Rectifying a Dearth of Me

It seems my posts have been lacking in original content and writing lately, as I haven't been making the time for it. In an attempt to rectify that a bit while still not really making time, I'll share something I've written for another context. My workplace is slowly working through our staff, doing short profiles on our intranet. I got a bit carried away answering some of the questions, since the person who writes the profiles will picked a chose and few quotes and interesting bits from the "interview" questions and the final product was much shorter than what I gave her. But since I went to all the trouble, I thought I'd share the whole thing with someone besides her. I didn't really revise or edit this for sentence structure or clarity since she'll be working it over anyway, so I'm sure it's more than a little convoluted and rough at times.

Where did you go to high school and college? What was your major?

I began school in *****, where I was born, but we moved to *****, where my parents were both from, when I was 7. We were still in ***** for my first year of high school, but Dad got a new job at ***** High School the summer after. Thinking a move was imminent and not wanting to change schools mid-year, my brother and I decided to commute with him to school. Unfortunately, we didn’t move until the following summer, so we made the 50-55 minute country drive both ways every day for a year.

I finished high school in *****, then considered some pretty serious college prospects. However, my goals for school weren’t all that clear, so I figured if I could just take general classes anywhere, I might as well do it cheaply. I decided to stay home and start school at ***** Community College, where I received a vocal music scholarship. After two years of taking things that sounded interesting, I found I’d earned an A.S. but no direction.

I took a semester off to work and decided I definitely didn’t like that, so I went back with the idea of becoming a wildlife biologist, planning to transfer to ***** State University since I’d heard they had a good program. However, during the break of my first three-hour meeting of my Chemistry II class, after spending an hour-and-a-half remembering how much I hated my Chemistry I class, I walked over to the admin building and withdrew from the class. Then I looked at the other classes I’d taken to fill out my schedule so I’d be full time, saw that one was a Shakespeare class and the other was The Oral Interpretation of Literature, and realized what I loved more than anything in the world was reading, studying, and sharing my love of books and stories.

So I finally understood I was meant to be an English major. But what to do with an English degree? I’d been intentionally avoiding the idea of becoming a teacher since both of my parents and many members of my extended family were, but I had to admit it was a pretty decent route to go. I’d been planning to transfer to ***** and they had a big teacher program, so I ended up spending the next three years there getting my Bachelor of Secondary Education in English.

However, I emerged from those years with a strong interest in learning more about religion, to find out if my liberal beliefs had the biblical and theological foundation I thought they did (since all I saw in media and popular culture made me doubt it) and how I might beneficially apply them to the world. After a trip to Princeton and considering some other options, my then-wife and I moved to *****, where I spent three years at ***** getting an academically demanding, praxis oriented, 90 hour Master of Divinity degree.

Then, nine years removed from high school—and after rejecting the idea of pursuing a Ph.D. in Social Theory/Ethics—I accepted I was going to finally have to get a real job. Before I found either a church job or a teaching job, though, I was offered the position as Librarian at ***** High School in *****. It was an intimidating thought to jump into that kind of thing with no preparation or training, but it seemed a good fit for me and expectations were very low, so I accepted. That started me in pursuit of my M.L.S. at *****. Four years later I had it and came [here].

How long have you worked [with us] and in what departments/branches?

I started [here] in August of 2002 as a Youth Services Librarian at [a branch]. I don’t remember the date, but some four-ish years later I was transferred to [a different branch] in the same position. A few years after that I decided to give the Branch Manager position at [yet another branch] a try, but quickly decided that wasn’t what I was after at the time and six months later returned to my position at [the second], where I remain to this day.

Did you participate in the Leadership Development Program? If so, how has that experience influenced you?

It has made me into a power-hungry, Machiavellian master of manipulation and devious maneuvers, attempting to take over the organization from behind the scenes as a shadow without notice, for my own personal gain.

I mean, yes, I participated in 2009. I think my biggest takeaway from the experience, as cliché as it sounds, was confidence and self-esteem, an ability to accept that others looked to me for leadership and a self-concept that began to include the thought of myself as a leader. It has allowed me to take on new roles in new ways, such as leading the Youth Services meetings, giving presentations and training sessions, and being more active as a leader both in my local units and in system-wide work.

What has been your previous work experience? How has that contributed to your growth?

My first work experience was doing chores around the house for my mom. It didn’t take me long to figure out that she was so particular and controlling about having things done one exact way, that if I got it wrong enough times she’d just take over and do it and I’d be released from the duty. As I grew older I began to realize I was much more responsive to her requests for help if she would explain what needed to be accomplished and then allow me achieve that goal in my own style and with my own methods; when she was more trusting and hands-off about her management style, I felt more respected and was more motivated to help and do quality work.

In middle school I started delivering an after-school paper route for a bit of spending money. In high school and college I joined my dad and some other teachers each summer as we painted (and sometimes shingled) houses around town. I think both of these were good lessons in being responsible and working hard to get jobs done. As a learning experience, this worked nicely in tandem with my time at McDonald’s my first two years of college, in which I regretted after the fact how lazy and irresponsible I had been, deciding I needed to grow and improve because I didn’t like being that person.

There was also a semester waiting tables at Applebee’s and one delivering pizzas for Godfather’s while in college. I think the biggest thing I remember from that was my Applebee’s manager telling me I did a good job, except I needed to “get over the quiet guy act.” “What act?” was my immediate thought to myself, but it was a good self-awareness for how I came across to others.

I was a counselor at two different camps for three of my summers in college. Those from the area may know the second of these, ***** south of town (I was there in ’94 & ’95). These were great experiences since I lived my first seven summers at a camp that my parents directed and because they gave me an opportunity to work intensely with youth while I finished up my teaching degree. I both had a lot of fun and learned a lot, particularly about my style for building a rapport with youth and engaging them.

While in seminary I worked with a youth group for two years and with an entire congregation as the pastor’s intern the third year. I also interned as a hospital chaplain. From this I especially learned about congregational dynamics and leadership, group and interpersonal relationship dynamics, and empathy.

During those years I also learned the ***** [city] landscape after growing up in ***** small towns. We rented a third floor apartment in ***** area our first year before buying a house in *****. My youth group job was with ***** Presbyterian Church up north, by ***** High School (and *****, which came later). The hospital was in ***** and the intern position was ***** Presbyterian Church in *****, and I was involved in my then-wife’s job at ***** High School in *****, especially attending lots of sporting events since she was the cheerleading sponsor. We also earned extra money as summer and after-school care for a couple of families in *****, driving them to golf and tennis lessons at ***** and other country clubs in the wealthy areas and supervising their activities. These were not only good geographical lessons, but cultural and socioeconomic ones as well.

Then I spent four years as the librarian at ***** High School in *****. First and foremost, I learned I love being a librarian from that experience. I also learned my biggest and best Readers Advisory lesson, that if I wanted the students to read I had to order what they were interested in reading, books with characters and experiences they could relate to instead of just award winners and titles off “best of” lists. Also that they trusted each other’s recommendations much more than mine, and that the best way to develop a “culture of reading” was to get them talking to each other about books. I also learned that a cluster of individualistic mavericks does not make an effective unit or promote a good organizational culture, and if they refuse to work together they’ll fail as a unit regardless of passion or commitment.

