We don't give up on our dreams, no. but we've seen enough to see what's happened before, to those who un-tether their life lines and aim for the sky. they float away, gradually deflating into disappointment. they may have purchased a lie. Sold in every corner of their Mama and Papa's belief in them. In america and on the pictures, and in the schools. the lie of our own brilliance, not yours. they do it and float on and not know where they are, but maybe by a sound coming off a speaker or a phrase a teacher spoke. A teacher they now feel ambivalence for. Go and float to what you thought of you, yesterday. They float take some wounds, leaking out an essential air. Picking at well-intended scabs, thin-skin hardens, callous over "these times" so unfair. because faith's not there, healing not here. And I'll tell you why, it's because on this flight there is no fucking way to steer. So whimper out, sink in soft whines, but at too high a distance to touch back down--to reconsider. Some can touch again. Guilt can bring you back. Joy. Sin, resolve of goodness. Some other girl did it when you couldn't decide. Or simply, decimated pride. Nobody knows the how, nobody can re-sing the song that commences inside. Some get gifted the want to play along. To ante up and discover the value of responsibility. The lucky ones have babies. Or hurt too deep. The lucky ones get left with no choice in the matter. Get the anime, elan vital, the verve, with sparks and all. How's it come? All things considered, what makes Johnny run? Lips no longer serviceable. I mean, here we stand got two feet rough ground steady eyes, deep-focused. Limited for sure, but still can take us pretty far. Not knowing how far. Not knowing where to. But once we get there, we know we'll be able to see further. No longer sorting through used copies of the "Myth of the Straight Line." Here we stand, considering the vast burden of others. Here we wander, seeing the stars in the sky, and maybe sometimes feeling so close to them. Underneath this tasteful backdrop--not too dark, but never too hot. Just sufficiently bright. Warmed by the life those stars sent, and warmed by that same thing they gave our friends. We don't give up, no. we walk. we run. and we walk when we get tired again. we don't fly though, never no. because we don't wanna miss out like before. I mean, the dreams might even be close too, yet we don't feel like sleeping anymore. Many are good and we are not them by design.
Sep 30, 2011
Aug 29, 2011
In-dig-nance
RW Emerson on change in an individual, as pulled from Robert D. Richardson's biography _Emerson: The : Mind on Fire_:
"'Fear for ages has boded and mowed and gibbered," [Emerson] says. 'There is a crack in everything'; we face not only opportunity but 'this running sea of circumstance. [Change occurs]
in proportion to the vigor of the individual, these revolutions (changes) are frequent, until in some happier mind they are incessant, and all worldly relations hang very loosely about him, becoming, as it were, a transparent fluid membrane through which the living form is seen, and not, in most men, an indurated heterogenous fabric of many dates and of no settled character, in which the man is imprisoned. Then there can be no enlargement, and the man of today scarcely recognizes the man of yesterday. And such should be the outward biography of a man in time, a putting off of dead circumstance day by day, as he renews his raiment day by day."
