happiness is finding the place where being yourself is exactly what's needed

Friday, June 17, 2011

how do you remember?

Part 1:

I recently read a post called 7 Surprising Facts About Remembering, and I saw something that was, in fact, surprising:

Whether we see ourselves from a first-person or third-person (outsider) perspective in our memories may depend on whether we are male or female, Asian or Causasian. Women more often see themselves as though from the outside.

Wait. What?

That blew my mind. I kept thinking about it as I went for my walk that day. How on earth is it even possible to remember something in the third person? Does anyone who's reading this do that? I really really really want to know.

I don't know if these are dumb questions or not, but here goes. What does it look like? Is it like an out of body experience? Are you watching yourself from somewhere else in the scene, watching things play out from somewhere other than behind your eyes? Like through a window? And, then, does your brain fill in the rest of the scene, since you can't really "remember" what you weren't actually seeing, right (though we all know our brain takes liberties with that sort of thing)?

Or, am I getting it all wrong? Does it mean you're actually picturing the scene in the third person or are you only relating things in the third person, using words like "she" instead of "I" because you don't really associate with your past self?

But, if you see things in your memory in the third person, do you also dream in the third person?What about daydreams? Memories and dreams and daydreams are all pretty closely related. At least, they're made up of pictures, feelings, and other sensations in our minds. So, when you dream, are you actually watching yourself walking through these dream scenes, as if your spirit is watching/guiding your body through it?

Part 2:

Pat Tillet's recent post at Extremely Overdue shows his granddaughter making what looks like a "Oh really? So that's what we're doing?" face, with a posture to match. And I was thinking about how much character, how much personality, people can exhibit at even such a young age.

I remember seeing a video of a 3 year old me pretending to be a rabbit. I smiled, because I could see my personality in my eyes. I could almost tell what I'd been thinking. It surprised me because, before seeing the video, I hadn't realized I'd had a bit of my personality already at 3 years old.

But, I shouldn't have been surprised. We all know that children have personality. If we can remember some of the thoughts we had in gradeschool, then it makes sense that we would have been thinking similarly earlier than that, during those years we can't remember.

For me, it's knowing my own conscious thoughts that give me a sense of identity. (I would've thought it was the same for everyone, but statements like the one above sometimes jar me into realizing that our minds don't necessarily do all the same things.)

If we didn't remember ourselves as our own personalities, we'd be looking back into our own memories and pointing not at "me" but "a child." And we'd remember those around us as "other children." But in our memory, our classmates aren't "other children." They're "the people we know." We have thoughts about them. We recognize them. We recognize not only how they look, but how they act. Personality.

But, does this differ for those who remember things in the third person? Most importantly, does remembering things in the third person mean that you remember more of what's going on around you than what you're thinking?

If so, it stands to reason that you wouldn't recognize those around you as individual people, based on what you may have been thinking about them. You'd only be recognizing them by appearance.

Or am I way off?

Or is it strange that I remember my thoughts better than anything else?

I admit, I don't seem to have as many memories as most of the people I talk to. For instance, if you ask me to remember something from first grade, this is the only thing that comes up:

It's the first day of class. I'm looking around from my seat at all my classmates, identifying all the kids I met in kindergarten last year. A boy sitting near me looks different. He must be Tony, because everyone else is accounted for. I say "Hi, Tony." He tells me his name is actually Scott. I get embarrassed, so I turn and say hi to Billy, instead. I know Billy for sure. He's one of the boys that's always nice.

Later, of course, I learned that the kid I was looking for, Tony, had needed to retake kindergarten. Scott was a new student. I prize memories like this, where I can actually point out having learned something. In this case, I was beginning to realize I shouldn't just assume I knew things until I had the facts.

What I'd like to point out now is that, in my memory, I know Billy is nice. If I were remembering this scene from the third person, instead of from my own eyes and thoughts, would I know "Billy is nice"? Would the memory itself just show me a scene of some children sitting together and me greeting the ones nearest me? Would some other part of my brain relay the information that Billy is nice, as a fact stored in some other place, since I'm not inside my own mind to hear it?

Or would I know I thought Billy was nice at all? Would I only see children sitting together and not identify anything about their personalities, aside from stuff I may have learned about them later?

And, if I had this type of memory, would I remember more about the setting? If I remembered things in this way, would I remember more in general? But how much of that would be actual memory, as opposed to my brain just filling things in?



Tuesday, June 14, 2011

thoughts on religion with a cup of coffee

I believe in multiple lives. I believe in kindred souls who find their way to each other one life after the next. We find each other as best friends, siblings, lovers, or strangers who pass each other on the street with a knowing look.

I realize that when I say I consider myself a spiritual person, I'm opening myself up for attack from people who are religious as well as atheists. The minds most drawn to spiritual thinking may tend toward specific relgions, and those whose minds are strongest in scientific areas are known to dismiss all the spiritual beliefs as silliness. There are probably just as many people like me, somewhere in the middle of belief and trying to tie things together as best we can. We just don't talk as much.

I don't talk very much about my spiritual beliefs by themselves, because I don't feel I have anything to prove to anyone. (Though I realize that our spiritual beliefs are a part of who we are and, therefore, they're naturally tied into other things we say and do.) I believe every person has the right to discover their own spiritual beliefs/religion/lack thereof in their own time. I feel that at times when I'm somehow a part of someone else's spiritual journey (or someone else is a part of mine), are souls will naturally be drawn together so we might learn from one another.

Others who try to view the world holistically do feel they have something important to say. Scholarly-drawn minds, no matter their studies, have an the instinct to learn and teach, seek and share, seemingly much more so than the majority of non-scholars. For instance, my current favorite blogger on Psychology Today, Nathan A. Heflick of The Big Questions, uses scientific studies to research human behaviors such as our tendency toward religion and uses his blog to share his speculations on this research. For example, one post is called Could God Be Science?

The tendency toward religion is something I've been wondering about since the beginnings of my own meager studies of psychology, especially as I think more and more over the years about my own beliefs.

I at least have to acknowledge that there may not be "something else out there," as terrifying as such a belief is to me.

Which leads into my speculation that if human beings have had such a tendency for so long throughout history, there must be an evolutionary significance to spiritual belief.

Therefore, even if there are no other lives or afterlives, I might as well stick with what I believe is true, as I'm only one small part of a species, composed of traits somehow valuable to my species.

If animal populations have natural ways of controlling their numbers (such as the occurrence of same-sex attraction), doesn't it make sense that the tendency toward religion could also be one of those things controlled by our biology to evolve the human? The atheists I've heard argue seem to skip right over the point that every way humans can act is a part of human nature and, therefore, at least minimally relevant to science. (We're not just a bunch of stupid silly-heads; we're animals acting according to our instincts.)

