| Rattle Snakes and Phones |
[Dec. 5th, 2004|02:41 pm] |
Why does a rattle snake rattle? Why doesn't everyone hear it and go the other way? Selective hearing?
Do you know anyone who jumps up without thinking when the phone rings? Do you think they "don't HEAR the phone ring"?
I think technology can kill. Technology -- rattles, phone ringers, the internet ... rap.
A neighbor of my mother's died in front of the computer. I think she was overwhelmed by the amount of work it would take her to catch up to the younger generation, those raised with computer technology (practically born knowing how to use the computer). It took me 15 years, 10 hours a day, 7 days a week to "master" it. I'm still captivated by it sometimes.
As another example, rap. The first time I heard it, I was frightened like some might have been seeing Hitler trying to take over the world (it reminds me of the marching of Hitler's army, may even be an outgrowth of that movement). True, I was excited and invigorated by rap, too (though frightened). But, I was of an age that rap (and Hitler) didn't signal such a drastic change in the world that "some would live and others die". Why do some "hate" rap with such a passion (I hope I've helped them overcome that fear)?
Some people make "the" transition (that new technology signals) and some don't. The world moves on and some people -- those who can't make the change -- get left behind.
I had an ear ache. There was a ringing in my head. I realized it affected my hearing, selectively. I got a sound machine and slept with "rain" playing. The "echo" I woke up with in my head was the exact tone of a phone ringing. I'm thinking: Hysterical deafness -- revenge of the telephone. My mother would jump when it rang. I told her she didn't HAVE to answer it. Perhaps this was too much for her to comprehend (not answering the phone would cause her too much anxiety). Perhaps, the phone "killed" my mother and my mother's "revenge" on me for not answering the phone was a deafening ring in my head (that might have gotten so bad it would have killed me, too). Justification of a sort for my mother's death (the phone killed her and should have killed me too).
Rattlesnakes kill. True or false?
The Beginning |
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| Locked Doors |
[Dec. 4th, 2004|07:16 pm] |
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A friend came over. He strong-arms me for money. This time, I had the presence of mind to: Figure my budget. Decide how much I want to share. Offer to take him out for a meal instead. Give him the choice between cigarettes or KFC. Stick to my decisions. I was out $40. Gave him $5 for cigarettes. Took his friend out to eat and didn't buy him anything. He called later to apologize for whining when I didn't buy him lunch and asked to come over. Part of the deal was if I gave him the money he'd stay gone for a week (he said two). I told him not to come by and Merry Christmas. People have caller ID and answering machines: They aren't tied to the phone anymore -- can choose who to talk to and when. I figure since it's my home, I can decide who comes in and whether or not I feel like company. Freedom. It's a big change for me not answering the door every time anyone knocks. It was a big change for my parents not answering the phone every time someone called, too. I guess they can call and let me know they're coming by, I can tell them either yes or no, and if they come by after I say no or without calling -- they'll find the door locked. I was "broke" after my friend came by (emotionally and financially -- though I paid bills and have emergency money left for the month). I slept most of the day away because I couldn't handle any more infringements on my time, effort, or energy. The door is locked again (still). |
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| A Rant. |
[Dec. 3rd, 2004|05:55 pm] |
A Rant:
From a top-down perspective, "survivors" (Republicans) act with the assurance that what they decide promotes *that which survives*. This doesn't guarantee "truth" (it might also be that might makes right); however, factoring in "good" suggests that what survives this way isn't "bad" (doesn't involve force).
This is where bottom-up Democrats come in (yes, competition -- Republican -- and cooperation -- Democrats). Democrats "vote": Their answers may not be right but they are "good" (PROMOTE the general welfare and PROTECT the group from the force). On the other hand, you cannot vote on truth.
We live in a system of democratic capitalism -- the good survive but the rich are better (what objectively materializes confirms the individual's worth to the group).
Replace the word Republican with the word Catholic, the word Democrat with the word Protestant, and the word truth with the word revelation in the above and you have the basis for religion (with the further understanding that *Revelation* based on might rather than right is Armageddon and *revelation* voted-on by the group is false prophecy ... babble, or "the many headed beast").