That quote I very half-understand feels very deep. I have been told to surrender to life's terms a lot these past few years. Every day forever. I highly value this concept. Let's just say...to my friends, yes those friends....I totally get it, alright? I get happy I got to where I did and got to surrender at the tender young (but old enough) age of 28. Once I stopped fighting, everything happened for me. I was sick on a whole bunch of things I wasn't capable of understanding and yet still fighting like I understood them. I still don't think I understand a whole lot, but I understand what Emerson is talking about...in "Self-Reliance," in "History," and in "Nature." In "Love," and "Friendship" and "Circles." Certainly, if we have access to anything that is solely ours it might be the shaft of light that shines in and out of our inner-core upon our experience. How that light changes, extends into our environment, and how to use it are what I think about. I feel lately that it is merely those who insist on the simple fact that yes, I do have light and it is uniquely mine, who are able to forge a path based on that poetic, over-soul, unique sensibility, etc. etc.-thingy Emerson loves and that I just can't give up on. Can't surrender my desire to. And its insistence to be expressed, to OTHERS, drives me and frustrates me and separates me and makes me feel down and jubilant and so stupid-smart you wouldn't believe. The drive for the expression trumps all right now. Hungry lonely....Hmmm, that is interesting, what do I have to say about it? Insight to gain from it? I don't know why it doesn't feel real and the part of me that is what I'm supposed to be worries me, but the experience is beautiful too. There is always the logical worry. And just as I was taught, it's best to operate when under the impression that you have something to lose. Right? This is why it feels ok. I declare nothing. I have nothing, which isn't to say I don't have anything--but sacrificing more and more makes one think about these things. It starts to make one think that, well, whatever's lost, I am just OK. My light is OK. And something surely can be gained. Attachment to outcomes certainly bears less and less reason as it goes, and one starts to suspect, "...life may be much easier and more simple than we make it out to be." And that, "The way of life is wonderful. It is by abandonment." (RWE, naturally.)
I don't even know anything well enough yet, or any non-material things' actual application and value to life, but this little light that took glow and saw its capabilities upon a commencement of a more courageous angle on life is all that can afford to matter right now. And the state of the glow often feels like life and death. Not just to keep the glow, but to glow upon the glow, and to show the glow. To feel its warmth, to build upon. I am very protective of it. And the only real fear is not having it within me. I feel as though life cannot reject me, if it is within. It is ok to fear then--it is ok to fear the unified Universe, and to revere Her too. Hence the fear, and the drive. Sometimes I exist in connection with it for a few days at a time and those days dance. Mostly I think how to foster my light and how it shines upon my plot of land. How to nest it and nuzzle it, and most importantly, how NOT to bemoan it, and so it becomes the impetus for all this change.
Reading Emerson lately has given me a lot of renewed vigor in fighting for the change. Welcoming it, and loving it. Because it has wanted to stop for awhile now. Not stop as much as even out and plateau. My transformation, almost an entity of its own by now, was sitting in the in between place. Confused, doubtful and tempted to slow. That my wild passions (don't let exteriors fool) should be surrendered and refined. That the "society" man should take root and the youth shall fall away. But no! Instead I shaved my beard to feel like a kid again. I went swimming and started to feel timid and curious and natural in that state again. And then there's the wonder. And the refusal to figure out, but instead to ask more. Why? Why? Why? Why? Oh.....But why?
A theme of late, besides I do NOT want your advice, is that I feel like my own spurned lover fighting hard to get me back. This is odd, a bit romantic, and self-centered, yes. But it is true. I felt myself not being genuine. I felt all my hot-centers sprouting uncomfortably from my head again when they were slip-sliding around in my heart just a few months ago. I'm thinking so much about being good enough or not--my mind tends to generate the same N-O with that one. I know what I have and what to own up to. None of it is material. But, hell, any criminal, Republican, suburbanite, or yuppie can have material things. It doesn't take much interesting to get things, so why for me then? What my thing, I declared in a happy daze, was--was an aim for sincerity. And still is. I need to aim for heart or I'm doomed to indecision and confusion. Fear has gibbered and mowed and here is the crack in me. Look at it. Opportunity. Summer of 2011 has been the summer when many of my imagined circumstantial fears came perfectly true. They weren't big, but scary movies being played out in front of my own pitted and powerless guts. Not only was I fine in the aftermath, it is turning out I am exponentially the better for it. I really mean that. It just doesn't mean there's not friction still. That there is thing called emotional tolerance--and feeling that I get to learn right now. That because they are feelings does not mean I shall feel bad about having them. That I have feelings, there is this blessing attached, and not a curse of shame. Of course I want to live my life like a man in love, at his highest point when in union with beyond-human things AND know how it will turn out--take a little insurance out that I'm banking on the right thing. But I can also just have heart, and see about it, feeling my way through outcomes with an appetite, and hitting a sleep every night feeling decent about my effort. There is nothing like the good feeling of effort. What a romantic, actualizeable, and hard-fought notion of living day to day, eh?
