I cannot help but feel the course of my life hinges on machinations I am not privy to.
So often the things that most create havoc in my life are those over which I've no control. The time at which bills fall, and the time at which the money to pay them comes. It could just be the way that I feel. I have inherited a temperament varied and extreme. I cannot pretend to know when my wills shall chose to focus on darker themes. I am as much a subject of the whims of the gods or the fates or the forces of nature and time as Job was.
That is the lens through which I examine the world. Because I have little chance of fighting the fates I must take advantage of the directions I'm blown in. I am but detritus on the winds of time, and because I am more aware of that everything else takes on a pallor indicating its inevitable demise.
In a course I am taking, we are reading myths. The Iliad is our current subject of study. I made a comment I felt not particularly provocative. Turns out it was more provocative than I thought.
The whole class discussion was regarding the meaning of the first stanza which goes:
Rage:
Sing, goddess, Achilles' rage,
Black and murderous, that cost the Greeks
Incalculable pain, pitched countless souls
Of Heroes into Hades' dark,
And left their bodies to rot as feasts
For dogs and birds, as Zeus' will was done.
Begin with the clash between Agamemnon -
The Greek Warlord - and godlike Achilles
(this is from the Stanley Lombardo translation of Homer's Iliad)
The conversation went through rage and the various characteristics of the story that suggested an allegory about rage. The conversation too went over other thoughts about the themes of the poem.
My comment hinged on the next stanza which is but one sentence, set apart from the rest, as if to glare back at the reader as a statement of purpose.
"Which of the immortals set these two
at each other's throats?"
That line screamed at me. It's separation from the rest of the lines on the page seemed to ache with purpose. Yes, I thought, this is about futility.
That is the lens through which I look at the world, the lens of a man blown about on the winds of mood and the forces that drive him immutably. So I said to the rest of the class something about the fact that the people in the story are simply pawns for the Gods. There is no choice in their actions, or if there is it is only between being destroyed by the Gods or going along with their whims.
I had found an analogue to my own existence in the nature of their battles. Stretches where things were determined by their own wills interspersed with the unavoidable influence of the gods.
One could fight valiantly and turn the tide of the battle, only to have the gods decide against him, and make his work of no consequence. Agamemnon is but a slave to his arrogance and the will of the gods. Achilles to the gods wills and his own pride.
The immediate backlash to this idea was surprising. The thought that the characters really had no say in what occurred. People argued for the sheer force of personality of characters like Achilles.
I could see how Achilles ability to move Zeus' hand through his mother is a sign of choice and ability, but all the while it hinges on the power and favour of immortals. His mother being an immortal is how this is achieved. A man like Odysseus or Nestor is at the whim of the gods despite his abilities and intelligence. It is only because the gods see favour with these men that they survive.
I know how pessimistic this may seem, but choice is largely an illusion. The choices you make are a product of evolution and indoctrination. Whether or not you know it.
The professor asked a good question towards the end of the period. What do we have to replace the gods? what do we believe in now with the same fervency. I'm not sure if this is the only thing we have replaced the gods of old with, but I am feeling rather sure that we have latched on to a myth of choice.
We have latched on very tightly to this idea of our ability to have sole power over our own lives. Exemplary is the US military. It is a volunteer military. We don't draft people anymore, but in effect, excepting the few who chose the military because of various other reasons, the military is filled with the poor. It becomes the only option. A lower class draft is extant despite the fact that we have no selective service taking men from the streets. In a ghetto you become a criminal, or you join the military.
There are many examples of this, and the counter examples are largely incorrect or deviations from the general scheme of things that do not change the general nature of existence.
There are Achilles' who can call upon the gods to change their ways, but for every Achilles' there are a thousand, or ten thousand, or one hundred thousand more who do not hold the reigns to their futures.
It is the fate of most to be at the will of their biology, or their gods, or their own deep desires. The few who subvert this model, the few who have a true say over what occurs to them, are but exceptions.
Though we do not have to be slaves to fate, we often are. Though humans are capable of free will, more often then not determinism takes over.
I don't think I was so wrong about the futility of the struggles the characters in the Iliad face. I may not be entirely right, but I am not entirely wrong either. I don't know who's prejudice is stronger. I don't know if the people around me are less aware of the large lack of choice we have in things, or if I am too attached to the concept of futility.
I will see futility where I want to see futility, perhaps even where there is none, but I am aware of this. I don't know if my peers are aware that they see choice wherever they want to see it.
Friday, January 09, 2009
moving into a darker stage.
Sometimes being so damn tired isn't a sign you need sleep.
I feel like I could drop right now. My eyes are a little watery and I know that if I lay down and get ready for bed sleep will take me away into a place far better than this.
That's where the tiredness comes from. The world is not right. I never assumed it was before, but where I before I felt optimism about my ability to face the worlds problems, I now only feel an open sore. Things that didn't worry me, but clearly should have, now flash up in the forefront of my existence in such a way as to highlight how much I hate some of the defining features of this world.
Bills. That's not what I'm complaining about, but bills planted the seeds of doubt into my fertile head. I feel tired in a more existential sense and less in a physical sense. usually for me the existential one leads to the physical one eventually. I'm afraid that may be what is occuring.
I'm afraid I may be moving into one of my darks again, where no matter the worlds state, I see ill in it. I'm sure to see ill in it as there is ill in it, but in this darkened modd I see nothing but the ill. I don't see the trees as living things of beauty, I only see how few of them there are. When I notice pretty girls I don't revel in their beauty, I simply am reminded that I have no one.
It's one of those times. I think it may be temporary, but that thought has been had before, and it has been wrong before.
I feel like I could drop right now. My eyes are a little watery and I know that if I lay down and get ready for bed sleep will take me away into a place far better than this.
That's where the tiredness comes from. The world is not right. I never assumed it was before, but where I before I felt optimism about my ability to face the worlds problems, I now only feel an open sore. Things that didn't worry me, but clearly should have, now flash up in the forefront of my existence in such a way as to highlight how much I hate some of the defining features of this world.
Bills. That's not what I'm complaining about, but bills planted the seeds of doubt into my fertile head. I feel tired in a more existential sense and less in a physical sense. usually for me the existential one leads to the physical one eventually. I'm afraid that may be what is occuring.
I'm afraid I may be moving into one of my darks again, where no matter the worlds state, I see ill in it. I'm sure to see ill in it as there is ill in it, but in this darkened modd I see nothing but the ill. I don't see the trees as living things of beauty, I only see how few of them there are. When I notice pretty girls I don't revel in their beauty, I simply am reminded that I have no one.
It's one of those times. I think it may be temporary, but that thought has been had before, and it has been wrong before.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
A note on my writing method and purpose.
I've been trying to plan posts for this blog, but I've started to find that planning them doesn't always work so well. I write throughout the day in my notebooks and I have all these ideas flowing through my head, so I automatically thing perhaps the best thing to do is use them as fodder for this here blog. truth is though that I get a little bored writing about whatever my set topic is. I sort of have to wait for some passion to overtake me.
When I write essays, (research papers excluded) I sit down and write however many pages the essay is supposed to be. I don't take a break, or refer to sources, or make an outline, I just write. Things come out in odd ways. Poorly constructed sentences and convoluted ideas, but damn do some great things come out too.
It's only after I've done this that I really know what my paper is about. I have to just write and see what piques my fancy in order to really know what's going on. The fact of the matter is that I've gotten so used to writing as a method of self discovery that deciding what to write about before hand just seems silly. The writing IS the deciding what to write about.
I realise today that I was a bit worried about avoiding retreads. I tend to have the same theme in my head most of the time, This whole question of how much of me is up to me and how much do I have no control over? The problem is that when I write about these things the same shit comes out.
I don't mind gradually finding out where I stand, and finding out how much of me seems to have basis in illness or biology, and how much I can change, but I don't like writing the same damn thing over and over.
I though of a few different methods to get away from just talking about that topic, but I think there may not be a way to escape it. Everyone seems to have questions that show up throughout their writing (anyone who writes anyway). It's a very modernist thing, that whole overarching Meta-narrative. I don't feel like totally eschewing that in a post-modernist cold rage, but I don't feel like that is the best use of my work. I'm just not sure how to avoid it.
Even in post-modernist works you see the writer's obsessions leaking through. I know that that is bound to happen, I just want it to happen interestingly.
A five page rant on how worried I am that I have no control over my existence isn't the sort of thing I aim to produce. I don't actually have an aim. That's the point. I don't have a singular story to tell, or a singular bone to pick. Just by virtue of being my work various interests of mine and things about me will seep through, music, manic-depression, bisexuality, and any myriad of other things, but I don't want them to be the focus of my work. I don't let them define me, so why should I focus on them.
If I look at a topic I look at it as who I am. It is impossible for me to be objective, as is the case for everyone, so all of these little bits of what occur in my life will show up. I guess I just want to try for something different. Something outside of personal narrative, but away from overarching allegory.
It seems though that like with everything else, I'll have to write to find out what I really think about that. I'll have to write to find out how to move away from meta-narrative, and away from memoir without making the story uninteresting.
That's really what this blog is, I am writing to find things out. If people read I am appreciative, but ultimately I write for elucidation. My ideas are only ideas, I don't hold any serious claim to them. If others have input I want it, if others can help me see things from another perspective I want that help, but I am here to find things out. Nothing less, and not very much more.
When I write essays, (research papers excluded) I sit down and write however many pages the essay is supposed to be. I don't take a break, or refer to sources, or make an outline, I just write. Things come out in odd ways. Poorly constructed sentences and convoluted ideas, but damn do some great things come out too.
It's only after I've done this that I really know what my paper is about. I have to just write and see what piques my fancy in order to really know what's going on. The fact of the matter is that I've gotten so used to writing as a method of self discovery that deciding what to write about before hand just seems silly. The writing IS the deciding what to write about.
I realise today that I was a bit worried about avoiding retreads. I tend to have the same theme in my head most of the time, This whole question of how much of me is up to me and how much do I have no control over? The problem is that when I write about these things the same shit comes out.
I don't mind gradually finding out where I stand, and finding out how much of me seems to have basis in illness or biology, and how much I can change, but I don't like writing the same damn thing over and over.
I though of a few different methods to get away from just talking about that topic, but I think there may not be a way to escape it. Everyone seems to have questions that show up throughout their writing (anyone who writes anyway). It's a very modernist thing, that whole overarching Meta-narrative. I don't feel like totally eschewing that in a post-modernist cold rage, but I don't feel like that is the best use of my work. I'm just not sure how to avoid it.
Even in post-modernist works you see the writer's obsessions leaking through. I know that that is bound to happen, I just want it to happen interestingly.
A five page rant on how worried I am that I have no control over my existence isn't the sort of thing I aim to produce. I don't actually have an aim. That's the point. I don't have a singular story to tell, or a singular bone to pick. Just by virtue of being my work various interests of mine and things about me will seep through, music, manic-depression, bisexuality, and any myriad of other things, but I don't want them to be the focus of my work. I don't let them define me, so why should I focus on them.
If I look at a topic I look at it as who I am. It is impossible for me to be objective, as is the case for everyone, so all of these little bits of what occur in my life will show up. I guess I just want to try for something different. Something outside of personal narrative, but away from overarching allegory.
It seems though that like with everything else, I'll have to write to find out what I really think about that. I'll have to write to find out how to move away from meta-narrative, and away from memoir without making the story uninteresting.
That's really what this blog is, I am writing to find things out. If people read I am appreciative, but ultimately I write for elucidation. My ideas are only ideas, I don't hold any serious claim to them. If others have input I want it, if others can help me see things from another perspective I want that help, but I am here to find things out. Nothing less, and not very much more.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
The Cult Of Personality and the Secularisation of culture.
So I know two posts in a row is a little obsessive, but I'm feeling like it's the thing to do. In one of my classes today the professor brought up an interesting idea
Weber, the brilliant sociologist (pronounced Vay Ber), theorised that the secularisation of culture opened the door for a cult of personality to replace it. Essentially without some meaning provided by religion, people turned to charismatic leaders.
Something about this struck me as horribly wrong. Not because his assessment of people gravitating towards charismatic leaders was all that flawed, but because religion to a certain extent is governed by those same leaders.
It seemed to me that in a secularised world, the charismatic leaders just preached different things. The charismatic people who before may have become priests or gurus et al. now become messiahs, or messengers of a different shape.
The cult of personality is very strong, and has it's roots in human nature, not in a secularisation of culture. What is Christianity but a cult of personality centred around Christ.
The point is that though secularisation does leave people searching for meaning in a seemingly meaningless world, the things they turn to for comfort are the same things they turned to in a pre-secular world, just in different garb.
The assessment of religion as something unique seems a bit archaic. Essentially other ideas can be their own religions. The fact of religion is that it is a particular coping mechanism for humans to deal with death and possible lack of meaning. If other constructs can fill that void, then who's to say they are particularly different.
If a different gear fits in the same place in a watch, how different are they really?
There are a few reasons we are drawn to strong personalities. I imagine those who weren't charismatic survived by clinging to the charismatics and therfore spread their genes. The large proportion of people were not those charismatics. That explains rather well the cult of personality. Also people who worry about death less tend to take more risks. Religions also tend to emphasise the creation of children. I could go into all of the particularities, and take days writing about this stuff.
I'm simply trying to cement the point that all of this is related to what allowed us to survive. I can't explain the things that don't have an effect on our survival, however much I'd like to, but those which do are pretty clear.
We are at the whim of our heritage.
The interesting thing however is the fact that for the first time, we as individuals can change how beholden to genetics we are. Not just through gene therapy and modification, but through our own decisions.
we are in an era where that cult of personality needn't exist. we are at a point in time where we can escape our bonds. Being so close to this transcendence is what makes the fact we haven't reach out for it all the more painful.
Weber, the brilliant sociologist (pronounced Vay Ber), theorised that the secularisation of culture opened the door for a cult of personality to replace it. Essentially without some meaning provided by religion, people turned to charismatic leaders.
Something about this struck me as horribly wrong. Not because his assessment of people gravitating towards charismatic leaders was all that flawed, but because religion to a certain extent is governed by those same leaders.
It seemed to me that in a secularised world, the charismatic leaders just preached different things. The charismatic people who before may have become priests or gurus et al. now become messiahs, or messengers of a different shape.
The cult of personality is very strong, and has it's roots in human nature, not in a secularisation of culture. What is Christianity but a cult of personality centred around Christ.
The point is that though secularisation does leave people searching for meaning in a seemingly meaningless world, the things they turn to for comfort are the same things they turned to in a pre-secular world, just in different garb.
The assessment of religion as something unique seems a bit archaic. Essentially other ideas can be their own religions. The fact of religion is that it is a particular coping mechanism for humans to deal with death and possible lack of meaning. If other constructs can fill that void, then who's to say they are particularly different.
If a different gear fits in the same place in a watch, how different are they really?
There are a few reasons we are drawn to strong personalities. I imagine those who weren't charismatic survived by clinging to the charismatics and therfore spread their genes. The large proportion of people were not those charismatics. That explains rather well the cult of personality. Also people who worry about death less tend to take more risks. Religions also tend to emphasise the creation of children. I could go into all of the particularities, and take days writing about this stuff.
I'm simply trying to cement the point that all of this is related to what allowed us to survive. I can't explain the things that don't have an effect on our survival, however much I'd like to, but those which do are pretty clear.
We are at the whim of our heritage.
The interesting thing however is the fact that for the first time, we as individuals can change how beholden to genetics we are. Not just through gene therapy and modification, but through our own decisions.
we are in an era where that cult of personality needn't exist. we are at a point in time where we can escape our bonds. Being so close to this transcendence is what makes the fact we haven't reach out for it all the more painful.
finally a name for my "band"
I finally have a band name for my little personal project. That's a big part of the battle. Only because I need a name I like and can stick with before I go off and do shows, or record and album. I love my psychology book for this. I decided on Robots Homunculus. It works, and I've a feeling that I won't get tired of it. if I do, well not much I can do about it.
I already have the music for all this so the band name bit was one of the last things holding me back from actually producing. I'm thinking I may use multiple band names for performances, but only use Robots Homunculus for the myspace page. Which exists by the way. there's nothing up, but I'll update when there is.
It's exciting. I remember doing all of the administrative stuff for my highschool bands, and it's always more fun than administrative stuff has a right to be. entering information on a computer isn't nigh as cool in any other situation.
I'm proud of myself for getting on the fucking ball too. I had been having a general apathy, as I'm want to do, there for a while. I'm glad to be mostly over it. I'm also ready to get on with the damn music. It's nice to have that option.
I already have the music for all this so the band name bit was one of the last things holding me back from actually producing. I'm thinking I may use multiple band names for performances, but only use Robots Homunculus for the myspace page. Which exists by the way. there's nothing up, but I'll update when there is.