What do you consider to be your strengths? Weaknesses or foibles?

Talking about my experiences is much easier than talking about myself. Plus, everyone hates these kinds of questions and I’m no exception. Anyway, I’m just rambling a bit as I mull the subject and figure out how to approach it.

I’ve been told many times by many people that writing is one of my strengths; although often many of these same people seem annoyed by how much I write when I let myself get carried away, so they seem to like it but only in limited quantities. ;-)

I think I’d have to admit to a definite reflective, analytical intelligence as a strength; although that comes with the flip side of indecisiveness and inaction as I consider things from all angles.

I think I have a passion and excitement and genuine engagement about what I do; although I can then feel strongly about things I feel threaten it in some way, coming across as oppositional or negative at times.

When people tell me I’m a nice guy, most of them seem to really mean it, and I like to think I deserve it.

I’m sure there’s more, but I’m running out of enthusiasm for this particular question at the moment.

What are you reading now? What’s the book you’re recommending to friends these days?

I just started reading the adult nonfiction book True Enough: Learning to Live in a Post-fact Society, by Farhad Manjoo and listening to the J mystery The Ring of Fire (first book of the Century Quartet), by Pierdomenico Baccalario. It’s too soon to tell yet if I’ll be recommending these.

I just finished with Okay for Now, by Gary Schmidt, which is a great young YA book by a masterful writer and one I’ll gladly recommend to anyone. Even though I read Predictably Irrational: The Hidden Forces That Shape Our Decisions, by Dan Ariely a couple of years ago, I keep finding myself referring back to it and highly recommend it to everyone. And I’m still trying to get more readers for Kathleen Duey’s A Resurrection of Magic YA fantasy series while I anxiously await the third book (the first two: Skin Hunger and Sacred Scars).

Oh, and I recently loved Zombie Spaceship Wasteland, by Patton Oswalt, though know it really needs to be consumed in audio format. As a follow-up to my Leadership program experience, I learned a lot from How to Grow Up and Rule the World, by Vordak the Incomprehensible (with help from Scott Seegert). And Last Night I Sang to the Monster, by Benjamin Alire Saenz really moved me.

What do other people think is the most interesting thing about you?

Oooh, that’s a good question! I’ll have to ask some of them, because I’m curious to know.

“Anyway, from my perspective, some of the more interesting things about you are that you went to seminary school, that you remain good friends with your ex-wife, and that you're amazingly eloquent about explaining your ideas.”

“Your ability to answer inane questions.”

“You have really interesting food tastes. Very eclectic and strange combinations. And you have really diverse interests. I’d call you a Renaissance man.”

“Your obsession with the Tour de France?”

“Your analytical brain.”

Anything you want to add about your personal life and/or hobbies?

I’ve gotten away from it in recent years, but I had a lot of fun doing triathlons for a while there. I’ve been active my whole life and still enjoy vigorous physical exercise on a regular basis.

I love the Tour de France.

I still enjoy playing Dungeons & Dragons on occasion.

My favorite recording artists are Peter Gabriel and They Might Be Giants, although I love many others.

My favorite color is rainbow.

Mt. Dew is the drink of the gods.

I identify in many ways with what you find at this link (although I like to think I’m of the kinder, gentler INTJ variety).

My personal file on the G: drive is named “The Secrets of Tom Riddle.”

I haven't engaged or even read her in a long time, but I take perverse pride in the fact that the Annoyed Librarian, of all people, once held me up as a prime example of civil debate: Just out of courtesy, let's try to avoid ad hominem attacks. For the record, I may disagree with many of you, and some of you, like Degolar, I've disagreed amicably with on a number of occasions. But my disagreement with people on particular issues doesn't mean I think they're stupid. I try, though I don't always succeed, to focus on ideas and not personalities. Of course that could be because I don't have a personality. In the comments here.

Anything else you want to add?

Seriously? Are you sure you want to ask that at this point in the proceedings?

All Drunks Think They Can Sing

What I really like is jazz, especially old songs: "The Haunted Heart"
Or anything on the lips of Nina Simone, songs that should
Make you sad but don't because they're simply exposing
The lyrical side of pain.  You can't live without pain.
That would be like living without music.

I finally got around to buying this book: The Book of What Remains by Benjamin Alire Saenz.  I've been meaning to ever since I first read it, but have been waiting for it to show up at Half-price Books during one of my random visits or otherwise stumble on it cheaply.  But yesterday I decided to buy it outright and make sure the author gets full royalties for my purchase.

Mostly we talk to ourselves
Except that we need someone else in the room so it will seem
As though we're having a conversation instead of a monologue.

I was reminded of it most recently by a friend's blog post, from her reading of his most recent teen book: Beautiful Words.  Follow the link; it's a very short, quick read, but--as advertised--has a beautiful little quote.  Then come back here, of course, and finish with this.

Who wants to live without music?
No music equals no dancing.  No dancing equals no sex.  No
Sex equals--you see exactly where I'm going with this.

When I read that post I decided to check out this book again.  I opened it when I had a moment to kill and randomly started reading.  I once again fell in love with it, that random page I started reading.  The quotes in italics you've been reading are from it, and I have it waiting for you in full at the bottom of this post.  It's worth reading in its entirety.

One thing I've learned: all drunks think they can sing.
Why is that?  Even my father hummed to himself when
he was drunk.  That was a long time ago.  When he got sober,
The songs on his lips dried up and wilted.  His brother,
My uncle Willie, liked to whistle.  I thought he was at least
As good as a bird--though I'm no expert.  That fact that
My uncle Willie whistled all the time didn't mean
He was happy.  He was happy only when he was drunk.  My mom
Used to sing as she worked.  Now, she was happy.  There is no
Logic to this.  She worked and worked and worked.  And yet,
There she was: singing and listening to those old Mexican songs
On the radio.  I have no explanation for her kind of happiness.

I first encountered the author through another of his teen books, Last Night I Sang to the Monster.  My review of it was pretty simple: "My new favorite book and one of the best I've read. Anything else I can think to say seems trivial. Just wow."  I've mentioned it previously on this blog a number of times, particularly in this post, which shares quite a few quotes from it in its second half.

I really do hate Joseph McCarthy.  You think hating him
Does any good?  Hating him is like my uncle Willie's whistling--
It doesn't make you happy.

After I read that first one, I decided to read this book.  I shared a long poem from it in this post: Oof.  It was soon after my own divorce and really hit home.  Of the whole book, it was the one that most resonated at the time and the one I wanted to share: "What I Have to Sing About."  Reading it will be a long detour, so you might want to wait until after finishing this post to follow the link; but follow it, I do advise.  It moved me.

Since I haven't shared it here before, my review of the book:

"My reason for recommending this is the same reason I’m not sure I’m qualified to recommend it: it’s the first book of poetry I’ve ever voluntarily read cover to cover. I’m certainly not anti-poetry and really enjoy evocative language that has rhythmic and aesthetic qualities—poetic language, if you will—but long chunks of ongoing poetry piled on top of one another just generally don’t do it for me. I was delighted when this one did.