Our "In God We Trust-Fund" is an example of passing our capital up the ladder ... to The Pope, in the case of religion, who owns most of the world's treasures: Or resulting in a pyramid with an eye at the top in the case of our government (suggesting that Democratic Capitalism -- as opposed to Marxism -- has NO REAL capital, or capstone. Marxist earthly Utopia becomes our Heaven for the dead).
As a "dead", or broke system: Our government utilizes "credit" based on paranoia -- people doing what's productive because they are being watched by big-brother. And: Religion favors guilt inspired by god such that capital is that which manifests "credit" in terms of *heaven*.
"Revelation" (of the good sort) is what I favor. It suggests an abundant life on earth without fear or guilt (nor violence, nor "human error" -- is not *humanistic*). It also suggests that I'm given insight into *truth* (because of the reason's I've stated, not in a "magical" way) and/or that I can see the consequences of my own behavior (which is just cause-effect reasoning, simply put).
What you are saying is not true (though it might be good, or agreeable to the group). One way I know this is because you don't "understand the consequences of your behavior" (how your actions affect ME for example -- at which point my survival instinct kicks in). |
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| Losing It |
[Dec. 3rd, 2004|02:17 am] |
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I only remember one other time I got mad. Junior high. I was challenged to fight someone and it was a big joke to me. Both of us were sissies. He got me down on the ground and I got spooked when I couldn't get up. I hyperventilated, snorted like a wild stallion, and kicked a little while everyone else in class stood around and laughed. "He won" (they told me... I didn't know what it meant to win or lose). I've these wild kids that come over. They don't do what I say. They rough house all the time. Tease each other. Just act "stupid" (like they have no sense... making messes and not cleaning them up, shooting rubberbands, lighting things on fire -- at worst). After the 10th or 12th time I tell them to stop shooting rubber bands and hitting me in the face ... well. I don't know what to do. It's like they want me to get mad and fight. I don't believe in it, never have. Kids these days are ... weird. So I jumped up and punched this kid after he kept shooting me in the face (I told them to stop, they wouldn't. I told them to leave, they wouldn't). Used to, I'd say: If I hit you I hate you. If I hate you, you won't be my friend (Obviously?). But guys fight and then become friends and spend most of their time picking on each other. Guess you can tell I'm upset? I'm not making good sense like I think I do most of the time. Like I'm confused. Back and forth on whether its right or not. Around and 'round like I can't make sense of it. Trying to figure out who to blame (or what I'm supposed to do). I got worried I'd go to hell for it. I figured I must be dying. When I used to "lose it" I'd go into a "hunter's calm"... I'd move in slow motion, take someone down without hurting them, protect myself. That's the kind of person I want to be when I lose control ... that's when you know who you really are inside. So, if I'm a murderer (I got angry. I tried to hurt someone. That's "murder"... just to a different degree)... if I'm a murderer, I'm condemned: To die. Or to kill myself. That's the result of "death", *death*. But I don't think it's my fault. I was provoked -- like being held down and not let up. And I think it was intentional. So I want to believe that they're murderers, not me... that I'm being blamed for their problems ... that I was set up, framed. To me, it's a spiritual problem but god didn't reach down from the sky and stop them. And I've lived a good life, really. I guess now I believe in evil where I never did before. I don't believe in "good and bad" because that's dependent on perspective (though I do believe in right and wrong). But I believe in "good and EVIL" (where an evil person is hurtful like I was ... is a good person who has been hurt too much). So deep down inside I'm still a "good" person (but maybe evil). I don't think I did a "bad" thing and I don't think I did the "wrong" thing; but, I don't want to loose evil on the world. I feel personally responsible for condemning mankind to evil by my awareness of it when, if I wasn't aware of it, I'd deny it till the end of the world. So that's "evil" (that someone can provoke someone to do something that condemns the world to evil because ...). Because why...? |
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[Nov. 30th, 2004|07:41 pm] |
I'm neurotic about losing my posts. I want to save all my writings. But, I lose them when I change servers or blogs. Anyway, here one is:
Action adventure has been the primary imaginary domain of men who, having to do what bosses say, "look forward" to the day when they are the boss (ie. make-believe killing their boss, or "father" in Freudian Oedipal terms). Women typically favor fantasy romance... where they are dying and are saved by a handsome prince on a shining stallion -- perhaps because of their history of oppression and sacrifice. Men imagine killing and women fantasize about being dead: Legend and myth institutionalize these as mental "art" forms within which The Crucifixion acts as a vanishing point in our mind-paintings -- providing dimension and perspective. It seems to me that women are only recently learning how to "think" (here I'm making a masculine biased distinction between female emotional understanding and male action-oriented cause-and-effect reasoning). So: Although these kinds of war dreams would be very common to men, for women they would surely be horrifying -- even to the point of representing "Armegeddon." This is to say, they would suggest women's passing-through death, or judgement, and attaining Revelation ... when viewed from within a paternalistic religious framework, anyway.
