Fixing stuff, myself included…
The Emperor’s Clothes
“Those without soap throw clothes”, that’s a comment left by weasle on yesterday’s post. I like your brain weasle, it wiggles. The turn, or slight twist of a phrase can change everything. I won’t go so far as to say everything, everywhere for everybody, but I will say this: it’s the flexiblity of your synaptic gaps that allow information transformation/expansion. Furthermore, allowing existence without closure enables us to continue living in a world of anxiety while not becoming anxious ourselves.
“Don’t worry about people stealing an idea. If it’s original, you will have to ram it down their throats.”
Better Left Unsaid
I ran upon a blog yesterday that went on for at least two paragraphs about doing the laundry; there was even a link to a prior laundry day post. eeeeeeek! I asked myself, “is this tongue in cheek?, is this blog sarcasm?, is this the real life of someone who should watch soap operas, but blogs instead? or is this what will happen to me when I’ve run out of [thinks] to say?” When will I cross over from blogger to borer?
Don’t you know bloggers are supposed to be kind to one another?
Yes, and god knows the thing we fear the most is being boring. Boring is probably the last thing on a very long list of things I’d rather not be.
Ah, but don’t forget fear itself.
Thank you Winston Churchill, and since you brought it up, let’s talk about fear. Is boring the most frightening thing to be really? When faced with boring, or x there are only a few instances in which I’d choose boring over x.
Would you rather be dead, or boring?
Aren’t they the same thing? Perhaps there is a correlation, but that’s not the same thing as cause and effect. If the effect is boring, then wash your hands of the hole (as in boring a hole) affair, don’t look back and for god’s sake don’t show us the laundry be it clean or dirty.
Are you writing in code again?
But write anyway
“Any activity becomes creative when the doer cares about doing it right, or doing it better.”
Writing every morning is becoming a habit; I am intrigued by the very nature of the obsessive control an unconscious habit asserts. In the seemingly benign length of my shadow stretching across bottom of the pool, I am captivated by the sudden rippling of wind incrementally shifting my image first left and then right; the wind, a photoshop filter imposed where the only undo is to wait. However, the local weather service has issued a warning: Northeaster bearing down rapidly. All islanders should baton down the hatches. Storms pass over, we can’t stop or reverse them; the only undo is to wait.
Are you still talking about writing?
Only in so far as writing is a habit, I’m talking about habits in general, both good ones and bad ones. The habits that once they’ve taken hold are like rust on iron and no steelwool in sight. The ones that become part of you in such a way, that you are them and they you, rather like Alice to the rabbit?
Alice to the rabbit?
Grab on to the seat railing in front of you, and hang on, cause we’re going for a ride. That’s right it’s a bus and even though you don’t usually take public transportation, you have nevertheless found your self riding one from here to there. So it’s still raining, actually still pouring outside the bus window; you find yourself relatively safe and warm on the inside of the bus. However, the bus is full of strangers. You know absolutely no one else on the bus, although the driver for some reason looks familiar, but that familiarity is a fleeting thought, and passes quickly from your conscious mind. Now, what was it that the rabbit said to Alice before she fell down the rabbit hole? You don’t know? Well I’m sorry. Then we’ll just have to ask the psychologist about that.
To Hon and Back
Things looking up today. That means I’ve gone wherever it is to be there, as in “wherever you go there you are.” A friend sent an email yesterday that said, “get some altitude on your attitude!” Right. She also said she couldn’t get to this Web site yesterday. I’m not sure if it’s Barrysworld with a problem (i.e. too many gamers pulling the servers down), or too many visitors (dream on girl). Actually it’s looking like Barrysworld is slow to load today as well, and the comments (php) are screwy, after working fine for months. Free hosting even without banners is still not perfect. There were 34 people here yesterday besides me. Woweeeee must be those blogsnob or pyRads kicking in. Somebody came here yesterday via this URL, which provides information on the Si-fi. movie Buckaroo Banzai.
Why do you care about Buckaroo Banzai?
Turns out this is where the quote “no matter where you go, there you are” comes from, which is quite similar to “wherever you go there you are”. So anybody know if the “wherever” quote is a different quote, and if so who said it?
Did you watch First Monday last night?
Yeah, don’t you wonder why they don’t have it on Monday? If you missed the prediction I made for this show check it out. The drag queen cliff hanger ending is still possible.
“The Constitution only gives people the right to pursue happiness. You have to catch it yourself.”
Attila the Hun
Got to get myself “psyched up” to start the process of data collection today! If you’ve been here before and read the last few posts, you know that I’m not in the best of spirits. The “old graduate student hat” (prior post) is too large for this shrinking head at the moment. Not even exorcism can put the fire back in the pan, or realign my brain cells in a manner more pleasing. If you know any good jokes leave them in the comments, I need a good laugh, or at the very least to feel less serious in matters concerning the heart. Thus marching heartlessly into the future disguised as Attila the Hun (there’s a Baltimorism there somewhere) she was unrecognizable to all she encountered.
Okay hon, where are you going with this?
To hell in a hon basket I guess. When you ask for your steak rare and it comes well done, the waitress will try to hon you out of doing anything about it. And they call this charm city. Well this snake just ain’t having it well done, but then again perhaps it’s one of those rare occasions when unbeknownst to you I’ve pulled a fast one.
“Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.”
