends and contemporaries wasting their talents on things and people that drag them down.  Our genome determines how good each of us can potentially be, we don’t need ourselves to make things more difficult.  

Blame the Praetorians

The idea of religion has always struck a pretty off chord in my book.  From the idea of hell to tithing to the widespread corruption and NAMBLA-esque behavior of those in authority, I (and all you wonderful contemporaries) have grown up in a time where religion is not only inessential but downright repulsive.  As of late however, I cannot help but see the reasons not only for the existence of the various religions, but spiritual schemes in general.  Now don’t think that good ol’ IJB has found God or anything like that, but I guess I have recently become aware that the various religious doctrines and spiritual systems have the benefit of a broad reaching ethic that actually does do what it is intended:  to allow a system of behavior which escapes the necessary contextualization of behavior in the natural ethic that “good” people must follow who do not have such rules of behavior to fall back on.

First though, I have to say that religion stands on very tumultuous ground for me.  Born and raised in Catholic School (all 12 years bitches!), I learned not God’s love, but how to become a consumer:  of sex, drugs and rock and roll.  Most of the religious people I knew throughout that “education,” in fact, most of the religious types I meet today, could never give me a better explanation for faith other than “Well JC says…” or “...because the Bible…” which is of course just ridiculous:  conventional wisdom is what produced the Crusades, the systematic torture and murder of dissenting views and so on (I think the horse is dead and properly flogged).  But underneath all of the dogma and mental retardation of those who practice, I realized the other day that I just can no longer ignore the ‘point’  of what all those folks have been violently fighting about, that is, the theoretical ideas for behavior that underlie all religions:  the common denominator for how to live our lives.

What I neglected to remember though is the notion that perhaps I do not have it all figured out.  For example, we are often left with two diametrically opposed ideas for how to deal with others – ‘stand up for yourself’ and ‘just let it go’.  Now we all suffer from the interplay of these two, and when we don’t apply it properly we end up thinking of both ourselves and others as “bitches’ or ‘doormats’ and having some regrets (often once cooler heads prevail) that perhaps we could have handled this situation with a little more compassion and tact, and a little less defensiveness or whatever.  Now who has said something to the effect of “Be kind to your neighbor” or “Spread compassion only throughout the world”?  That’s right, Jesus and the Buddha.

And to be honest, in my years of Catholic training I have never once found a “kill others who do not believe your faith” or “you must extort money from your parishioners,” in the Bible.  In my Buddhist studies not one koan said “We must oppress the rights of others in order to maintain order,” and so on.  What do they say?  Well, read some spiritual texts and find out, but if we all are to espouse the positive ideals that these people wrote about, well, I’m pretty sure the world would in fact be a better place.  (Think of Jesus going psycho in the marketplace, consumers take note).

The point is that I really believe that I (as well as many, many others) have put the cart before the horse.  We don’t hate religion, we hate the people who prove how well it works.  We hate dogma, but since when is being kind to others and forgiving them for most of the mean, thoughtless, generally human things they do a problem?  I don’t like Church, but in theory, how much more do we pay to go Disneyworld for a few jollies (the buck or two that’s put in the basket pales in comparison to the $2.50 water or the $7 mutant turkey leg, simple economics) than to hang out with some like minded folks and have bake sales?  My call then is this:  while religion in practice may no longer relevant, the principles and ideas behind them still hold true.  

In the end, when Jehovah’s show up at my door, I still tell them I worship all that is dark and macabre, and send them on their way.  I still argue with priests when I run into them, as should all folks.  I still rag on folks that spend time at the Word of Life (such hot folks, but such a cult – yea Upstate!), but these systems of spirituality are still great for the occasional alternate viewpoint on a given troubling situation.  All in all, when we have qualms, we must above all make sure exactly what it is we have a problem with.

Somnolence

Every time I take a long absence from the world of blogs, online communities and whatever else I might end up in I always have a problem getting back into some sort of groove to get my ideas out in a way that other folks might see and enjoy them.  I’ve found that any sort of artistic endeavor, essentially anything that is “Productive” in the abstract sense of the word, is completely unlike learning to ride a bike.  In fact, it seems that the ability to learn new tricks, be they writing something relevant on your blog post, learning that sweet Zepp solo you’ve always wanted to come from your fingers, whatever, wants to leave your abilities as soon as you learn them.  I used to get pretty teed off about this sort of happening, until I noticed that this revealed a trait about humanity that I did not expect:  we are actually set up to be creatures of habit, hard wired to abhor change, even for the better.

I know that sounds kinda weird, but think about it.  From abusive relationships to getting fit, our bodies are set up to fight us every step of the way:  why do you think you are so good at failing?  That aside, what benefit might we gain from being so damn stubborn when it comes to ourselves?  Wouldn’t evolution (or whatever is actually going on) actually entail and promote change in order for species to best evolve to their surroundings?

I’m learning that the resounding answer is Hell No!  Although I am not as sure of the details of Darwin’s theory as I should be, I have come to see recently that what nature wants is a static equilibrium, homeostasis if you will, in which it doesn’t need to evolve or adapt anymore.  Just like the human body, which is functioning best (biology admits this) when nothing is changing:  the balance of chemicals and nutrients is exactly what your body is looking to receive and so on.  There is no room is homeostasis for exercise, for learning new skill, for completing anything out the ordinary.  All told, nature is a really lazy sonofabitch.

What worries me however is that as natural creatures with the fun bonus of rationality, this loafing quality of nature infests our minds as well as our bodies.  I mean, in the search for a reason why we so enjoy doing ostensibly nothing but sit on the couch and worry about when we are going to turn off the TV I have come to find that, God (or whatever) damn it, we are hard wired that way!

Now the last thing I want to give anyone a reason for underachieving (if we know each other, we’ve probably come up with plenty between us), but what I call for is for all you folks who get so ramped up about how their passions do not some to fruition TODAY is to chill out.  Seriously, calm down, because while our minds carry in them the potential for infinite creativity and potential, we are limited by our deadbeat bodies.  Now I’m not sure of the nature of the relationship between the two things is, but I know that it is only through hours and hours of repetition that we trick ourselves into believing, through practice, that our new activity is something we have always done and were meant to continue doing.

I really wish that I could add something more productive to the whole thing than “lighten up, we just aren’t that good at learning and thought” and in time, I will.  At least I want to take a look at a biological cause of the mendicant side of our nature.  So yes, that means that in addition to the neuroses that we manage to give ourselves we also have to deal with a physicality which loves our neuroses and prefers them to the labors of change.

I will get to the bottom of all this, if I have to one day burn through a PhD or two to do it.  As per my own advice, I’m gonna have to fight a bit with my own mental and physical somnolence until I get to the bottom of how we can be so good to others and so terrible to ourselves.  In the meanwhile though, I have a loftier goal, and that is to win the Nobel Prize, the Nobel Prize in Blogging.  So let me know how I’m doing, 'cause it’s hard to get those in charge to take notice.  A bientot.