...
I wanted to change this to read: ... passing-through death, or REVELATION, and attaining JUDGMENT (to make the distinction between emotional, or spiritual, *revelation* and masculine *judgment*). This makes the meaning of the terms "revelation" and "judgment" more clear by translating them from the technological lingo of religion to the language of common sense.
In dream terms, this war dream is a lucid dream. I've been unpopularly known to make the distinction between lucid dreams and "flying" dreams. I like to say "if you're flying, you're dying". To me, lucid dreams are action-oriented because they deal with the dream landscape like a real-world scenario; thus they are "lucid" because approached like waking life within which the dreamer "takes charge".
Flying is dying because we can't fly in real life -- is thus not *lucid* (in the sense I use it). I've had flying dreams after dreaming I was paralyzed and giving-up. To me, the flying dream IS death. It suggests how, after dying, those giving-up life may know things they couldn't comprehend when alive (their "life flashes before their eyes"). Though *out of body* dreams may be revelatory, I see them as forms of wish-fulfillment ... they are more metaphorical than prophetic (seven golden candlesticks, seven churches, a many-headed beast, horses of the apocalypse, etc).
The lucid dream is violent but represents life to me and not death. |
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| Dreams |
[Nov. 24th, 2004|04:29 pm] |
I dreamed I modified reality, somehow (Made the assertion that "something", I don't remember, be "placed back on the first page of the website" ... metaphorical for that which is understood retroactively). Afterword, I was in the back yard of my childhood home looking up at the moon which had become 3 moons -- and then a collage of moons moving outward in all directions and, kind of, spinning. I guess messing with time, retroactively, would have some strange effects on physical existence?
My mother was there: Reminds me of that thing you did with alcohol, she said (actually I made sense out of this statement, too ... see below*). My sister came out and watched the display with us ... we all sat on lawn chairs (or I may have been laying on an incline, on my back, looking up). I was filled with a lifeforce, or energy -- was exhilarated. I awoke seeing stars. My body tingled (like jumping into a cold body of water).
The downside: I've been hobbled by society. Don't usually rise to my greatest potential -- except in dreams, maybe (and this may be a good thing considering we probably don't want 3 moons at this time ... though it didn't seem harmful in any way ... just amazing, like a light show). On the upside, I get to experience what I used to feel like, before my societal "shunting" (from a movie, The Shunting, where a bright kid was captured by his parents and other perverse society members and forced to meld his body / mind in an orgy with priests, judges, and other so-called rolemodels ... "Society waits for you," goes the song from the movie).
My mother and sister were amazed: Strangely, I think this represents women's role in emasculation of men and their revenge against me -- even though "I never fucked your mother up the ass" (something I say to my "imaginary" torturers when they hurt me for something their fathers and husbands might have done to them). For a second, in my dream, they gave me back what was (or should be) mine. Well that's how I interpret that part, anyway. They were in awe and I woke rejuvenated, for real. And I can trace this line of thinking through my mental and emotional ordeals (back to the times, 10 years ago or so, when I screamed silently that the "whores" in my mind were crippling me ... "Just trying to catch up," they'd say, "ha, ha, ha").
*About the alcohol: I used to use amphetamines, legally ... in the end. If you are well, I'd argue, they make you that much moreso (not so good if you are anxious like I tend to be these days). As an alternative now, I drink... not for the mellowing-out part, for the coming-up part the next day (what's usually understood as a hangover, the negative effects of which I medicate with aspirin and Nitol). In "women wanting revenge" terms (like paying back the blacks and indians for something your ancestors might have done... in the sense of "being owed"), the "alcohol thing" suggests my mother and sister making me pay (domestication of a sort, like "breaking" a horse ... bringing me down and then catching a ride on my back when I recover).