Well, in the present I am a bit lonely and restless and a young man healthier than ever--vital in body, fragile in mind, gentle in spirit, and so the possibility is real for this. It is not something to declare surrender to. To give up on. I surrender my mind about this. My need for outcomes. My past. But I want to have a very direct experience, moving forward, with my God-given instincts. I know I can still fight, and I can learn for the next fight. The instincts are not bad. It's just that THOSE are the things that need refinement, change, experience and missteps, and self-forgiveness. Those will send me spinning into a life I can bring my light to. And apply the type of effort and attitude that feels really good. And if I can believe that even though life often stays hard for a while, the specific issues of the present will change, will get easier. I believe this and so yes, count me in. I really had to be reminded that the context of right now it a season-- and seasons pass. And new things come. They will be hard too but they will be different. Life's not easy, and come to think of it, I don't know if I want one that is.
I wish that I could put somebody in my eyes for a day and explain to them how full and rich it feels sometimes, especially in these vague ways of how I am forming my relationship with the Universe. The transition of past state to new one is when I feel most enthusiastic. And when I grow. Then people might stop wondering and saying things like, I need to do it this way. It is complex. At times I do need a lot of guidance. But my beauty comes in flashes and disappears, and that is my work right now. I have been able to catch the star a few times here and there. Draw it out, name it, and build upon my general impressions of how to cultivate and tune my perceptions in to the rushing and natural speed of Life. And to glow. But not enough now not yet. More work. More sight. More sounds. Heart wide-open and exposed...faith it will weather fine and find more room to fill. It will. Because I am looking at the target and not the arrow.
"In the hour of vision, there is nothing that can be called gratitude, nor properly joy." I surrender to you big dreams, restlessness, and oversight. I will be dissatisfied and indignant until something says when because I am human. I am not satisfied by no other than the coming of the Lord. At least until a few more chips fall. Or my eyes or knees start to go. The heart can only gain acceptance certain ways--not by words, not by force. The gift of this all just still feels WAY TOO big to even out and settle.
"'Fear for ages has boded and mowed and gibbered," [Emerson] says. 'There is a crack in everything'; we face not only opportunity but 'this running sea of circumstance. [Change occurs]
in proportion to the vigor of the individual, these revolutions (changes) are frequent, until in some happier mind they are incessant, and all worldly relations hang very loosely about him, becoming, as it were, a transparent fluid membrane through which the living form is seen, and not, in most men, an indurated heterogenous fabric of many dates and of no settled character, in which the man is imprisoned. Then there can be no enlargement, and the man of today scarcely recognizes the man of yesterday. And such should be the outward biography of a man in time, a putting off of dead circumstance day by day, as he renews his raiment day by day."
That quote I very half-understand feels very deep. I have been told to surrender to life's terms a lot these past few years. Every day forever. I highly value this concept. Let's just say...to my friends, yes those friends....I totally get it, alright? I get happy I got to where I did and got to surrender at the tender young (but old enough) age of 28. Once I stopped fighting, everything happened for me. I was sick on a whole bunch of things I wasn't capable of understanding and yet still fighting like I understood them. I still don't think I understand a whole lot, but I understand what Emerson is talking about...in "Self-Reliance," in "History," and in "Nature." In "Love," and "Friendship" and "Circles." Certainly, if we have access to anything that is solely ours it might be the shaft of light that shines in and out of our inner-core upon our experience. How that light changes, extends into our environment, and how to use it are what I think about. I feel lately that it is merely those who insist on the simple fact that yes, I do have light and it is uniquely mine, who are able to forge a path based on that poetic, over-soul, unique sensibility, etc. etc.-thingy Emerson loves and that I just can't give up on. Can't surrender my desire to. And its insistence to be expressed, to OTHERS, drives me and frustrates me and separates me and makes me feel down and jubilant and so stupid-smart you wouldn't believe. The drive for the expression trumps all right now. Hungry lonely....Hmmm, that is interesting, what do I have to say about it? Insight to gain from it? I don't know why it doesn't feel real and the part of me that is what I'm supposed to be worries me, but the experience is beautiful too. There is always the logical worry. And just as I was taught, it's best to operate when under the impression that you have something to lose. Right? This is why it feels ok. I declare nothing. I have nothing, which isn't to say I don't have anything--but sacrificing more and more makes one think about these things. It starts to make one think that, well, whatever's lost, I am just OK. My light is OK. And something surely can be gained. Attachment to outcomes certainly bears less and less reason as it goes, and one starts to suspect, "...life may be much easier and more simple than we make it out to be." And that, "The way of life is wonderful. It is by abandonment." (RWE, naturally.)
