Saturday, February 21, 2009
From "You Can't Go Home Again"
"To lose the earth you know, for greater knowing; to lose the life you have, for greater life; to leave the friends you loved, for greater loving; to find a land more kind than home, more large than earth----"
Friday, January 30, 2009
Stagnation
Stagnation = death. There's no way around it. The most basic definition of death is the complete cessation of movement. Stagnant water is a breeding ground for pestilence and disease. Stagnation is toxic to the soul. I'm more blocked than ever - not just in writing, but in life. I want to go out and do more. I want to get involved in activism again. I want to have stimulating conversations. I want to write. Times like this, I often don't even know where to begin.
Most people would have a hard time understanding my dissatisfaction with my current living arrangement. I stay with my grandfather rent-free, have my own room, and I'm only 2 minutes away from the L train. While it might look good on the surface, it's proving ever more toxic to me. Take my room as an example. It's arranged as to give the most cramped feeling you can have and the walls are littered with pointless, ugly adornments. It's also where the phone is located and the only means of getting to the bathroom. That means at any given moment I have to be prepared to give up what little semblance of privacy I have, which means I have no privacy. There are a host of other things as well:
- He makes me breakfast and dinner. Everyone who's lived with me knows I don't eat breakfast. I keep somewhat unique hours and prefer to eat a little throughout the day. I'm not the least bit interested in a regimented meal schedule.
- Even if I weren't averse to a regimented meal schedule, I couldn't eat what he cooks. He's reverted to cooking everything in lard. LARD! Recycled lard. He finds the concept of vegetarianism/veganism completely impossible to comprehend.
- I've asked him not to make me food for days on end. I've even tried saying that I just ate and that I'm full. Five minutes later there's something dead on my plate with greasy orange slime starting to puddle under it.
- Refusing to eat is met with nonstop insistence. I feel like a little kid being force fed, or a pagan sacrifice that's being fattened before being led to the altar. For the sake of keeping the peace, I've been tossing it.
- I have no internet access in the house. Well, there's one unprotected access point that I have to go through voodoo rain dances akin to adjusting rabbit ears to find a signal, but when it takes over an hour to just read two emails I hardly count it as being there at all.
- Time Warner only allows one account per household, so I asked if I could add internet to his service. He's worried that Medicare will find out about this $30 a month charge (that I would be paying him for) and conclude that he has been secretly running a drug empire from his rent-stabilized apartment and has a mountainous stash of money under his mattress (or in his freezer), and take away the benefits he has to "pay down" his income $100 a month for.
- He has an unwavering faith in his friend and former neighbor. When he lost his prescription, I told him to just call the doctor and have it phoned in to the pharmacy. She told him he had to go back to the doctor to get a new one. He wasted time and money (the doctor charged for the extra visit just to get a prescription reissued) because of this blind faith in her and apparent lack of faith in me.
- Last on this little laundry list, though not the last item by far: I can't come and go as I please.
I don't mean to sound like an ungrateful jerk. I appreciate him letting me stay in his apartment while I saved up and got settled back in, but I feel like a prisoner. I need to be able to come and go as I please. I want to have a sense of real privacy. I want to be able to do and eat what I want when I want to. They're not unreasonable requests. They're what any self-respecting, independent adult would want.
Last night I paid the first month's rent and one month's deposit on a medium sized room near Sunset Park. The room is comfortable, all utilities - including internet - are included in the rent, and I liked the vibe I got from the landlord. It's also a month's commute and one day's lunch cheaper than the other room I was considering. With a sleeper sofa and laptop table from Ikea, and maybe some art on the wall it will be a good place for me to break away from the past month's stagnation.
The unseasonably warm weather has all but faded. If it were warmer, I'd go out on one of my long walks. I've been stationary too long.
Most people would have a hard time understanding my dissatisfaction with my current living arrangement. I stay with my grandfather rent-free, have my own room, and I'm only 2 minutes away from the L train. While it might look good on the surface, it's proving ever more toxic to me. Take my room as an example. It's arranged as to give the most cramped feeling you can have and the walls are littered with pointless, ugly adornments. It's also where the phone is located and the only means of getting to the bathroom. That means at any given moment I have to be prepared to give up what little semblance of privacy I have, which means I have no privacy. There are a host of other things as well:
- He makes me breakfast and dinner. Everyone who's lived with me knows I don't eat breakfast. I keep somewhat unique hours and prefer to eat a little throughout the day. I'm not the least bit interested in a regimented meal schedule.