Would be nice if they got their own "job" instead of marrying into money and / or divorcing and taking half of everything that belongs to the man (my examples of this same process from "everyday" life)! |
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| Time Again |
[Nov. 23rd, 2004|10:56 pm] |
I thought today was Wednesday. I lost track of Tuesday. Anyway, tomorrow isn't Thanksgiving. I was looking forward to turkey.
The lady at the counter in the cig store said she hadn't had a good day mentally. I wanted to cheer her up and told her tomorrow was thanksgiving (something to look forward to). She told me I was wrong, nicely. I told her she must be mistaken, surely? She was pretty sure and I'm often wrong about the day. I backed down gracefully but wasn't sure till I put the local time and temperature channel on the TV and checked.
It feels strange to be off a day like that. I wish tomorrow were thanksgiving. |
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| Friends |
[Nov. 23rd, 2004|10:52 pm] |
I guess they were friends. I went to the store. I got back. The bottom panel of my door was busted through. Whoever kicked through the outside paneling and the inside hard wood. I say they must be friends because the hole was big enough to crawl through but no one came inside, apparently. Nothing was stolen.
Strangely, I'm not upset about the behavior of the person or persons who did this. Mostly, I'm glad I wasn't home. I would have had a serious anxiety attack listening to someone bust through my door!
I'm concerned, but not worried, about the landlord. I'm concerned because I try to be responsible. Recently someone (The same friends?) busted a hole in my wall about the size of a dinner plate. It's above my mattress. I'd wake up and feel of the hole, hurt inside like it was an injury to my own body, then roll over and go to sleep. Just when I was pretty much getting over that... the hole in the door.
I won't call the landlord and ask for another door or for anyone to fix the hole in the wall. I'll live with it for awhile. I'll likely try to patch the door for security reasons. I'd probably only make the wall worse: I'll cover it with something -- a wall hanging, blanket, or chair ... something (I may try to fix it but only if I get the proper tools and materials). |
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| Art |
[Nov. 23rd, 2004|07:21 pm] |
I used to think I could draw and paint. I did several (4 or 5) pieces. They turned out reasonably well. Oh, and there were the charcoals and pencils I did in High School art class (real "prize winners", comparatively speaking). I've some new paper, colored pens, and watercolor thanks to a nice lady I met online. But I can't paint (I did try a couple of watercolors, one of which I was only marginally happy with).
Why not?
It is time consuming. A painting takes days. A sketch maybe 10 hours. I don't have the patience. My mind wanders. Good to free associate when you have a good mind. Mine's full of unhappy thoughts, mostly.
A person who draws and paints is either an artist or a hobbyist. To be accepted in the art community, one has to be ACCEPTED by the community of artists. After calling oneself an artist (and fighting the authorities), almost anything is art. Failing to be accepted as an artist, most of it appears to be junk (not all subjective, somehow... there is a "spirit" of art seen when viewing an artist's painting that seems to be missing when a hobbyist creates).
I'm not accepted, don't want to fight about it, lack that spirit, and won't put in the time to be a hobbyist considering the expense and lack of reward -- money, fame, public appreciation, etc.
Finally, I can hardly LOOK at art anymore. I'm not worthy, I guess. If I like a Renoir, I have to "apologize" to Picasso. If I don't like a particular Renoir, I torture myself with guilt.
I could probably paint if I was drunk. That's where all my other talents went (poetry, books, movies, TV, socializing, etc). I think of drinking as "loosening up" everyone else so as to give myself permission to be artistic. It isn't socially acceptable and it isn't encouraged by your average "Joe Sixpack".
At some point I found myself being picked-on, humiliated, and ostracized to a degree beyond which I can no longer physically endure. I don't quite conform but I can't easily go against the norm, either. |
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| Too Good to Be True |
[Nov. 23rd, 2004|05:02 pm] |
My lawyer's office called and said my case was dismissed but the court house didn't have it on record so I went in this morning (after my scheduled court appearance was past due) and checked with the clerk.
I didn't want to go in. I had visions of missing my court date and being arrested. I hoped the case was dismissed: I feared it hadn't been.
I did go in. Things look ok (prosecutor filed for dismissal and paperwork isn't in yet).
I can tell I'm still a bit paranoid. Looking over my shoulder. Hiding. Not wanting to take care of business when I should. |
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