It's exciting. I remember doing all of the administrative stuff for my highschool bands, and it's always more fun than administrative stuff has a right to be. entering information on a computer isn't nigh as cool in any other situation.
I'm proud of myself for getting on the fucking ball too. I had been having a general apathy, as I'm want to do, there for a while. I'm glad to be mostly over it. I'm also ready to get on with the damn music. It's nice to have that option.
Monday, January 05, 2009
Things are calm, is this the eye of the storm?
There are plenty of things I could write about. My day was eventful, and it brought about a lot of thoughts. Despite the wealth of topics my day suggests, I'm more interested in writing about something else entirely.
First I'd like to note that Innate no longer means anything. I found this out in a class today. There is no such thing as something which is innate. The word has no meaning.
Second. I near typed the world has no meaning. The reason I mention this is because the more I look at things the more I feel that may be the case. There are things about the world that are of worth, but suggesting some greater meaning seems to me a naive assumption.
I'm not feeling particularly down, and this bit of existential doubt isn't rooted in a depression or anything. That has at times been the case. The odd thing about right now is the fact that everything feels well. Things are going well for me for the most part. There are issues I have to deal with I'd rather be done with, Primarily finances, but those aren't weighing heavily on me.
The problem I'm having is that I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I'm expecting something to go horribly wrong. I'm expecting my best efforts to not be good enough. It's hard to enjoy one of the best stretches of time in recent memory when I'm worried it will devolve into one of the worst.
The point is that I'm due for some issues to be popping up, and that they haven't is worrying.
I have some business I need to take care of tomorrow, and am looking forward to that. I haven't any serious issues to worry about right now. I feel like everything is under control. I just have to get past this eerie feeling that is remarkably like the beginning of a horror film.
First I'd like to note that Innate no longer means anything. I found this out in a class today. There is no such thing as something which is innate. The word has no meaning.
Second. I near typed the world has no meaning. The reason I mention this is because the more I look at things the more I feel that may be the case. There are things about the world that are of worth, but suggesting some greater meaning seems to me a naive assumption.
I'm not feeling particularly down, and this bit of existential doubt isn't rooted in a depression or anything. That has at times been the case. The odd thing about right now is the fact that everything feels well. Things are going well for me for the most part. There are issues I have to deal with I'd rather be done with, Primarily finances, but those aren't weighing heavily on me.
The problem I'm having is that I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I'm expecting something to go horribly wrong. I'm expecting my best efforts to not be good enough. It's hard to enjoy one of the best stretches of time in recent memory when I'm worried it will devolve into one of the worst.
The point is that I'm due for some issues to be popping up, and that they haven't is worrying.
I have some business I need to take care of tomorrow, and am looking forward to that. I haven't any serious issues to worry about right now. I feel like everything is under control. I just have to get past this eerie feeling that is remarkably like the beginning of a horror film.
Sunday, January 04, 2009
An alternative to Overdraft charges.
I don't really understand overdraft charges. I don't mean that I can't grasp why they exist. I simply mean that I don't get how they make sense. To keep the business of their customers, it would make sense for banks to largely forgo overdraft charges. These charges also end up building up very quickly.
One ends up in an endless cascade of charges which they can do little to stop. Once you have an overdraft charge on the account you end up with a negative balance fee, which means that you are further in the hole. all of this not because of money you were spending, or money you owe to people, solely because you didn't have the money right away. Perhaps a bit of interest would make sense, think of overdrafting as a high interest loan if you will. Even with that model the charges are exorbitant.
The reason I bring this up is that I had tuition and rent come up in the same week. I had the money to pay for it, but just barely. Paying for food, and essentially nothing else put me a little over the edge and now I'm going to go and straighten everything out. The problem is that I have enough money to straighten my account if it were just the amount I'm negative and perhaps a bit of interest from a week of being negative, but with overdraft and negative balance fees as they are I won't have enough money to pay it off ever.
I really do think that is an accurate assesment of the situation. I live on slender means as it is, so I have to be careful about when money goes in and when it comes out. All of that is very very tight for me. Add fees and I can't do it.
The point is that the bank would get their money and even make profit if they simply treated it as a debt that gained interest, but by treating it this way they will never get their money.
I'm not worried about my personal situation, but there are people with more slender means than me, and they wouldn't likely be able to fix the situation. SO banks should fix this problem. That really is what it is, bad business, poor design, and an unfair practice. I'm not sure if the last point is one for convincing the banks, but the first two are valid and deserve looking at.
One ends up in an endless cascade of charges which they can do little to stop. Once you have an overdraft charge on the account you end up with a negative balance fee, which means that you are further in the hole. all of this not because of money you were spending, or money you owe to people, solely because you didn't have the money right away. Perhaps a bit of interest would make sense, think of overdrafting as a high interest loan if you will. Even with that model the charges are exorbitant.
The reason I bring this up is that I had tuition and rent come up in the same week. I had the money to pay for it, but just barely. Paying for food, and essentially nothing else put me a little over the edge and now I'm going to go and straighten everything out. The problem is that I have enough money to straighten my account if it were just the amount I'm negative and perhaps a bit of interest from a week of being negative, but with overdraft and negative balance fees as they are I won't have enough money to pay it off ever.
I really do think that is an accurate assesment of the situation. I live on slender means as it is, so I have to be careful about when money goes in and when it comes out. All of that is very very tight for me. Add fees and I can't do it.
The point is that the bank would get their money and even make profit if they simply treated it as a debt that gained interest, but by treating it this way they will never get their money.
I'm not worried about my personal situation, but there are people with more slender means than me, and they wouldn't likely be able to fix the situation. SO banks should fix this problem. That really is what it is, bad business, poor design, and an unfair practice. I'm not sure if the last point is one for convincing the banks, but the first two are valid and deserve looking at.
A DIY Manifesto.
I've been steeped in DIY for most of my life. I grew up in the mountains, and for all the bad things that comes from dealing with that environment day in day out, a practical ability to get things done is a frequent benefit. That ability to get things done is why I can actually start a fire if I need to, and why I carry a knife with me all the time. There are a whole bunch of things about me that are firmly DIY.
My Mom was a home-economics teacher while the school still had a program for that, so while I grew up I also learned how to cook, and how to sew, and crochet. So along with all my wood choping snow shovelling, sterotypicaly male power I have more sterotypicaly female skills as well.
Tack on top of both of those my time in highschool absolutely fascinated with punk and everything around it, and you've got the recipe for a self sufficient scarf kniting, music playing, bomb making, useful person. It's something I'm proud of, being able to do a lot of things that most people seem to have forgotten.
It's nice having hands on skills that seem to be unusual.
For clarity sake the knowledge about explosives and guns, and drugs for that matter, is almost entirely because of the mountains and the requisite isolation. It was rather easy to get bored up there, so we fucked around with just about everything.
It's probably time I got to a point though; I'm wishing these hands on skills were worth more. I have this DIY attitude, and more and more that means less and less. I do things myself, and make what I can instead of buying it. I dumpster things instead of buying, and I go to thrift stores first instead of just hopping over to walmart, but that doesn't seem to make my situation any better.
all of my DIY skills keep me occupied, and give me things I'd like, but they don't provide sustenance. I cannot use whitleing as a real money making, or food getting prospect anymore. Sure I could make a spear, or a sharp stick, but what fucking good would that do me. I can start a fire, but I'd likely get arrested. I could make all my clothes, and honestly there're few good reasons not to do that, It just would take so much time that my music would go by the wayside because making my own clothes won't make me money, and won't keep me in rent.
So, I cannot do anything by myself. The world in which man could be self sustaining, or even live in smaller communities, is largely gone. We are in a world that won't allow that. The way that property laws work, the way that jobs work, they way that supermarkets work. All of those things make it harder and harder to support yourself. In tough times I should be able to buckle down and make due with less. I should be able to repair things that break and salvage things people left behind. The only problem there is that things aren't made to be fixed. If I want to fix my blender I have to take off the plastic covering to it, which happens to be one piece of hard hard plastic. I can't remove that while keeping it even remotely intact. Sure that's partly because of a lack of nicer tools, but that's part of my damn point. I have what is necessary to make something work again and I can't fucking do it because of the way things are built.
What ever happened to people knowing how to fix things, and knowing how the things they own work? Sure there are people for who that comes less naturally, but when did it become more logical to spend money on a new object instead of fixing the old one?
It's a problem that I don't think I'll be able to remedy by myself, and I don't advocate a complete ditching of technology, I just ask that we try to understand the shit we're using, and when it stops working, try to fix it. Don't take it in to the shop once, and then throw it away if it doesn't work, actually take the time to think about what the fuck you've got in your hands, and then see if you can modify it in a positive way.
Void a warranty! it'll be good for you, and bad for the corporate entities that rely on your waste to continue growing. Think a little.
There are obviously groups who feel the same way. The whole Maker movement and the fact that DIY is no longer just a punk, or a bob vila thing are signs of this. I don't know that they're good signs. I'm pleased there are kindred spirits, but I'm afraid these are just the death throes of a time when everyone had a chance to do this sort of thing. Every woman knew how to knit, and every man knew how to repair things. I'm not saying that strict sexual dichotomy is necessary, but the fact that everyone knew a craft was vital. We are in an era where things that never before were possible, ARE, but that does not remove the chance that those things that have never happened could be bad things.
so when your shit breaks, fix it, or just look at it. When you see a broken thing next to a dumpster, take it apart and see what makes it tick. I feel like that would be a growth experience, and one many people are sorely lacking in. Ultimately, remember to DIY despite the fact that our economy, and our system of government rely on you doing otherwise. Remember that just because something is prevalent doesn't mean it's good. It may not seem like it, but when you do something yourself, instead of relying on the government or business, you are going against the prevailing order, and are in some small way working towards sometime where the inherent inequalities therin are no longer an issue.
My Mom was a home-economics teacher while the school still had a program for that, so while I grew up I also learned how to cook, and how to sew, and crochet. So along with all my wood choping snow shovelling, sterotypicaly male power I have more sterotypicaly female skills as well.
Tack on top of both of those my time in highschool absolutely fascinated with punk and everything around it, and you've got the recipe for a self sufficient scarf kniting, music playing, bomb making, useful person. It's something I'm proud of, being able to do a lot of things that most people seem to have forgotten.
It's nice having hands on skills that seem to be unusual.
For clarity sake the knowledge about explosives and guns, and drugs for that matter, is almost entirely because of the mountains and the requisite isolation. It was rather easy to get bored up there, so we fucked around with just about everything.
It's probably time I got to a point though; I'm wishing these hands on skills were worth more. I have this DIY attitude, and more and more that means less and less. I do things myself, and make what I can instead of buying it. I dumpster things instead of buying, and I go to thrift stores first instead of just hopping over to walmart, but that doesn't seem to make my situation any better.
all of my DIY skills keep me occupied, and give me things I'd like, but they don't provide sustenance. I cannot use whitleing as a real money making, or food getting prospect anymore. Sure I could make a spear, or a sharp stick, but what fucking good would that do me. I can start a fire, but I'd likely get arrested. I could make all my clothes, and honestly there're few good reasons not to do that, It just would take so much time that my music would go by the wayside because making my own clothes won't make me money, and won't keep me in rent.
So, I cannot do anything by myself. The world in which man could be self sustaining, or even live in smaller communities, is largely gone. We are in a world that won't allow that. The way that property laws work, the way that jobs work, they way that supermarkets work. All of those things make it harder and harder to support yourself. In tough times I should be able to buckle down and make due with less. I should be able to repair things that break and salvage things people left behind. The only problem there is that things aren't made to be fixed. If I want to fix my blender I have to take off the plastic covering to it, which happens to be one piece of hard hard plastic. I can't remove that while keeping it even remotely intact. Sure that's partly because of a lack of nicer tools, but that's part of my damn point. I have what is necessary to make something work again and I can't fucking do it because of the way things are built.
What ever happened to people knowing how to fix things, and knowing how the things they own work? Sure there are people for who that comes less naturally, but when did it become more logical to spend money on a new object instead of fixing the old one?
It's a problem that I don't think I'll be able to remedy by myself, and I don't advocate a complete ditching of technology, I just ask that we try to understand the shit we're using, and when it stops working, try to fix it. Don't take it in to the shop once, and then throw it away if it doesn't work, actually take the time to think about what the fuck you've got in your hands, and then see if you can modify it in a positive way.
Void a warranty! it'll be good for you, and bad for the corporate entities that rely on your waste to continue growing. Think a little.
There are obviously groups who feel the same way. The whole Maker movement and the fact that DIY is no longer just a punk, or a bob vila thing are signs of this. I don't know that they're good signs. I'm pleased there are kindred spirits, but I'm afraid these are just the death throes of a time when everyone had a chance to do this sort of thing. Every woman knew how to knit, and every man knew how to repair things. I'm not saying that strict sexual dichotomy is necessary, but the fact that everyone knew a craft was vital. We are in an era where things that never before were possible, ARE, but that does not remove the chance that those things that have never happened could be bad things.
so when your shit breaks, fix it, or just look at it. When you see a broken thing next to a dumpster, take it apart and see what makes it tick. I feel like that would be a growth experience, and one many people are sorely lacking in. Ultimately, remember to DIY despite the fact that our economy, and our system of government rely on you doing otherwise. Remember that just because something is prevalent doesn't mean it's good. It may not seem like it, but when you do something yourself, instead of relying on the government or business, you are going against the prevailing order, and are in some small way working towards sometime where the inherent inequalities therin are no longer an issue.
Saturday, January 03, 2009
a point about depression and existentiallism.
I really do wonder about a lot of things, and probably unduly. It's sort of a problem to be honest. I'm not entirely sure which comes first, the depression, or the contemplation of existence, but I know they're somehow connected. I've never met a person who's been genuinely depressed and hasn't had some serious thoughts about the nature of existence and it's possible meaninglessness. I'm also pretty sure I haven't run into anyone who put very serious thought into existentialism and didn't at some point have a serious depression.
There's something about those two which goes hand in hand. I'm leaning towards depression being the starting point. It just seems like the most likely cause. Feeling depressed like that brings out existential questions. Also, the problem of evil becomes painfully clear, and any belief in a theist god you may have had before come into serious doubt.
for those uninitiated in the idea, A theist god is one who is 1. Omnipotent (all powerful) 2. Omniscient (all knowing) and 3. omnibenevolent (all loving, or loving of everything it created)
The problem that no logical argument has been able to circumvent, is the problem of evil. Basically it is impossible for there to be evil in the world and for a theist god to exist.
If god were all powerful, all knowing, and cared about us, then he would know where evil existed and how to stop it, he would also have the ability to stop it, and he would want to stop it because he cared about us. Therefore, the fact that there is evil makes one of those three postulations about god untrue. If there is evil god mustn't be all three of those things.
It makes perfect sense, and theism doesn't. People come up with various cop outs, suggesting that god only cares about his followers, and things like that, but of course evil still happens to his followers. Ultimately such a god is completely illogical. That's part of why I don't capitilise god. god is not a name, it is a title that we use to denote a deity.
the point is, I'm convinced there isn't a god in part because I've had to face the problem of evil more directly, during my serious depression(s). It's something that seemed very very clear when my chemistry made me feel that everything in the damn world was worthless.
I'm not saying that only the chemically imbalanced are likely to have serious existential doubt, but I don't see how someone who is really happy could. I don't know how someone who hasn't had something bad happen to them would worry about the likely hood of a cold uncaring world.
when everything goes well, and always has, there is no reason to doubt a world of good, but that is not a bill of goods easily bought by one who's felt physical and mental pain that made death seem a better option.
just seems like a point that needs to be made. One doesn't decide to believe in god, one simply is dealt the hand they are dealt and then works with it. I can't chose to believe anything, partly because it's illogical, but partly because belief isn't a choice, it's a delusion that hinges on external factors.
There's something about those two which goes hand in hand. I'm leaning towards depression being the starting point. It just seems like the most likely cause. Feeling depressed like that brings out existential questions. Also, the problem of evil becomes painfully clear, and any belief in a theist god you may have had before come into serious doubt.
for those uninitiated in the idea, A theist god is one who is 1. Omnipotent (all powerful) 2. Omniscient (all knowing) and 3. omnibenevolent (all loving, or loving of everything it created)
The problem that no logical argument has been able to circumvent, is the problem of evil. Basically it is impossible for there to be evil in the world and for a theist god to exist.
If god were all powerful, all knowing, and cared about us, then he would know where evil existed and how to stop it, he would also have the ability to stop it, and he would want to stop it because he cared about us. Therefore, the fact that there is evil makes one of those three postulations about god untrue. If there is evil god mustn't be all three of those things.