- Even if I weren't averse to a regimented meal schedule, I couldn't eat what he cooks. He's reverted to cooking everything in lard. LARD! Recycled lard. He finds the concept of vegetarianism/veganism completely impossible to comprehend.
- I've asked him not to make me food for days on end. I've even tried saying that I just ate and that I'm full. Five minutes later there's something dead on my plate with greasy orange slime starting to puddle under it.
- Refusing to eat is met with nonstop insistence. I feel like a little kid being force fed, or a pagan sacrifice that's being fattened before being led to the altar. For the sake of keeping the peace, I've been tossing it.
- I have no internet access in the house. Well, there's one unprotected access point that I have to go through voodoo rain dances akin to adjusting rabbit ears to find a signal, but when it takes over an hour to just read two emails I hardly count it as being there at all.
- Time Warner only allows one account per household, so I asked if I could add internet to his service. He's worried that Medicare will find out about this $30 a month charge (that I would be paying him for) and conclude that he has been secretly running a drug empire from his rent-stabilized apartment and has a mountainous stash of money under his mattress (or in his freezer), and take away the benefits he has to "pay down" his income $100 a month for.
- He has an unwavering faith in his friend and former neighbor. When he lost his prescription, I told him to just call the doctor and have it phoned in to the pharmacy. She told him he had to go back to the doctor to get a new one. He wasted time and money (the doctor charged for the extra visit just to get a prescription reissued) because of this blind faith in her and apparent lack of faith in me.
- Last on this little laundry list, though not the last item by far: I can't come and go as I please.
I don't mean to sound like an ungrateful jerk. I appreciate him letting me stay in his apartment while I saved up and got settled back in, but I feel like a prisoner. I need to be able to come and go as I please. I want to have a sense of real privacy. I want to be able to do and eat what I want when I want to. They're not unreasonable requests. They're what any self-respecting, independent adult would want.
Last night I paid the first month's rent and one month's deposit on a medium sized room near Sunset Park. The room is comfortable, all utilities - including internet - are included in the rent, and I liked the vibe I got from the landlord. It's also a month's commute and one day's lunch cheaper than the other room I was considering. With a sleeper sofa and laptop table from Ikea, and maybe some art on the wall it will be a good place for me to break away from the past month's stagnation.
The unseasonably warm weather has all but faded. If it were warmer, I'd go out on one of my long walks. I've been stationary too long.
Saturday, January 03, 2009
Refusal...
I'm tired of seeing people settle into lives they're unhappy with. So much of what is wrong with the world lies with people who don't try; people who perpetuate an inauthentic, passive mediocrity; people who have no passion, no thirst, no focus. It makes me sad to see people who used to have a spark of passion falling into that pattern. Sure, sometimes I'm struck with the sensation that the raging sea in which I feel like I'm drowning is second to the ocean between where I am and where I want
to be - between who I am and who I want to be - the all-too-familiar conditions - but I refuse to give up, cave in, or settle.
to be - between who I am and who I want to be - the all-too-familiar conditions - but I refuse to give up, cave in, or settle.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
What ever happened to just sitting down and writing? Everyone seems to be peddling a system for what to write about and how. It couldn't have always been this way. That doesn't make any sense. I can't picture FSF sitting down and forming a snowflake for every one of his stories. JK was notorious for drug-fueled typing frenzies. My problem is that I keep seeking a system when there isn't one. You've either got the story or you don't. Art isn't something that can be taught. You can teach and refine craft, but it's the art that matters. When people start following techniques and procedures, when the magic of art succumbs to the cold science of systems, that's when we get fast food fiction. Our bookshelves swell like elastic waistbands waiting to snap as we gorge ourselves trying to satisfy our greater hunger, woefully unaware that it is quality we crave, not quantity; art, not formula.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Reconnecting
I feel more like myself than I've felt in years. I've still got some way to go before I'll fully be there, but coming back to this city has helped tremendously. Looking back on the last 10 or so years, you might think I succeeded on some insane mission to destroy myself. Joining the Army, fighting my way out, moving to Raleigh, moving back to NY, the failed experiment of splitting a house in Raleigh with my brother, and living with my friends for a year have all taken their toll on me.