I don't even know anything well enough yet, or any non-material things' actual application and value to life, but this little light that took glow and saw its capabilities upon a commencement of a more courageous angle on life is all that can afford to matter right now. And the state of the glow often feels like life and death. Not just to keep the glow, but to glow upon the glow, and to show the glow. To feel its warmth, to build upon. I am very protective of it. And the only real fear is not having it within me. I feel as though life cannot reject me, if it is within. It is ok to fear then--it is ok to fear the unified Universe, and to revere Her too. Hence the fear, and the drive. Sometimes I exist in connection with it for a few days at a time and those days dance. Mostly I think how to foster my light and how it shines upon my plot of land. How to nest it and nuzzle it, and most importantly, how NOT to bemoan it, and so it becomes the impetus for all this change.
Reading Emerson lately has given me a lot of renewed vigor in fighting for the change. Welcoming it, and loving it. Because it has wanted to stop for awhile now. Not stop as much as even out and plateau. My transformation, almost an entity of its own by now, was sitting in the in between place. Confused, doubtful and tempted to slow. That my wild passions (don't let exteriors fool) should be surrendered and refined. That the "society" man should take root and the youth shall fall away. But no! Instead I shaved my beard to feel like a kid again. I went swimming and started to feel timid and curious and natural in that state again. And then there's the wonder. And the refusal to figure out, but instead to ask more. Why? Why? Why? Why? Oh.....But why?
A theme of late, besides I do NOT want your advice, is that I feel like my own spurned lover fighting hard to get me back. This is odd, a bit romantic, and self-centered, yes. But it is true. I felt myself not being genuine. I felt all my hot-centers sprouting uncomfortably from my head again when they were slip-sliding around in my heart just a few months ago. I'm thinking so much about being good enough or not--my mind tends to generate the same N-O with that one. I know what I have and what to own up to. None of it is material. But, hell, any criminal, Republican, suburbanite, or yuppie can have material things. It doesn't take much interesting to get things, so why for me then? What my thing, I declared in a happy daze, was--was an aim for sincerity. And still is. I need to aim for heart or I'm doomed to indecision and confusion. Fear has gibbered and mowed and here is the crack in me. Look at it. Opportunity. Summer of 2011 has been the summer when many of my imagined circumstantial fears came perfectly true. They weren't big, but scary movies being played out in front of my own pitted and powerless guts. Not only was I fine in the aftermath, it is turning out I am exponentially the better for it. I really mean that. It just doesn't mean there's not friction still. That there is thing called emotional tolerance--and feeling that I get to learn right now. That because they are feelings does not mean I shall feel bad about having them. That I have feelings, there is this blessing attached, and not a curse of shame. Of course I want to live my life like a man in love, at his highest point when in union with beyond-human things AND know how it will turn out--take a little insurance out that I'm banking on the right thing. But I can also just have heart, and see about it, feeling my way through outcomes with an appetite, and hitting a sleep every night feeling decent about my effort. There is nothing like the good feeling of effort. What a romantic, actualizeable, and hard-fought notion of living day to day, eh?