"Perhaps one of the things I liked was that, for poetry, it’s almost prosaic. Often poetry seems to me to be about language first and content second, but in this I very clearly felt the language was just the tool being used in the service of what it was saying. Very conversational, at times organically stream-of-consciousness-ish, but with a non-linear, connected circularity that belies any attempts to call it random. Saenz’s writing is intimately personal and confessional, giving voice to raw pain and anger, although themes like politics and place and race keep showing up as they inform his identity, and there is a sense of connecting his particular struggles to a greater humanity. The overarching theme is finding the fragile, struggling, harsh life and defiant beauty in the desert, which serves as a metaphor on many levels, particularly that of his damaged psyche."

Meditation on Living in the Desert

 
No. 2

 
I love the sand, the heat, the arid nights.

I am in love with plants that can survive the droughts.

I am also in love with air-conditioning.

I refuse to recycle.

I am helping to make the entire world into a desert.

I live in the desert. I want everyone else to live in one, too.

When all the trees have disappeared, we can all read Robert Frost poems and feel sad.


But, of course, there's a reason I've invited you here today, and that's to read a different poem, the one that moved me yesterday, the one that gives this post its title, the one I've quoted extensively above.  It starts on the right side of the first image and continues through the next two.  Click on the images to enlarge them for easy reading.

I Wanted to Capture the Quotes

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe, by Benjaimin Alire Saenz: A Review

I’ve called a book “gorgeous” before in one of my reviews, but I don’t think I’ve ever called a book “beautiful.”

There’s something about the writing of Benjamin Alire Saenz that is beautiful.

There's an honesty to it. Even when characters are confused, deluded, repressed, and in denial, they're somehow still honest. But even more than their honesty, I think the beauty lies in their vulnerability. They struggle against opening themselves up enough to risk confronting their true feelings, yet ultimately they do so. They share their vulnerable inner selves so that we can connect with them, so that we can know we are like them and they are like us. To borrow a quote from a different book by Saenz, Last Night I Sang to the Monster:

But the thing is that I’m in love with Rafael’s story. I think I understand when Adam says that all our stories are different but in some ways our stories are all the same. I never really got that. But when I start to read Rafael’s journal, it’s as if I can see myself. It’s better than a mirror.

This is a story of relationships. Of Ari's relationships, which are few and often strained. Ari is a quiet, withdrawn, angry, deep-thinking loner in El Paso, who one summer makes his first true friend, Dante. He tells us the story in snippets and episodes, along the way describing his interactions with his parents, Dante's parents, and a few other peers. How he saves Dante's life in a moment of instinctive reaction, pushing Dante out of the way of an approaching car and getting run over himself instead. The long, difficult recovery while in casts and the school year that begins before he's done, the one Dante spends in Chicago while his dad is a guest professor. Of Dante's confession that he wants to kiss Ari and Ari's obstinate refusal to either respond in kind or love Dante any less as a friend. Of the changes he continues to undergo as he struggles to understand himself and those around him, confronting in the process, without any real conscious awareness, his deep-seated self-loathing.

It's an honest, vulnerable, moving, and beautiful story. One I could relate to intimately--despite my different personal circumstances--that left me feeling more understanding and loving of others and myself.

One of Ari's journal entries gives good insight into who he is, at least near the start of the story:

These are the things that are happening in my life (in no particular order):

- I got the flu and I feel terrible and I also feel terrible inside.

- I have always felt terrible inside. The reasons for this keep changing.

- I told my father I always had bad dreams. And that was true. I'd never told anyone that before. Not even myself. I only knew it was true when I said it.

- I hated my mom for a minute or two because she told me I didn't have any friends.

- I want to know about my brother. If I knew more about him, would I hate him?

- My father held me in his arms when I had a fever and I wanted him to hold me in his arms forever.

- The problem is not that I don't love my mother and father. The problem is that I don't know how to love them.

- Dante is the first friend I've ever had. That scares me.

- I think that if Dante really knew me, he wouldn't like me.

-----

I marked many, many lines and passages that I particularly liked and wanted to revisit to dwell on. Here they are, listed without context:

See, the thing about guys is that I didn't really care to be around them. I mean, guys really made me uncomfortable. I don't know why, not exactly. I just, I don't know, I just didn't belong. I think it embarrassed the hell out of me that I was a guy. And it really depressed me that there was the distinct possibility that I was going to grow up and be like one of those assholes.

-----

I had a rule that it was better to be bored by yourself than to be bored with someone else. I pretty much lived by that rule. Maybe that's why I didn't have any friends.

-----

He was funny and focused and fierce. I mean the guy could be fierce. And there wasn't anything mean about him. I didn't understand how you could live in a mean world and not have any of that meanness rub off on you. How could a guy live without some meanness?

-----

Man loneliness was much bigger than boy loneliness.

-----

I renamed myself Ari.

If I switched the letter, my name was Air.

I thought it might be a great thing to be the air.

I could be something and nothing at the same time. I could be necessary and also invisible. Everyone would need me and no one would be able to see me.

-----

"We're too nice, you know that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Our parents turned us into nice boys. I hate that."

"I don't think I'm so nice."

"Are you in a gang?"

"No."

"Do you do drugs?"

"No."

"Do you drink?"

"I'd like to."

"Me too. But that wasn't the question."

"No, I don't drink."

"Do you have sex?"

"Sex?"

"Sex, Ari."

"No, never had sex, Dante. But I'd like to."

"Me too. See what I mean? We're nice."

"Nice," I said. "Shit."

"Shit," he said.

-----

It was good to laugh. I wanted to laugh and laugh and laugh until I laughed myself into becoming someone else.

-----

I wondered what that was like, to hold someone's hand. I bet you could sometimes find all of the mysteries of the universe in someone's hand.

-----

This is my problem. I want other people to tell me how they feel. But I'm not so sure I want to return the favor.

-----

Somewhere toward the end of the shift we all started singing U2 songs. "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For." Yeah, that was a good song. My theme song. But really I thought it was everybody's theme song.

-----

He looked so happy and I wondered about that, his capacity for happiness. Where did that come from? Did I have that kind of happiness inside me? Was I just afraid of it?

-----

"You should just sit them down and make them tell you. Make them be adults."

"You can't make anyone be an adult. Especially an adult."

-----

Dogs don't censor themselves. Maybe animals were smarter than people. The dog was so happy. My mom and dad too. It felt good to know that they loved the dog, that they let themselves do that. And somehow it seemed that the dog helped us be a better family.

-----

To be careful with people and with words was a rare and beautiful thing.

Zen Wrapped in Monsters: Too Many Quotes from Two Books

You won’t understand life and death until you’re ready to set aside any hope of understanding life and death and just live your life until you die.

Zen Wrapped in Karma Dipped in Chocolate: A Trip Through Death, Sex, Divorce, and Spiritual Celebrity in Search of the True Dharma by Brad Warner

Not a great memoir; not a great Zen primer; but good enough at each that they complement each other and make a better whole. I'm very much a pragmatist and always want to know, How will this work? and, more importantly, Will this work? I wasn't entirely unfamiliar with Zen before reading this, but it was my first time reading an entire book by an actual Zen Master. I chose it because I wanted to see the theory in practice as it applies to actual, messy life. Warner does a good job of presenting just that, bringing the ideas down to earth and showing how they made a difference in the midst of flaws and imperfections and complexities. He's just a guy trying to deal, and this is how Zen helps him do that.