My point is the different directions we're prone to head toward in our minds are all perfectly natural. Each one is relevant to our evolution, though it may not be possible, given our ever-limited right-now-focused scope to explain the whys of spirituality or lack thereof in the human.

And, from a more personal (more spiritual) point of view, I feel that every one of these methods of thinking is also important in the development of the soul collecting knowledge of the universe over all its lifetimes.

[image from the LOLCat Bible]


Sunday, June 12, 2011

what i got out of reading fiction as a teenager

I'm not sure if I read a complete novel anytime in 5th through 9th grade. As I mentioned in the previous post, I did not generally read for pleasure. Also, I was very good at faking my way through book reports. I enjoyed writing stories and poems just as much back then, but, without reading, I wasn't growing as a writer.

Luckily for me, I had an amazing young 10th grade English teacher who focused the study of literature around relating to it personally and chose novels with teenage main characters, like Catcher in the Rye.

I remember her introducing that one as a book she didn't really like as a teenager but found an appreciation for later in her education. Whether she was being perfectly honest or not, this introduction let students know it was okay to not really like or "get" the book, that she didn't expect us to pretend we understood things we didn't. It also lit a spark in a certain type of student (the type of student I was) that said, "So, if we get it now, that means we're already smart like college kids." I ended up loving it.

But before we started with the novels, a new interest in reading had already started to grow in me. Partly it was that "new school year" feeling of "this year I'm going to do everything just right and prove how smart/interesting/likable I am." And partly it was that, on the first day of class, I was curiously opening to random pages in our literature text book, hoping something I could relate to would jump out at me, and something did.

It was this poem:

The Crazy Woman by Gwendolyn Brooks

I shall not sing a May song.
A May song should be gay.
I'll wait until November
And sing a song of gray.

I'll wait until November
That is the time for me.
I'll go out in the frosty dark
And sing most terribly.

And all the little people
Will stare at me and say,
"That is the Crazy Woman
Who would not sing in May."


We didn't end up covering much poetry in that class, but there were a lot of great reading and writing activities that I still remember fondly. For instance, she had us keep daily journals while reading Go Ask Alice, because the book was written in journal format.

And this novel was an excellent choice, dealing with the timeless struggles of teens searching for independence while also trying to be cool and have friends. It centered around drug use and anorexia, and showed these things in a refreshingly realistic light, as things on the average teen girl's mind more often than not.

At least that's how I remember it. I remember being slightly jealous of Alice's social life, but she lived in a different time period. I told myself that was the main difference between us and, therefore, I could relate to her as a character.

Of course, Alice's drug use leads to an unknown, and likely tragic end, as the book ends with her diary unfinished. So, we could acknowledge the dangers of reckless decisions. And we could speculate on what might have happened to her and were asked to do so in our journals and discussions. For our class, the book wasn't just a warning against using drugs, it was a exercise in thinking. And most of what we were thinking about was what we needed to be thinking about at the time: what it's like to be a teenager and why.

The next book I remember having that kind of impact on me was The Color Purple. We read this book in my 12th grade English class. I don't remember a lot of what actually happened in the books I read in high school, but I do remember what this book did for me:

I began learning real empathy. That people are people and that we can make mistakes and still care for one another. That even if we have different viewpoints on things (like the scarring rituals mentioned in the book) that doesn't necessarily make one person wrong or right.

That sometimes people who might not like each other will find ways to stick together in difficult times. That the real point and beauty of life is in understanding and caring about each other, in loving people for being people.

The characters in this book taught me those things. And they awakened some part of me that set me searching for a place in my time where I could feel that kind of belonging among people, that kind of acceptance and ability to accept.

And the more I explore new places and meet new people, the more I find it, that amazing "it" I started looking for long before I really understood what "it" was, in my early teen years watching music videos like Blind Melon's "No Rain" with the little dancing bee girl. These days I find it everywhere, in music, in places, in the stories people tell, and the genuine kindnesses of fellow people that never fail to surprise me.

Last, but certainly not least, I want to mention a book I read for pleasure somewhere around my senior year of high school. When I say it was "read for pleasure" I mean "forced on me by my best friend."


I looked at this cover (which I now adore) and thought, "Ah, s&*t, another book about girls and horses. I thought I was done in gradeschool with hearing about how much girls love horses."

Reading the title and description, I thought, "Well, f*#&, it's a story about magic. Are there gonna be wizards with pointy hats and s&*t, casting spells with magic words to do their chores for them?"

But this girl (referred to as DandelionGirl in my blogging) was my best friend. And this quartet - Eep, not just one book, but four! - apparently reminded her of me, and I figured she'd be hurt if I didn't at least give it a try.

If you want to know whether or not reading this book began a lifelong love of reading in me, click here.

The impact "The Immortals Quartet" had on me was profound. Here is why:

1. Even to a closed-minded little jerk skeptic like me, the magic in the story was believable. Daine's strong and complicated magical gift starts as a simple "knack" with animals, as she takes care of them and learns ways to communicate with them. Throughout her story, her power grows steadily and logically. Tamora Pierce creates tales of young people coming into their own unique powers, using coming of age themes relevant to all teens and preteens, such as acceptance, romance, and that budding sense of self.

2. Since the story is set entirely in a fantasy realm, it's pretty much equally easy to relate to for any readers. That's how my love of fantasy novels began. When I first started reading the book, I was worried that I wouldn't be able to connect with it because I was so much older than the main character (at 17, the difference of 5 years was "so much older"). But I found it was easier to relate to a coming of age story set in a fantasy place and time, where the expectations brought by age were different anyway.
I feared that I would eventually lose my ability to enjoy stories like this. It wasn't until years after college that I realized the coming of age stories never get old, as the entire process of being human seems to revolve around continuously "coming of age."

3. Daine was the easiest character for me to relate to personally, ever, in the history of my reading. It wasn't just because she liked to help animals, or that the lead male character reminded me a bit of the guy I was head-over-heals for back then. It was that she had always been different from all the other kids - something many teenagers feel they struggle with, a disorder commonly known as "being a teenager."
Daine was different. And she knew she was different. In more ways than one. But she eventually met people who accepted her for exactly who she was. She wasn't just different, she was weird. Her upbringing was not the type conventional for her time (she's the girl with the unknown father). She didn't have the skills her family had hoped she would have. She didn't have friends. She couldn't really relate to the other kids at all (they made fun of her for being a bastard). She grew up away from the city, and, tended to be more introverted than most, having sensible ideas about things and people that were accurate and inaccurate in a healthy balance. And she has questions regarding her own sanity.
She was the first character I ever thought was as weird as me. My adoration of Daine allowed me to start accepting myself as a person. Made me stop trying to hide things about me from myself. I started to see what friends like DandelionGirl saw in me. I started to like myself.