It makes perfect sense, and theism doesn't. People come up with various cop outs, suggesting that god only cares about his followers, and things like that, but of course evil still happens to his followers. Ultimately such a god is completely illogical. That's part of why I don't capitilise god. god is not a name, it is a title that we use to denote a deity.
the point is, I'm convinced there isn't a god in part because I've had to face the problem of evil more directly, during my serious depression(s). It's something that seemed very very clear when my chemistry made me feel that everything in the damn world was worthless.
I'm not saying that only the chemically imbalanced are likely to have serious existential doubt, but I don't see how someone who is really happy could. I don't know how someone who hasn't had something bad happen to them would worry about the likely hood of a cold uncaring world.
when everything goes well, and always has, there is no reason to doubt a world of good, but that is not a bill of goods easily bought by one who's felt physical and mental pain that made death seem a better option.
just seems like a point that needs to be made. One doesn't decide to believe in god, one simply is dealt the hand they are dealt and then works with it. I can't chose to believe anything, partly because it's illogical, but partly because belief isn't a choice, it's a delusion that hinges on external factors.
Friday, January 02, 2009
a neglectful streak.
I'm sure this is true of other people too, but I have neglectful streaks. I've not found that I'm neglectful toward certain things more than others, It's just something that I do from time to time. I don't much like that side of me, but I've learned to live with it. I can sometimes prod myself out of the weird apathy that sparks these neglects.
I have a feeling it has something to do with my mood fluctuations, though I'm reluctant to blame everything on that because of the risk that perhaps it's a more personal flaw. That's the real issue I have with being all manic-depressive; I can never be sure which of my failings are really a fault of mine, and which are just a cruel twist of chemistry. I suppose if I wanted to be more philisophical I could look at everything as a cruel twist of chemistry, but I can't stand those people who are very focused on "woe is me"
I understand venting about ones problems and dealing with them in creative ways, but wallowing isn't something I have particular sympathy for. That's part of why I've been trying to fight this neglectful streak that pops up. I've decided that I need to take responsibility for everything again, even if I know it's probably not something I can solve without medication. It's more a mindset issue than an actual changing of things. I don't think that I'll fix any of the problems I have just by taking responsibility for them, but I figure that doing so makes me more likely to change those things I can, and get help for those I can't.
That's something I've always been bad at, getting help for things. I don't entirely know why. I could try to figure it out here, but I haven't the desire to bore you today, at least not yet that is.
I have a feeling it has something to do with my mood fluctuations, though I'm reluctant to blame everything on that because of the risk that perhaps it's a more personal flaw. That's the real issue I have with being all manic-depressive; I can never be sure which of my failings are really a fault of mine, and which are just a cruel twist of chemistry. I suppose if I wanted to be more philisophical I could look at everything as a cruel twist of chemistry, but I can't stand those people who are very focused on "woe is me"
I understand venting about ones problems and dealing with them in creative ways, but wallowing isn't something I have particular sympathy for. That's part of why I've been trying to fight this neglectful streak that pops up. I've decided that I need to take responsibility for everything again, even if I know it's probably not something I can solve without medication. It's more a mindset issue than an actual changing of things. I don't think that I'll fix any of the problems I have just by taking responsibility for them, but I figure that doing so makes me more likely to change those things I can, and get help for those I can't.
That's something I've always been bad at, getting help for things. I don't entirely know why. I could try to figure it out here, but I haven't the desire to bore you today, at least not yet that is.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
An Expansive feeling.
I've been feeling expansive today. The music I've played and the things I've thought have felt like a new branch of an old tree.
I've finally decided to say fuck it to the idea of music which requires others. There's a whole bunch of stuff that interests me in that sector, but I need to put my focuses elsewhere, because my will to work is usually far greater than everyone elses. That's not a fault in others, it's more a fault of mine. I have a voracious appetite for creation. My fingers hurt right now because of all of the guitar playing I've been doing. I've stretched my voice tonight, while it's still healing from a week or two of abuse. All of this and I have no audience. I don't have anyone to appreciate it, because all of this transpired in my room, alone.
I don't create because I want to be famous, I don't create because I want to get laid, I don't even create because I enjoy it. I create because I have too. There is something in me which must get out, and music seems to do that. It's the only thing that seems to do that. When My fingers the strings the fretboard and my brain are all the same thing, are all simply pallets for whatever force I'm channelling, all is right with the world, no matter what.
I can play music, about anything, at any time, and there is no doubt that what I feel will be better. If I feel sadness it will be cathartic sadness, if I feel happiness it will turn into joy, that much greater because of pain I have felt. Music channels something out of me, that if left un siphoned would build up and pressure my mind to explode.
SO now I listen to other people's music, hearing some of me in it, and hearing some of them in me. There is a tie, and it feels good to know that maybe you have something to offer the world.
I ramble because that is what I must do. the words have to leave my head or a decompressing explosion is inevitable. Everything I say, and think and talk and fuck up, all of that needs to go out on a page, or in a song, and when my fingers are typing without me being aware of what they're typing, or how, that is when the page is just an extension of my mind, a place where the thoughts I can't hold on to are saved for later viewing. That you may end up reading it has no tie to the purpose. The view into a brain not fully functioning, or perhaps functioning at too high a level, is something of use, but is secondary to the real purpose. I just have to. I must write, and that's all there is too it. It could be shit, or it could be deleted in the near futures, but as long as it's out the space in my head feels more open, and the thoughts that run together and run a part so quickly no longer threaten to destroy the delicate pieces of myself that float in the streams of idea and speech that slide through my brain circuits.
I've finally decided to say fuck it to the idea of music which requires others. There's a whole bunch of stuff that interests me in that sector, but I need to put my focuses elsewhere, because my will to work is usually far greater than everyone elses. That's not a fault in others, it's more a fault of mine. I have a voracious appetite for creation. My fingers hurt right now because of all of the guitar playing I've been doing. I've stretched my voice tonight, while it's still healing from a week or two of abuse. All of this and I have no audience. I don't have anyone to appreciate it, because all of this transpired in my room, alone.
I don't create because I want to be famous, I don't create because I want to get laid, I don't even create because I enjoy it. I create because I have too. There is something in me which must get out, and music seems to do that. It's the only thing that seems to do that. When My fingers the strings the fretboard and my brain are all the same thing, are all simply pallets for whatever force I'm channelling, all is right with the world, no matter what.
I can play music, about anything, at any time, and there is no doubt that what I feel will be better. If I feel sadness it will be cathartic sadness, if I feel happiness it will turn into joy, that much greater because of pain I have felt. Music channels something out of me, that if left un siphoned would build up and pressure my mind to explode.
SO now I listen to other people's music, hearing some of me in it, and hearing some of them in me. There is a tie, and it feels good to know that maybe you have something to offer the world.
I ramble because that is what I must do. the words have to leave my head or a decompressing explosion is inevitable. Everything I say, and think and talk and fuck up, all of that needs to go out on a page, or in a song, and when my fingers are typing without me being aware of what they're typing, or how, that is when the page is just an extension of my mind, a place where the thoughts I can't hold on to are saved for later viewing. That you may end up reading it has no tie to the purpose. The view into a brain not fully functioning, or perhaps functioning at too high a level, is something of use, but is secondary to the real purpose. I just have to. I must write, and that's all there is too it. It could be shit, or it could be deleted in the near futures, but as long as it's out the space in my head feels more open, and the thoughts that run together and run a part so quickly no longer threaten to destroy the delicate pieces of myself that float in the streams of idea and speech that slide through my brain circuits.
Monday, December 29, 2008
going into a hypomania?
I feel a lot like writing tonight. The music I'm listening to, the way my head feels, all of that is giving me reason to write. I have all of these things I want to say, and It just seems like the right time to get them out.
I'm not sure if that's a sign of anything. I do feel tired, and I'm pretty sure I could sleep if I chose to leave the keyboard, so I don't think I'm in a hypomania. That's the damn problem. Whenever I feel god I have to worry. Whenever the world seems to agree with me, I have to wonder if it's just my chemistry.
Being manic or hypomanic feels fucking great. I love the feeling, but I hate what always comes after. Always afterward there is debt, and recrimination, and STD screening. Always afterward I feel like my liver is that much closer to cirrhosis. I feel that my world is that much closer to being toppled over the edge.
So I want to write everything now, and that worries me. I feel awake and well, and that worries me. My impulsive urges don't seem to be kicking in, and of that I'm glad. I know things aren't wrong, but the things I know aren't always so true.
When I'm manic I want to go out and Buy everything, Drink everything, and Fuck Everyone. I'm not like that now. I just want to write. I just want to ramble on with nearly no goal. That whole thing where my thoughts are only loosely connected is one of the other symptoms. Maybe I'm on a build up to mania, or to hypomania. It is a gradual process, so maybe I'm just now beginning to notice it.
If that's the case, then I've improved. Noticing that something is wrong is half the struggle. Knowing that I should leave my credit cards at home, and hide the alcohol is a great help. Knowing that things might get a little crazy is helpful.
Writing about it is helpful too.
All this week I've been desperately wanting sex. That's probably a sign too. I'm glad I'm noticing these things, now I just need to figure out if it's for real.
The good thing about all of this is that if I'm just feeling good because the world isn't out to get me, and because there isn't anything seriously wrong with my life, I can go on with my life without trouble. If I prepare for the worst, I can just continue on. It's good knowing all of this. Finally knowing why I fluctuate from the darkest of darks to the brightest moods possible.
I don't know if just knowing my cycle is enough to keep myself from seriously fucking things up, but it sure helps. Knowing how long it takes to go from feeling that the best solution to the problem of a meaningless existence is to quit, to feeling like the Gods themselves have imbued you with their power, makes everything a bit more real, and a bit more manageable.
Knowing that maybe someone will read this and figure it out themselves is nice too. Maybe my self serving rants will serve someone else for a change too.
I'm not sure if that's a sign of anything. I do feel tired, and I'm pretty sure I could sleep if I chose to leave the keyboard, so I don't think I'm in a hypomania. That's the damn problem. Whenever I feel god I have to worry. Whenever the world seems to agree with me, I have to wonder if it's just my chemistry.
Being manic or hypomanic feels fucking great. I love the feeling, but I hate what always comes after. Always afterward there is debt, and recrimination, and STD screening. Always afterward I feel like my liver is that much closer to cirrhosis. I feel that my world is that much closer to being toppled over the edge.
So I want to write everything now, and that worries me. I feel awake and well, and that worries me. My impulsive urges don't seem to be kicking in, and of that I'm glad. I know things aren't wrong, but the things I know aren't always so true.
When I'm manic I want to go out and Buy everything, Drink everything, and Fuck Everyone. I'm not like that now. I just want to write. I just want to ramble on with nearly no goal. That whole thing where my thoughts are only loosely connected is one of the other symptoms. Maybe I'm on a build up to mania, or to hypomania. It is a gradual process, so maybe I'm just now beginning to notice it.
If that's the case, then I've improved. Noticing that something is wrong is half the struggle. Knowing that I should leave my credit cards at home, and hide the alcohol is a great help. Knowing that things might get a little crazy is helpful.
Writing about it is helpful too.
All this week I've been desperately wanting sex. That's probably a sign too. I'm glad I'm noticing these things, now I just need to figure out if it's for real.
The good thing about all of this is that if I'm just feeling good because the world isn't out to get me, and because there isn't anything seriously wrong with my life, I can go on with my life without trouble. If I prepare for the worst, I can just continue on. It's good knowing all of this. Finally knowing why I fluctuate from the darkest of darks to the brightest moods possible.
I don't know if just knowing my cycle is enough to keep myself from seriously fucking things up, but it sure helps. Knowing how long it takes to go from feeling that the best solution to the problem of a meaningless existence is to quit, to feeling like the Gods themselves have imbued you with their power, makes everything a bit more real, and a bit more manageable.
Knowing that maybe someone will read this and figure it out themselves is nice too. Maybe my self serving rants will serve someone else for a change too.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
an Un-ironic yearning for Emo.
I would have been perfect as the vocalist for an Emo band. We're past the time when that is the sort of music I can play un-ironically. I love that frank, heart on the sleeve feeling. The Get Up Kids, and Saves the Day. The Rites of Spring, and Hot Water Music. I was cut out for bands like that. I have a voice that's pretty but just expressive enough to sound hurt. I have enough strife to write about. I feel things strongly enough to respond with the sort of softly voiced anger that suits Emo so well.
I even know the musical structure well enough that I could write Emo songs in my sleep. I'm so well versed in the intricacies of selling out and the value of poor recordings that I could argue purity with those guys who only listen to music on seven inch vinyl.
I was built for harmony and painful realisations regarding a lack of self worth. I was built to write songs that show how much I rely on other people for approval. I could have put all of this effort into great music rather than personal growth.
What brings all this to the fore is the music I want to listen to while up in my hometown. I want to listen to this music that whines, because I feel justified in a place like this. I have small town anger that I could have let out in the powerchords of my songs.
I was in a screamo band in highschool. This was before the tight pants and eyeliner was a must for any show goer. I was into screamo (still am) at a time when the only similarity in dress was based on practicality. I had my band shirt, hoodie and jeans, mostly because that's all I had. I was into it before it was cool. And the fact that I make that statement un-ironically is a sign of how hip I felt I was.
I'm cut out for that posturing, and for the life of sleeping on peoples couches, eating ramen noodles from a styrofoam cup, and drinking too much. I am made for a world in which my music is the only thing that gives me purpose. But it's too late now.
If I were to play something easy, that I could just fall into without challenging myself, that would still be it, Emo, with it's strong chords, and it's tendency towards self confession. Emo is simple, and to me marks a time when the troubles we were facing really didn't have much to do with the rest of the world. Emo reminds me of a time when what I did was my business, and the hole I was in wasn't one everyone else could share. It was a time where suburban middle class white males could whine about how bad their lives were, and still feel justified. It was a time when being aware of the strife of the world was all well and good, but worrying about yourself wasn't narcissism, it was just natural.
I could have done that. Dropped everything for a tour of couches and houses, and small clubs. I could have done that, having rabid fans, but not very many of them. It isn't possible now, and won't likely be ever again, but I still feel that those young men singing about girls who scorned them have something in common with me. I still love emo even though it isn't cool anymore. I still love the way it sounds, and the cheesy things about it. I un-ironically feel nostalgic for a scene I never was able to fully immerse myself in.
That simpler time is gone, and my ranting about it doesn't change that, but maybe it will remove some of the shit people give emo. Just because someone decides that their problems are important enough to sing about, doesn't make their music in valid. The sooner people realise the actual worth of good emo music, of what emo was before this popular shit took over, the better off musical history will be.
I even know the musical structure well enough that I could write Emo songs in my sleep. I'm so well versed in the intricacies of selling out and the value of poor recordings that I could argue purity with those guys who only listen to music on seven inch vinyl.
I was built for harmony and painful realisations regarding a lack of self worth. I was built to write songs that show how much I rely on other people for approval. I could have put all of this effort into great music rather than personal growth.
What brings all this to the fore is the music I want to listen to while up in my hometown. I want to listen to this music that whines, because I feel justified in a place like this. I have small town anger that I could have let out in the powerchords of my songs.
I was in a screamo band in highschool. This was before the tight pants and eyeliner was a must for any show goer. I was into screamo (still am) at a time when the only similarity in dress was based on practicality. I had my band shirt, hoodie and jeans, mostly because that's all I had. I was into it before it was cool. And the fact that I make that statement un-ironically is a sign of how hip I felt I was.
I'm cut out for that posturing, and for the life of sleeping on peoples couches, eating ramen noodles from a styrofoam cup, and drinking too much. I am made for a world in which my music is the only thing that gives me purpose. But it's too late now.
If I were to play something easy, that I could just fall into without challenging myself, that would still be it, Emo, with it's strong chords, and it's tendency towards self confession. Emo is simple, and to me marks a time when the troubles we were facing really didn't have much to do with the rest of the world. Emo reminds me of a time when what I did was my business, and the hole I was in wasn't one everyone else could share. It was a time where suburban middle class white males could whine about how bad their lives were, and still feel justified. It was a time when being aware of the strife of the world was all well and good, but worrying about yourself wasn't narcissism, it was just natural.
I could have done that. Dropped everything for a tour of couches and houses, and small clubs. I could have done that, having rabid fans, but not very many of them. It isn't possible now, and won't likely be ever again, but I still feel that those young men singing about girls who scorned them have something in common with me. I still love emo even though it isn't cool anymore. I still love the way it sounds, and the cheesy things about it. I un-ironically feel nostalgic for a scene I never was able to fully immerse myself in.