I made a vow.

For the sake of my dead mom and grandma and all those other dead people, I vowed to be an asshole for the rest of my life.

What I mean by that is that I just don’t give a shit anymore. I’m gonna pretty much say and do whatever I want from now on. This book is a manifestation of that attitude. If my mom and grandma hadn’t died, if my wife hadn’t left me, and if I hadn’t lost my job, you wouldn’t be reading this. Oh, I’d still have written a book. But it would have been a much milder piece of work than this one. Maybe a little commentary on some sutra or suchlike, but not the big snarly ball of confessional vomit you’ve been sitting through for the past several weeks.

-----

I wrote my first book, Hardcore Zen, believing it wasn’t even publishable. Who wanted to read the story of an ex-punk rock bass player and employee of a company that made cheesy Japanese monster movies who became a Zen master without ever giving up his punk-rock attitude or love of crappy films about giant lizards eating Yokohama?

-----

One of the things that gets lost in the way Zen is presented these days is that the whole idea of Zen in the beginning was to answer the question, How can we live a truly happy life? These days in America, Zen stuff always gets all caught up in religious ideas of righteousness and holy-ocity. Fuck that shit. Buddha didn’t want to find something holy; he just wanted a life that wasn’t a fucking drag all the time.

-----

But you didn’t want a rant about people making excuses. You wanted to know where people go when they die as told to you by a real live Zen master right here in a cheap-ass paperback book you bought on a whim because it had a funny title. Well, unfortunately, you seem to have me confused with someone dead. ‘Cuz I don’t know. And neither does anyone else who tells you they do, by the way.

-----

All of life is characterized by disappointment. Nothing ever lives up to your expectations, no matter what your expectations are. This doesn’t mean you’re never disappointed. I know I sure was. But you know that disappointment is just the action of your brain readjusting itself to reality after discovering things are not the way you thought they were. The best course of action when encountering disappointment is to know you now understand the situation better than you did before when all you had to go on was your thoughts. There’s no sense in wallowing in sadness that you were mistaken. You are fortunate, in fact, because you’re now better equipped to move forward realistically.

-----

In a weird way we’re always prepared for whatever we have to face. We just don’t know it. We always have an intuitive sense of right action. But we’re also very, very good at shouting so loudly over that sense that we may not be able to hear it when it functions. Zazen helps you learn to uncover the intuition you already have.

-----

There’s a truckload of extremely good reasons why you don’t want to rip open the doors of your subconscious too quickly. If you’re not fully prepared for what’s behind those doors, they’re better left shut tight until such time that you are. It’s a dangerous game to fuck with people’s heads.

-----

Everything you have, whether it’s money or stuff, is an obligation. It is as much your duty to care for and nurture any object you own as it would be if that object were your child. All possessions come with responsibilities. More possessions equals greater responsibilities.

-----

I understand the pressure of trying to be a leader to a group of people, many of whom are desperate to defer the responsibility for their own actions onto you. One of the basic human desires is the desire to be dominated. Dictatorships and cults arise from the desire of certain communities to be dominated by some powerful figure. Our primate relatives often live in small packs dominated by one unquestioned leader. Maybe this is how we’re programmed to respond. In any case, a dictator doesn’t come into power by his personal force alone. He comes into power when people want to be led, when people want to transfer responsibility onto some supposedly greater person.

It’s very convenient to be told what to do. You no longer have to think for yourself. You no longer have to make your own decisions. That can be a tremendous relief. It’s why some of the smartest people in the world often fall prey to the kookiest cults. They’re just tired of being responsible for themselves.

*******************************************************

One I enjoyed more, much more, but didn't want to ruin by writing a review is Last Night I Sang to the Monster by Benjamin Alire Saenz. It's a new favorite and one of the best young adult fiction books I've read. I was hooked from the opening lines:

Some people have dogs. Not me. I have a therapist. His name is Adam.

I'd rather have a dog.

-----

One of my roommates, Rafael, he’s an expert on monsters. Not that he talks about them. I can just tell. People who have monsters recognize each other. They know each other without even saying a word.

-----

See, I have this theory: some people exist in the world in an old way and some people exist in the world in a young way. My dad, he existed in an old way. Rafael, he existed in a young way. Adam, he existed in a young way too. See, some guys, they’ll always be like boys in some ways. I don’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing. I haven’t decided yet.

-----

Some people have eating disorders and there’s a special group for that. Some people have more than one person living inside them and there’s a special group for that. That’s serious stuff. That really does stun the hell out of me. I mean, I only have one of me living inside me and that’s bad enough. If I had more than one of me inside me, I’d off myself.

-----

Anyway, Adam and I came up with this figure: 85%--which means that 85% of the time, I’m engaging with myself instead of engaging with the people around me. Look, I like the 85% thing. I do. I’m giving other human beings 15% of my time. That’s plenty. Believe me. No, no don’t believe me. I’m a liar.

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[Terminally unique] means that you think you’re so special that no one could possibly understand you.

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I am absolutely certain that the only thing I really suffer from is intellectual curiosity.

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But the thing is that I’m in love with Rafael’s story. I think I understand when Adam says that all our stories are different but in some ways our stories are all the same. I never really got that. But when I start to read Rafael’s journal, it’s as if I can see myself. It’s better than a mirror.

-----

This is my theory: the people who shouldn’t hate themselves, do hate themselves. And the people who should hate themselves, don’t hate themselves.

-----

“I have a new theory,” he said, “and the theory is this: if I develop a great capacity for feeling pain, then I am also developing a great capacity for feeling happiness.”

-----

It sort of embarrassed me to see people engage in unhealthy behaviors in such a public way. I liked to keep my unhealthy behaviors to myself.

-----

It’s one thing to be sad and it’s another thing to be sad once you’ve been happy. Being sad after you’ve been happy is the worst thing in the world.

Reactive Meta-Analysis

Recent search engine searches that have led to this blog, according to my StatCounter:

Num Perc. Search Term
6 30.00% high reactive
3 15.00% can you make iskiate with chia extract
1 5.00% intj said in one word
1 5.00% most successful INTJ's
1 5.00% prism diet
1 5.00% drink raramuri
1 5.00% "introvert power"
1 5.00% where to buy geranium niveum extract
1 5.00% one it starts the longing for a dog there is no cure for it
1 5.00% "geranium niveum"
1 5.00% "what a lot of hairy faced men there are around nowadays"
1 5.00% Iskiate fermented drink
1 5.00% things cling to hairs escpecially food things like gravy
20 100.00%

This changes a little every day and I'm sure a few of those are from me in my creation of this post, but there are patterns that emerge. For the longest time, my Twits post has brought people looking for hairy men and it's always on there. More recently, INTJ posts like this one have been bringing people and my Born to Run stuff has been my biggest hitter, especially the diet one. Not as high but consistently in the mix is the high reactive one. It's even, for the moment, the first result on a Google search for the term, coming before the article it references.