I spent most of my youth with an inferiority complex. My inability to understand the ways of those around me, find acceptance, and earn people's trust had me believing I was critically flawed. Reading this book started to make me think of myself as a "real person."

So, thank you, DandelionGirl. And thank you, Tamora Pierce.

I hope all readers can be as lucky as me and find their Daine.

why reading fiction isn't stupid

The other day, I was reading this post on the Psychology Today website, which mentions the correlation between reading and empathy. This is another one of those subjects that flits around in my brain like a tripping butterfly, lured to my conscious thoughts from time to time by such readings.

I mentioned in my last post that I believe there is a value in studying literature, but that most schools seem to go about it the wrong way, not giving students the proper opportunity to get anything out of what they're reading.

Students walk out of literature classes thinking, "We read it because it was a classic. We needed to know what happened in it for the test. I didn't really get it, but the teacher seemed to like it."

Teachers go into those lessons thinking, "I really wish the school would spare just a little bit of money for more modern books. Oh well, I guess we make do with what we have."

There's nothing wrong with teaching classic literature, of course. Some of the books I remember liking the most in high school fell onto the list of classic literature (and also onto the list of commonly banned books).

There IS something wrong with teaching a book just because it's a classic, expecting students to read books that barely connect with any modern issues. The novels we think of as classics became classics because, at the time they were written, they made a statement of some type. These books made statements about the times they were written, providing readers with a fresh viewpoint on a CURRENT issue of their society.

So, doesn't this mean that the curriculum should be updated more frequently than once every ten years or so, in order to provide students with easily accessible thinking material and characters they can relate to?

That brings me to the point I was getting at here, what all them smart folk from the above websites have been studying, the link between reading and empathy.

In my younger years, I only very rarely read for pleasure. I did not like most books that I picked up and tried to read, especially the types of sit-com-family children's and teen books that dominated the shelves when I was a child and a teen. I didn't want to read about kids living in the same time as me who had more successes - I already had enough of an inferiority complex from just looking around at the other real kids. I didn't want to read about kids struggling to be popular - I learned very quickly in adolescence that I was too far away from that world (and that there was no logic I could see to determine what "fitting in" actually was).

When I was lucky enough to read a poem, novel, or short story in class that I really connected to, it not only expanded my empathy, it helped to shape who I was.

I once heard - a long way down the grape vine from the source, mind you - that one of the higher ups at my college declared she didn't see what possible value there could be in studying literature.

Having already earned a BA in English Language and Literature at that point, this is an idea I've been shaking around in my brain since. Could there be no point to studying literature?

At certain times I've thought, "Yes, there is no point in studying literature. It should not be taught in schools. Especially novels. Students gain nothing from it. I certainly didn't gain anything from half the crap I had to read in high school and college."

But then I remember the other half. The stuff that wasn't crap. The stories that gave me new philosophies or helped me to discover myself.

Which brings my view to this: There is no point in studying literature for the sake of studying literature. The purpose of this study, as well as any study, is to bring the learner to new understandings. Therefore, the books chosen for students to read (at least in K-12) should be chosen ENTIRELY on their potential to encourage the reader to learn more about the self, the current society, and other people inhabiting the current society.

There are a lot of dusty old boring books out there that aren't as accessible to student readers today as in times past. And there are a lot of shallow teen smut books written by adults who want to make money and have long ago forgotten that teens are perfectly capable of understanding complex ideas and important social issues. It seems like people try to avoid one of these categories by choosing the other.

But there's a whole world of excellent literature out there, new and classic alike, which can help build a bridge from the self to a new understanding. Many of these can be found on lists of frequently banned books.

- - - I've come to realize over the years just how lucky I was in high school that most of the required reading can be found on the ALA list of the top 100 banned/challenged books of 1990-1999 (when I was in school). I'll probably take the next post or two to mention some of these books and what I got out of them as a teenager. Then I'll move onto another topic, honest.


Friday, June 10, 2011

standardized living (from school to the workforce)

My friend Jenaphur's most recent post at Cake In A Blender (go visit and congratulate her on her B in math and A++ Criminology test) provided me the opportunity to approach a subject I'd been thinking about earlier this week from a slightly different angle of crazy-lady rant.

In the post, she shares the powerpoint she made for her presentation on the Stanford Prison Experiment. She says "The class seemed interested, most couldn't believe that it was just an experiment, and the teacher said that he had never heard of it. I thought that was a little odd."

I can't remember if this experiment is something I learned in high school or college Psychology class, but I do remember learning of it very early on in my Psychology education. So, I found it a little odd that no one there had heard of it before.

Then, I posted a comment that said this: thanks for sharing your powerpoint. i remember discussing this in psychology class. if the other students hadn't heard of it, it's probably because things that could help people understand each other and their society (psychology, sociology, etc.) are not deemed as important in schools as the things that are on standardized tests.

This is true. We can't deny it. When I was doing my student teaching (at a time when I was still considering being a teacher and rode dinosaurs to school), I was asked by the coordinating teacher to create a unit plan for the 9th grade advanced class on "Lord of the Flies". Now, all teachers have slightly different educational backgrounds and will therefore relate reading material to the real world in slightly different ways. My taking 20 minutes of class to give the students a quick barebones explanation of Freud's Id, Ego, and Superego was met with an attitude of "do you really want to waste class time on something like this?"


In my opinion, a teacher skipping a brief discussion of Id while having the class read "Lord of the Flies" is like asking them to do algebra without teaching them how to add. (And maybe soon I'll blog a rant about why teaching literature is important and why I think most people are doing it wrong.)

Of course, there doesn't seem to be anyone in particular to blame for the way our current education system is run. Everyone involved is just doing their job. And, what's the point of trying to teach students holistically, in ways that will make learning more valuable to them, when adult society also seems run by standardized tests?

As you know if you've visited my blog before, I've been unemployed for over half a year now. This means in this past months, I've filled out a lot of job applications. Allow me to get nostalgic for a moment . . .

Remember when applying for some minimum wage retail/grocery store position only required you to give your name, address, work history, and references? Those were the good old days of "If you want to know what kind of person I am, meet me." When people weren't screened out through lengthy questionnaires on the internet.

Now almost all of these positions require not only a thorough background check - a couple places even asked me to remember every job and address I've had for the last ten years - but also a personality inventory of anywhere from 40 to 100 questions.