Well, in the present I am a bit lonely and restless and a young man healthier than ever--vital in body, fragile in mind, gentle in spirit, and so the possibility is real for this. It is not something to declare surrender to. To give up on. I surrender my mind about this. My need for outcomes. My past. But I want to have a very direct experience, moving forward, with my God-given instincts. I know I can still fight, and I can learn for the next fight. The instincts are not bad. It's just that THOSE are the things that need refinement, change, experience and missteps, and self-forgiveness. Those will send me spinning into a life I can bring my light to. And apply the type of effort and attitude that feels really good. And if I can believe that even though life often stays hard for a while, the specific issues of the present will change, will get easier. I believe this and so yes, count me in. I really had to be reminded that the context of right now it a season-- and seasons pass. And new things come. They will be hard too but they will be different. Life's not easy, and come to think of it, I don't know if I want one that is.
I wish that I could put somebody in my eyes for a day and explain to them how full and rich it feels sometimes, especially in these vague ways of how I am forming my relationship with the Universe. The transition of past state to new one is when I feel most enthusiastic. And when I grow. Then people might stop wondering and saying things like, I need to do it this way. It is complex. At times I do need a lot of guidance. But my beauty comes in flashes and disappears, and that is my work right now. I have been able to catch the star a few times here and there. Draw it out, name it, and build upon my general impressions of how to cultivate and tune my perceptions in to the rushing and natural speed of Life. And to glow. But not enough now not yet. More work. More sight. More sounds. Heart wide-open and exposed...faith it will weather fine and find more room to fill. It will. Because I am looking at the target and not the arrow.
"In the hour of vision, there is nothing that can be called gratitude, nor properly joy." I surrender to you big dreams, restlessness, and oversight. I will be dissatisfied and indignant until something says when because I am human. I am not satisfied by no other than the coming of the Lord. At least until a few more chips fall. Or my eyes or knees start to go. The heart can only gain acceptance certain ways--not by words, not by force. The gift of this all just still feels WAY TOO big to even out and settle.
Aug 22, 2011
The logic of Spiritual Assistance....
A person has just figured out how to wade water in the middle of a vast sea, and the person is not very good at it. They are tired, unsure if they are going to make it but pretty sure they can. The person is traveling with enough weight that it takes a lot of effort to just keep their head above water. A second person, with more weight, and even less experience comes by, asking for the first person to please take some weight off of their shoulders. The first person agrees, and takes on some of their weight. Upon doing so, the person sky rockets to the surface and floats, arms and legs resting and knowing they will make it somewhere safe and protected....
An experienced roofer brings an apprentice roofer to a new construction house. It is hot, the roof is at a steep pitch, and it appears to the experienced roofer that it's going to be a long hard day. He has seen these kinds of days before and knows they will need a lot of water and they will have to work through lunch, and so he goes to the store to load up on enough supplies for the unforgiving summer day. Upon returning from the store, the apprentice roofer has completed shingling the entire roof. The experienced roofer says "How did you ever finish that?" And the apprentice says, "I am not sure. I had spiritual assistance."
An experienced roofer brings an apprentice roofer to a new construction house. It is hot, the roof is at a steep pitch, and it appears to the experienced roofer that it's going to be a long hard day. He has seen these kinds of days before and knows they will need a lot of water and they will have to work through lunch, and so he goes to the store to load up on enough supplies for the unforgiving summer day. Upon returning from the store, the apprentice roofer has completed shingling the entire roof. The experienced roofer says "How did you ever finish that?" And the apprentice says, "I am not sure. I had spiritual assistance."