You should follow this link to that post now and review. Revisiting it is the point of this post (and the INTJ link above is highly complementary if you're willing to follow one more). Many posts appear then fade away, both literally and figuratively. This one hasn't. I still relate, wonder about it, and debate what it all means. It's a long article that spends too much time on the science and experimental techniques instead of implications, but there's good stuff mixed in. Pages 8 and 9 probably have the most key stuff if you want to be selective.

My manager has told me I always react with worst-case scenario thinking and she always know my first reaction to anything new will be negative. As I've gotten past the painful shyness and isolation I've gotten more outspoken, but often I end up just expressing more of my worries. I've always been conscientious, and learned to cope with my panic in the face of spontaneity by building layers and layers of pre-planned, thought-out canned responses to every situation I can imagine. I have to have a plan; multiple plans with many possible courses if I want to be able to vary from the plan. I never do anything that I haven't thoroughly thought through. I constantly fidget and exhausting myself with vigorous exercise is how I calm down enough to relax. There's more. The things described in the article make sense to me.

-----

The review I wrote today for Lemony Snicket's book Horseradish: Bitter Truths You Can't Avoid:

How could I not give this a positive review with such obvious panders as:

Never trust anyone who has not brought a book with them.

and

A good library will never be too neat, or too dusty, because somebody will always be in it, taking books off the shelves and staying up late reading them.

Because even though those examples aren't what give Snicket's collection their depth,

One of the remarkable things about love is that, despite very irritating people writing poems and songs about how pleasant it is, it really is quite pleasant.

And, of course, that one isn't either. I'm glad I waited a few years before reading this collection of "truths," because time had faded my memory of what I love so much about Snicket's storytelling. This, after all, is the man who repeatedly through his Series of Unfortunate Events books extolled the virtues of drinking tea strong and black, because sometimes it's good to sip on life's bitterness. With wit and sarcasm and profound respect for intellect, but always with the undercurrent of bitter. The aphorisms are collected into short chapters with titles like, "Home," "Work," "Travel," and the like, but it's the title of the climactic twelfth (of thirteen, of course) chapter that captures what he's all about: "An Overall Feeling of Doom that One Cannot Ever Escape No Matter What One Does." So, with that in mind, a few more representative samples (saving the best for last):

Love can change a person the way a parent can change a baby--awkwardly, and often with a great deal of mess.

-----

Everybody will die, of course, sooner or later. Circus performers will die, and clarinet experts will die, and you and I will die, and there might be a person who lives on your block, right now, who is looking both ways before he crosses the street and who will die in just a few seconds, all because of a bus. Everybody will die, but very few people want to be reminded of that fact.

-----

Deciding on the right thing to do in a situation is a bit like deciding on the right thing to wear to a party. It is easy to decide on what is wrong to wear to a party, such as deep-sea diving equipment or a pair of large pillows, but deciding what is right is much trickier. The truth is that you can never be sure if you have decided on the right thing until the party is over, and by then it is too late to go back and change your mind, which is why the world is filled with people doing terrible things and wearing ugly clothing.

-----

Everyone, at some point in their lives, wakes up in the middle of the night with the feeling that they are all alone in the world, and that nobody loves them now and that nobody will ever love them, and that they will never have a decent night’s sleep again and will spend their lives wandering blearily around a loveless landscape, hoping desperately that their circumstances will improve, but suspecting in their heart of hearts, that they will remain unloved forever. The best thing to do in these circumstances is to wake someone else up, so that they can feel this way, too.

-----

End of the review (which was related, if you skipped it; see chapter twelve), and one more thought, the one that actually spurred all of this.

Still not ready to say what or why or how, but being blown away by my reading of Last Night I Sang to the Monster (first mentioned here). Great character voice that I can totally connect with, even though my life circumstances have never been one bit like his. I bury my emotions under intellectual pursuits like this. I can acknowledge when books work for me emotionally, but it's the rare one that really makes me feel deeply. This one seems to be speaking to me so well right now that I just found this paragraph completely overwhelming. There's enough me in my head already . . .

"Some people have eating disorders and there's a special group for that. Some people have more than one person living inside them and there's a special group for that. That's serious stuff. That really does stun the hell out of me. I mean, I only have one of me living inside me and that's bad enough. If I had more than one of me inside me, I'd off myself."

Baby Wipes Are Made of Chocolate Stardust

I work with some fellow fanboys who long for the days before heroes were dark and tortured, the emotionally damaged and psychologically complicated types that have been popular for a while now. They don't find such characters and stories inspiring, preferring heroes who can find a way to rise above our normal human flaws and limitations to demonstrate a better way. I can understand tha, but I'm much more likely to feel inspired by someone I can relate to, someone I see overcoming the same things I struggle with and succeeding despite those things. See, for instance, The Patron Saint of Mediocrities, where I shared my recurring thought that some of the characters I find most inspiring are the hobbits in the Lord of the Rings for their everyday valor.

They are as down to earth and ordinary as they come. They don't succeed in their quest because they are inherently great, but because they are able to find extraordinary strength of character and courage within themselves. They are you and me succeeding in a crisis situation despite our mortality and weakness. This may be called a fantasy, but it is one that we can actually put ourselves into and identify with. Ideally, it is one that can inspire us to live our own lives like courageous Hobbits and discover our own versions of greatness. It is a story that might make us better people.

Plus, I have to admit, I enjoy stories with some darkness. Characters, too. While I relate to hobbits, I'm a bit more entertained by characters who have sharper edges and deeper complexities. So while I understand those who find their inspiration in heroes of the purely heroic varieties and try not to "yuck their yum," I look for something different.

The trend toward dark and tortured heroes started in comics, I think, in the 80s, especially with Batman. Later that decade, Watchmen came out as the definitive superhero deconstruction. Similar types of stories have been around since. TV has had hugely popular shows featuring Anti-Heroes for about as long. My first exposure, though, came before any of that in the form of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever.

I was turned on to Fantasy as a genre when my seventh grade teacher read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe to the class. I fell in love, and immediately went on to read the entire Narnia series. Then Lloyd Alexander's Chronicles of Prydain, which someone recommended. Then The Hobbit and LOTR. This was the early 80s in a small town in Kansas so, even though there were other fantasy books for kids in existence, I didn't know anyone who could suggest more. My best friend and I spent the next few years making all of our selections from the town library's adult Science Fiction shelves. We read many things that I would likely remember with a bit of prompting; the two series I remember most vividly, though, have always been The Belgariad by David Eddings--which I've been told is not stellar literature despite the ways it fed my young imagination--and The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant by Stephen R. Donaldson.

Thomas Covenant is about as anti-heroic as they come. The premise, as I remember it (from the early 80s, remember, when I was, I think, in 8th grade): Covenant is a contemporary bestselling author who unexpectedly develops leprosy. He ignores the symptoms long enough that by the time he gets a diagnosis his body has deteriorated somewhat, with all sense of feeling gone from his hands and feet and two fingers amputated. Worse, everyone starts treating him, well, like a leper. His wife leaves him and everyone else shuns him. At the start of the first book he is an isolated and bitter hermit, cynical about his life, his only purpose to avoid accidental injuries around his house that will never heal. Hope is his enemy, as that can only end in despair that his life will never improve.