These questions are multiple choice and aimed to screen out liars, sociopaths, and others of questionable attitudes. I've never taken the MMPI, but I've often wondered if these questions came from there. The testing method certainly did.

So, as you can see, standardized tests are now used not only to determine our knowledge and intelligence, but also what kind of person we are. Employers can rest assured that the answers to multiple choice questions will provide them with the best workers.

I find this method horribly offensive. Back when I was less desperate, I wouldn't even bother applying to places that required me to do one of these tests. I figured it was their loss, because everyone I've ever worked for has found me to be an above average or even excellent worker.

Some of the questions are have pretty obvious answers, like "If a customer seems to want help, do you help them, ignore them, or kick them in the shins?" Other questions are really vague, and I never have any idea how to answer them (a lot like some of the vague questions that would show up on multiple choice tests in school).

An example of one of those questions is "Do you fake being polite?" I answer this question with "No," because that's the correct answer. I do not fake being polite. I am most often genuinely polite. However, I've always suspected that this question could mean "Are you sometimes polite to people even when you don't want to be?" (Because that would be a more logical question to have on a test for potential employment.) In which case, the answer I should select would be "Yes," as I feel that being polite to people is an essential part of acting professional.

So, it's possible I always answer that question wrong. It's possible that many potentially great employees are being weeded out from the wording of certain questions. Hell, I've even found spelling and grammatical errors in these tests. I'm usually not picky about that sort of thing, but the tests used to evaluate human beings should at least be evaluated themselves for traits like comprehensibility.

What I'm wondering, I guess, is why we've chosen to evaluate the worth of other people on scales few of us even understand. Do the companies who choose to use these tests even know what prospective employees are being quizzed on? Do the leaders in our school system have any idea why we've chosen the subjects we have as the most important for students to know, or what those test scores really say - if they say anything - about a student's potential success later in life?

Thursday, May 26, 2011

once the fever breaks

i've spent the last few minutes thinking about:

how there seems to be a correlation between oddly stressful things happening to me (i.e. accidentally setting a curtain on fire or losing some important belonging), remembering seeing/feeling the presence of a phantom beforehand (i.e. in the shadows or out of the corner of my eye), and there being some reason my senses were not focused (i.e. painkillers or fever).

a fever-like mental state leading to mild hallucinations as well as stupidity? perhaps.

or maybe it's that when i'm not in a fully present-focused state of mind i'm more aware of the types of spirits who might distract/trick/warn me.

and when i'm feeling like i was yesterday (fevered and nearly immobile) or today (more mobile but fairly exhausted), i notice i have little care for "human games."

what i mean by that is all the running around we have to do for paperwork and the like. how things like numbers with no tangible meaning are used by others to judge us. social security numbers to tell where we belong. credit scores to tell what we're worth. the concept of money.

if i want to believe that phantoms come along to either trick or warn me when something strange is about to happen, how's that any crazier than saying a piece of paper with a bunch of 5's printed on it contains the value of a day's meal.

but hell, money is starting to become obsolete. it's all electronic now. our system of trade is moving more and more into the invisible/nonexistent.

when are we going to start paying attention to things that exist again?

if i'm tempted to believe that my life is a replay of lives i've lived before and that there's some important truth i'm trying to use this life to learn, how's that any crazier than purchasing goods with imaginary numbers?

for unemployed months now, i've been alternately hating myself for being a failure and shaking my head at the society in which our willingness to do hard work has less to do with getting a job than our credit scores, our willingness to exaggerate the truth (lie) to get something, and the prices of our clothing.

sometimes i'm just tired of pretending i believe in all this bullshit. the concept of money. of time. of distance.

and i can't even begin to unravel the psychotic spider's web of tangled and conflicting values that holds our society together.

*gasp* oh no, i said the "s" word. society. somehow it's been ingrained in my mind that any time a person says that word, they're probably just some random crazy who can't take responsibility for their own problems and decides, instead, to blame the masses.

but really i just don't understand. i never properly learned "how the world works," probably because i've always had a tendency to ignore lessons that seemed useless, boring, or idiotic. but it caught up with me, you see. for the last 6 months i've found myself incapable of getting a job.

or rather, the lady at the grocery store on tuesday said she'd probably hire me if i came with with a proper CA license the next day. so, yesterday, i put my birth certificate and social security card (which i always keep carefully filed away, like a good citizen) in my purse and headed down to the DMV.

somewhere between my house and the DMV, this envelope magically disappeared from my purse. either it fell out when i bought a cup of coffee and my fever made me not notice, or it's disappearance had something to do with the person i caught out of the corner of my eye and felt the definite presence of, who seemed to be suddenly following me way too close, until i swung around and saw there was no-one there.

rural area. wide open space. no-one on the sidewalk but me. yet i'd seen something, and it felt like a person.

anyway, just like with the shadow person i saw as i rolled over in my sleep the night i caught the curtain on fire, the presence felt didn't feel in any way malicious. whether it was there to warn me or play a trick on me or just watch me, i wasn't able to conclude.

anyway, the 5htp i'm taking again kept me from having an anxiety attack when i realized the envelope was gone, thank all the gods. and, after i made the proper phone calls one makes when one loses such important documents, i spent the rest of the day in an achy fever-daze without a care for any of this imaginary shit.

and by "this imaginary shit" i mean numbers and pieces of paper that are supposed to represent our identities.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

questions i ask myself from time to time

(04.18.10)

where do i draw the line between selfishness and kindness?

my passion in life is helping people, but if i buy myself a lunch at the coffee shop, i'm using enough money on my own personal comfort to feed someone for a week.

i could say that i'm helping support the business of the worker-owned coffee shop i adore and the lovely people who work there.

i could say that such luxuries are little bits of personal motivation to keep me doing whatever it is i'm hoping to do in this life.

we all draw the line somewhere different, and some people never take the time to draw it at all, because our only real responsibilities are to ourselves.

caring for others will never be a responsibility, but most of us just do it anyway. because we have varying degress of generosity required for our own personal fullfillment.

so, in a sense, every action is a selfish one. if more of us found personal fullfillment in helping others, there'd be enough of everything to go around that we could all have a nice bit of personal comfort.

i don't mean to sound like a socialist. i don't want the government to be in charge of people being human. part of human nature is rebelling against authority. i stay completely out of politics for this reason. there will always be arguments about what to do, what rights people should have, and differing of opinions based on so many personal and group feelings about how we should live. and in most matters, it's difficult to tell if there's a right or wrong side and, if so, which one's which.

i just wish we could find a way for people not to be so afraid anymore.

the health care bill is a good example. all sorts of people wanted it to pass, and all sorts hated the idea. there are very rich people afraid of losing the money they wanted to buy that fourth mansion. there are very rich people who would gladly give up some of their conveniences for a better world. but most of us aren't rich.