It's never been a matter of having an issue with myself, though the self-loathing was strong in me. All my life my real self has been suppressed. As a kid my aspirations were systematically shot down as unrealistic, unattainable, foolish dreams. More run ins with a folded over leather belt than I can count taught me to play the part that was expected of me.
Ironically, the same people dispensing discipline allowed me to miss half the school year for the first 5 years. I was driven to read on my own, studied what interested me, and I had the ability to figure out the match I'd missed by watching a few problems be solved. I was never held back since I was performing well above grade level in all subjects. The only concern was over not getting to socialize with kids my own age.
Socialization in school is one of the greatest myths that we're bombarded with from all sources. Think back on your school years and try to remember how much of it was spent being allowed to socialize and how much of it was being indoctrinated on how to be a good work and do as you're told. Even in kindergarten you would have to sit attentively at your desk with your hands crossed. You spoke only when allowed, you played on their schedule, napped with everyone else. Even on your lunch break you weren't allowed to be particularly social. You had to bring a book with you to read. The table that was the quietest at the beginning of the period got their lunch first, and the quietest at the end got to go back to class. I remember being told that the expectation was to come in quietly, read, eat your food, dispose of your tray, read, and wait to be sent back to class. Conversations were held in secret and the less stealthy violators were chastised and separated. Even prisoners are allowed to socialize at lunch.
After missing out on the great whitewashing that occurs during the early school years, I found myself fortunately enough to be in very unique public junior high and high school environments. I honestly believe that the major differences between public and private schools isn't in funding or the quality of the staff. The differences stem from private schools treating the students more like people while the public schools treat them like prisoners. I saw the difference when I visited a private school to decide whether I wanted to accept their scholarship. (I turned it down feeling uncomfortable with the class (social and financial) politics I'd face being a poor Hispanic kid from the projects whose family had no money).
Graduation came and I didn't know what I wanted to do. My heart was with my dreams, which still lay tattered in the back of my mind. I didn't want to go through four more years of the same material, but I didn't want to be an unskilled laborer making what he could where he could. Like so many desperate, confused youth, I joined the Army. If you want a great whitewashing and loss of self, look to the military. Cults actually take their brainwashing techniques straight from the pages of basic training instruction manuals. If you don't recognize it and/or you have a weak constitution, you will lose yourself there. That's where the career boys come from.
I'd learned as a kid to play the part of the "good soldier" while keeping my true self safe. I was even named soldier of the quarter for 1/3 HSC SFG (A) while building the case that would eventually lead to my honorable discharge two years early with no possibility of recall to active duty.
After the Army I was more lost than ever. I was an intelligence analyst who burned his bridges with that community to obtain his freedom. Those skills don't translate very well to the civilian sector. It was then that I started working night shifts. From there I moved back to NYC, then back to Raleigh to split a house with my brother, then I moved in with my friends when my brother and I decided to sell the house. Living with my friends was far worse for me than I ever would have imagined. I think back on myself during that time and have no idea who I was.
In the last year, I've moved out of my friends' house to a place of my own. There I started to become myself again. I met LB, whom I immediately admired for knowing what she wanted to be since she was young and working towards that dream ever since. Together with my best friend from my Army days, we decided to move forward with our dreams, all else be damned. That's how I find myself as I am now, sitting in NYC waiting for them to save enough for us to get an apartment.
There's just something about this city. I've seen articles that say NY is losing its global significance because of Wall Street's woes. That's pure rubbish. NY's significance isn't because of the exchange of money that never really existed in the first place. NYC is significant for its blending of cultures into something unique and distinct, for its art, and for its people. It's my city of birth and where I spent the first 18 years of life. There's a sense of connection here that I've not felt any place else. It's this city that formed me, and it's this city that will form my dreams.
It's never been a matter of having an issue with myself, though the self-loathing was strong in me. All my life my real self has been suppressed. As a kid my aspirations were systematically shot down as unrealistic, unattainable, foolish dreams. More run ins with a folded over leather belt than I can count taught me to play the part that was expected of me.