Covenant is knocked unconscious and wakes in a strange land, supposedly summoned by a servant of Lord Foul. A teen girl helps him escape, and he quickly learns a few things. He is in a magical Land that is under threat by an ancient enemy. His leprosy is magically cured and he is restored to full health (aside from his missing fingers). And the people he encounters believe his is the reincarnation of legendary hero Berek Halfhand, White Gold Wielder, who defeated Lord Foul last time, and that the magic in Covenant's wedding ring is what will save the Land this time.

He refuses to accept this role, believing it is all a vivid dream cooked up by his unconscious brain, and that any hint of acceptance means capitulating to the hope that his leprosy might some day be cured for real. Except, carried away by his renewed vigor and desperate loneliness, he quickly rapes Lena, the teen girl who has been helping him--who continues to accompany him because of the hope he brings to the Land. And Covenant has no choice but to continue with the adventure, trapped as he is in the experience regardless of his belief.

That's just the first few chapters. I read both trilogies at the time (a third series was written more recently, it seems). Covenant continues to be a reluctant hero and general asshole the whole time. The other characters, the world building, the epic struggle and adventures throughout the land were good enough that I enjoyed them despite the anti-protagonist. Yet my memories of everything else have faded with time, and the only thing I really remember clearly is the beginning that sets up the story and introduces the character. Thomas Covenant made an impression.

I don't have a clear sense of just what the impression was, of what I took away from the story. I'm sure some of what made him memorable is that he stood out as so different from any other character I'd encountered. I know I didn't fully get all of the themes and dynamics at play due to my youth, and would be curious to see how they strike me now as an adult. But I believe part of it was inspiration by negation, by defining for me what a hero was not. If the hobbits inspired me by showing what an ordinary person is capable of, Thomas Covenant inspired me because I knew I could be and do better than he did. I think. Maybe. That's the way it feels to me now, at least. I believe I learned that if this sad man could manage to help people, then surely I could, too.

Plus, I have to admit, I enjoy stories with some darkness. Characters, too.

It's Amy's favorite. (She seems so sweet on the surface, no?) Amy and I do not always have the exact same taste in things, but this I like.

When she told me it was her favorite, it suggested to me strange and wonderful things about her character that I had not guessed, dark places that I might like to visit.

People tell boring lies about politics, God, and love. You know everything you need to know about a person from the answer to the question, What is your favorite book?

― Gabrielle Zevin, The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry

It suggested to me strange and wonderful things about her character that I had not guessed, dark places that I might like to visit.

A Man Said to the Universe

A man said to the universe:

“Sir, I exist!”

“However,” replied the universe,

“The fact has not created in me

A sense of obligation.”

― Stephen Crane

This is not the first time on this blog I've shared that Stephen Crane poem. It captures a central truth for me, expressed in the metaphor at the top of the page. Humans are finite and limited and by definition unable to fully grasp the apparently infinite nature of the universe. And of God, for the religiously inclined--I love the phrase "The Mystery of God" as one way of talking about our inability to ever  understand everything. I believe that to be happy we have to embrace our smallness, to accept that there is far more we'll never know than what we do.

(See, for instance, Doesn't Look Like Anything to Me and Um, Maybe . . . Kinda . . . I Dunno: Or, Ambiguity. A lot good thoughts at each one.)

So I found this article fascinating.

Terrifying Vistas of Reality

H.P. Lovecraft, the master of cosmic horror stories, was a philosopher who believed in the total insignificance of humanity

Underneath those weird tales was a distinctive philosophical project, one that can reveal as much about our anxieties today as about those of a man living in Providence in the early 20th century.

Lovecraft captures the spirit of his philosophy in the opening paragraph of ‘The Call of Cthulhu’, a story about an expedition to the sunken dwelling of a tentacled Old God worshipped by an ancient cult who pray for their deity to awaken from its slumber and resume its control over mortal-kind. How would Lovecraft start such a fantastic tale? Like this:

The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.

Most of his stories, however, are less philosophically explicit. Lovecraft’s thought is often obscured in his tales, and must be pieced together from various sources, including his poetry, essays and, most importantly, his letters . . . These tales, he wrote, were based on one fundamental cosmic premise: ‘that common human laws and interests and emotions have no validity or significance in the vast cosmos-at-large’. . . . 

Throughout his life, he maintained in his ethics the total insignificance of humanity in the face of a vast and inherently unknowable universe. ‘We are all meaningless atoms adrift in the void,’ he wrote in a letter to his friend, the publisher and writer August Derleth. Though he was pessimistic about humanity’s cosmic position, Lovecraft did not fall victim to the fatalist fallacy in his tales; the actions of his characters still have moral value and meaning on the individual level for the purposes of bettering the self and society. . . . 

Anathema to many philosophical systems, or perhaps philosophy itself, Lovecraft’s philosophical project fundamentally holds that contemplations of higher reality or the nature of things can never be fully realised. Ultimately, the search for knowledge does not constitute some telos, some purpose, for humankind, but rather leads to the violent dissolution of the self. Higher reality is that which the limited human psyche can never fully comprehend. . . . 

Lovecraft suggests that higher philosophical knowledge should not be sought, since finding it entails learning of our cosmic insignificance and purposelessness. . . . 

For Lovecraft, art and literature are the ideal means for individuals to find beauty and meaning, despite humanity’s profound lack of cosmic purpose. If the universe is infinite and indifferent, one can ward off nihilism by seeking solace in artistic self-expression. This idea appears in many of Lovecraft’s stories, but the best example is the author himself. Throughout his life, the act of writing weird fiction became a modus vivendi for finding meaning. Though his letters might describe his philosophy most clearly, Lovecraft’s stories – all written in a single genre – are the primary mode through which he creatively expressed those ideas. . . . 

Lovecraft’s stories are dotted with attempts to describe the impossible within the limitations of human expression and experience. . . . 

For Lovecraft, horror is found in what we think could be out there in the universe, given our glaringly deficient knowledge about reality. ‘The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear,’ he writes in his 1927 essay, ‘and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown’. . . . 

For Lovecraft and his protagonists, knowledge of the boundless and unknown is a profound source of anxiety eased only by taking refuge in illusory dream-space. . . . 

Real knowledge, Lovecraft suggests, is impossible; humans have a limited capacity to think in truly rational ways. This perspective might explain why Lovecraft was not an evangelical atheist and accepted the usefulness of religion for the vast majority of the population, for whom a godless existence would be intolerable: ‘It helps their orderly conduct as nothing else could,’ he wrote, ‘and gives them an emotional satisfaction they could not get elsewhere.’ And besides, if we ever discovered that the universe really was as cosmically purposeless as Lovecraft imagined, then delusions of Cthulhu-esque gods might seem reasonable — or even desirable.

The actions of his characters still have moral value and meaning on the individual level for the purposes of bettering the self and society.

Yes, that's it exactly. Trying too hard to understand everything, in the big, universal sense, can only end in frustration; the key is to focus on improving your context, on "bettering the self and society."

Thinking of the incomprehensible vastness of space reminded me of this scene from Smek for President by Adam Rex.