most of the people i've talked to were very against the health care bill. and it's not because they're rich or selfish. it's because they're lower to middle class people who know that any changes we might make will effect them the most. it's people who want to make sure they can pay the bills and continue having roofs over their heads and the ability to keep themselves and their families fed.

of course they don't want even more money taken out of their paychecks. why should we pay for health care? we're used to living without health care and would rather continue to do so than pay for it, hence the reason we're not using it now. we make a certain amount and get used to supporting ourselves on that amount, and we haven't seen a doctor in years.

yes, it would be nice to know i could go to the doctor if i really needed to. but, in the meantime, am i going to be able to live somewhere, or will i be living on the streets because i don't get enough money from my paycheck to survive?

i'm not for or against any particular forms of taxation changes may imply. like i said, i stay out of politics. because it's so difficult to guess what will be best for our society as a whole in the long run.

this is why i have to work with people on a more individual level. i have no illusions of making any kind of huge differences in the world, but if i can help a few people here and there i'll feel like my life has purpose.

the staring into space hour

i'd write a blog about it, but all i feel like doing right now is staring into space.

on second thought, what do people mean when they say "staring off into space"?

i've always assumed it meant just staring off into any open space, even if it's the four feet of space between you and the wall.

they don't mean like "outer space" do they?

though really, if the space we're staring into is outside of our own minds, i guess it could be considered "outer" space.

but even if they do mean outer space, like the place with stars and shit, i guess the phrase still makes sense, because even if you're staring at a wall, what you're really paying attention to is some indetermined point in the cosmos, so it might as well be outer space.

and if all time and space coexist, then it really doesn't matter where you're looking, you're still seeing everything at any given moment.

but, on a side note, if the indetermined point in the cosmos that we're really paying attention to is inside our minds, does that mean we're not staring into "outer" space, but into "inner" space (not like the movie)? afterall, the objects our eyes are taking in have nothing to do with what's actually going on up in the old neurotransmitter highway.

but, if all time and space coexist, that includes the space inside our minds, anyway, right?

or does it?

it depends on your philosophy, i guess. whether your school of thought is one which believes the intangible exists with the same value (or at least measurable by the same values) as the tangible.



Thursday, April 28, 2011

Powwow Highway

I just saw another movie that made my heart sing and leap and cry and dance: Powwow Highway. The description doesn't really do it justice, and in some places I've found the review/description to be just plain off.

Now, it's true I've always tended to take things my own way, regardless of what I am told.

We all do that to an extent, right? At least in certain aspects of our lives. And that's part of what makes the main character of this film, Philbert, so easy to relate to.

He has strength in his beliefs, in his spiritual quest to become a warrior, from the very beginning of the story when he chooses his "pony."

He's a "big lovable" character that doesn't fall into the common movie cliche of being a bumbling fool. A dreamer, yes, and one the audience is sure to fall in love with. At least, I did. I can't think of a time, when watching a movie, that I have appreciated a character so much.

All the little things he things of along the way, all the signs and events that lead him on his quest, made me feel like I was bubbling over with glee.

It's possible that I see more of myself in this character than I ever have in a character before, because I go through long stretches of my life where it seems like I'm doing exactly what he was in the movie. Seeking visions, finding signs, collecting "medicine", following my spirit guide, whoever that may be.

If you are a human being and have never gone on this kind of journey with yourself, I urge you to do so.

And if you're looking for a funny/adorable/intriguing film to watch this weekend, give this one a try. ^_^

- - - - a small spoiler to follow - - - -

my favorite part is where he left his candy bar as an offering on the mountain. that is the cutest f*ck*ng thing i have ever f*ck*ng seen in my entire f*ck*ng life.
(and is exactly like something i would do.)



Monday, April 18, 2011

awaken your true spirit for $19.95

(reposted from spring 2010)

it's nice to know we can buy enlightenment. it comes in the form of candles, incense, and relaxation cds made by other people. because other people know so much better which physical objects on this physical plane can connect us best to the spirit world and/or our inner selves.

all you need is a book written by someone who's much more enlightened than you and the fragrance most associated with what you're trying accomplish.

because the spirit world, apparently, has physical bounderies.

so go to your church, because you can't show god your appreciation in the forest. take your communion wafer, because god's in a cracker, not you.

or light a special candle, so the spirits you wish to communicate with won't be annoyed with your questions.

and ask the tarot cards what to do, because the answers you seek about your own life really have nothing to do with you.

yes, that's right, put all your faith in other people and what they can sell you. because your concept of reality is bound to be flawed. after all, you're only human . . .

Sunday, April 10, 2011

imperfect consumer

i don't want your blender with 200 settings. i don't want your precious gems for my hair. i don't want the super bouncy magic weight loss weight that will give me fantasy abs in minutes as i absorb more advertisements. i don't want your sheets that feel like clouds or your lightning-fast super-safe sex-magnet car.

i don't care how that shirt will bring out my eyes and slim my waist. i don't give a flying fuck about little daisy stickers to decorate my pistol.

i don't want the chairs to match each other. i don't want to furnish/decorate/perfect anything. not my residence. not my self.

if i don't have it, and if i'm not seeking it, i probably don't need or want it. you have nothing to show me that i'll think is fabulous. you cannot appeal to my tastes, so don't try.

my tastes are not something you could begin to understand.

i'm not spending a cent i might have on anti-wrinkle cream, the world's greatest vacuum cleaner, and pre-designed scrapbook pages.

i dreamed i was told to make a collage on a wall, but all the pieces were already there, scattered all over the wall where all i had to do was rearrange them. i didn't get to find them myself, to pick them out myself.

the creative world had become like a tourist venue, others who got there first telling me what i should get out of it.

like the vendors and salesmen with the audacity to try to tell me what i need.

what I need!

you don't know what i need. i need next to nothing.

you can't make me feel pretty. you can't make me happy. you can't make my life easy. you can't make me smart. you can't make me strong.

only i can do those things.

you think i want everything done already for me. you think i want you to tell me how to make my life rich/meaningful/interesting.

you think if someone else has something, i'll want it to.

you think i desire such trivial things.

your perception of me disgusts me.

were you a person, i would disown you. were you an object, i would discard you. recycle you into something better, more useful.

but you're an abstract concept. you're the stereotype of people in my country. brought about by desires we never learned to fulfill on our own, desires created long ago, which may once have had honest roots but have grown out of control, into a monster.

we're taught to need things we don't. and no-one knows who teaches us these things. like creatures lost in the dark, children who don't realize their world is an attic.

we seek but we do not find. we do everything we think we're supposed to and remain unfilled, wondering why, seeking ever more and more.

and we say we want to conserve resources. recycling is good, yes. alternative fuels, great.

but here's something i realized long ago:

if we want to keep having a world to live in, why don't we stop producing and buying so much useless shit?