Ironically, the same people dispensing discipline allowed me to miss half the school year for the first 5 years. I was driven to read on my own, studied what interested me, and I had the ability to figure out the match I'd missed by watching a few problems be solved. I was never held back since I was performing well above grade level in all subjects. The only concern was over not getting to socialize with kids my own age.
Socialization in school is one of the greatest myths that we're bombarded with from all sources. Think back on your school years and try to remember how much of it was spent being allowed to socialize and how much of it was being indoctrinated on how to be a good work and do as you're told. Even in kindergarten you would have to sit attentively at your desk with your hands crossed. You spoke only when allowed, you played on their schedule, napped with everyone else. Even on your lunch break you weren't allowed to be particularly social. You had to bring a book with you to read. The table that was the quietest at the beginning of the period got their lunch first, and the quietest at the end got to go back to class. I remember being told that the expectation was to come in quietly, read, eat your food, dispose of your tray, read, and wait to be sent back to class. Conversations were held in secret and the less stealthy violators were chastised and separated. Even prisoners are allowed to socialize at lunch.
After missing out on the great whitewashing that occurs during the early school years, I found myself fortunately enough to be in very unique public junior high and high school environments. I honestly believe that the major differences between public and private schools isn't in funding or the quality of the staff. The differences stem from private schools treating the students more like people while the public schools treat them like prisoners. I saw the difference when I visited a private school to decide whether I wanted to accept their scholarship. (I turned it down feeling uncomfortable with the class (social and financial) politics I'd face being a poor Hispanic kid from the projects whose family had no money).
Graduation came and I didn't know what I wanted to do. My heart was with my dreams, which still lay tattered in the back of my mind. I didn't want to go through four more years of the same material, but I didn't want to be an unskilled laborer making what he could where he could. Like so many desperate, confused youth, I joined the Army. If you want a great whitewashing and loss of self, look to the military. Cults actually take their brainwashing techniques straight from the pages of basic training instruction manuals. If you don't recognize it and/or you have a weak constitution, you will lose yourself there. That's where the career boys come from.
I'd learned as a kid to play the part of the "good soldier" while keeping my true self safe. I was even named soldier of the quarter for 1/3 HSC SFG (A) while building the case that would eventually lead to my honorable discharge two years early with no possibility of recall to active duty.
After the Army I was more lost than ever. I was an intelligence analyst who burned his bridges with that community to obtain his freedom. Those skills don't translate very well to the civilian sector. It was then that I started working night shifts. From there I moved back to NYC, then back to Raleigh to split a house with my brother, then I moved in with my friends when my brother and I decided to sell the house. Living with my friends was far worse for me than I ever would have imagined. I think back on myself during that time and have no idea who I was.
In the last year, I've moved out of my friends' house to a place of my own. There I started to become myself again. I met LB, whom I immediately admired for knowing what she wanted to be since she was young and working towards that dream ever since. Together with my best friend from my Army days, we decided to move forward with our dreams, all else be damned. That's how I find myself as I am now, sitting in NYC waiting for them to save enough for us to get an apartment.
There's just something about this city. I've seen articles that say NY is losing its global significance because of Wall Street's woes. That's pure rubbish. NY's significance isn't because of the exchange of money that never really existed in the first place. NYC is significant for its blending of cultures into something unique and distinct, for its art, and for its people. It's my city of birth and where I spent the first 18 years of life. There's a sense of connection here that I've not felt any place else. It's this city that formed me, and it's this city that will form my dreams.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Homecoming
I'm back in New York City. I've been back since last Friday. I feel more alone than I've ever felt.
That's how I started this post the other day. I don't really have much to add today. I am a jumble of emotions, but without words to express them.
Tomorrow I start at my old job. I feel very uneasy about it. My old boss has been too terse about specifics for my liking. I need an income, or I won't be able to move forward with the plans that are in the works. I'm not stupid. I've sent out my resume to other jobs that would pay more than I'm sure my old boss would be able to pay me for much the same work. I've also got a very long list of places that aren't specifically hiring but in my line of work. DP wasn't hiring when I sent them my resume, and they made a position for me that survived the pre-emptive layoffs.