That simpler time is gone, and my ranting about it doesn't change that, but maybe it will remove some of the shit people give emo. Just because someone decides that their problems are important enough to sing about, doesn't make their music in valid. The sooner people realise the actual worth of good emo music, of what emo was before this popular shit took over, the better off musical history will be.
moving towards reconciliation
Tomorrow I'm leaving the mountains again. I've felt less animosity towards this place while here than I had expected to. If that sounds like an odd statement to be making, I suppose some background would be helpful. I hated this place. I haven't thought of it as home since 2006. Now that I have a place of my own, tenuous though my ability to pay for it is, I don't have to hold on to this place.
I grew up here in the mountains, a smart inquisitive kid in a place where that sort of thing was discouraged. There were things about Westwood that aren't true of other places, but for the most part it was a logging town still separated from the mixing seen in most of the northwest.
I know more about guns and cars than I would ever care to, simply for conversational purposes. When I was small and my parents took me to San Francisco I was fascinated with black people because we didn't have any. I didn't realise that nigger jokes were offensive until junior highschool. The only AP courses offered at my highschool were done on the internet through third parties, and in my junior year I had to offer the principal an ultimatum to take more than one.
Essentially everything about this place stifled my mind. Everything about these mountains except for the ability to just leave into the woods held back my potential. Naturally I grew to resent it. I was the definition of misanthropic, and I still don't think that was an unreasonable response to the world.
I ran into people I went to highschool with while up here on holiday, and one of them said something rather telling, "I don't think I've seen you since you graduated" That's three years for anyone who's counting. There was a reason for that. Coming back up here still makes me want to listen to angry music about lost love and unfulfilled potential. Coming back up here still fills me with the desire to Fuck Shit Up.
So that I felt less animosity towards this place than I expected is a huge sign of growth on my part. The place hasn't changed, it is still enthralled by drugs poverty and redneck politics. The people are still petty, and exclusionary, with the exception of those who came here for solitude. People still know who I am, and I still know who nearly everyone is, and I still have a past here. People are still getting married or pregnant far too young, and are still joining the military because there's nothing else left for them. The place is the same place, and that will be true further in the future than I have plans.
The place hasn't grown, but I have. I feel good about that. I still feel like I could have done so much more (and could do so much more now) raised just about anywhere else in the US, but I don't feel as resentful about that now. I have come to except the good and bad that has come my way because of my upbringing. I have forgiven this place for it's shortcomings and am willing to live without bothering it, if it doesn't bother me.
I've gone from a point of view of mutually assured destruction to one of live and let live. That's all I'm willing to concede to as of yet.
I'm now willing to admit that maybe the confining character of this place has given me inspiration, and drive that I may not have had otherwise, and that perhaps growing up with a certain degree of adversity has helped me to deal with the adversity I'm likely to face in the future.
Being from here isn't something I fight or deny anymore. I still can't tell people here that I like girls and boys, and I still don't have peers who understand me here, but I am willing to live with that, and that's a big step.
I grew up here in the mountains, a smart inquisitive kid in a place where that sort of thing was discouraged. There were things about Westwood that aren't true of other places, but for the most part it was a logging town still separated from the mixing seen in most of the northwest.
I know more about guns and cars than I would ever care to, simply for conversational purposes. When I was small and my parents took me to San Francisco I was fascinated with black people because we didn't have any. I didn't realise that nigger jokes were offensive until junior highschool. The only AP courses offered at my highschool were done on the internet through third parties, and in my junior year I had to offer the principal an ultimatum to take more than one.
Essentially everything about this place stifled my mind. Everything about these mountains except for the ability to just leave into the woods held back my potential. Naturally I grew to resent it. I was the definition of misanthropic, and I still don't think that was an unreasonable response to the world.
I ran into people I went to highschool with while up here on holiday, and one of them said something rather telling, "I don't think I've seen you since you graduated" That's three years for anyone who's counting. There was a reason for that. Coming back up here still makes me want to listen to angry music about lost love and unfulfilled potential. Coming back up here still fills me with the desire to Fuck Shit Up.
So that I felt less animosity towards this place than I expected is a huge sign of growth on my part. The place hasn't changed, it is still enthralled by drugs poverty and redneck politics. The people are still petty, and exclusionary, with the exception of those who came here for solitude. People still know who I am, and I still know who nearly everyone is, and I still have a past here. People are still getting married or pregnant far too young, and are still joining the military because there's nothing else left for them. The place is the same place, and that will be true further in the future than I have plans.
The place hasn't grown, but I have. I feel good about that. I still feel like I could have done so much more (and could do so much more now) raised just about anywhere else in the US, but I don't feel as resentful about that now. I have come to except the good and bad that has come my way because of my upbringing. I have forgiven this place for it's shortcomings and am willing to live without bothering it, if it doesn't bother me.
I've gone from a point of view of mutually assured destruction to one of live and let live. That's all I'm willing to concede to as of yet.
I'm now willing to admit that maybe the confining character of this place has given me inspiration, and drive that I may not have had otherwise, and that perhaps growing up with a certain degree of adversity has helped me to deal with the adversity I'm likely to face in the future.
Being from here isn't something I fight or deny anymore. I still can't tell people here that I like girls and boys, and I still don't have peers who understand me here, but I am willing to live with that, and that's a big step.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
I had a firm intention when I sat down to write this post. I wanted to say something about the place I am in the world, and about how I feel about the world, but I don't have any serious desire to do that anymore. I don't feel like writing down a record of what my state is would help anything.
The dilemma with which I'm faced is really one about whether keeping track of my life is worth the effort. I know that sometimes I just have to let out all of my thoughts in writing or my head feels overfull. I don't know if that gives me the right to put all of that on public display though. Ultimately if I decided to write a book (or finish any of those I've been working on) Then it would be the same sort of situation. Why are the products of my mind, imaginatory and not, important enough to be shown to everyone who cares to see them? I doubt that I'll stop writing, and doing so in a public way, but I also doubt it will cease to bother me to a certain extent.
The cult of micro-celebrity isn't something I aspire to. It bothers me that people could know where I am and what I'm doing nigh all the time. That doesn't mean I stop posting facebook statuses, nor does it mean I stop posting thoughts on this blog. I wonder what that says about me. As much as I find people airing their dirty laundry for the attention of it a little disgusting, to a certain extent I am one of those people.
I suppose the real idea here is that I'm recognising my own contradictions. There are things about me which don't mesh with each other. I don't feel bad about this, but it's simply something I feel I need to be aware of. People like characters with internal contradictions, we like our holy gangsters, and our ethically questionable heroes. These inner contradictions engender interest. I guess people realise that they are not just one person. The duality of mans being is vital to our concept of self. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, "The Dark Knight", any number of other characters give clear view of this. I'm just not sure I want to be part of this self contradicting thing we call humanity. I can't really do anything about it, but I do wonder how necessary our duality of being is, how necessary that which is evil about us is.
The dilemma with which I'm faced is really one about whether keeping track of my life is worth the effort. I know that sometimes I just have to let out all of my thoughts in writing or my head feels overfull. I don't know if that gives me the right to put all of that on public display though. Ultimately if I decided to write a book (or finish any of those I've been working on) Then it would be the same sort of situation. Why are the products of my mind, imaginatory and not, important enough to be shown to everyone who cares to see them? I doubt that I'll stop writing, and doing so in a public way, but I also doubt it will cease to bother me to a certain extent.
The cult of micro-celebrity isn't something I aspire to. It bothers me that people could know where I am and what I'm doing nigh all the time. That doesn't mean I stop posting facebook statuses, nor does it mean I stop posting thoughts on this blog. I wonder what that says about me. As much as I find people airing their dirty laundry for the attention of it a little disgusting, to a certain extent I am one of those people.
I suppose the real idea here is that I'm recognising my own contradictions. There are things about me which don't mesh with each other. I don't feel bad about this, but it's simply something I feel I need to be aware of. People like characters with internal contradictions, we like our holy gangsters, and our ethically questionable heroes. These inner contradictions engender interest. I guess people realise that they are not just one person. The duality of mans being is vital to our concept of self. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, "The Dark Knight", any number of other characters give clear view of this. I'm just not sure I want to be part of this self contradicting thing we call humanity. I can't really do anything about it, but I do wonder how necessary our duality of being is, how necessary that which is evil about us is.
Friday, December 26, 2008
my hollidays, and me
I spent Christmas at my brothers, hanging out with my little niece and nephew (damn the English language for not having a cognate for Sobrinos) and playing Poker with my parents and my brothers friends. It was a good day and I'm glad I went up to see everyone. That's sort of become our holiday tradition. My brother's house is where we have thanksgiving and where we have christmas. Everything else is up in the air, but those two are pretty solid.
The tradition of having thanksgiving at Craig's is a relatively new one. While I was growing up (or for most of that time) we would have thanksgiving up in Oregon with my brother Chucks family. That only lasted one more year after he died in 2002. It sort of became too much. That whole thing was sort of too much. The way my family interacts isn't very different because of it, but certain things were thrown into relief.
It's a topic I'd need more time to delve into. I don't mean that I can't talk about it or anything, I simply would need more time to really know how I feel about things. The way that my family is confuses everyone but those members of my family. Everyone thinks they have a crazy family, but for mine it's true.
My siblings are all about 18 years older than me. My sister is technically my half sister and my brothers were adopted. All of them were here long before I was, and all are my siblings in the truest sense of the word. Everything else about my family is complex in different ways.
My father has the similar mental illness to mine, or perhaps I should put it the other way around. That's made a lot of my life interesting, and has made all of his interesting. We lived in Japan, and we lived in the mountains. I grew up with these two polar opposites, so as much as I am a boy from the mountains I am not like everyone else from the mountains. I was raised by teachers in a community that didn't value education. I grew up with rednecks, and still became a far left winger. I am filled with contradictions. That's partly because of my family.
There's more to me, but that's what this blog is for, to really figure it out. Maybe someone will be interested in who I am, and maybe they won't, but either way I'll figure out what all these intertwining influences mean.
The tradition of having thanksgiving at Craig's is a relatively new one. While I was growing up (or for most of that time) we would have thanksgiving up in Oregon with my brother Chucks family. That only lasted one more year after he died in 2002. It sort of became too much. That whole thing was sort of too much. The way my family interacts isn't very different because of it, but certain things were thrown into relief.
It's a topic I'd need more time to delve into. I don't mean that I can't talk about it or anything, I simply would need more time to really know how I feel about things. The way that my family is confuses everyone but those members of my family. Everyone thinks they have a crazy family, but for mine it's true.
My siblings are all about 18 years older than me. My sister is technically my half sister and my brothers were adopted. All of them were here long before I was, and all are my siblings in the truest sense of the word. Everything else about my family is complex in different ways.
My father has the similar mental illness to mine, or perhaps I should put it the other way around. That's made a lot of my life interesting, and has made all of his interesting. We lived in Japan, and we lived in the mountains. I grew up with these two polar opposites, so as much as I am a boy from the mountains I am not like everyone else from the mountains. I was raised by teachers in a community that didn't value education. I grew up with rednecks, and still became a far left winger. I am filled with contradictions. That's partly because of my family.
There's more to me, but that's what this blog is for, to really figure it out. Maybe someone will be interested in who I am, and maybe they won't, but either way I'll figure out what all these intertwining influences mean.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
back home with mixed feelings.
I'm back in the mountains tonight. It's an odd feeling. The place is still intertwined with the good and bad that came from spending most of my childhood here. Coming back up here has also reminded me of how horrible it feels to be stagnating. Even when on vacation the fact of stagnation eats at my being. I'm not particularly pleased with doing nothing. That's not to say I don't still play my guitar and read and write while I'm here. I just don't feel like those things lead anywhere.
The nature of this place is isolation. If I produce something of worth here, it is of no worth to the rest of the world, mostly because it doesn't ever get to the rest of the world. Basically I am reminded of the futility I felt while growing up. Many of the things I'm feeling now about this place are no longer true. I no longer have any responsibilities in this place, and no longer do I have to wait to get out. If I so chose I could leave tomorrow. That is a liberating thing to know. But just because I can leave doesn't make the memory of being stuck any more pleasant.
Ultimately that is what this place reminds me of, ambition caged by circumstance. I hadn't returned here for the longest time for just that reason. All I was reminded of was the sick feeling that I was capable of more than I was allowed to do.
Being back isn't as bad as I had anticipated, and I am willing to put up with my feelings of stagnation and confinement for a while. I don't so mind the situation when untethered, but I doubt I'll ever remove the feelings that made me hate this place. I doubt the things that I never got because I grew up here rather than somewhere more open will stop haunting me. I doubt that I'll ever grow to love this place. Maybe I'll grow to feel indifferent, maybe I'll be able to see this place objectively sometime, but that time hasn't come. For now I just marvel at the natural beauty and the way that so many of these people surrounded by it are utterly ugly in comparison.
The nature of this place is isolation. If I produce something of worth here, it is of no worth to the rest of the world, mostly because it doesn't ever get to the rest of the world. Basically I am reminded of the futility I felt while growing up. Many of the things I'm feeling now about this place are no longer true. I no longer have any responsibilities in this place, and no longer do I have to wait to get out. If I so chose I could leave tomorrow. That is a liberating thing to know. But just because I can leave doesn't make the memory of being stuck any more pleasant.
Ultimately that is what this place reminds me of, ambition caged by circumstance. I hadn't returned here for the longest time for just that reason. All I was reminded of was the sick feeling that I was capable of more than I was allowed to do.
Being back isn't as bad as I had anticipated, and I am willing to put up with my feelings of stagnation and confinement for a while. I don't so mind the situation when untethered, but I doubt I'll ever remove the feelings that made me hate this place. I doubt the things that I never got because I grew up here rather than somewhere more open will stop haunting me. I doubt that I'll ever grow to love this place. Maybe I'll grow to feel indifferent, maybe I'll be able to see this place objectively sometime, but that time hasn't come. For now I just marvel at the natural beauty and the way that so many of these people surrounded by it are utterly ugly in comparison.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
post-chordalism.
To further expand on my previous post, this post will deal with what I am beginning to think of as Post-Chordalism. Or Post-Chordal music. It's all based in how you think of it.
The key basis to the idea is the removal of a structure mediated by chord progression. This is something played around with in free jazz. I don't feel it's been played around with, (at least not enough) In music where guitars are the primary focus.
I admit that the guitar is so wonderfully suited to chords that not taking advantage of that would have been obtuse. Of course that was going to be a focus of the way guitar is played. I'm only sad that has been the only focus. The riff based construction sometimes used in maths rock is a nice step in the correct direction. Using the guitar in a similar way as an instrument which can only play a singular note at a time, though restricting in certain ways, opens up so many possibilities. It is interesting even as a simple exercise. It's like trying to play without a high E string. The sound is different, but it challenges you to play within a truncated range. This challenge changes your music, often for the better.
I don't suggest that Post-chordal music would have no chords, I simply suggest that the usage of chords would be less frequent, and at the whim of the guitarist. In the early stages I imagine this would sound like free jazz played on the guitar, but whence the techniques prominent in maths rock, such as finger tapping, enter the arena, something entirely different will emerge.
The Point here is that the Post isn't a complete leaving behind of, but a de-emphasising of. In many a song the chord progression is the key sign of structure other than "verse chorus bridge" Though I'm not yet sure about which vestiges of structure to keep and which to get rid of, I do think that chord progressions are on their way out.
I would most like an ensemble sized group, with a bandleader within. The bandleader would give signal, be it musical (some riff perhaps) or other wise which tells the rest of the band to switch their tone completely. whatever had been worked on is left behind and something new is created. The only structure is the way in which the bandleader decides to line up the changes. Some riff can be the focus of a block of the song, but everyone does as they will in that space, playing off of each other, until signalled into another switch.
That's the basic Idea. The amount of music that could come of it is magnificent. There is a nigh infinite realm of possibility in just that idea. If someone manages to start such a Post-Chordal, or Free-rock Or whatever the hell else you want to call it, band, ensemble or so on, I'd be thrilled.
In fact that would make things easier for me. It's never the first guy who does it who makes the biggest waves. Take Ornnette Coleman's adoption of Free Jazz and then John Coltrane's (Coltrane was second, and far bigger)/
So please borrow my idea. Perhaps better musicians than me can take it and do something with it.
So this idea is yours to anyone who finds it. Credit me or don't, but make great music either way.
The key basis to the idea is the removal of a structure mediated by chord progression. This is something played around with in free jazz. I don't feel it's been played around with, (at least not enough) In music where guitars are the primary focus.