Aug 4, 2011
Notes from state-comissioned job interview class
How come the expectation for "when our dreams come true" is that it is the reality conforming to our dreams and not our dreams changing for the reality? Why bemoan the death of what never felt good? Or at least in-reach, with anything but phantom fingertips? If we could all understand the process of engineering our dreams based on an amusement and affection for experience, wouldn't that help a lot? The seeds of dreams usually die and the disenfranchised many shirk and shrink, but don't we along the way forget the circumstances those dreams came from? Maybe a time you'd look back on, and think, man, I was so foolish then. But the dreams still demand water and the disenfranchised adult humans are always talking about revolution--the kind whose seed is anger. The disenfranchised has also felt like my imagination, which once was my entire idea of myself, and that might be sick and withering. More likely it is still undefined, or redefining itself. The first question of a job interview generally goes something like, "Tell me about yourself." See, I am a human being and I DO have needs, yes I do. That's one thing that I am today. A man that can now say that. Know me, here and now, and shame please kindly exit. I steal too, like the following thought from Emerson: To simply know thyself falls short--Revere Thyself! That is about me. The fading sound of disenfranchisement is a welcome relief. It gives me a feeling of digging in to life, rather than standing at its boundaries, hoping for someone to notice me. Life sometimes even looks fun under the florescent lights, I think. These are the thoughts of a truly daring creature. The other wallflower whistling in the dark was the dude who imagined what he'd say when somebody cared to know, and what was thought to say is sharpened and lovely, but nobody ever asked except one or two. What ended up being said always came out in crazy nonsensical waves of poorly executed big-word strings, lip trembles, and looks of am-i-good-enough?Answer-me! expectations. I think they tended to get the idea that I still may not know who I am very well. (Back to the interview.) Well, I am sure now who I am. I am that I don't know who I am. With a mind to Revere what I am. And as Mr. Head with the droopy neck, the instructor who can't emphasize enough how to definitively end your remarks, would say: "That is the answer."
It is a bad feeling for people to have an encounter with me not really knowing anything about me upon leaving. This happens in all parts of my life and always has. At best I have been mysterious and an intrigue--generally, closed off, reserved, reticent, aloof, and/or painfully shy. Mystery is better left to personal thought I'm starting to conclude. And maybe the intimate trust of only a few. A special few who are not exempt from interviewing too--they must jump through my hoops, be there in distress and invite me to theirs. Be patient when I am clearly sniffing the wrong paths out and demanding that I don't give up. Be both reasonable and faithful--which, mind you, are not contradicting states. It just takes time to establish both things in one relationship. These few friends, family members, and loved ones get to see my Mystery and I get to seek theirs. And the rest, I'm starting to surrender to the fact that I need a straight(best foot)forward version of me too. Because this me has needs that must be met. Else I run the risk of withering into something I couldn't stand to be. A heel. A waste of space, except to an old acquaintance--Shame. I keep finding myself bound by my human bones. But off somewhere else. Trying to justify the space they are taking, rather than working with the space they are occupying. Assumedly, my torso will soon be filling out a chair in somebody's office and they will have something I do need and I can either ramble about how to justify my space there in that moment (the only thing I know how to do right now) or I can look them in the eye and tell them how I will make them money and show up on time and get along well with others. Which I feel confident I can do--for some odd reason it just seems more important to justify myself first. Um, the bones beat the mind, best three out of always. My mind says too much to listen to. The simple laws of behavior and habit may feel like mine to follow, but in truth they are my master. Because human behavior is actually Nature's. So, it spawns a lot of conventions--something Mr. Head with the droopy neck knows all about. Sit knees forward, hands gently folded into one another. No crossing of anything, ever. Only say sir. Not ma'am. Never tell them you have kids. If you do a pre-screen on the phone, then shave if you shave. Put on a suit. No talking beyond thirty seconds. We don't listen beyond thirty seconds. It just takes a slight bit of resistance to show me how I suffer for the assumption that conventions do not apply to me. Mr. Head knows how the scenario of a job interview applies to everybody (which is now me, too).
So while we are here, in the interview class, here are some of my Notes:
--Don't always tell everything to anyone, especially lovers and employers.
--There's always time, just panic doesn't tell you so.
--Clear gestures of goodwill and equality among people always goes appreciated.