Times are tough, but I've crossed the point of no return. There's no turning back now.
That's how I started this post the other day. I don't really have much to add today. I am a jumble of emotions, but without words to express them.
Tomorrow I start at my old job. I feel very uneasy about it. My old boss has been too terse about specifics for my liking. I need an income, or I won't be able to move forward with the plans that are in the works. I'm not stupid. I've sent out my resume to other jobs that would pay more than I'm sure my old boss would be able to pay me for much the same work. I've also got a very long list of places that aren't specifically hiring but in my line of work. DP wasn't hiring when I sent them my resume, and they made a position for me that survived the pre-emptive layoffs.
Times are tough, but I've crossed the point of no return. There's no turning back now.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Standing Still and False Starts
It's been a fairly unproductive week for me. It's been an unproductive several years. That's going to change soon. There's promise on the horizon. The promise of something better or something worse, I cannot say. After what happened last year there's not a whole lot of ground for worse.
I'm still in a preliminary mode. I feel like I'm at the start of the path I was supposed to be on years ago but instead of getting anywhere I'm stuck in the mud spinning my tires.
The stages of grief are: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Why is it that once I get to the last stage and I'm ready to move along I end up in a situation that makes me wonder if I should stay a little longer? Now that I'm getting ready to leave I'm meeting people that I wish I'd met months ago.
I haven't wrote much lately. Nothing at all, really. I have engaged in a worthwhile surrogate - reading. I've read two very great and very different works of literature in the past week. It breaks my heart to see what passes for a novel these days, and sadder still when I hear those not much younger than I am say that they're not really into reading.
This has been another entry wrought with false starts while I don't really get anywhere. Soon, though. Soon.
Take care.
I'm still in a preliminary mode. I feel like I'm at the start of the path I was supposed to be on years ago but instead of getting anywhere I'm stuck in the mud spinning my tires.
The stages of grief are: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Why is it that once I get to the last stage and I'm ready to move along I end up in a situation that makes me wonder if I should stay a little longer? Now that I'm getting ready to leave I'm meeting people that I wish I'd met months ago.
I haven't wrote much lately. Nothing at all, really. I have engaged in a worthwhile surrogate - reading. I've read two very great and very different works of literature in the past week. It breaks my heart to see what passes for a novel these days, and sadder still when I hear those not much younger than I am say that they're not really into reading.
This has been another entry wrought with false starts while I don't really get anywhere. Soon, though. Soon.
Take care.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Taking a break, but from what...
I've been focusing on packing up as my departure date looms in a fortnight. At least Id like to say that's what I've been doing. In reality I've been doing far too much sitting around. I wish I had been axed instead of Kenny. With the severance money and my already-impending move, I might have been more motivated to actually get things packed. Even this entry is an attempt to procrastinate the packing I have to do so my carpet can be thoroughly cleaned tomorrow.
Ennui has overcome me. I can't seem to find the emotional or physical energy to do anything. I can't even write this entry.
I'm going to try to pack some more. Hopefully I won't be such a stranger to the "blogosphere" for quite so long.
Ennui has overcome me. I can't seem to find the emotional or physical energy to do anything. I can't even write this entry.
I'm going to try to pack some more. Hopefully I won't be such a stranger to the "blogosphere" for quite so long.
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
Borrowed Snapshot
"The next [several] months are joyless to view - but there is as much joy in these things, there is more joy, than in flitting around as I've done... I might as well learn now what it is to see things as they are - and the truth is, nobody cares how I fare... So I must fare in the grimmest, most efficient way there is, alone, unbidden, diligently again, always."
Monday, October 27, 2008
Waxing Politically
One of the things I read lately is that Americans are supposedly split on how to feel about Obama's tax plan. The overwhelming majority who have almost nothing in terms of material wealth feel that the wealth should be spread around. However, they're also weary because they have aspirations of one day becoming wealthy.
It's too ridiculous for words. Of those 200-million+ that aspire to be wealthy, how many are even going to make it to anywhere near a wealthy standard of living? The numbers have shown that the number of people controlling the majority of the wealth has dwindled and the disparity between the rich and the poor is the greatest it's ever been. I don't put it past most Americans to not know that fact since the country cannot even compete in terms of educational performance. A dismally small number of 4th graders can even find Canada on a map. Canada!