- - -

dear seekers,

you don't need that cover-up for your face. if you want to get rid of your money so badly, buy a sandwich for a homeless person.

why in the HELL would you want to cover up your face?

you're beautiful as you are.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

half a yin yang

I've told this story time and time again, as it's pretty much the best story I've ever had to tell.


In November of 2009, I was visiting DandelionGirl in Chandler, AZ. One morning, while on my way to Circle K for a cup of Circle Koffee, and taking the ditch, as it was just slightly quicker than taking the sidewalk, I head mewing coming from the bottom of a manhole.


I couldn't actually see anything down there, but I saw a few drains in the ditch that I suspected a cat might have gone into, so it was reasonable to assume one was trapped.


I went back to the house and called random animal control/rescue numbers until someone picked up and gave me the number to the local police, saying that they were the only ones who could get those manhole covers off.


A policeman showed up and shined his flashlight down into the hole, illuminating the shape of a fluffy white cat, though it was difficult for me to discern the size of the cat without knowing the depth of the hole.


A policewoman showed up to help, an animal lover interested in helping to rescue a kitten. They were able to find the right tools to get the cover off, but they didn't have a ladder handy, so they called the fire department.


When the fire department showed up, there were about 8 more people, as they were currently doing some kind of internship with students.


So, the scene at this point is two police cars and a fire truck pulled over next to the ditch, and 11 or so people standing crowded around a manhole. All so one guy could take a ladder down the hole and come back up with this:


The fireman handed him to me, all scared and sick. One of his was eyes glued shut with eye gunk, an obvious sign of an untreated kitten cold. The policewoman was kind enough to drive us to the nearest vet for a check up and some medicine.

The photo above is of him sitting on his paperwork from the doctor's office.


No idea how he got down there. He might have even been born somewhere in the drain system and then wandered off on his own one day and found himself stuck. However it happened, there were a lot of humans around to help him get out.



Now, he's all grown up. His name is Yang, and he lives down the road with DandelionGirl, NumberK, and black cat named Yin.

Monday, April 4, 2011

"i deserve this"

why is it that when we feel we're struggling somehow - financially or emotionally or socially, or whatever - we always think there's some reason for it, there's something to be learned from it? an important life lesson that we must have needed?

well, because there is, right? we learn, and we learn quickly, and we feel stronger for it.

but then, why, when something hurts us, do we often think "i deserve this?"

is it because we were raised to believe there is a Hell and that the way out of hell is repentance?
are we like the guy in the video below, who thinks saying "i deserve this" will somehow save him?

now, what about those good moments? those moments where we feel truly alive and ourselves and comfortable and, perhaps, even blissful? we appreciate them. we're happy for them. we internalize them. we want to never let them go.

we thank whatever deities in which we believe for times like those. the sunlight after the rain. a shoulder to cry on. a good cup of coffee. a new friend's smile. the purring of a kitten.

we learn from these moments, too, in different ways. these are the times we learn what we love, what we'd fight for.

but do we ever think "i deserve this"?

do we fear that by admitting to ourselves that we deserve something good, we'll lose it? that whatever beauty we've found will be taken from us for not being humble enough?

this isn't one of those things that's just me, right?

sometimes. when i've had a bit to drink. i will say to myself. i am a good person. i deserve to be happy. because at those times, i am looking at myself through another perspective. one of no inhibition. looking at myself the way i would look at another. someone i'd just met.

we're shown so much bullshit. so many ways to judge. and it's so much easier to be lenient with others than ourselves. the safest bet seems to hold ourselves to the highest standard.

the standard of saying "i deserve this" when something goes wrong and "i'm so lucky" when something goes right.

(perhaps a blog on Locus of Control will come later, once i've started my branching.)

why the words "i deserve this" usually make me laugh:


also, due to the fact that i like to post a lot, i'm considering branching out with this blog the way i did with my other account. so, consider this part the trunk of a tree. now that i have an idea of what this tree trunk is/has been/will be made of, i'll start working on dividing into branches.

just seems easier than keeping track of what i've said here by labels, when you're like me and blog once or twice a week with an average of three or four posts at a time.

i'll keep ya posted. i'll make some branches and put up links to them. then, you can decide what bullcrap of mine you want to be informed of and what you wish i'd just put through the paper shredder and be done with.


Monday, March 28, 2011

the psychology of bread mold and those who befriend it

i'm this kind of person:

if something seems a bit off to me, i'll assume that the other people around know better than i do and that it must be that way for a reason.

this leads to me asking questions like "do you realize there's a piece of bread with things growing from it on top of your microwave?"

this causes friends to occasionally give me that "why are you being such a dick?" face.

but, in reality, i was seriously wondering if you needed it for something.

for all i know, it could part of some scientific or artistic project. or perhaps it's a psychology experiment to see who notices and how they react.

the last thing i want is to throw it away and then you walk in 10 minutes later and you're like "oh my god, what happened to my pet bread mold?! Fred, Fred, where are you?!"

anyway, there is a cream cheese container that is partly full of cream cheese and partly full of fridge water drip sitting in the back of the fridge here. it appears about to overflow into the rest of the fridge.

now, i might be a jerk for not getting rid of it, but whatever psychological disorder i have (likely one so weird you can't even find it in the DSM IV) reminds me that i don't know why it's there.

maybe there's a leak in the fridge somewhere and it's very important that that container stays right where it is or the whole house will get flooded.

it's much more likely that the person who lives here just never opens his fridge. afterall, what single person who lives alone ever uses things like refrigerators? i certainly didn't bother with groceries and such when i had my own place.

i'm the one who was like "let's buy some rice milk to put in coffee." so, when i'm fixing my coffee, i notice the little microbe swimming pool, but i always forget to ask about it.

this isn't my house, so what right do i have to interfere with the environment. one small disturbance might disrupt the whole ecosystem.

my only hope is that when the DSM V comes out in 2o13, it will have some answers for me.

for now, just keep in mind that i'm the person who just said i washed my undies in the bathroom sink. when i had my own apartment i threw my the laundry in the bathtub while i showered and then stomped it clean like i was making wine. (this saved me a lot of quarters.)

in other words, if there's ever been a "certain way people do things" i don't know of it. don't take anything i ever say as a criticism. i got a D in Home Ec in middle school, and i'm pretty sure i haven't learned anything since then.

