Notes III

In adherence to the internal logic governing such experiences

And I’m like, “rude girl why you so babies”

Well served by

Artfully enunciate the particulars of my embarrassment

Linked // wooden platform

            Sat at the edge, feet dangling beneath unseen knees

            Clenching to describe progress/kicking

Coiled tin viper

What would be required to arrest this state?

A constant broadcast signal

Reliable

Relatable

Communicatable

A tread inconstant

The Attribute!

Imagined ß---à Real

            A firm rooting in the real

            Less interesting? More productive? More stable?

            How does this relate to empathy if imagination is required for empathy?

If you love something, hurt it

If it leaves it wasn’t meant to be

If it stays, hurt it some more

Liquid in cups cracked vessels betraying their amputure rising like glass stalks in clusters in groves of wet luminescence around us

these are people

Perfection is attainable

Sorrow is beautiful

I wanna be Valjean but I’m still Javert

Post and lintel with a wide load, built to bear

Built to care, built to stare

I lost control of half my face

That was the half that was least appreciative

They ran a train on your self-esteem

Prepare to repel boarders

Set pikes to repel charge

Pulchritude, swerve

Mammon, blowing horns at Jericho

Touched his face compulsively like he was hiding behind a branch; affixed cheek to palm by twine or circumstance

Problems

Lists

I make lists. Compulsively. Part of my relationship with writing is the desire to preserve information. Looking back I see no throughline because I forget. I forget things that shouldn't be forgotten.

And so I write things down before they're gone. Albums to buy, movies to watch, groceries. Phrases. Behavioral protocols. Workout plans. Gift ideas. Symbols. Quotations. I even keep lists of things I want to spend time thinking about later. Really process and possess. Here are some of those things:

• Social Deviance - flaunting of norms is the staple of the ego complex
• Heteroglossia - the coexistance of multiple narrative voices decentralizing authority
• Homophily - tendency to associate with those who are similar and reinforce preexisting beliefs
• Rehearsal - relationship between psychopathy and rehearsal
• Hegelian Cycle - thesis, antithesis, synthesis
• Foxes vs. Hedgehogs - I have no idea what this was about
• Neil deGrasse Tyson - "History is replete with people attempting to layer their own philosophical elegance onto the Universe."
• Galvanism - ancient theory about the possible electrical basis of nerve impulses
• Stendhal Syndrome - psychosomatic illness resulting from exposure to art or beauty
• Gödel's incompleteness theorems - any system that does not contradict itself is inherently incomplete. There is no complete model

Humility

Recently I've been experiencing what could be described as a crisis of doubt. I was listening to Duncan Trussell, and was reminded of some things long forgotten. I was less calcified once. 

My position on religion, on faith generally, is well-codified by now. I have the talking points down. It is a solid platform. There are footnotes and addenda. It is perfectly defensible. Is it true? Well, that’s something else altogether.

It’s no secret that I’m angry. Beneath the cake-up make-up I’m seething from the moment God is mentioned. I go to church on Christmas because it means so much to Mom, but I spend the whole time vacillating between boredom, smugness, and disgust. I sneak glances at one of my exes as she chats with parishioners and shushes her kids. I think about how she’s holding up rather well, all things considered. I wonder if her perversions have abated or evolved. I try to text discreetly.

I otherwise avoid the matter entirely. But when that hate flares it’s ugly. I know it. I’m not proud. You may well have seen me three or four drinks in and nipping at my own lips spitting bitter shit. Religion is the bastion of the stupid, the base, the fat and bleating boors. A cudgel used to disfigure children and spread horror. The root of wars and the death of thought and the great barrier to social advancement. Throw them to the lions. It’s that real rage that only comes from disappointment. Losing Jesus was like finding out about Santa Claus and the wound bleeds still. Even when dormant it’s a sign of tectonic activity.

In calmer moments this is presented as a matter of humility – that religion in any sense is an unimaginable act of arrogance. That any human could dare claim to know the secrets of the Universe, we who know so little and the little we know so hard won. It is an act of childish fancy that deserves no more than a pat on the head.

Even more troubling than arrogance is the ingratitude. That a person could consider the vast panoply of splendors that is experience in all its forms, that he or she could take in all the colors and all the words and all the dawns and all the gasps of new life and acts of sacrifice and songs of devotion and the array of quanta and the waltzing of the cosmos and conclude:

"This is not enough. I need something more."

It’s quite an argument. But there is something to be said for scientific humility, as well. There are two types of scientists, those who labor in the trenches and those who dig them. The men and women who conduct the daily business of experiment and inquiry need not worry overly much about upsetting the apple cart. They conduct themselves within a framework that has been provided for them by their forebears. Sound familiar? Certainly they may question this or that, and may publish some very serious paper about some very serious matter and so eke out some further thrust of territory and enlarge the field.

But what of those who redefine fields entirely? The paradigm breakers who are willing to face ridicule to pursue a seemingly mad venture? Often they fail. Usually. But those who succeed are renowned as great, and does not that greatness require faith? It's imaginative work. It's construction. It's fantasy. And when that separation from the flock is met with rebuke what else but faith can sustain that fantasy?  

Is the absence of faith a weakness or a strength? 

Retrospect

Another one in the can, and so the time is ripe to assess what's come before. As if I need an excuse.

I can't leave well enough alone, and so we close out 2012 with an old-fashioned bridge burning. I'm a giant asshole for trying to preserve a friendship with someone I cared so much about. Fuck me, right?

Actually...yeah.

It was a false premise. Truth is I'm still in love with my ex-girlfriend. I thought I could be Joe Cool about the whole situation but that was clearly not the case. Ten minutes in and I'm nauseous. So I push "the talk." What did I want to talk about? Who the hell knows. I thought we could salvage something but it wasn't friendship. It was the same process of defibrillation we've used the last few times things slid into cardiac arrest. "Oh, you're not feeling it? CLEAR!"

A little nostalgia and a lot of vodka. Do not recommend.

So here we are, and there's decent odds that we'll never speak again. It's really a shame. Before I got pulled out by the pity undertow I was sincerely interested in transitioning into friends. I really cared about her - more than anyone I've been with for years. You shouldn't throw something like that away just because the romance failed. And let's face it, it failed long before the move. Neither of us was really satisfied and there was no indication that that would change. But despite whatever intentions I began with I wasn't ready. I should have waited.

The moral of this story is that being an adult means controlling your goddamn feelings. Being sensitive is not a license to roll around on the floor like a child. Man up.

Looking forward, there is much to do. The solution is not to find someone who can provide whatever resource it is that I lack, but rather to learn how to generate that resource on my own. Be the type of person who you would respect.

The self-loathing that characterizes so many of my poor behavioral choices, from social hesitance to excess drinking, is rooted in a lack of self-respect. The thing I'm afraid to say is that part of fixating on a particular girl is the belief that I can't do better. It's fear-based, and like all fear-based thinking it is as flawed as it is reactionary. I don't believe that I'm worthy of someone like Katie. And you know what? I'm not. It's time to stop lashing out at others and feeling sorry for myself. Don't like your life? Change it.

And so we move into Phase Three. From the initial tragedy of KotB we dropped weight and rewired a bit. It's now time to do the finishing work needed to realize my potential. Time is running out.

Considering migrating this blog to Tumblr.