--Calm, sane, reasonable, and curious interactions are lovely.
--Questions, ears too.
--They size you up, size 'em back. No contempt, no competition.
--Just ask and listen. Just answer and value what you say. Then shut up.
--The positives are short. The negatives, only if they must come up, have a story. Dive in and tell it.
--Don't empty your heart out in the whole of what is said, so as to make sure you have a little blood left on reserve. Blood to use and travel by. Blood, the carrier of life.
--Mr. Head, with the droopy neck, knows more than me.
It is a bad feeling for people to have an encounter with me not really knowing anything about me upon leaving. This happens in all parts of my life and always has. At best I have been mysterious and an intrigue--generally, closed off, reserved, reticent, aloof, and/or painfully shy. Mystery is better left to personal thought I'm starting to conclude. And maybe the intimate trust of only a few. A special few who are not exempt from interviewing too--they must jump through my hoops, be there in distress and invite me to theirs. Be patient when I am clearly sniffing the wrong paths out and demanding that I don't give up. Be both reasonable and faithful--which, mind you, are not contradicting states. It just takes time to establish both things in one relationship. These few friends, family members, and loved ones get to see my Mystery and I get to seek theirs. And the rest, I'm starting to surrender to the fact that I need a straight(best foot)forward version of me too. Because this me has needs that must be met. Else I run the risk of withering into something I couldn't stand to be. A heel. A waste of space, except to an old acquaintance--Shame. I keep finding myself bound by my human bones. But off somewhere else. Trying to justify the space they are taking, rather than working with the space they are occupying. Assumedly, my torso will soon be filling out a chair in somebody's office and they will have something I do need and I can either ramble about how to justify my space there in that moment (the only thing I know how to do right now) or I can look them in the eye and tell them how I will make them money and show up on time and get along well with others. Which I feel confident I can do--for some odd reason it just seems more important to justify myself first. Um, the bones beat the mind, best three out of always. My mind says too much to listen to. The simple laws of behavior and habit may feel like mine to follow, but in truth they are my master. Because human behavior is actually Nature's. So, it spawns a lot of conventions--something Mr. Head with the droopy neck knows all about. Sit knees forward, hands gently folded into one another. No crossing of anything, ever. Only say sir. Not ma'am. Never tell them you have kids. If you do a pre-screen on the phone, then shave if you shave. Put on a suit. No talking beyond thirty seconds. We don't listen beyond thirty seconds. It just takes a slight bit of resistance to show me how I suffer for the assumption that conventions do not apply to me. Mr. Head knows how the scenario of a job interview applies to everybody (which is now me, too).
So while we are here, in the interview class, here are some of my Notes:
--Don't always tell everything to anyone, especially lovers and employers.
--There's always time, just panic doesn't tell you so.
--Clear gestures of goodwill and equality among people always goes appreciated.
--Calm, sane, reasonable, and curious interactions are lovely.
--Questions, ears too.
--They size you up, size 'em back. No contempt, no competition.
--Just ask and listen. Just answer and value what you say. Then shut up.
--The positives are short. The negatives, only if they must come up, have a story. Dive in and tell it.
--Don't empty your heart out in the whole of what is said, so as to make sure you have a little blood left on reserve. Blood to use and travel by. Blood, the carrier of life.
--Mr. Head, with the droopy neck, knows more than me.
It feels better this way. Taking notes. I noticed everyone in that class really hard. We all have "barriers" in getting steady employment, they say. They say it like they mean everyone, even those with jobs, but us in this room, well it really seems like we do and maybe they mean just us. Only about one of us knows what these barriers are. Mr. Head, with the droopy neck. He is an orphan of a veteran, we found out today as he ran through the state application with himself as a stand-in applicant. His qualifications to teach us, so far as I could tell, was the he had a job. We didn't. Most everything else for Mr. Head was "NA." It was very important he said that when writing NA on the state application that we didn't write "N.A." or "N/A" or "Not Applicable." And why? Because it says to. And just as Mr. Head was about to blurt out the holy grail answer about what to say when this thing that happened to me once came up...a man's hand shot up, "What if you just got out of prison?" Distraction. Dammit. But hat's how the scenario applied to him. The answer for all of us, said Mr. Head: Always tell the story. Don't be afraid. Give the negative answers the long way, which he went on to do. The positives, the short way. Great. Got it.