Most Americans are deeply in debt. They own very little of their possessions outright. They make payments on their cars only to take on a new one once that's paid off. Car makers are happy to oblige them of this habit by making cars with a 5 year expected life (which just also happens to be the length of term of most financing agreements). Cars from previous eras were made to last a lifetime with proper maintenance, and a lot of them still shine on the road because they receive just a little TLC. They bought (and still buy) houses they can't afford, paying twice the cost of the house when the mortgage is finally paid off. If the mortgage ever gets paid off. Usually they'll try to sell the house for a "profit" and move to another house, starting the cycle over again. The "profit" they make in the sale rarely, if ever, is even equal to the price of the house plus the interest they've paid up until that point. I don't even want to imagine the number of people who don't even own the food that they've eaten. It's just mind-boggling.
The greatest lie of capitalism is not that anyone can become wealthy, it's the supposition that everyone can become wealthy. The flaw in that reasoning comes when one posits the simple query, "If everyone is wealthy, who's going to be doing all the work?" Of course, in tribal societies they already realized this fallacy - albeit largely subconsciously. I refer to the modern version of a teaching of Zhuangzi:
The Mexican Fisherman
A boat docked in a tiny Mexican village. An American tourist complimented the Mexican fisherman on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took him to catch them.
"Not very long," answered the Mexican.
"But then, why didn't you stay out longer and catch more?" asked the American.
The Mexican explained that his small catch was sufficient to meet his needs and those of his family.
The American asked, "But what do you do with the rest of your time?"
"I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, and take a siesta with my wife. In the evenings, I go into the village to see my friends, have a few drinks, play the guitar, and sing a few songs...I have a full life."
The American interrupted, "I have an MBA from Harvard and I can help you!
"You should start by fishing longer every day. You can then sell the extra fish you catch. With the extra revenue, you can buy a bigger boat. With the extra money the larger boat will bring, you can buy a second one and a third one and so on until you have an entire fleet of trawlers.
"Instead of selling your fish to a middleman, you can negotiate directly with the processing plants and maybe even open your own plant. You can then leave this little village and move to Mexico City, Los Angeles, or even New York City! From there you can direct your huge enterprise."
"How long would that take?" asked the Mexican.
"Twenty, perhaps twenty-five years," replied the American.
"And after that?"
"Afterwards? That's when it gets really interesting," answered the American, laughing. "When your business gets really big, you can start selling stocks and make millions!"
"Millions? Really? And after that?"
"After that you'll be able to retire, live in a tiny village near the coast, sleep late, play with your children, catch a few fish, take a siesta, and spend your evenings drinking and enjoying your friends!"
The difference between the more egalitarian and socialist structures of tribal societies and capitalist societies such as our own is that while we are constantly being told to acquire, acquire, acquire, while they instead enjoy a far richer unapportioned wealth of a full life.
It's too ridiculous for words. Of those 200-million+ that aspire to be wealthy, how many are even going to make it to anywhere near a wealthy standard of living? The numbers have shown that the number of people controlling the majority of the wealth has dwindled and the disparity between the rich and the poor is the greatest it's ever been. I don't put it past most Americans to not know that fact since the country cannot even compete in terms of educational performance. A dismally small number of 4th graders can even find Canada on a map. Canada!
Most Americans are deeply in debt. They own very little of their possessions outright. They make payments on their cars only to take on a new one once that's paid off. Car makers are happy to oblige them of this habit by making cars with a 5 year expected life (which just also happens to be the length of term of most financing agreements). Cars from previous eras were made to last a lifetime with proper maintenance, and a lot of them still shine on the road because they receive just a little TLC. They bought (and still buy) houses they can't afford, paying twice the cost of the house when the mortgage is finally paid off. If the mortgage ever gets paid off. Usually they'll try to sell the house for a "profit" and move to another house, starting the cycle over again. The "profit" they make in the sale rarely, if ever, is even equal to the price of the house plus the interest they've paid up until that point. I don't even want to imagine the number of people who don't even own the food that they've eaten. It's just mind-boggling.