Nowhere to go
No amount of wailing, or ranting and raving will change the nature of my current circumstance. The next time I make a reference to my lover, someone should give me a good shaking and ask me if I’m really ready to handle the emotional trauma/drama of life in the love lane. The exit ramp is like walking into a wind tunnel with a high chill factor figured in. Traveling at the speed of light can lead to breathlessness, or it can leave one gasping for air.
So which is it?
Gasping for air as I break through the surface of the water. I came up way too fast, and I’ve got the bends as in gone round the bend. No amount of decompression can stop the tiny bubbles of desire from roaming randomly throughout my body.
“Fear is that little darkroom where negatives are developed.”
They (the big they) say, “it’s not where your going, but rather the getting there”, or “it’s not the destination that’s important, it’s the journey.” Why is it we keep thinking there’s somewhere to go?
This only goes to prove my point, and the point is this: After we’ve gotten “there” we’ve forgotten (all forms of go by the way) why we came. I think it’s a verb thing. Verbs are in, and nouns are so out, and that’s why it’s the in and outs that count, but then again perhaps only the folks who are counting make a difference.
Have you gone around the bend or what?
That wouldn’t be much of a destination, but I could console myself with the beauty of the trip.
Where are you going with this?
Would you believe, been there done that? No, I didn’t think so. Well, the proof is in the pudding then… No. Okay I’m going to see my lover @ 3:00 and I’m a wee bit nervous, because we’ve not seen each other since I revealed this URL and…
Back home @ 3:45
Need I say more? NOT happening soooooo… it’s over for good this time. You’ll find no more confessions of confusion here. The Love Testing Machine spit out it’s final answer and it wasn’t the one I was looking for!
“Everyone is kneaded out of the same dough but not baked in the same oven.”
Faulty wiring, yes I think that’s what I came here with. According to some it’s the hardwiring that makes a difference, and others will tell you it’s the environment. If you feel like you’ve shorted out, (I’m not referring to midgets and dwarfs) then you better call the electrician pronto. Do make sure that he or she is qualified to delve into matters most delicate. Some wires are better left, or right in place. Accepting the logic that follows naturally from the hardwiring argument is counter productive/irrational in terms of living in a cohesive society (i.e. “I was born bad, and therefore I’m not responsible for anything I do”).
Imagine if you can, a town where the only available therapist is a behaviorist. A hard nosed thick skinned (skinnarian), a mad electrician with power to burn, he would be somewhere between Stanley Millgram and a character out of The Magus. You are a newcomer to this town and desperately in search of a therapist; a replacement for that the oh so nice Rogerian you left behind. Each individual you encounter makes you feel more and more like George Bailey when he discovers that Bedford Falls is Pottersville, but you’re alone here with no Clarence to wake you up at the proper moment.
Okkkkkkay already, I’m there. Now what?
Alrighty then, you admit that you feel like the new woman in the Stepford Wives, who’s questioning the motives of everyone. Well, sounds like you definitely need a therapist; you’ve bloghopped, or is it bloghobbled yourself into a dicey position, only to find that the road leads back to the electrician.
“Humor is perhaps a sense of intellectual perspective: an awareness that some things are really important, others not; and that the two kinds are most oddly jumbled in everyday affairs.”
Survival in a world of extroverts is a complex task, which can sometimes leave the introvert in a state of suspended animation. Rather like a cryogenics wake-up call, you find yourself in totally unfamiliar territory. On the other hand, you might awake to a world turned in on itself. Everyone hurrying here and there with eyes averted. All men created equally alone on a train full of riders staring straight ahead, not noticing the twists and turns of track are an endless circle. Those of us who are introverts from the past will soon understand the value of the extroverts we sometimes took for granted and perhaps even disdained in our former lives. Now surrounded by folks like ourselves with a natural inclination to isolate from others, the value of the nature of the extrovert is quite clear.
It’s easy to imagine a love relationship between an introvert and an extrovert, or between an extrovert and another extrovert (although the competition can be deadly), but can you imagine what would pass for a love relationship between two introverts. Both of the poor dears expecting the other to be mind reader, and neither one willing to reveal anything without being prompted. What we need here is emotional viagra (prior post).
Viagra again, are you horny or what?
You know they have 12 step programs for everything these days.
“All life is an experiment.”
–Ralph Waldo Emerson
If you find that even the smallest things can tick you off, it’s time to purchase a new clock. The weather prediction is for 60 degrees in Baltimore, and I’m feeling about 60 degrees off center today. Just guessing, but I think that means I’d better straighten up my act.
What ARE you talking about?
Acting out is so over, so I guess I’ll be acting in a fashion more suitable to my circumstances. Circumstances being such as they are, preclude any crossing of borders. In other words things are all f—ed up.
You’re evading the issue. What things?
Kind of like, “he can shout, don’t hear you” wav from the Firesign Theater.
Later: Sometimes the smallest things can make a big difference, and I’m not talking about subtraction. I was beginning to think that I would never again hear from my lover (i.e.” things are all f—ed up”) after sending this URL (see prior post), and that I would be dragged away ranting and raving by the blog URL police. Then miraculously a letter appeared in my email account, and with a quivering finger I clicked on the mail. I discovered I’m not in the doghouse as far as I know, or at least not yet.
“Only the spoon knows what is stirring in the pot.”