besides that trick where you put vegetable oil in the pan to keep your macaroni and cheese from turning into a macaroni and cheese mush clump.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

making friends

so many questions on meeting a new person. when we look at each other, what do we see?

what parts of me do you notice? what parts of you do i notice?

what needs will we fullfill for each other?

what aspects of myself will you exemplify? what will i exemplify in you?

everything we interact with changes us. sometimes severely. other times ever so slightly.

how will you change me? and is this something i want?

you could make me a "better" or "worse" person. you could turn me "crazy" or "sane."

i could be the troubled girl you never quite understand. or i could be your soul mate. only you know. it's not up to me. you know from the beginning.

you could be my drinking buddy. or someone i write poems about. or someone to go on walks with. someone to teach me things. or someone i talk about to my real friends. someone i humor but always know is an asshole. sometime whose house i crash at just because there's nowhere else to be.

you could be the boy i never quite understand. something i look back upon and sigh. or the dragon-riding warrior who saves me.

and that's the part that only i get to know. the part that i've known from the beginning.

though it's not really a secret. i'll tell you if you ask. that, in itself, is part of the dance.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

brain sperm

i woke up this morning thinking of my thoughts as sperm, and the world they're trying to break into as the egg.

so, when, i got up and realized i had a slight headache, i reasoned that it was from all the brain sperm trying to get out.

which reminded me of a picture a friend drew when his girlfriend got pregnant. the stick figure drawing combined the image of a sperm with the image of a child. so that if you were looking at it at a certain size or from a certain angle, it looked like he'd drawn a sperm, but when you clicked on the thumbnail to see the full size image you realized it was a child.

which reminded me of how i've suspected that were i to procreate in this lifetime (not that i have any intentions of it) my child would probably be one of those awesome people (as described in previous text blog).

i figure that since every generation is usually more open/creative/adventurous than the one before it, the fact that i'm almost awesome likely means i'd have a child that's fully awesome.

however, my years of being excited by the idea of possibly spawning someday have passed.

i do need to find a way from some of these brain sperm to get out, though. break through that thick barrier of the world and impregnate it.

with what i'm not sure.

hopefully not the apocalypse.

or the peacockalypse.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

the natural progression of my thought



thoughts from the busride

"some dance to remember, some dance to forget"

i dance to remember.

it comes from dancing to forget so much it sticks.

and then you don't think "wow, i felt so bad that day." you think "wow, i felt once. i remember what it was like." though the feeling itself is long gone.

- - -

i believe in multiple lives, and i'm almost positive that this is my second to the last one before my soul has learned all it has set out to.

my reasons for believing that include:

* i've met a lot of kindred spirits, like i'm collecting parts of myself. (more later regarding my thoughts on the tapestry of souls.)

* i not only love and respect but find myself studying those people who accomplish amazing things in this life. those people who shine in multiple aspects of what it means to be human. those who touch the lives of others. the ones who have that glow. i think those are last-life souls, those who've experienced the full spectrum of humanity and are reaching out to share what they know with the world. musicians. philosophers. artists.

i study them and try to replicate. perhaps i'm preparing for my next life.

* i see a whole lot of potential in me, like a whole lot of puzzle pieces i just can't seem to put together. i can almost do things just right. like there's a mold for my soul that i almost fit.

- - -

sometimes when i'm standing at a corner, waiting to cross the street, i wonder if people think i'm a prostitute. i've been mistaken as a prostitute before. do i look like a prostitute?

anyone could theoretically be a prostitute, so, when one sees a person on the sidewalk, what signals do they use to determine the status of the person as A. a prostitute or B. not a prostitute?

and what about me would make someone put me in category A?

does it matter what street i'm on? people can live on a hooker street without themselves being hookers.

does my clothing make it obvious that i'm poor, so you assume i'll want money?

is it that i'm a female walking by myself? maybe i had to get some milk and toilet paper from the store.

did you see i was carrying grocery bags and assume those were my possessions?

i just don't know.

i don't know why i look like a prostitute, but i suspect that i do.

this isn't the olden days, after all, where hookers wear "hooker make-up." the economy is bad these days, hookers can't afford make-up.



Tuesday, March 1, 2011

because some facebook statuses are worth saving

7/16/10 - i will not google flesh eating bacteria. i will not google flesh eating bacteria. i will NOT google flesh eating bacteria . . .

7/26/10 - i'm in love with life, but so are a lot of people. apparently, life's a whore.

8/5/10 - i think my body is addicted to sleep. and the addiction is interfering with its daily activities. i think it's time to quit cold turkey.

8/15/10 - even when i'm too drunk to know how to sit down in a chair, i can still pick things up with my feet

8/31/10 - i was looking in the mirror, but my reflection was asleep. "maybe this means i'm asleep in real life and this is a dream," i thought. but i dismissed that idea, as it seemed illogical. i focused instead on trying to wake up my reflection by splashing water on my face.
(then i woke up.)

9/30/10 - what a beautiful day to have woken up from a dream of helping a bull rescue its rider from a traveling circus

10/11/10 - i said "i need you. i long for you. i'm ready now. only you can complete me." sleep said "go fuck yourself."

10/20/10 - you know you've been on a plane too long when you see a crack in the sidewalk and wonder if it's the grand canyon

11/17/10 - it's unfortunate that arsenic tastes like almonds, as the flavor's quite addictive and there appears to be an almond shortage

12/16/10 - if you thought my putting peanut butter and salsa verde on chips was weird, you should have salsa verde chips mashed up in a bowl with salsa con queso and hazelnut coffee creamer

12/18/10 - it's okay, the song can wake up my soul without waking up the other train passengers

1/2/11 - so many words of inspiration i write down and then keep for myself, hidden, hoping i'll rediscover them again at a time when i understand, recording my own realizations like i have short term memory loss, trying to maintain control of myself in this game of shadow dancing we call life

1/4/11 - we all come with reality pre-installed ; it's just that some of us have missed a few updates

1/14/11 - i can't remember the last time i couldn't remember something

1/14/11 - sanity under construction, please use alternate route

1/24/11 - be your own valentine? remember your first crush? fuck you, dove chocolate wrappers, fuck you.

1/30/11 - people have always tended to give me respect i didn't earn, but it's been years since i stopped correcting them

1/31/11 - where the hell was i going with this analogy, and why are there dead pigeons?

2/15/11 - breakfast with gmail:
it looks over at me and shakes its head, and says "you said 'i've attached...' but there's nothing attached. they're going to think you're a retard, just like all your friends do. i'm the only one you can trust, you know. the others don't like you, they told me."