I admit that the guitar is so wonderfully suited to chords that not taking advantage of that would have been obtuse. Of course that was going to be a focus of the way guitar is played. I'm only sad that has been the only focus. The riff based construction sometimes used in maths rock is a nice step in the correct direction. Using the guitar in a similar way as an instrument which can only play a singular note at a time, though restricting in certain ways, opens up so many possibilities. It is interesting even as a simple exercise. It's like trying to play without a high E string. The sound is different, but it challenges you to play within a truncated range. This challenge changes your music, often for the better.
I don't suggest that Post-chordal music would have no chords, I simply suggest that the usage of chords would be less frequent, and at the whim of the guitarist. In the early stages I imagine this would sound like free jazz played on the guitar, but whence the techniques prominent in maths rock, such as finger tapping, enter the arena, something entirely different will emerge.
The Point here is that the Post isn't a complete leaving behind of, but a de-emphasising of. In many a song the chord progression is the key sign of structure other than "verse chorus bridge" Though I'm not yet sure about which vestiges of structure to keep and which to get rid of, I do think that chord progressions are on their way out.
I would most like an ensemble sized group, with a bandleader within. The bandleader would give signal, be it musical (some riff perhaps) or other wise which tells the rest of the band to switch their tone completely. whatever had been worked on is left behind and something new is created. The only structure is the way in which the bandleader decides to line up the changes. Some riff can be the focus of a block of the song, but everyone does as they will in that space, playing off of each other, until signalled into another switch.
That's the basic Idea. The amount of music that could come of it is magnificent. There is a nigh infinite realm of possibility in just that idea. If someone manages to start such a Post-Chordal, or Free-rock Or whatever the hell else you want to call it, band, ensemble or so on, I'd be thrilled.
In fact that would make things easier for me. It's never the first guy who does it who makes the biggest waves. Take Ornnette Coleman's adoption of Free Jazz and then John Coltrane's (Coltrane was second, and far bigger)/
So please borrow my idea. Perhaps better musicians than me can take it and do something with it.
So this idea is yours to anyone who finds it. Credit me or don't, but make great music either way.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
maths rock/free jazz = The future of music.
I've been listening to lots of maths rock (It sounds better as Math rock but mathematics is plural for god's sake) Bands like LITE, You Slut!, Maps & atlases, This town needs guns, Foals, American Football, and a few others. I love the guitar interplay. That's always been a big interest for me, interplay of multiple parts.
It brings up the fact that my musical interests and aspirations explore a few particular things. I am most interested in the interplay of multiple melodic lines, discord, passion, and innovative use of dynamic range.
It can be seen in my interest in Jazz, and maths rock, as well as my interest in screamo and post-hardcore. I am most comfortable where musician-ship meets the need to express.
I am helped by the fact that I strongly desire to express things I'm unable to put into words. There are a number of things that only music can bring out. The best example I can give of this is the way that a piece with two melodies brings out a third melody which though unplayed, is naturally there. It's like the two melodies outline the space for the third unplayed one to go. Basically one is able to hear the space inbetween.
This is partly because of the way I hear music. I hear music in terms of what can be added to it. Most songs have something missing. Almost all songs. Even great songs have things missing. There are melodic opportunities unrealised. when nothing is missing the music is just fucking amazing, but this is a pretty rare occurrence.
So I'm as likely to come up with some different tune to go along with a song as I am to sing along with the tune the song already has. It's only when people have more than one melody going, playing off of eachother, and modulating based only on patterns set out beforehand and the other players ideas. It's the logic behind great jazz, especially free jazz.
Two great musicians playing off of each other is a great example of the whole being greater than the sum of the parts. Two great musicians playing off of each other pushes each musician in directions they wouldn't usually go.
I feel like the natural next step in music, the next progressive step is that fusion between free jazz and math rock. There is a natural junction there that I don't see being fused. I asked my friend (a wonderful jazz drummer) why no one has gotten to this point yet and he suggested it's a musicianship problem. Most jazz music with rock instrumentation becomes fusion. That's all fine and well, but it's been done. It is passée in the most literal of ways.
What I would like is a free jazz played with rock instrumentation and a certain flavour of maths rock tied in. It's a hard thing to describe, but with only one person I sure as hell can't play it.
The trick is to remove a large deal of the structure of the songs. That is where the maths rock is missing things. There is a great deal of interplay, and the way that the guitar is weilded is pretty impressive, but the removal of standard rock structure is what's missing.
That's also the problem with the fusion inclinations of electric musicians who chose to play jazz. It's like they can't get past structure. Maybe I learned differently and so ended up at a different playing point, but the rock structure, for all the good that's been done with it, needs to be put to rest.
There are advancements in rock, and they're interesting, but they all have the same structure for the most part. Subversions of this structure are welcome and usually end up being some of my favourite things, but none have been game changers as of late. The story has been the same for jazz. Jazz hasn't had a real game changer since the death of Davis. There hasn't been a Coltrane for the modern era.
Someone who throws into sharp relief the things that can be done. Someone who throws a monkey wrench into the workings of things. Basically I am calling for those people who have the inclination to make beautiful Jazz or Maths Rock, or Post Hardcore to take a good hard look at what you're changing. Say fuck it to the 90/10 rule about familiarity/innovation and throw out most of the structure that keeps you up. Be brave enough to create without a life vest.
I'm going to try to further this dream, and I continue to play guitar for hours a day to further my skills, and my goals, but if someone should step up before me, that would be welcome.
It brings up the fact that my musical interests and aspirations explore a few particular things. I am most interested in the interplay of multiple melodic lines, discord, passion, and innovative use of dynamic range.
It can be seen in my interest in Jazz, and maths rock, as well as my interest in screamo and post-hardcore. I am most comfortable where musician-ship meets the need to express.
I am helped by the fact that I strongly desire to express things I'm unable to put into words. There are a number of things that only music can bring out. The best example I can give of this is the way that a piece with two melodies brings out a third melody which though unplayed, is naturally there. It's like the two melodies outline the space for the third unplayed one to go. Basically one is able to hear the space inbetween.
This is partly because of the way I hear music. I hear music in terms of what can be added to it. Most songs have something missing. Almost all songs. Even great songs have things missing. There are melodic opportunities unrealised. when nothing is missing the music is just fucking amazing, but this is a pretty rare occurrence.
So I'm as likely to come up with some different tune to go along with a song as I am to sing along with the tune the song already has. It's only when people have more than one melody going, playing off of eachother, and modulating based only on patterns set out beforehand and the other players ideas. It's the logic behind great jazz, especially free jazz.
Two great musicians playing off of each other is a great example of the whole being greater than the sum of the parts. Two great musicians playing off of each other pushes each musician in directions they wouldn't usually go.
I feel like the natural next step in music, the next progressive step is that fusion between free jazz and math rock. There is a natural junction there that I don't see being fused. I asked my friend (a wonderful jazz drummer) why no one has gotten to this point yet and he suggested it's a musicianship problem. Most jazz music with rock instrumentation becomes fusion. That's all fine and well, but it's been done. It is passée in the most literal of ways.
What I would like is a free jazz played with rock instrumentation and a certain flavour of maths rock tied in. It's a hard thing to describe, but with only one person I sure as hell can't play it.
The trick is to remove a large deal of the structure of the songs. That is where the maths rock is missing things. There is a great deal of interplay, and the way that the guitar is weilded is pretty impressive, but the removal of standard rock structure is what's missing.
That's also the problem with the fusion inclinations of electric musicians who chose to play jazz. It's like they can't get past structure. Maybe I learned differently and so ended up at a different playing point, but the rock structure, for all the good that's been done with it, needs to be put to rest.
There are advancements in rock, and they're interesting, but they all have the same structure for the most part. Subversions of this structure are welcome and usually end up being some of my favourite things, but none have been game changers as of late. The story has been the same for jazz. Jazz hasn't had a real game changer since the death of Davis. There hasn't been a Coltrane for the modern era.
Someone who throws into sharp relief the things that can be done. Someone who throws a monkey wrench into the workings of things. Basically I am calling for those people who have the inclination to make beautiful Jazz or Maths Rock, or Post Hardcore to take a good hard look at what you're changing. Say fuck it to the 90/10 rule about familiarity/innovation and throw out most of the structure that keeps you up. Be brave enough to create without a life vest.
I'm going to try to further this dream, and I continue to play guitar for hours a day to further my skills, and my goals, but if someone should step up before me, that would be welcome.
Monday, December 15, 2008
fascinating flaws.
This is a retread from some time last month, but today was indeed dreary, and I've figured out that if I want to write on this blog every day it would be best to just write things related to what I write in my notebook (or in times of little inspiration just copy my notebook). So here are a few pages from my notebook from a few weeks ago.
" It's a pretty dreary day, but that's how I like it. yesterday I stood in the rain for a while waiting for a bus. It felt good having water pour down on me. It felt nice to be out in a healthy world. I chuckled at everyone trying to keep dry, and wondered how much sense it made for something made of so much water trying to avoid just another form of water.
This is one of those ways people are so fundamentally silly. Some of our beliefs and actions can be so asinine. That's of course part of our brilliance though. The lies we construct are so masterful as to inspire awe. The idea of religion is so fantastical and yet so practical. All of our flaws, if you so wish it to call them that, are amazing.
Just as the snake with two heads thrills and excites, so do the apes with beliefs in a higher power.
We are amazing. Delinquency, cruelty, the creativity with which these things are acted out is fascinating. NO mater how much one detests the purpose of guns, the inherent beauty of the object is unavoidable. Our contradictions and the ugly little things that define us are interesting.
Much like staying dry when it is so unnecessary, our quirks show a huge creativity in the interactions we make with the world around us. "
so that was written in a surprisingly post like format, for being a direct quote from my notebook. Luck I suppose.
" It's a pretty dreary day, but that's how I like it. yesterday I stood in the rain for a while waiting for a bus. It felt good having water pour down on me. It felt nice to be out in a healthy world. I chuckled at everyone trying to keep dry, and wondered how much sense it made for something made of so much water trying to avoid just another form of water.
This is one of those ways people are so fundamentally silly. Some of our beliefs and actions can be so asinine. That's of course part of our brilliance though. The lies we construct are so masterful as to inspire awe. The idea of religion is so fantastical and yet so practical. All of our flaws, if you so wish it to call them that, are amazing.
Just as the snake with two heads thrills and excites, so do the apes with beliefs in a higher power.
We are amazing. Delinquency, cruelty, the creativity with which these things are acted out is fascinating. NO mater how much one detests the purpose of guns, the inherent beauty of the object is unavoidable. Our contradictions and the ugly little things that define us are interesting.
Much like staying dry when it is so unnecessary, our quirks show a huge creativity in the interactions we make with the world around us. "
so that was written in a surprisingly post like format, for being a direct quote from my notebook. Luck I suppose.
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
If ever there is a quote regarding how many blogs in the world there are, blogs like this one are accounted for in that number. That sort of draws into question the logic of those numbers. That' my blog exists and is written in doesn't make it important. If people read it, then it might gain some amount of importance, but as far as I can tell it isn't. There must be millions of blogs that work this way. There is someone who writes on it frequently (probably more frequently than I do) but very few people read it, few enough to draw into question it's validity, and importance.
So when I see newsmedia talking about blogs and how many there are, I'm sceptical. Many of these blogs are just like this one, Of little importance, and of little interest to most people. that's what is great about blogs, they're very individual. That's got to be remembered.
So when I see newsmedia talking about blogs and how many there are, I'm sceptical. Many of these blogs are just like this one, Of little importance, and of little interest to most people. that's what is great about blogs, they're very individual. That's got to be remembered.
Monday, November 24, 2008
three things of importance.
Contemplating what this post should be about I came across three things I want to talk about.
~ I hate being single. It's partly the whole lonliness thing, but I'm simply no good at it. I'm consistently good at relationships. I'm good I maintaining them, and being thoughtful. All that stuff comes naturally to me, but all the stuff that comes before that doesn't work as well. I'm only so introverted. I like to be alone most of the time, but having one person who is allowed in my bubble makes certain things way more tolerable. I guess it comes down to the fact that I can only play guitar for so many hours a day, and read, and write. In that other down time, having someone I can just lean on and curl up to makes the rest of everything better.
~ nextly, I just started watching the show Skins on BBC. It's very good. The first episode I saw was fascinating and screamed of literary prowess. Just that episode (it's episode 16 I believe, the title of it is "Tony") Is one of the best, and only, examples of television as art. That episode is just a great fucking story. I liked the others I've seen too of course, but that one was brilliant, and felt like an elevation of the form.
~ and finally, I really want to get a band going. I've a few songs written with a guitarist friend of mine, and I could see it becoming something more, but it's not moving particularly quickly. I've also not played bass in my friends band for a while. My good friend and drummer from my last band has been atrociously busy, so not much has gone on there, and he's one of the only fellows I know who I feel could move my music towards where I want it to go.
I've been playing obsessive amounts of guitar, and have a number of song ideas set and ready to show off, however I don't know any bassists who could do what I want done. Normally I'd be the bassist. Actually Ideally I would do everything, just have myself cloned a few times, and then have Dan do drums. I guess what I'm really saying is that I need to find some musicians who have time to dedicate and with whom I can collaborate. I'm also tired of being in bands with just guys. There aren't nearly enough female musicians (at least not in bands. There's no shortage of female instrumentalists in more classical settings) I feel like having a differently structured brain working on things makes the music better (exemplary are My Bloody Valentine)
Actually that's what I would like for a project, I would like to be as Kevin Shields was for Loveless. He did nigh everything and then had at his disposal Colm O Ciosig and Belinda Butcher.
Colm contributed one track, (was incapacitated for the majority of the recording) and Belinda did primarilly singing (so the things that Kevin couldn't do for himself).
That's why I just want a four track recorder so I can get this stuff down. A recording mechanism is my next priority really.
alright, enough ranting, I'll post some other time. Likely in a few days. Until then.
~ I hate being single. It's partly the whole lonliness thing, but I'm simply no good at it. I'm consistently good at relationships. I'm good I maintaining them, and being thoughtful. All that stuff comes naturally to me, but all the stuff that comes before that doesn't work as well. I'm only so introverted. I like to be alone most of the time, but having one person who is allowed in my bubble makes certain things way more tolerable. I guess it comes down to the fact that I can only play guitar for so many hours a day, and read, and write. In that other down time, having someone I can just lean on and curl up to makes the rest of everything better.
~ nextly, I just started watching the show Skins on BBC. It's very good. The first episode I saw was fascinating and screamed of literary prowess. Just that episode (it's episode 16 I believe, the title of it is "Tony") Is one of the best, and only, examples of television as art. That episode is just a great fucking story. I liked the others I've seen too of course, but that one was brilliant, and felt like an elevation of the form.
~ and finally, I really want to get a band going. I've a few songs written with a guitarist friend of mine, and I could see it becoming something more, but it's not moving particularly quickly. I've also not played bass in my friends band for a while. My good friend and drummer from my last band has been atrociously busy, so not much has gone on there, and he's one of the only fellows I know who I feel could move my music towards where I want it to go.
I've been playing obsessive amounts of guitar, and have a number of song ideas set and ready to show off, however I don't know any bassists who could do what I want done. Normally I'd be the bassist. Actually Ideally I would do everything, just have myself cloned a few times, and then have Dan do drums. I guess what I'm really saying is that I need to find some musicians who have time to dedicate and with whom I can collaborate. I'm also tired of being in bands with just guys. There aren't nearly enough female musicians (at least not in bands. There's no shortage of female instrumentalists in more classical settings) I feel like having a differently structured brain working on things makes the music better (exemplary are My Bloody Valentine)
Actually that's what I would like for a project, I would like to be as Kevin Shields was for Loveless. He did nigh everything and then had at his disposal Colm O Ciosig and Belinda Butcher.
Colm contributed one track, (was incapacitated for the majority of the recording) and Belinda did primarilly singing (so the things that Kevin couldn't do for himself).
That's why I just want a four track recorder so I can get this stuff down. A recording mechanism is my next priority really.
alright, enough ranting, I'll post some other time. Likely in a few days. Until then.
Friday, November 21, 2008
fits and starts.
I tend to post in fits and starts. It helps that no one reads this blog, but I am quite aware that quietly posting every day will get one readership. I have a whole bunch of listeners on Blip.fm not just because my music selection is superb (even if it weren't someone would think it brilliant) but because I post all the time. The degree of love directed my way and the sorts of people who listen to my posts is determined by my musical tastes but it's my prolificness that determines the fact that I have listeners at all.
the point is that once again I'm going to try posting here every day. I already write every day. I might as well put some of that writing on the internet. It'll get out somewhere. I can't say that It will be good (though being so self deprecating isn't a great idea in the grander scheme) but it certainly will be.
the point is that once again I'm going to try posting here every day. I already write every day. I might as well put some of that writing on the internet. It'll get out somewhere. I can't say that It will be good (though being so self deprecating isn't a great idea in the grander scheme) but it certainly will be.