The greatest lie of capitalism is not that anyone can become wealthy, it's the supposition that everyone can become wealthy. The flaw in that reasoning comes when one posits the simple query, "If everyone is wealthy, who's going to be doing all the work?" Of course, in tribal societies they already realized this fallacy - albeit largely subconsciously. I refer to the modern version of a teaching of Zhuangzi:
The Mexican Fisherman
A boat docked in a tiny Mexican village. An American tourist complimented the Mexican fisherman on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took him to catch them.
"Not very long," answered the Mexican.
"But then, why didn't you stay out longer and catch more?" asked the American.
The Mexican explained that his small catch was sufficient to meet his needs and those of his family.
The American asked, "But what do you do with the rest of your time?"
"I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, and take a siesta with my wife. In the evenings, I go into the village to see my friends, have a few drinks, play the guitar, and sing a few songs...I have a full life."
The American interrupted, "I have an MBA from Harvard and I can help you!
"You should start by fishing longer every day. You can then sell the extra fish you catch. With the extra revenue, you can buy a bigger boat. With the extra money the larger boat will bring, you can buy a second one and a third one and so on until you have an entire fleet of trawlers.
"Instead of selling your fish to a middleman, you can negotiate directly with the processing plants and maybe even open your own plant. You can then leave this little village and move to Mexico City, Los Angeles, or even New York City! From there you can direct your huge enterprise."
"How long would that take?" asked the Mexican.
"Twenty, perhaps twenty-five years," replied the American.
"And after that?"
"Afterwards? That's when it gets really interesting," answered the American, laughing. "When your business gets really big, you can start selling stocks and make millions!"
"Millions? Really? And after that?"
"After that you'll be able to retire, live in a tiny village near the coast, sleep late, play with your children, catch a few fish, take a siesta, and spend your evenings drinking and enjoying your friends!"
The difference between the more egalitarian and socialist structures of tribal societies and capitalist societies such as our own is that while we are constantly being told to acquire, acquire, acquire, while they instead enjoy a far richer unapportioned wealth of a full life.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Disconnected
People often misunderstand what I mean when I say I feel alone. There's a huge difference between alone and lonely. I guess that's why I often use the term "disconnected" when I want to say that I feel alone. The difference is when you feel lonely you still have yourself, and when I feel alone I don't even feel like I have that.
I'm sitting here on the floor in my living room. Across from me my refrigerator shakes to life as the compressor kicks in, droning as it works. The only other sounds are my fingers hitting the keys and the occasional stray noises from outside my four walls.
I'm trying to remember something I've forgotten about myself over the years. It feels so close, but I just can't seem to grasp it.
I'm sitting here on the floor in my living room. Across from me my refrigerator shakes to life as the compressor kicks in, droning as it works. The only other sounds are my fingers hitting the keys and the occasional stray noises from outside my four walls.
I'm trying to remember something I've forgotten about myself over the years. It feels so close, but I just can't seem to grasp it.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Away Message
I should have left a better away message. I've been busy with I can't even say what. I wanted to post about how the South claims to be more hospitable than the North, but they're really not. I wanted to paraphrase Enid's rant from "Ghost World", stating that in the North things are more in the open and in the South they hide behind false sincerity and "bless their hearts". I wanted to, but didn't like the way it was coming out.
Today I want to write about how I bought a 1970's Raleigh Sports bike and how I like it so much more than my other bike (which I'm now hoping to sell). Last night the chain felt like it slipped a couple of times, the whole bike bucked, and I was flung to the ground. Fortunately I know how to take a fall and only lightly scraped up my arm. I think the tension on the internal geared hub was off and that caused it to slip back and forth between actually being in gear and being in total freewheel. Either way, it's enough for me to decide to take it in for a $30 tune-up.
I can't wait to get my bike back. Now that it's fall the weather is perfect for riding a bike. It's not oppressively hot and humid, it's not too cold, and gas is still ridiculously priced.
I'm still waiting to hear from my old boss. He says he might have a place for me. That'd mean moving back up North sooner than I had planned, but it would mean immediately being settled back in. There's no place like home, you know?
