Hi, I appreciate your interest and support. Thank you. I have recently realized that knowing people will receive an email every time I hit publish has impaired my freedom of voice here. I sometimes enjoy posting very long and frequent ramblings. To be honest, I feel it would be rude to followers to do so. Also, because this is a narrative process blog, some of the material is deeply personal. I don’t mind if people read it, but I’d prefer to be blog-stalked rather than blatantly followed. So, if you have a moment, please unfollow me – unless you truly love receiving these posts.
Having a known audience, with known attributes, causes me to write with that audience in mind…and an awareness of this tendency mediates my expression. Writing becomes difficult in ways that it was not before. I wonder what people will think and I must will myself to not care. I actually don’t care…at least not very much. I established for myself a long time ago that what other people think of me says more about them than it does about me. Yet, knowing that people will receive an email about this makes it something other than what it is.
Hopefully, that was long-winded enough to prompt a couple of gracious unfollows. People can, of course, read this as they desire. It’s a sort of public art work, a woman alone in the park writing letters to herself about the sky. It’s not exactly a secret.
Lately, the search engines having been loving mustache mood rings, God and electricity and dreaming about parades.
Besides, you don’t blog your way through a “psychosis” about “proving God with clouds” and writing letters to strangers without at least a few curious site views.
I’ve never been much on followers though. I don’t keep the option up for long. I think I have about 6 or 7. If you want to keep following me, you can. Please do understand that doing means that you may receive multiple emails about lengthy posts that feature a baffling number of cloud pictures. Some people claim that clouds only look like clouds.
I don’t find that to be true.
Some of them look like letters, the beginnings of letters. They look like classical composition. They look like triangles and the golden ratio and whales and angels.
That’s what they look like to me anyway.
I am certain that I am not the only one who has been thinking and perceiving along these lines. One day, I’ll get to speak with people about this.
Thanks again for your interest and support of this narrative endeavor.
This was a running commentary for a long time. Me, remarking to myself about whatever I happened to be thinking about at the moment. Which, for a long time, was likely to be about clouds, God, saving the world, and realizing the abrupt dissolution of the constructs that defined reality as I knew it.
I understood, even at the time, that I was experiencing a sort of sudden deconstruction. I called it a crisis of simulacra, which is a concept that I only remotely comprehend as having something to do with maps and territories.
In my mind, even those words fell apart when I realized that, quite simply, we made all of this up.
Of course, that’s not true. Trees are real. Whales are real. The sleeping feet of children are real. Blood is real. Hunger is real.
However, the reasons by which all of these things exist as they do are not real. What is the land called without the names given to it by humans?
Is it called the sound of wind in grass? Who decides if the grass is worthy of growth or if the wind is a pleasure or a nuisance?
It seems ironic to me that this project, which may – in a critical and perhaps denying mind – seem to be supremely narcissistic and even megalomaniacal, finds its final point (which is, as it turns out, a very long point to make) in the knowledge that anything humans make of anything is really just an insult to the beingness of that anything…
…a tree topped and said to look much nicer, a beach that’s perfect for sunbathing, a child that one can buy if the payment is said to be high enough, an ancient city valued at no more than the bombs used to destroy it.
So, who am I to say anything about anything?
Well, who is anybody?
As I was saying, this used to be a running commentary, a place to archive whatever miscellaneous profundity the day happened to spin at me.
It really is all quite profound.
I am not sure what this is now.
I seem to have faltered.
Somehow, it seems like sort of a moot point…as I am not saying anything here that has not been said before…at least a hundred times and often far more beautifully. There are scads of literary journalists out there examining the world and reflecting it back, drawing on a thousand different primary documents. In old halls, esteemed halls, researchers are citing the review of the literature with astounding accuracy.
The world is full of artists and scientists.
So how, in God’s name, could I possibly be saying anything new?
…and yet there is the severe persistent need to say these things…because the world as not written in stone is a far more interesting and hopeful place than the world same-as-it-ever-was, when clearly it is not the same.
Things change. We create and allow change. We are instruments of our own evolution and the evolution of this planet, and thus the universe…or at least this very small corner of it.
My primary point of concern is this:
I like to remind myself that that is not true. “We all care,” I say to myself.
“We all have the capacity to care and thus we all care, because care is in us. Absence of care can only exist in relation to care and so care must be at least conceptualized in order to not care.”
Which leads me to my secondary concern:
How can this even be true? It’s all over the news how badly we’ve fucked up.
Which leads to the most fundamental of my concerns, which is that people are not able to care – due to their lives circumstances and trying to survive, or dulled by the luxury of not having to try to survive – and are actually punished for caring in ways that prove challenging to the systems that are harming the things they care about.
You’re right. It doesn’t make sense.
So, we have to know…but, we can’t care?
I keep referring to this thing that is known and must be known. What exactly am I talking about?
Truth is subjective, as is law.
The truth of man is not the truth. The law of man is not the law.
That strikes me as somewhat anarchist. I suppose it is. Why is it so terribly scandalous that someone would find fault with the primacy of human establishment on this planet?
Here’s the situation: Polar bears will be extinct by the time my oldest child is 25 years old.
…and people don’t seem to care.
Oh, they care.
Cola companies care. Wildlife funds care.
…but, clearly, they don’t care enough…because, at the current rate of global atrocity, polar bears will be extinct in almost no time at all.
It will happen fast.
You do, I’m sure, understand that the polar bear issue is just one among many.
I am only in my 30s, but I know what a world without computers is like. I do not, however, know what a world without war is like. I have spent my entire life hearing about war.
I’m tired of it.
So, I don’t know what this is.
Some days, it is a way to not completely lose my mind. Most days, it is a way of making sure that I don’t forget the truth I feel in moments…though it is that truth that threatens my footing, makes my mind slip a little.
That’s not true. It is not the truth that I reckon with that causes me to feel a little bewildered and outraged, it the distance between that truth and the world as we know it and as I must accept it.
It is the fact that there are things, many things, that I simply find unacceptable.
…genocide, for example…or Tar Sands…and the child sex trade…and chemical lobotomies…and the price of gasoline…and guns…and GMO crops…and nuclear warheads.
I just find it very hard to relax when those things are happening and exist in the world.
So, I’m not sure what this is anymore.
I guess it’s the same as it always was…an ever-changing record…a work in progress that has something to do with… everythingeverythingeverythingeverythingeverythingeverythingeverythingeverythingeverythingeverythingeverythingeverythingeverythingeverything