10,000 hours
It takes ten thousand hours to become a virtuoso. That's a pretty consistent number. In research on exceptional people that's the number that comes up the most often. At my current rate of practice on guitar (ignoring any practice I've done up to this point, and assuming unusual diligence) It would take me (365x2 = 730. 10,000/730 =) 13.69 years. Obviously it's not quite as dire as that, but that is still not the best thing to be hearing. I'll be Thirty Three by then, (nigh thirty four). Not exactly an old man, but not a young one either. I suppose I could up the practice, but I don't anticipate my time getting more available in the intervening years.
Add an hour of practice each day I'd only shave off three years or so, and once you've committed to ten, what's another three. It does seem rather hopeless.
That of course isn't to say I won't continue to practice, probably for the rest of my life, it's simply to say that I've a long way to go.
I look forward to the music, but I do rather wish that my virtuosity would appear somewhat more rapidly.
however there is naught to be done about that.
Add an hour of practice each day I'd only shave off three years or so, and once you've committed to ten, what's another three. It does seem rather hopeless.
That of course isn't to say I won't continue to practice, probably for the rest of my life, it's simply to say that I've a long way to go.
I look forward to the music, but I do rather wish that my virtuosity would appear somewhat more rapidly.
however there is naught to be done about that.
Monday, November 10, 2008
it's been months. I've not written in months. That's not to say I haven't written at all, just not here. I've actually been writing quite a lot. I just suppose I haven't felt it good enough to show off to the world.
I'm a rare blogger, in that I don't always like airing my dirty laundry. There's certainly a nice catharsis when I do, but some things just sound too whiny even for me.
I've had a very uneventful month. I'm relatively close to finding a job. That will pull me out of my odd stagnation.
My room is coverd with things. I haven't even fully moved in. I can't ever seem to get the desire to move things into some order. No one really visits my room, nor do I expect they will anytime soon. It's partly laziness, but it's also partly simple desperation. When I get a job I'll clean everything up. It's messy because I like a certain amount of parity between my state and my environment.
The mess doesn't bother me, but it really should. Everthing should matter more to me, and that it doesn't is somewhat disturbing. I do want to get this whole thing started. I really want to get this life of my going somewhere, but so much of that is just waiting. So much of it I have no control over.
I can do what I have been doing, just reading, and writing, and playing music, but little else comes my way. I don't go anywhere, and I don't feel good about that.
Not only does my lack of control over when my life starts up again bother me, so too does my lack of companionship. I have dear friends who are wonderful, but it's not the same as having a partner. honestly I kind of just miss cuddling. I don't sleep well alone. I don't sleep well at all, but when i'm not alone I don't feel so bad about it. As much as I need time to myself, I wouldn't mind having someone else to lean on.
I don't even really feel like explaining it. I just have gotten tired of being alone. romance fulfills and entire different need.
I never did like being single.
I'm a rare blogger, in that I don't always like airing my dirty laundry. There's certainly a nice catharsis when I do, but some things just sound too whiny even for me.
I've had a very uneventful month. I'm relatively close to finding a job. That will pull me out of my odd stagnation.
My room is coverd with things. I haven't even fully moved in. I can't ever seem to get the desire to move things into some order. No one really visits my room, nor do I expect they will anytime soon. It's partly laziness, but it's also partly simple desperation. When I get a job I'll clean everything up. It's messy because I like a certain amount of parity between my state and my environment.
The mess doesn't bother me, but it really should. Everthing should matter more to me, and that it doesn't is somewhat disturbing. I do want to get this whole thing started. I really want to get this life of my going somewhere, but so much of that is just waiting. So much of it I have no control over.
I can do what I have been doing, just reading, and writing, and playing music, but little else comes my way. I don't go anywhere, and I don't feel good about that.
Not only does my lack of control over when my life starts up again bother me, so too does my lack of companionship. I have dear friends who are wonderful, but it's not the same as having a partner. honestly I kind of just miss cuddling. I don't sleep well alone. I don't sleep well at all, but when i'm not alone I don't feel so bad about it. As much as I need time to myself, I wouldn't mind having someone else to lean on.
I don't even really feel like explaining it. I just have gotten tired of being alone. romance fulfills and entire different need.
I never did like being single.
Monday, September 22, 2008
It has been twenty two days since my last post, and boy what a twenty two days it has been.
I don't care to go into detail. It sucked, 'twas manic and crazy, and filled with upheaval. I can't say much more without opening the speficicity can of worms.
Tonight I haven't been sleeping. I'm quite wide awake, and it's three AM. That's not too unusual, but it does point to a possible manic upswing. For all that such upswings always get me into trouble, they feel fucking great most of the time. Sometimes they end up being far too much, and the aftermath is always horrible. It's a bit like drug addiction though, once you're no longer high you have to deal with all the consequences of having neglected shit, so you want to get high again and forget it all. that's how it goes. Right now I just kind of want to be manic so I can go out and spend money, do drugs, get laid, and not give a fuck about any of it. Of course I don't actually want to do any of this because I know how much it fucks up my existence, but damn would it be nice to get out of the shithole I've been in.
Things are all right though. I just want a bit more companionship of an intimate sort (I've plenty in the way of friends) and a bit more of a fulfilling day to day existence. What I really want to do is either move to Ireland for a year. Just pick up and go right now ditching everything, or go on tour playing music. The difference between the two options is the going off to play music is far far more viable. I might be able to actually pull that off. I've been playing a lot of music lately. I've always been playing a lot of music, but now I'm playing more of my own. I was looking at my forearms tonight and thinking about how much bigger than my biceps they are. This is just because I play bass and guitar for hours every day. My forearms are beastly, but my biceps are as whimpy as can be. I like my forearms so that's fine by me but it provides interesting evidence for how i spend most of my time.
This has turned into somewhat of a rant, but I suppose that's what this blog has become. It's of no incidence as no one reads it, but I still should work on that.
I don't care to go into detail. It sucked, 'twas manic and crazy, and filled with upheaval. I can't say much more without opening the speficicity can of worms.
Tonight I haven't been sleeping. I'm quite wide awake, and it's three AM. That's not too unusual, but it does point to a possible manic upswing. For all that such upswings always get me into trouble, they feel fucking great most of the time. Sometimes they end up being far too much, and the aftermath is always horrible. It's a bit like drug addiction though, once you're no longer high you have to deal with all the consequences of having neglected shit, so you want to get high again and forget it all. that's how it goes. Right now I just kind of want to be manic so I can go out and spend money, do drugs, get laid, and not give a fuck about any of it. Of course I don't actually want to do any of this because I know how much it fucks up my existence, but damn would it be nice to get out of the shithole I've been in.
Things are all right though. I just want a bit more companionship of an intimate sort (I've plenty in the way of friends) and a bit more of a fulfilling day to day existence. What I really want to do is either move to Ireland for a year. Just pick up and go right now ditching everything, or go on tour playing music. The difference between the two options is the going off to play music is far far more viable. I might be able to actually pull that off. I've been playing a lot of music lately. I've always been playing a lot of music, but now I'm playing more of my own. I was looking at my forearms tonight and thinking about how much bigger than my biceps they are. This is just because I play bass and guitar for hours every day. My forearms are beastly, but my biceps are as whimpy as can be. I like my forearms so that's fine by me but it provides interesting evidence for how i spend most of my time.
This has turned into somewhat of a rant, but I suppose that's what this blog has become. It's of no incidence as no one reads it, but I still should work on that.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
a hectic two weeks.
I haven't posted on here in a while. Two weeks to be exact. It's been a long two weeks. I'm moving. In fact tomorrow I'll be out of my apartment and between places for a week or two. That's fine but it does make things busy and annoying. Julie and I broke up. It was the right decision but that doesn't make me exceedingly happy about it. I'm glad I was with her for as long as I was though. She was with me at the wrong time though. If we both had our lives together when we were going out then I'm sure it would have worked out much better, but that's not how it worked.
She only ever knew me while I was somehow insane, and There's not much I can do about that. I'm getting to know myself better and I'm dealing with not being with Julie surprisingly well. For about a week before we actually broke up I was dreading and expecting it so I got some songwriting and ranting and the such done. That helps a lot. I'm not even sure if the songs are worth playing for anyone but damn do they make me feel better.
My head is feeling ok but I've some things I haven't had the ability to deal with lately. I'm afraid I may be Bipolar. It seems that my first quarter here (well I don't actually know the time span) was all a manic episode. Everything I did then fits with the diagnosis. I realise the conflict of interest involved in self diagnosis, but I haven't been too far off in the past and I've got a pretty good psychological knowledge. I wish I were as good at dealing with my problems as I am at dealing with the problems of other people.
It will be nice to move to someplace new, but the process of it is very very annoying. Because of my couple of weeks of craziness I have more things to deal with now than I would have had I planed a bit better. It's nothing too huge but I'm not looking forward to various hassles. I never really had someone to be with at night or when I was feeling lonely. Even so, I wish I did now. Julie at least filled the role in some emotional way.
It's a horrible catch twenty two, when you're sad and in hard times you can't get a partner, but that's when you need one. You only get the support when you don't need it.
Mental illness seems to have a lot of those. Catches are all around, and I'm sure tired of them. I'm kind of tired of everything. Work, The world. I still want to be here in hopes that better things come along, but I'm not enjoying the world as it is. some things are going well, work for instance, but that is of little countenance.
These things will either work out or they won't, either way I must deal with it. I'm working on it, and It's hard, but such is my lot.
I hope to have better things to report next I post, but such may not be the case.
She only ever knew me while I was somehow insane, and There's not much I can do about that. I'm getting to know myself better and I'm dealing with not being with Julie surprisingly well. For about a week before we actually broke up I was dreading and expecting it so I got some songwriting and ranting and the such done. That helps a lot. I'm not even sure if the songs are worth playing for anyone but damn do they make me feel better.
My head is feeling ok but I've some things I haven't had the ability to deal with lately. I'm afraid I may be Bipolar. It seems that my first quarter here (well I don't actually know the time span) was all a manic episode. Everything I did then fits with the diagnosis. I realise the conflict of interest involved in self diagnosis, but I haven't been too far off in the past and I've got a pretty good psychological knowledge. I wish I were as good at dealing with my problems as I am at dealing with the problems of other people.
It will be nice to move to someplace new, but the process of it is very very annoying. Because of my couple of weeks of craziness I have more things to deal with now than I would have had I planed a bit better. It's nothing too huge but I'm not looking forward to various hassles. I never really had someone to be with at night or when I was feeling lonely. Even so, I wish I did now. Julie at least filled the role in some emotional way.
It's a horrible catch twenty two, when you're sad and in hard times you can't get a partner, but that's when you need one. You only get the support when you don't need it.
Mental illness seems to have a lot of those. Catches are all around, and I'm sure tired of them. I'm kind of tired of everything. Work, The world. I still want to be here in hopes that better things come along, but I'm not enjoying the world as it is. some things are going well, work for instance, but that is of little countenance.
These things will either work out or they won't, either way I must deal with it. I'm working on it, and It's hard, but such is my lot.
I hope to have better things to report next I post, but such may not be the case.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
the neuroscience of storytelling.
It looks like there hasn't been any research on the neural basis of storytelling. Not so much as one neuroimaging study. It seems to be an unresearched thing. That is what I want to study. I want to study the way that brains tell stories. Which parts of the brain are active, what is going on in these parts, how does making up a story differ from telling one which is remembered, how does writing a story differ from speaking one. There are a lot of questions and all of them are rather interesting and would be easy to make studies about.
It would be interesting to see if the brains of people who tell stories for a living are different than other people. Do the sorts of stories you tell cause different brain morphology? If you are a trial lawyer and tell a certain form of story to juries how is that different from a writer telling a story? Is there some neural basis for the structure of stories. Other than semantics of language, does our neural network somehow determine the structure of stories.
Is there some neural basis to archetypes in stories.
I'm really shocked that no one has studied this yet. I may just not have found anything yet, and I'm going to keep searching, but that it's been this hard so far shows that there is so much stuff we don't know. It's also such and interesting intersection of various things neuroscience studies. It requires an understanding of the neural basis' of memory, language, social interaction. So much of what seems to separate us from other creatures is storytelling.
Some animal studies could be really interesting as well. It would be interesting to see if a Parliment of rooks is indeed being told a story by the rook in the centre. Where does the ability to tell a story begin.
This is great because it is also the intersection of two of my loves, Storytelling and Neuroscience.
anywho, I'm very excited about this and have been mulling it for a while. I still want to study mental illness as well, but the storytelling is interesting enough to be another focus of study.
It would be interesting to see if the brains of people who tell stories for a living are different than other people. Do the sorts of stories you tell cause different brain morphology? If you are a trial lawyer and tell a certain form of story to juries how is that different from a writer telling a story? Is there some neural basis for the structure of stories. Other than semantics of language, does our neural network somehow determine the structure of stories.
Is there some neural basis to archetypes in stories.
I'm really shocked that no one has studied this yet. I may just not have found anything yet, and I'm going to keep searching, but that it's been this hard so far shows that there is so much stuff we don't know. It's also such and interesting intersection of various things neuroscience studies. It requires an understanding of the neural basis' of memory, language, social interaction. So much of what seems to separate us from other creatures is storytelling.
Some animal studies could be really interesting as well. It would be interesting to see if a Parliment of rooks is indeed being told a story by the rook in the centre. Where does the ability to tell a story begin.
This is great because it is also the intersection of two of my loves, Storytelling and Neuroscience.
anywho, I'm very excited about this and have been mulling it for a while. I still want to study mental illness as well, but the storytelling is interesting enough to be another focus of study.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
As if I weren't already frustrated enough.
It's awfully hard once you've gotten into a rut to get out of it. It takes more effort than succeeding under any other terms. It's not so much time effort as emotional effort and the effort of going through middleman after middleman. I fell into one of those ruts. It's a pretty well known fact. I'd like to think that I'm all better now, and for the most part I am (no OCD anyways). Being mostly better doesn't help though. I can't show the university bloodtest results for OCD. I can't make administrative processes work any faster.
What is the worst is when there are things I can do. When I find that I am able to change something (usually after the fact) and for some reason or another I don't. Those are the times that really piss me off. It's an anger that can't very well be assuaged because I've no one to blame but myself. It's usually forgetfulness, or minor neglect in the face of stress. Nonetheless I can't stand it. One such thing just happened to me. It's rather horrid and I'm mad at myself about it.
When I was Disqualified from UCD for poor grades (gotten because of insanity) I was advised on the situation. The advisor had me sign a contract for readmission, and told me to call her whence I met the requirements for readmission so that I could sign up for classes and all of that. I was understandably distraught, so the reading of the contract was cursory. I hadn't looked at it again until about a week ago. I called the advisor because I met my requirements. What the contract said. What I didn't read. What I really should have fucking known was that readmission forms for fall are due in on the last business day of July. I found this out today.
It's one of those things where I don't know where to lay blame. I blame myself primarily because it's my fault. I'm not sure how much good just feeling bad about it will do though. Other shit was going on, and a lot of it. On my down time I did jack shit, so If I'd known I wouldn't have had a lack of time for filling out the form.
I just didn't see the form. I took what the advisor said (or what I remembered her saying.) at face value; call her when I got my grades in and get things sorted out. This is one instance in which my avoidance of obsession (to an almost frightening degree really) bit me in the ass.
I was consumed by obsession for so long that I don't ever want that again. Now I suppose I'm being apathetic because if I care too much I obsess. That's just a cursory analysis though. It may just be the fucking drugs. I don't even know. That's the whole problem. I don't know how much of me is well. I don't know what is right or wrong. I don't know anything right now. The only things I understand are stories, the English language, Neuoscience, and psychology. None of those things are doing me any good right now. What use is it to understand how the brain works if I can't even fucking use mine with any degree of accuracy.
I've got things figured out so the fuck ups I've been making aren't exceedingly detrimental, but I have had enough setbacks as it is. I don't need any fucking more.
I could rant for a while more about it, and will later, but now I think I'm going down to the store to get something to drink that isn't soy milk or water.
What is the worst is when there are things I can do. When I find that I am able to change something (usually after the fact) and for some reason or another I don't. Those are the times that really piss me off. It's an anger that can't very well be assuaged because I've no one to blame but myself. It's usually forgetfulness, or minor neglect in the face of stress. Nonetheless I can't stand it. One such thing just happened to me. It's rather horrid and I'm mad at myself about it.