Today I want to write about how I bought a 1970's Raleigh Sports bike and how I like it so much more than my other bike (which I'm now hoping to sell). Last night the chain felt like it slipped a couple of times, the whole bike bucked, and I was flung to the ground. Fortunately I know how to take a fall and only lightly scraped up my arm. I think the tension on the internal geared hub was off and that caused it to slip back and forth between actually being in gear and being in total freewheel. Either way, it's enough for me to decide to take it in for a $30 tune-up.
I can't wait to get my bike back. Now that it's fall the weather is perfect for riding a bike. It's not oppressively hot and humid, it's not too cold, and gas is still ridiculously priced.
I'm still waiting to hear from my old boss. He says he might have a place for me. That'd mean moving back up North sooner than I had planned, but it would mean immediately being settled back in. There's no place like home, you know?
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Going Out of Town
When my supervisor asked me if I wanted to go out of town to help out a location that's got a job much bigger than their limited staff can handle, I jumped at the opportunity. It's not a career move. I don't care about my "career". It's what I do to live, not what I live to do. I jumped at the opportunity to just get away for a few days on the company dime. I might have to work 10-12 hours one day, and head back after working the next, but it'll be away from here. It'll be nice to just get away from here. Between the 4 hour drives each way and my down time tomorrow night, maybe I will feel more like myself.
One of the biggest issues that's been facing me the past several months is feeling disconnected from every thing. The whole fiasco that inspired yesterday's post hasn't helped that situation at all.
I want to write more, but I need to get packing.
Thanks to Marie for being my first commenter. Hopefully I'll put some worthwhile stuff up here to keep you (and anyone else that happens to come along) reading.
One of the biggest issues that's been facing me the past several months is feeling disconnected from every thing. The whole fiasco that inspired yesterday's post hasn't helped that situation at all.
I want to write more, but I need to get packing.
Thanks to Marie for being my first commenter. Hopefully I'll put some worthwhile stuff up here to keep you (and anyone else that happens to come along) reading.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Greatest satisfaction in life...
"Greatest satisfaction in life is writing." It's right there at the top of this page. What do you do, then, if you can't seem to find any words? What do you do when you have the worst case of writer's block anyone has ever had? You try to start stories, or even blog posts - anything - just to try to get things rolling. As if you're dealing with an old car you think, "If I turn the crank enough maybe the engine will start and I can be on my way." You turn and you turn and you turn. The engine doesn't start. The only thing you know how to do is to write about not knowing what to do.
Inspiration is missing from my life. I want to be a writer. I've always wanted to be one. Writers are supposed to write about what they know. What can I know? I can't write, so I stay home trying to find a cure for the block. Staying home means I don't experience anything. Not experiencing means that I have nothing to write about. Thus the cycle finds itself back at the beginning.
At least I was able to form a predicate this time. I've started and ended more posts than I can count, never even getting past the first line. The block isn't just a lack of material to write. Sometimes the material is there, but the words aren't. I don't know what to do about it.
Inspiration is missing from my life. I want to be a writer. I've always wanted to be one. Writers are supposed to write about what they know. What can I know? I can't write, so I stay home trying to find a cure for the block. Staying home means I don't experience anything. Not experiencing means that I have nothing to write about. Thus the cycle finds itself back at the beginning.
At least I was able to form a predicate this time. I've started and ended more posts than I can count, never even getting past the first line. The block isn't just a lack of material to write. Sometimes the material is there, but the words aren't. I don't know what to do about it.
Friday, September 12, 2008
"Where we're standing right now, in the ruins in the dark, what we build could be anything."
I started this site with the hopes of being a “voice in the wilderness, fighting evil and corruption where ever I found it and standing for freedom, truth, and justice”. There are plenty of sites out there (such as Information Clearing House, The Memory Hole, and others) that provide news stories you may never hear on CNN. There’s no point in being a redundant voice - especially when I don’t have nearly as much time or contributors as they do. I will still comment on world events, but I’m not going to separate those from my more personal entries. As for exactly what that means, I couldn’t tell you just yet. I have no idea what’s building or what it will be when the last stone is set - “Where we’re standing right now, in the ruins in the dark, what we build could be anything.”
I have no idea how you came to this site, but I hope you’ll sit back, enjoy the ride, and come back for more.
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