"I think this is the Museum of Noises," I told Bill. I stared at it for a second. "Let's cut through, if it's open." . . . 

I nearly skipped through the next corridor. It opened onto a room that was wide and round and empty and tall.

I stopped abruptly. The scuff of my sneaker echoed back and forth in stiff little whispers.

High above the center of this big bell-shaped chamber was a marquee that read THE SOUND OF SPACE. It wasn't like the other exhibits. It didn't have any electronic eye, just four helmets hanging down from accordion tethers around a little center pedestal. To hear the sound of space you apparently had to put one of these helmets on.

"That's dumb," I whispered to Bill. Bill didn't have an opinion about it. I was going to have to pass these helmets to get through the room, but I wasn't tempted. "There is no sound in space," I told Bill.

I walked right through the center of the room. The helmets were hanging so high I wouldn't even have to duck. As I approached, each helmet dipped to meet me, but like any good city girl I avoided eye contact, didn't take a flyer, didn't stop to sign the petition or listen to the hard-luck story. They reeled up again after I'd passed.

At the Green Exit I looked back, "I don't get it," I said. I returned to the pedestal, and a helmet lowered itself, slowly, like it was worried I'd make it look foolish again. I read the English inscription on the pedestal as a cool plastic plate settled on my head and arms flexed inward to cradle my ears.

Todaynow, the Boov are nearly 8 million solar lengths from home, I read. That is fifteen light-years. That is 142 trillion kilometers. That is 88 trillion miles.

The helmet on my head began to hum softly.

The Boov will never again see that motherworld that made us, it continued, and was later then forfeit. The Museum of Noises introduces to you the Sound of Space, withto evoke the vast distance inbetween the Boovish peoples and our lost HOME.

That was everything on the plaque. Then a pair of blinders flapped down to cover my eyes, and the hum of the helmet fell away, and I heard nothing.

Not a recording of nothing, but actually nothing. The earpieces somehow canceled out the sounds of the air, and Bill's faint whirr, and distant noises I hadn't even realized I was hearing until they were suddenly gone. I heard nothing. Just my heartbeat.

"Big deal," I whispered. The sound of it was all inside my skull, and surprisingly loud. Cowed, I fell silent again and listened. I wondered what I was supposed to be thinking about. I wondered if I was supposed to remove the helmet myself or if it was a moment-of-silence kind of thing; I'd just have to ride it out until the helmet decided I'd searched my soul or whatever. My big dumb soul.

I couldn't tell if Bill was still there. I couldn't tell if any walls were still surrounding me. I might have been anywhere; I might have been home. Fell asleep with my headphones on again, I thought with a smirk.

When it came, it came without warning. I thought it was going to be a yawn. Something ordinary but unstoppable, rising up from my chest, seizing control of my mouth and eyes. Just a yawn.

Oh, I thought suddenly. I'm crying.

Inside my blinders tears pooled and escaped, drawing shameful lines down my cheeks. Like coward's war paint, I thought angrily. For J.Lo's rescue I needed battle cries, not the regular kind. I sat heavily on the floor, sobbing, trying to catch my breath.

I stayed there a while, and cried, and thought about the vast distances.

Then the blinders flipped up, and the hum returned. I frowned and blinked into the dim light.

He maintained in his ethics the total insignificance of humanity in the face of a vast and inherently unknowable universe. Knowledge of the boundless and unknown is a profound source of anxiety.

Knowledge of the boundless and unknown is ultimately a futile pursuit, an exercise in absurdity. If you make that your purpose, life is essentially absurd.

If I was a superhero, my name would be Lonerman. My superpower would the the Existentialism--a ray I could shoot out of my hand that renders people powerless to face anything but their own personal pointlessness in an absurd world.

― A.S. King, Dig.

Colorless green ideas sleep furiously.

They do.

As Wikipedia explains, 

Colorless green ideas sleep furiously was composed by Noam Chomsky in his 1957 book Syntactic Structures as an example of a sentence that is grammatically well-formed, but semantically nonsensical. . . . There is no obvious understandable meaning that can be derived from it.

I find I have two basic responses to life's essential absurdity. One, as I said above, is to focus on improving my context, on "bettering the self and society." The other is to embrace nonsense.

source

Embrace that we can never fully, truly make sense of our existence. Accept that, from a universal perspective, we matter not at all. And have fun with it. Don't try too hard too find sense or to make sense, don't take yourself too seriously, just try to have fun with it all.

(See Finding the Joy of Absurdity for some excellent examples.)

I find myself constantly, instinctively injecting nonsensical humor into conversations and situations to remind us of that. Probably to the annoyance of others. But it's one of the ways that I both cope and find enjoyment. Sometimes it makes sense given the context, other times it's random non sequiturs.

I work in a fairly large library building where those of us on the public service desks can't all see each other. We use a chat app to keep in touch. Generally we try to keep things work related, but on Wednesday nights we sometimes get silly.

A few weeks ago I made the following contributions to our group chat:

Man, the random sentence generator is on fire tonight. I asked for a batch of 10 and they're almost all winners.

She advised him to come back at once.

Baby wipes are made of chocolate stardust.

When money was tight, he'd get his lunch money from the local wishing well.

She had that tint of craziness in her soul that made her believe she could actually make a difference.

When I was little I had a car door slammed shut on my hand and I still remember it quite vividly.

The bread dough reminded her of Santa Clause’s belly.

The snow-covered path was no help in finding his way out of the back-country.

I used to practice weaving with spaghetti three hours a day but stopped because I didn't want to die alone.

Nancy thought the best way to create a welcoming home was to line it with barbed wire.

A suit of armor provides excellent sun protection on hot days.

I think the spaghetti one I could actually own and use authentically in my memoir.

(Also, in all seriousness, the car door one.)

https://randomwordgenerator.com/sentence.php

But, you know, speaking of the spaghetti, I have been known to ask for a chunk of fake words from that same random generator then turn them into poems, like this one from a few years ago:

Submers yapple nortoniously as

the nexilinessive trealop izzillently

expets the apererbacks.

Tranians surrow with

vampilluntion;

guisities ponessing in

conscipatheon eggmode.

Will ferras refurn the reptom?

Craccurrelss.

Unless infusidicienes

has already signitined.

Then the eferbarn ariterg

will modisres until

all is imstreockt.

Then I decided to define them.