When I was Disqualified from UCD for poor grades (gotten because of insanity) I was advised on the situation. The advisor had me sign a contract for readmission, and told me to call her whence I met the requirements for readmission so that I could sign up for classes and all of that. I was understandably distraught, so the reading of the contract was cursory. I hadn't looked at it again until about a week ago. I called the advisor because I met my requirements. What the contract said. What I didn't read. What I really should have fucking known was that readmission forms for fall are due in on the last business day of July. I found this out today.
It's one of those things where I don't know where to lay blame. I blame myself primarily because it's my fault. I'm not sure how much good just feeling bad about it will do though. Other shit was going on, and a lot of it. On my down time I did jack shit, so If I'd known I wouldn't have had a lack of time for filling out the form.
I just didn't see the form. I took what the advisor said (or what I remembered her saying.) at face value; call her when I got my grades in and get things sorted out. This is one instance in which my avoidance of obsession (to an almost frightening degree really) bit me in the ass.
I was consumed by obsession for so long that I don't ever want that again. Now I suppose I'm being apathetic because if I care too much I obsess. That's just a cursory analysis though. It may just be the fucking drugs. I don't even know. That's the whole problem. I don't know how much of me is well. I don't know what is right or wrong. I don't know anything right now. The only things I understand are stories, the English language, Neuoscience, and psychology. None of those things are doing me any good right now. What use is it to understand how the brain works if I can't even fucking use mine with any degree of accuracy.
I've got things figured out so the fuck ups I've been making aren't exceedingly detrimental, but I have had enough setbacks as it is. I don't need any fucking more.
I could rant for a while more about it, and will later, but now I think I'm going down to the store to get something to drink that isn't soy milk or water.
Monday, August 11, 2008
melancholy.
alone I sit
this heat surrounds me
bit by bit
my grasp it leaves me.
Now I see
where my time's going
To nothing much
just sit and waiting
in stagnation
I can do nothing
so I've tried
to fill these hours
with songs
and poems of little worth
but songs
and poems they go so far, not
far enough.
Worse than being in a rut
because
you made a poor decision
being stuck
for nothing in particular.
this heat surrounds me
bit by bit
my grasp it leaves me.
Now I see
where my time's going
To nothing much
just sit and waiting
in stagnation
I can do nothing
so I've tried
to fill these hours
with songs
and poems of little worth
but songs
and poems they go so far, not
far enough.
Worse than being in a rut
because
you made a poor decision
being stuck
for nothing in particular.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
four AM
it's only about four am. That's somewhat late, but I'm saying only because I want to make myself feel better. If it's only four, then I still have an hour or so until I absolutely need to fall asleep. at five my next day could start, but at four, It can still be night time. I'm yawning and I feel kind of tired, but I'm also pretty sure that sleep isn't coming anytime soon. I almost want to encourage it away and just sleep a whole bunch after work tomorrow. I don't even know anymore.
This whole weird sleeping thing sucks. It's been a month or two since I last slept on a normal schedule for more than a few days. oh well. It's not as if there's a lot I can do about it.
I feel like it'd be alright if Julie were here, because either she'd be awake as well so I'd have someone to talk to (or just to hang out with for that mater) or she'd be asleep and I wouldn't mind so much lying in the dark waiting for sleep to come. I always sleep better when she's around too. I'm pretty sure it's the same for her.
anywho. There's really naught I can do about either of those things, so I'm going to go and either further procrastinate (odd using that word to refer to sleep) or lay down to try and expedite the process.
This whole weird sleeping thing sucks. It's been a month or two since I last slept on a normal schedule for more than a few days. oh well. It's not as if there's a lot I can do about it.
I feel like it'd be alright if Julie were here, because either she'd be awake as well so I'd have someone to talk to (or just to hang out with for that mater) or she'd be asleep and I wouldn't mind so much lying in the dark waiting for sleep to come. I always sleep better when she's around too. I'm pretty sure it's the same for her.
anywho. There's really naught I can do about either of those things, so I'm going to go and either further procrastinate (odd using that word to refer to sleep) or lay down to try and expedite the process.
Friday, August 01, 2008
Broken car further hinders releif from the world
I can't really help but be unhappy about my car situation. It's been weeks since I last saw Julie. I could go up on a train. It wouldn't be too much trouble to undertake. Her mom's coming up though, and it's the weekend before senior high so it's somewhat intense. I just want to be there. I honestly would be fine with just being there. If it makes it harder for her then I don't want to come. She said I didn't have to go to the trouble, but I feel like she was really saying she didn't want me up there this weekend. I mean, we've got time after camp is over to hang out, so It's not like it makes a huge difference in the long run, but I'd gotten used to seeing her every weekend, and the relief I got from doing so was so large that the absence of that possibility hangs heavily over my head.
I was peeved when I started this message, thinking that Julie just didn't want me up there. I felt alone and I've been tired of this for a while, so I had a shorter fuse than usual. I'm realising that it's not actually that bad, and of course it's understandable that she'd be busy. Without a car our activities are heavily limited as well, and with her Mom there, me being a third wheel wouldn't be completely welcome. My initial annoyance is gone. I still feel a bit forlorn, and despondent, but that will subside.
I have a weekend of leisure ahead of me, and that's not a bad thing. I'll take it for what it is, and read, play videogames, play guitar, and sleep.
I was peeved when I started this message, thinking that Julie just didn't want me up there. I felt alone and I've been tired of this for a while, so I had a shorter fuse than usual. I'm realising that it's not actually that bad, and of course it's understandable that she'd be busy. Without a car our activities are heavily limited as well, and with her Mom there, me being a third wheel wouldn't be completely welcome. My initial annoyance is gone. I still feel a bit forlorn, and despondent, but that will subside.
I have a weekend of leisure ahead of me, and that's not a bad thing. I'll take it for what it is, and read, play videogames, play guitar, and sleep.
The journeys of a wanderer weary (part one)
At it's edge the forest calls
far it goes, seeks to enthrall
deeper still the forest goes
shadows turning, on trees thrown
through the shadows you traverse
thoughts assail you, most perverse
now your head it fills the blanks
making twiglings into shanks
building monsters, they're oh so cunning
your frightened mind then calls for running
you resist its frightened call
telling it to quell the squall
standing still your heart beats quicker
wishing now you had some liqour
to calm your nerves, and settle you down
to un bolt your feet from the loamy ground
this abject fear, it soon subsides
for in this forest no monsters reside
or none you know of, none you pray
tippy toeing on your way
hiding fear and stopping fright
keeping alert, prepared for a fight
then from fog a house appears
on its door are reddish smears
out your axe and flashlight come
to see where all this blood came from
trudging down a bloody path
you begin to do the maths
fearful ground you do not know
no telling how numerous your foes
you turn back silently lurking
sighting an owl through the murky
sitting on a brached perch
causing you to quickly lurch
back your food on dead man falls
over him sick insects crawl
buzzing sounds as flys abound
deadly stench floats all around
trying now to stop a yelp
you prepare to go for help
then you frightfully recall
the nearest town's across the falls
these hurried times this trip bars
with axe out you trot around
'till you hear an awful sound
from behind a crunching bone
now you know you're not alone
in your midst this sad man stands
entreating you with bloody hands
sympathy he wants to start
but soon the fiend begins to dart
at your throat his fingers fly
while he makes an inhuman cry
axe ready down it swings
catching shoulder, metallic ring
armour your weaponry confounds
with the light you shine his eyes
blinding him, making you free to strive
with rope that hangs on back pack coiled
quickly his movement is foiled
hands are bound and feet bound too
only scratches injured you
now you drag the bad man on
singing out victorious song
out the forest now you dance
cheering at your skill, your chance
free at last of fear you are
you want to travel, travel far.
far it goes, seeks to enthrall
deeper still the forest goes
shadows turning, on trees thrown
through the shadows you traverse
thoughts assail you, most perverse
now your head it fills the blanks
making twiglings into shanks
building monsters, they're oh so cunning
your frightened mind then calls for running
you resist its frightened call
telling it to quell the squall
standing still your heart beats quicker
wishing now you had some liqour
to calm your nerves, and settle you down
to un bolt your feet from the loamy ground
this abject fear, it soon subsides
for in this forest no monsters reside
or none you know of, none you pray
tippy toeing on your way
hiding fear and stopping fright
keeping alert, prepared for a fight
then from fog a house appears
on its door are reddish smears
out your axe and flashlight come
to see where all this blood came from
trudging down a bloody path
you begin to do the maths
fearful ground you do not know
no telling how numerous your foes
you turn back silently lurking
sighting an owl through the murky
sitting on a brached perch
causing you to quickly lurch
back your food on dead man falls
over him sick insects crawl
buzzing sounds as flys abound
deadly stench floats all around
trying now to stop a yelp
you prepare to go for help
then you frightfully recall
the nearest town's across the falls
these hurried times this trip bars
with axe out you trot around
'till you hear an awful sound
from behind a crunching bone
now you know you're not alone
in your midst this sad man stands
entreating you with bloody hands
sympathy he wants to start
but soon the fiend begins to dart
at your throat his fingers fly
while he makes an inhuman cry
axe ready down it swings
catching shoulder, metallic ring
armour your weaponry confounds
with the light you shine his eyes
blinding him, making you free to strive
with rope that hangs on back pack coiled
quickly his movement is foiled
hands are bound and feet bound too
only scratches injured you
now you drag the bad man on
singing out victorious song
out the forest now you dance
cheering at your skill, your chance
free at last of fear you are
you want to travel, travel far.
lament of a condemed building
I've been messing with different metres lately. Here are some of the fruits of my labour.
When all the lights have burnt full out
and sounds of living gone away
when all the people leave my halls
my families move on, move on
when my doors, shut for the last
latches rusted, holding all in
still will be the pain and joy
residing in my walls
Paint will peel and chip away
thrown about will furniture be
yet all the filth and slow decay
will fail to confound, or turn away
the sounds of people in my walls
the smells of cabbage, sausage, cooking
the ancient cry of tenement halls
the faint residue of rooms
where lives were spent from start
to the last exhalation
Moistening my walls slightly
still I'll sit in degradation
waiting for destruction
while I wait to be detached
limb by limb they'll take me
I wait here with the memories
of people who forsake me.
When all the lights have burnt full out
and sounds of living gone away
when all the people leave my halls
my families move on, move on
when my doors, shut for the last
latches rusted, holding all in
still will be the pain and joy
residing in my walls
Paint will peel and chip away
thrown about will furniture be
yet all the filth and slow decay
will fail to confound, or turn away
the sounds of people in my walls
the smells of cabbage, sausage, cooking
the ancient cry of tenement halls
the faint residue of rooms
where lives were spent from start
to the last exhalation
Moistening my walls slightly
still I'll sit in degradation
waiting for destruction
while I wait to be detached
limb by limb they'll take me
I wait here with the memories
of people who forsake me.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
our pasts are fiction.
Most peoples lives, when looked back on, are fiction. The things we know about out past are mixed in with the stories we tell about them. Your embellishment of what happened melds with the reality, until no one knows the difference. Once it's gone it's gone. This is probably why I can remember the plots of books as if I had lived them. Perhaps that is why when telling stories I never really cared if they were about me or not, as those ones were likely fiction too.
I've spent a while thinking about how my life has been so far. For a Twenty year old I haven't done too badly. If I try to tell the story though, it will be naught but fiction. I don't have a problem with fiction, but I can't state fiction as memoir.
I also want to figure out everything before I put anything in writing. I suppose writing about things would clear them up in my mind, would remove the nebulous slag sticking to my ideas. I suppose I'm just scared. I'm scared of what I'll find. There are so many shitty things that could happen. There is a good chance that some of them might happen too. It's not simply an irrational fear, like the fear of terrorism (especially in the US). It is a fear driven by heritability percentages and evidence from the road I've already traveled.
My Father is bi-polar. Putting it that way is a bit too simplistic, but I haven't the desire to go through an explanation. Bi-polar disorder is one of the most heritable mental illnesses. Look up the percentages because I've forgotten them. I'm afraid that is me too. I'm afraid that more shit will pop up.
I already have enough wrong with me, and enough wrong with the world. I don't need more.
That's what I've been ruminating on. Not obsessively so, but with relative frequency. Writing about it does help though.
I've spent a while thinking about how my life has been so far. For a Twenty year old I haven't done too badly. If I try to tell the story though, it will be naught but fiction. I don't have a problem with fiction, but I can't state fiction as memoir.
I also want to figure out everything before I put anything in writing. I suppose writing about things would clear them up in my mind, would remove the nebulous slag sticking to my ideas. I suppose I'm just scared. I'm scared of what I'll find. There are so many shitty things that could happen. There is a good chance that some of them might happen too. It's not simply an irrational fear, like the fear of terrorism (especially in the US). It is a fear driven by heritability percentages and evidence from the road I've already traveled.
My Father is bi-polar. Putting it that way is a bit too simplistic, but I haven't the desire to go through an explanation. Bi-polar disorder is one of the most heritable mental illnesses. Look up the percentages because I've forgotten them. I'm afraid that is me too. I'm afraid that more shit will pop up.
I already have enough wrong with me, and enough wrong with the world. I don't need more.
That's what I've been ruminating on. Not obsessively so, but with relative frequency. Writing about it does help though.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Wall-E
I just returned from watching Wall-E. There was only one kid in the theatre. It helps that it was a 9:30 showing, but I was pleased by that. The film was beautiful. The colours were a drab palate of greys and rust reds and dirt browns which evoked the feeling of desperation and foreboding I imagine was intended. The first portion of the movie has no human voices. there is some music and once or twice the robots say their names, however the silence is pervasive. The use of Wall-Es eyes for expression is magnificent. My environmental psych class popped into my head a few times as well, and that was interesting.
there's more to tell but I don't particularly feel like doing so.
there's more to tell but I don't particularly feel like doing so.
Friday, July 25, 2008
a late night and a bike crash.
It's four in the morning (roughly). I gotta say, this is getting annoying. It doesn't make a huge deal of difference since I've little to do tomorrow, but shit. I am going to eat dinner with my parents and manage some money stuff, but that won't be until a bit later so I'll have ample time to sleep. I really don't know what's up with me.
On a completely different note my neck is sore. I think it's from this bike crash I had on Wednesday. I was riding my bike a bit too fast, and the streetlight was turning yellow. A car was turning left coming from the other direction, and I was parallel with a car in my lane. The fellow turning left saw the other car, but not me, so he proceeded to take his left. I was going too fast to really stop efficiently because I had been speeding up to make it through the light. by the time I got to the intersection I was confronted with his trunk area. I turned right as hard as I could so I was going the same direction as the car I struck and I hit the car, ricocheting off at roughly a fourty five degree angle. My bicycle and I flew into the air and I landed on my back (and my messenger bag, thank god) about two metres away from where I hit the guy. The wind was knocked out of me pretty badly. The guy got out of the car to ask how I was doing and all that and I couldn't really respond with no wind. I told him I was fine besides that though. We waited around for the police so we could have it on record if anything happened, just to cover our asses. He was a really nice guy, I'm sorry I ran into his car. I found I was bleeding in three places, an abrasion on my elbow another on my left hand, and a geartooth shaped hole in my right calf from the sprocket. The sprocket hole (or chain tattoo as some call them) by far bled the most, though it hurt the least. I later found that I had three or four (perhaps five?) abrasions on my back. None of the stuff was too bad, nor was it anything I hadn't had happen to me before. My shoulder (right) is a bit sore but my range of motion isn't hindered and movement is fine so It doesn't seem to be serious. My neck is sore too. I think its from the shock of me holding it up off the ground so vigorously. I wasn't wearing a helmet see. This is because research supports the idea that riding with a helmet is in fact more dangerous in the presence of cars because they crowd you. I've just been going by whatever the most valid well constructed studies have found. anywho, I was defensive in how I landed, though little of it was conscious, and so I didn't hit my head, and all that's sore now are the things listed above. It's a bit annoying, but not hugely so. I can't say I'm not pleased that I get to be all hardcore. Sadly on the same day one of my friends upstaged me by getting in a motorcycle accident (he's ok, because helmets on motorcycles are infact a Brilliant idea) his accident wasn't as intense as mine, but he passed out and has two black eyes so he gets automatic credit.