2/28/11 - so Cadie (who has an interest in bandaids) just came up and put one on my shoulder and said "this is for you." then, she put one over my Mishipeshu tattoo and said "and this is for your doggie" ^_^



Saturday, February 26, 2011

what if zombie monkeys fall from the sky?

i used to be a chronic worrier. 18 year old me thought i was going to get fired every day i went in to work. 16 year old me was certain i'd die before 30 of a brain aneurysm (shit, i shouldn't talk, i'm not 30 yet). 22 year old me worried that i'd corrupt my own brain by worrying so much.

my brain creates what-if scenarios for ever situation. the bus is 1 minute late. what if it never comes? it's raining. what if i'm a witch and i melt? the coffee pot is on. what if i catch the house on fire? etc. etc. you get the gist.

in 2007, while my Intrepid was in the repair shop for some such reason or another (ironic car type for me, no?) i happened upon a magazine article about a woman who called herself a chronic worrier. it was the first time i'd ever heard anyone say that. the examples she gave reminded me of me.

omfgotherpeoplethinklikethistoo moments are priceless, aren't they?

i don't remember if the solution was in the article itself or if it's something i realized later by piecing together this line of thought with the actions and thoughts of the sane and rational people person i know. (DandelionGirl is the sane and rational person i know. some people are sane. others are rational. not many are both.)

but the solution, of course, is to answer your own what-if questions. this was only not obvious to me from the beginning because people'll tend to tell you to hide/ignore your irrational thoughts/questions, instead of what to do about them.

what if my clothes get soaked on the way to work? my co-workers will tell me that for the love of all things holy i should get a damn umbrella. what if i get fired for showing up to work drenched? i'll get a new job. what if i get kicked out of where i'm living? i'll find random places to sleep until i figure out a place to be. what if everyone i know really hates me? i'm sure they'll tell me eventually. what if they tell me eventually? i'll move to another state and make new friends. what if a dingo eats my baby? i'll make a new one. etc. etc.

the point is, there's an answer to every possible thing that could worry me, and the answer 999 times out of 1000 is that i probably wouldn't die/destroy the world.

so, yeah, i might be little neurotic. the plus side is that i know of pretty much every way i might react to pretty much every situation because i've already thought about it, probably numerous times. except for the zombie apocalypse. shit. i gotta work on that.

i've always had a tendency to plot out all possible scenarios for myself. but i didn't really think about what i was doing, didn't really realize it was okay to have those strange paranoid worries, until i read the article.

(one thing that i've only begun teaching myself very very recently, is that even things about me that i haven't heard anyone else say yet are probably also okay.)

anyway, this post was brought to you by me seeing a spider in the shower this morning:
what if it's one of those ones that jumps? then it'll probably jump on me.
what if it's also poisonous, like a brown recluse? then i'll go the hospital and figure out a way to pay for it later. it's not worth losing a limb over.
i'm not paying for an ambulance, so how will i get to the hospital? you made a new friend last night that lives just down the road and has a car. i'm pretty sure asking for a ride to the hospital is one of those things people'd be okay with you doing.

thanks for reading. i realize my posts often kinda long. and if you have any tips for surviving the zombie apocalypse, please let me know.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

and now for something terrible

-original post: blogger: july 2, 2010, titled "why i don't write poetry (as much anymore)"-

1. analogies sometimes completely miss the point:

like a fish in a stream
i was caught by your lure
pulled up from the cold
and into your arms
where you held me so high
with pride on your face
before you layed me gently down on the table and
... oh shit


i won't be the same much longer
i can see it in your eyes
like a cobra staring down a mouse
you keep me mesmerized


2. it's difficult to avoid cliche:

i'm an open book and
you're a locked diary
when the nightcrew swept the floor
they threw away the key
in an alley in the moonlight
with a bottle of wine
where mother nature on cocaine
turned tricks for father time
i just wanted you
to dance forever with me
but first you stole my heart
and then you stole my kidney


3. if i can't think of something good to say, i'll just say anything:

my love for you is as bright as
the numbers on a digital clock
you warm my heart the way
this space heater warms my toes
with you my mood is soft as plastic in the sun
gentle as Charmin toilet paper
if only you could understand me
the way a serial killer understands murder
if only circumstance didn't keep separate our souls
the way a condom separates people's privates



do you have a secret weapon?

(i was reading old blog posts for a bit this evening, a little like stepping into another world or past life, and i realized i really like some of that old stuff i've written. anyway, i'm reposting this, as it's one of my favorites.)

it's like a scene in a movie. the heroine has tried everything she can think of to defeat her nemesis and save the day. the clock is ticking. time is running out. she's cornered and desperate, and that's when she remembers it. the cabinet down the hall with the glass door that says "break only in case of emergency". so she pulls some sweet ninja move to get to the cabinet, busts open the glass, and removes her secret weapon.

i've always felt like that's how it is. like if things ever got to the point where i was going to die if i didn't do something, there would suddenly be a something that i thought of that would remedy the situation. even when it comes to emotions, i feel there are certain blissful feelings i've locked away to depend on for nourishment if i ever get truely depressed. i walk down the street with the constant feeling that i've got something up my sleeve.

i guess for some people that secret weapon is faith. they believe that at those times when there is nowhere else to turn, god will be there. god can't suddenly appear in the alley in the form of chuck norris and drop kick the guy with the knife to your throat, of course. but he might make some miracle happen, i.e. a dog barks at just the right moment, and said attacker, who is terrified of dogs, has a heart attack and stumbles into the street where he's run over by the ice cream truck.

the secret weapon could be anything. god. money. family. the truth. a lie. respect for hidden knowledge in our own unconscious minds or the universal subconscious.

but i suspect we all have one, even if we have no idea what it might be, even if there isn't a damn clue in our silly heads about whether there's a gun in that class case or a clown juggling bicycles.

and no matter what we do, we never get that feeling like we've used our secret weapon. either we've never used it or we've got loads of secret weapons and super secret weapons and super super secret weapons stashed all over town. because having that feeling is somehow important to our survival as sane creatures.

funny how probably the only thing separating most sane from insane people is a little delusional thinking.

(stay tuned for an even funnier post tomorrow, regarding poetry. unless you're on Rabbit's Den, since i'm probably going to post it there right now.)


Friday, January 28, 2011

8 For Infinity

this is something that greatly excites me (something Jimmy Gnecco fans have been waiting for since we were first given a glimpse like forever ago):


i've decided that, even though it's a short, i'm going to see it in the theater on it's release night, even if i have to take a train to wherever it's playing, quit my job to have the night off, and sell my body on the streets to fund the trip.

(okay, maybe that last part's not true. thus far in my life, i've been lucky enough to be able to draw the line at prostitution.)