• Aperback (noun) - a bird of moderate size known for its yellow stripes and social nature.
• Ariterg (noun) - a sense of coolness to the air unrelated to temperature; an atmospheric aura of chilliness.
• Conscipatheon (adjective) - observable; obvious.
• Craccarrelss (adverb) - dependent on circumstances; momentarily undetermined.
• Eferbarn (adjective) - recently materialized.
• Eggmode (noun) - unrestrained disorder; tumult or chaos.
• Expet (verb) - to watch with careful focus, often to the exclusion all other pursuits.
• Ferras (noun) - where wilderness meets development.
• Guisity (noun) - an insect related to crickets and grasshoppers.
• Imstreockt (adjective) - soothe; to have hurts healed.
• Infusideicienes (noun) - a noticeable quality to the wind, atmosphere, or air; "something in the air."
• Izzillently (adverb) - full of joy.
• Modisres (verb) - to have a material quality, to have substance.
• Nexilinessive (adjective) - in search of connection.
• Nortoniously (adverb) - having an unexpected, vaguely musical quality.
• Ponessing (verb) - to hop multiple times in rapid succession.
• Reptom (noun) - a moment in time set apart from surrounding circumstances.
• Refurn (verb) - to provide a place of rest; to create a space for respite.
• Signitine (verb) - to mark, leave an impression.
• Submer (noun) - a small bird notable for its digging capabilities and burrowed, subterranean nests.
• Surrow (verb) - to sway in a circular motion.
• Tranian (noun) - a purple flower.
• Trealop (noun) - a small, omnivorous marsupial characterized by large eyes, dexterous climbing, and far leaping.
• Vampilluntion (adverb) - rhythmic; characterized by temporal regularity.
• Yapple (verb) - to repeatedly give a sharp, shrill bark; related to yap.

(This was during covid lockdown.)

[(See: Just Saw My First Rabbit of Spring.)]

(And now you understand why I fear dying alone.)

"Some people have eating disorders and there’s a special group for that. Some people have more than one person living inside them and there’s a special group for that. That’s serious stuff. That really does stun the hell out of me. I mean, I only have one of me living inside me and that’s bad enough. If I had more than one of me inside me, I’d off myself."

― Benjamin Alire Saenz, Last Night I Sang to the Monster

I shared those thoughts in bits and pieces over the course of some time, and they were my contribution of random nonsense and absurd humor that night. It's longer than most, but not too unusual.

There's a fine line between horror and humor. I try to stay on the fun side.

I enjoy this article.

Trapped in Routine? Here’s How to “Dishabituate” and Rediscover Joy

There are wonderful and cherished things in life, and when we take these things for granted, it lessens them a bit. When you see a friend every week or a spouse every day, they can start to fall into the background. Bit by bit, we start to see others not as people but as props on a set. Even our closest relatives, such as children or loved ones, can become folded into our routines.

So, habits have one major pitfall: They let us ignore what needs to be seen. . . . 

Habits are useful. Our brains need certain habitual heuristics to function at all — and often the most successful people are those who form strong habits. So, the question is one of balance.

“We talk a little bit about explorers versus exploiters,” Sharot said. “So people who are explorers like to try a lot of new things. So, they might go visit different places, and they might talk to different types of people, right? Exploiters tend to just do more of the same thing that they find that they like a lot. Eat the same kind of thing and so on….and the optimal solution is somewhere in the middle you want to exploit; you want to take the good stuff they already know.”

The overall thesis of Sharot’s new book is that too many of us are living the lives of exploiters. We’re staying put and sticking with old favorites. This is especially true in middle age. . . .

The midlife crisis and the dissatisfied ennui of stagnation are fueled by an excess of exploitation. We’re often made unhappy by our habits. So consider finding ways to change and break some of yours. By challenging the comfort of our daily patterns, we open ourselves to new experiences, perspectives, and connections. It seems foolish to wait for a crisis to jolt us out of complacency; instead, we should seek opportunities to explore. We should aim to grow and not stagnate. Embracing change is not just an escape from monotony, but a step toward living a life full of purpose and joy.

Dishabituate yourself.

And this poem.

Alison Davis

MYSTERY LIGHT

Have we finally become a visionless people?

 

We confuse self-combusting debris for stars and blame everything

on our earthly enemies. Sometimes the light is nothing

more than space junk burning up in the atmosphere. Restoration

 

takes many forms. An eclipse is also a story of molting.

The sky-gazing continues. Sometimes the visitors tell stories

of coyotes and votives and sobriety, whose light is the same

 

as its ugliness. They return from the faraway camps carrying baskets,

woven with light. The light is more than skin stretched over the surface

of a galaxy. The stories are less than the future on an old man’s tongue.

 

The earth is a house of stories and light.

 

—from Poets Respond

March 26, 2023

The earth is a house of stories and light.

Finally, to revisit a snippet from There Is Only Fascinating Mystery,

And beyond all we can see

and measure

and know . . . 

might that be infinity?

Infinity filled

with

every

possibility?

Perhaps even other universes?

So here we are

on a medium-sized planet

circling an average star

in an ordinary galaxy

in an unimaginably

vast universe,

a universe that is mostly dark,

that seems mostly empty.

More nothingness

than we know how to imagine.

We,

dust

on a planet made of dust.

How do we love such a story?

How do we live such a story? . . .  

"Yet if our universe is, indeed, infinite,

we do, once more, stand at the center,

even of all that leaving.

Wherever we are is the center.

Yes," they say, "yes,

we are made of dust.

But it is the dust of stars.

Yes," they say, "yes,

most of the universe

is dark,

dark,

dark."

"But there is no nothingness.

Only mystery.

Fascinating mystery."

― Marion Dane Bauer, We, the Curious Ones

Embrace the absurdity but don't let it embrace you. Trying too hard to understand everything, in the big, universal sense, can only end in frustration; the key is to focus on improving your context, on "bettering the self and society." And having fun with it.

Totally Worth It

This post is dedicated to the previous post once removed, RE: How to Be Alone.

While waiting for a friend's group to go on, I stumbled upon Molly Gene: One Whoaman Band as an opening act back in the spring. I was captivated and had been watching her website ever since, hoping for a chance to see her again. Tonight worked great for me and I invited all my friends. None were able to join me. It was a long drive and I thought the fun would be in sharing the experience, so I seriously debated not going. I could have happily continued the conversation with my monthly book club and skipped the experience, but they thankfully pushed me to go on my own. I'm glad they did. In the end I didn't care that I was alone and I had a great experience.

Knuckleheads was worth the drive, in my book. As I was walking to the entrance I overheard someone on the phone: "The place is awesome. It's a shithole, but it's awesome." Yeah. I need to find reasons to go back.

Instead of falling into my instinctive self-consciousness, I decided to just embrace my aloneness and not worry about it. There were only maybe twenty people there for the concert at best; I felt bad for the performers but enjoyed the intimacy and let it be my own personal experience. Didn't quite dance (no one did), but freely bobbed and bounced without embarrassment. One person approached me to talk about the book I was reading while waiting and for a while during Ben's set I was joined at my table by Molly and her friend (girlfriend? - "I wrote this song about my girlfriend. My ex-girlfriend. She got pregnant. And claimed it was mine.")

It was love at first read for the new book--Last Night I Sang to the Monster--which I started after arriving and got a whole 23 pages into. It's too fresh to describe what I'm loving about it and yet too many good quotes to try to narrow it to a representative one. I'll just share the opening lines:

Some people have dogs. Not me. I have a therapist. His name is Adam.

I'd rather have a dog.

When I first saw Molly Gene she was something new to me that I found captivating. She said she had the same experience with her first experience of Ben Prestage and said multiple times he is her hero. I can see why, because I thought he was pretty fucking awesome. After the show I did the 3 CDs for $30 deal, which took every last dollar in my wallet. Don't know him well enough yet to suggest a representative song, but if you're at all intrigued you should take some time to explore. He used at least 4 different guitars as he played various styles.