On a completely different note my neck is sore. I think it's from this bike crash I had on Wednesday. I was riding my bike a bit too fast, and the streetlight was turning yellow. A car was turning left coming from the other direction, and I was parallel with a car in my lane. The fellow turning left saw the other car, but not me, so he proceeded to take his left. I was going too fast to really stop efficiently because I had been speeding up to make it through the light. by the time I got to the intersection I was confronted with his trunk area. I turned right as hard as I could so I was going the same direction as the car I struck and I hit the car, ricocheting off at roughly a fourty five degree angle. My bicycle and I flew into the air and I landed on my back (and my messenger bag, thank god) about two metres away from where I hit the guy. The wind was knocked out of me pretty badly. The guy got out of the car to ask how I was doing and all that and I couldn't really respond with no wind. I told him I was fine besides that though. We waited around for the police so we could have it on record if anything happened, just to cover our asses. He was a really nice guy, I'm sorry I ran into his car. I found I was bleeding in three places, an abrasion on my elbow another on my left hand, and a geartooth shaped hole in my right calf from the sprocket. The sprocket hole (or chain tattoo as some call them) by far bled the most, though it hurt the least. I later found that I had three or four (perhaps five?) abrasions on my back. None of the stuff was too bad, nor was it anything I hadn't had happen to me before. My shoulder (right) is a bit sore but my range of motion isn't hindered and movement is fine so It doesn't seem to be serious. My neck is sore too. I think its from the shock of me holding it up off the ground so vigorously. I wasn't wearing a helmet see. This is because research supports the idea that riding with a helmet is in fact more dangerous in the presence of cars because they crowd you. I've just been going by whatever the most valid well constructed studies have found. anywho, I was defensive in how I landed, though little of it was conscious, and so I didn't hit my head, and all that's sore now are the things listed above. It's a bit annoying, but not hugely so. I can't say I'm not pleased that I get to be all hardcore. Sadly on the same day one of my friends upstaged me by getting in a motorcycle accident (he's ok, because helmets on motorcycles are infact a Brilliant idea) his accident wasn't as intense as mine, but he passed out and has two black eyes so he gets automatic credit.
Monday, July 21, 2008
weird sleep strikes again
my weirdness in regards to sleep schedule has struck once again. it is five thirty in the morning and I'm not yet a sleep. The sun is very close to coming up. I didn't wake up until relatively late today, but that doesn't explain all of it. I've been living on a schedule where my days are a bit longer than everyone else. It seems like I just tack on a few extra hours here and there and end up getting out of sync. It's also gotta be partly because I haven't been going to work and forcing myself into that schedule. I've just been feeling really excitable too. It's odd. That's the fucking problem with being up at five thirty though, I can't really think properly. I can think quickly but things are working in the correct order, or whatever it is that isn't clicking. I'm going to put off more posts until my head is more clear.
Friday, July 18, 2008
the persistence of memory.
Today during a huge cleaning spree, (likely driven on by a bit of mania and a lack of meds but that's another story) I found that the power cord to my printer is the same as the one missing from my old computer monitor. That was all that had been stopping me from using my old computer for the fun of it. My old computer is a beast and I its Frankenstein. running parts are held together with duct tape, everything is relatively jerry rigged, and I love it.
This computer helped to get me thorough highschool and that year of psuedo college/senior year of high school.
I plugged it in and everything worked fine. I was very pleased because I'd done nothing to it for nigh two years. The computer is a blast from the past. I opened up the music player to hear lovely sounds of my youth. There was so much stuff on there that I hadn't been able to transfer previously. Eventually I'll get to it, but now I'm just revelling in music I'd forgotten or lost. I also love the games and poorly written poems and songs laying about on there.
The songs and poems aren't all bad, but some of them are certainly atrocious. I'm not going to say whether my writing has gotten better, but I garauntee that my editing eye has gotten better. \
I'm enjoying this. I listened to some music I love and haven't listened to as of late for one or another reason, Some Dashboard Confessional, I Voted for Kodos, The Wedgewoods, some older NOFX, some old Catch 22. and some songs just sound better sitting infront of the big ol screen and rocking out. I'm pretty sure it has to to with ties to memory and situation and all of that stuff. It's just so bad ass to rock out to some chiodos in front of the computer. I've been eating it up.
I've also been reading Swan's Way, by Proust for a while now and just passed the scene regarding how the taste of madelline cookie dipped in lime flower tea brought back the vivid memory of his childhood in combray. Sitting infront of the computer rocking out to Chiodos, watching out for things that might break if I am not careful enough brought back a lot of the good memories from highschool. It also did something similar to what Proust discribed, it made me feel that perhaps the time spent in my room infront of the computer was the only time which existed in that stretch. Proust says it as such,
"And so it was that, for a long time afterwards, when I lay awake at night and revived old memories of combray, I saw no more of it than this sort of luminous panel, sharply defined against a vague and shadowy background, like the panels which a Bengal fire or some electric sign will illuminate and dissect from the front of a building the other parts of which remain plunged in darkness: broad as its base, the little parlour, the dining-room, the alluring shadows of the path along which would come M. Swann, the unconscious author of my sufferings, the hall through which I would journey to the first step of that staircase, so hard to climb, which constituted, all by itself, the tapering 'elevation' of an irregular pyramid and, at the summit, my bedroom, with the little passage through whose glazed door Mamma would enter; in a word, seen always at the same evening hour, isolated from all its possible surroundings, detached and solitary against its shadowy background, the bare minimum of scenery necessary (like the setting one sees printed at the head of an old play, for its performance in the provinces) to the drama of my undressing, as though all Combray had consisted of but two floors joined by a slender staircase, and as though there had been no time there but seven o'clock at night. I must own that I could have assured any questioner that Combray did include other scenes and did exist at other hours than these. But since the facts which I should have recalled would have been prompted only by and exercise of the will, by my intellectual memory, and since the pictures which that kind of memory shows us of the past preserve nothing of the past itself, I should never have had any wish to ponder over this residue of Combray. To me it was in reality all dead."
I'll let Proust have the next to last word as he says things so well.
Hopefully light was shed.
This computer helped to get me thorough highschool and that year of psuedo college/senior year of high school.
I plugged it in and everything worked fine. I was very pleased because I'd done nothing to it for nigh two years. The computer is a blast from the past. I opened up the music player to hear lovely sounds of my youth. There was so much stuff on there that I hadn't been able to transfer previously. Eventually I'll get to it, but now I'm just revelling in music I'd forgotten or lost. I also love the games and poorly written poems and songs laying about on there.
The songs and poems aren't all bad, but some of them are certainly atrocious. I'm not going to say whether my writing has gotten better, but I garauntee that my editing eye has gotten better. \
I'm enjoying this. I listened to some music I love and haven't listened to as of late for one or another reason, Some Dashboard Confessional, I Voted for Kodos, The Wedgewoods, some older NOFX, some old Catch 22. and some songs just sound better sitting infront of the big ol screen and rocking out. I'm pretty sure it has to to with ties to memory and situation and all of that stuff. It's just so bad ass to rock out to some chiodos in front of the computer. I've been eating it up.
I've also been reading Swan's Way, by Proust for a while now and just passed the scene regarding how the taste of madelline cookie dipped in lime flower tea brought back the vivid memory of his childhood in combray. Sitting infront of the computer rocking out to Chiodos, watching out for things that might break if I am not careful enough brought back a lot of the good memories from highschool. It also did something similar to what Proust discribed, it made me feel that perhaps the time spent in my room infront of the computer was the only time which existed in that stretch. Proust says it as such,
"And so it was that, for a long time afterwards, when I lay awake at night and revived old memories of combray, I saw no more of it than this sort of luminous panel, sharply defined against a vague and shadowy background, like the panels which a Bengal fire or some electric sign will illuminate and dissect from the front of a building the other parts of which remain plunged in darkness: broad as its base, the little parlour, the dining-room, the alluring shadows of the path along which would come M. Swann, the unconscious author of my sufferings, the hall through which I would journey to the first step of that staircase, so hard to climb, which constituted, all by itself, the tapering 'elevation' of an irregular pyramid and, at the summit, my bedroom, with the little passage through whose glazed door Mamma would enter; in a word, seen always at the same evening hour, isolated from all its possible surroundings, detached and solitary against its shadowy background, the bare minimum of scenery necessary (like the setting one sees printed at the head of an old play, for its performance in the provinces) to the drama of my undressing, as though all Combray had consisted of but two floors joined by a slender staircase, and as though there had been no time there but seven o'clock at night. I must own that I could have assured any questioner that Combray did include other scenes and did exist at other hours than these. But since the facts which I should have recalled would have been prompted only by and exercise of the will, by my intellectual memory, and since the pictures which that kind of memory shows us of the past preserve nothing of the past itself, I should never have had any wish to ponder over this residue of Combray. To me it was in reality all dead."
I'll let Proust have the next to last word as he says things so well.
Hopefully light was shed.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
The orgin of my writing voice.
I ran into an essay by Kurt Vonnegut about style, and one of the points of advice got me to thinking. The point of advice went something like this. Vonnegut writes best when writing like the kid from Illinois he is. Joyce writes best when writing like a Dubliner. Twain Writes best when sounding like a man of the Mississippi. Ones orgin is the basis of their best writing voice. I haven't been able to think of an example refuting this. Saul Bellows sounds like a Jew from Chicago, and that is part of why he's so great. When I write I don't know what I sound like.
That's not a function of my writing being convoluted, though that has been a problem. I'm pretty sure it's more a function of my personal influences being so nebulous. I don't just write like a boy from the mountains of northern California, nor do I just write like a boy raised partly in Japan. My influences are such that my writing doesn't fit a single accepted form of prose. I have a weird way of speaking in which anachronisms from my parents generation, sentence structure from Japan, the earnest simple speak of the mountains, and the odd turns of phrase used in my voluminous reading are melded. It's hard for me to divine my influences.
One good example of this is simply in my speech. When talking I use lots of idioms that are antiquated. I don't realise no one has heard them. I always think them to be normal phrases, but am corrected, or met with a blank stare. This is how it is with weird little turns in my speech. I don't know what is odd. I know how other's speech differs from mine, but I sure as hell don't quite know what is up with mine. I look at all speech through the lens of what I've read and what I myself say. It's just natural.
It would be interesting if someone could pick out what was specifically different about the way I write or speak. I know a lot of what I write is either dull or constructed in a normal stylistic manner, but there's something there that isn't at parr. I suppose it's more odd that that is the way I speak too. The odd turns of phrase and awkward sentence structure pervade my speech.
If I figure out what's going on I'll let it be known, though this is rather unlikely.
until next rant.
That's not a function of my writing being convoluted, though that has been a problem. I'm pretty sure it's more a function of my personal influences being so nebulous. I don't just write like a boy from the mountains of northern California, nor do I just write like a boy raised partly in Japan. My influences are such that my writing doesn't fit a single accepted form of prose. I have a weird way of speaking in which anachronisms from my parents generation, sentence structure from Japan, the earnest simple speak of the mountains, and the odd turns of phrase used in my voluminous reading are melded. It's hard for me to divine my influences.
One good example of this is simply in my speech. When talking I use lots of idioms that are antiquated. I don't realise no one has heard them. I always think them to be normal phrases, but am corrected, or met with a blank stare. This is how it is with weird little turns in my speech. I don't know what is odd. I know how other's speech differs from mine, but I sure as hell don't quite know what is up with mine. I look at all speech through the lens of what I've read and what I myself say. It's just natural.
It would be interesting if someone could pick out what was specifically different about the way I write or speak. I know a lot of what I write is either dull or constructed in a normal stylistic manner, but there's something there that isn't at parr. I suppose it's more odd that that is the way I speak too. The odd turns of phrase and awkward sentence structure pervade my speech.
If I figure out what's going on I'll let it be known, though this is rather unlikely.
until next rant.
ahh, near sorted.
dealing with my insurance company wasn't so bad, nor was getting a new tyre. I'm pleased with the interactions and it didn't take a huge chunk of my day or anything. I'm looking forward to getting back to work, and hopefully this won't but a huge dent in my already dented finances. Not something to really worry about though, things are like to get sorted soon.
Frustration and a weird sleep schedule.
My sleep cycle has been drastically perverted. My car has been in disrepair, and so I haven't been going to work, which has changed my schedule a whole lot. This isn't a bad thing, but it proves to me that Ideally I live at a slightly different pace. I know that I work best if I am awake for about seventeen hours. I can go more or less depending on how things are. This would work great if sleeping eight hours were my normal set up, but I'm pretty sure it isn't I'm pretty good with at least ten hours.
None of this is for sure and I might take a log of when I sleep and all of that sometime, but it seems that the normal schedule doesn't quite fit for me. On that note, it's seven fourty in the morning and I'm still awake. I woke up sometime around seven pm yesterday after a few fitful bouts of wakefulness. I'm going to go off and get my car fixed, and deal with the world disliking me. It's nice having these things occur at what is really the end of my day. I don't feel like dealing with anything but, I don't really have a choice now do I.
I'm also not happy that I'm unlikely to see Julie this weekend, as she's got other engagements. I don't like being apart from her for so long. Having had to put up with months of it doesn't make the weeks that I'm putting up with now hugely better. All I really want is to be in the same damn place, but I can't do that without shirking responsibility. I really can't shirk my responsibility if I want to be at all Fair to Julie. It's quite the catch twenty two. I need to be with Julie to really do her justice. To do that I have to shirk responsibility, which doesn't do her justice.
It's rather annoying. I haven't had a good complain in a while, and I guess I'm just getting it all out at once. I'm glad that I'm not crazy, but I definitely am not happy about the rest of the world giving me trouble. I know other people have it worse, and I've kept my complaints to myself (well mostly) for just that reason, but I've had enough.
Oh well. there's naught that I can do at the moment. I'll figure it out.Or maybe I won't, that's to be seen. I just have to keep it up and hope that things will work out.
None of this is for sure and I might take a log of when I sleep and all of that sometime, but it seems that the normal schedule doesn't quite fit for me. On that note, it's seven fourty in the morning and I'm still awake. I woke up sometime around seven pm yesterday after a few fitful bouts of wakefulness. I'm going to go off and get my car fixed, and deal with the world disliking me. It's nice having these things occur at what is really the end of my day. I don't feel like dealing with anything but, I don't really have a choice now do I.
I'm also not happy that I'm unlikely to see Julie this weekend, as she's got other engagements. I don't like being apart from her for so long. Having had to put up with months of it doesn't make the weeks that I'm putting up with now hugely better. All I really want is to be in the same damn place, but I can't do that without shirking responsibility. I really can't shirk my responsibility if I want to be at all Fair to Julie. It's quite the catch twenty two. I need to be with Julie to really do her justice. To do that I have to shirk responsibility, which doesn't do her justice.
It's rather annoying. I haven't had a good complain in a while, and I guess I'm just getting it all out at once. I'm glad that I'm not crazy, but I definitely am not happy about the rest of the world giving me trouble. I know other people have it worse, and I've kept my complaints to myself (well mostly) for just that reason, but I've had enough.
Oh well. there's naught that I can do at the moment. I'll figure it out.Or maybe I won't, that's to be seen. I just have to keep it up and hope that things will work out.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
dealing with people can just be too much fucking trouble. I understand a lot of how they work, and about why things happen the way they do with people, but fuck, how to deal with them sure is opaque. I wish everything were just more straightforward. I'm always relatively striaghtforward, and try to avoid bullshit, why can't everyone else?
So what sparked this was a conversation, or rather a bit of talking and a lot of sitting in silence, with my girlfriend. If I didn't love her this would have pissed me off. As it is I'm just a little annoyed and perplexed. I try to be helpful, I listen to complaints over which I have no control, and I give what advice I can. I know advice can't be given for every situation, and I know that not everything can be fixed, but trying to understand everything just seems like an obvious must to me.
I can only deal with that which I can observe, or which I'm told of. Silence doesn't improve my understanding of anything. I don't think it's alright for her to get all pissy just because I don't understand what's going on when I haven't any information. Oh well. I'm not particularly able to assess the situation as of this time, so I'll leave it be, but I can't help but still be a bit bothered. Whatever, I'll figure it out eventually. I just wish I were with her so I could pick up those signs I can't over the phone, so I could understand better what was going on, so when she talked with me, I could stop when she was annoyed, or leave, or otherwise do something effective.
I just feel so impotent at this distance, or any distance really.
So what sparked this was a conversation, or rather a bit of talking and a lot of sitting in silence, with my girlfriend. If I didn't love her this would have pissed me off. As it is I'm just a little annoyed and perplexed. I try to be helpful, I listen to complaints over which I have no control, and I give what advice I can. I know advice can't be given for every situation, and I know that not everything can be fixed, but trying to understand everything just seems like an obvious must to me.
I can only deal with that which I can observe, or which I'm told of. Silence doesn't improve my understanding of anything. I don't think it's alright for her to get all pissy just because I don't understand what's going on when I haven't any information. Oh well. I'm not particularly able to assess the situation as of this time, so I'll leave it be, but I can't help but still be a bit bothered. Whatever, I'll figure it out eventually. I just wish I were with her so I could pick up those signs I can't over the phone, so I could understand better what was going on, so when she talked with me, I could stop when she was annoyed, or leave, or otherwise do something effective.
I just feel so impotent at this distance, or any distance really.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