And so of our deeper exploration into employment barriers, which now were starting to take the proportions of what it was that was keeping us from being part of the human race, we finally get told in a mercy-cold way, that it is OK. We are loved anyway. But I'll tell you what, it's eternally delightful and amusing to watch us try and become. Just like the girl, whose drained expression hints that all of her energies required to feign an interest have transferred into her Cricket-mashing fingers, well, just like her shirt says in multi-colored font: "Every Damn Day!" We all be funny asking funny things every damn day. Just trying to become every damn day. Because what's funny is we don't know that we are being empowered there. Into taxpayers? "That is the answer." Into humans? Well, that depends. At least for today, each of one of us there, well our dreams ain't true. But there is power to be had somewhere. Once a little listen is had. I am convinced of this and today I for one am listening.
There was an example given by the teacher about the interview before the interview, small talk pre-questions like in the lobby of an imaginary interview: "What's your favorite kind of dog?" the ever-esteemed bi-monthly check collector might ask. Know your answer, own it, and don't say something like Rottweiler or Poodle. No powder keg breeds. Certainly those four walls aren't a space for controversy. And while being regaled with a story about how Mr. Head with the droopy neck actually came to like poodles after his wife insisted on getting one, a very literal Asian man raised his hand. He confessed he knew nothing of dogs and would have no idea how to answer that question. So what should he say? The reply, "The answer is Labrador. Say a Lab."
"But I don't know what that is, and so what would I have said in that case."
"Well now you do know. Look up Labrador Retriever on the computer. Everybody likes them. The answer is Labrador. See for yourself." The student scribbles down the answer in his spiral. That is how the scenario applies to him.
Me, see I know how to ask questions. All prideful, nervous, young and healthy, placed high in all the assessment exams. Troubled past. In image I may have them right where I want them. Walking potential with a new-found interest in the actual. I'm jobless. I'm too mental and emotionally volatile to be self-supporting. I'm congenial and ashamed. Submissive but still full of pride. I know this all and am still at a severe advantage over the room full of people with an entire history of eating under a roof every day. Cause they old. Because today's companies have said so. Mr. Head, himself, acknowledged it. But I'm sitting there (again, I'm there) in my working prime broke smart deep unsure trying to grow MY plot of land in this life and I raise my hand and say something to the effect of: "What about answering when they ask about my weaknesses? What do I say then." On the way home driving I laughed out loud thinking back on this. I was trying to think about it from Mr. Head's head. Glaring the weaknesses be, fool. That's how that scenario applies to me.
But when I see how it applies to everybody, my dreams look different. And I will be working then. And soon. This truth feels ok. And easy. And I have a deep affection for it. I woke up and didn't expect the day to unfold quite like this day. And I can say that for most. When I write and think carefully, there is redemption. When I don't, there is not. I am angry. I want revolution. I am gifted everything in this life and I can seek redemption or not. Break down the barriers if you must, but one thing that me and the State of Texas and Mr. Head can all agree on is that I am a dislocated seeker. And that's OK. For now. There was this man sitting next to me, I daresay about 18 years late on the matter of cell phone etiquette, who interrupted class by answering his phone and what we could hear instead of the teacher's voice for a minute was, "I am at the Work Center. I am at an interview class with the job force, and I guess we are learning how to do interviews better," etc. etc. I love these moments in public when somebody answers their phone and starts explaining everything that is around them. You start to listen carefully and feel a heightened importance in playing a role in the scene being described for an off-stage stranger. This is a scenario invented by modern times. Something that didn't used to happen eighteen years ago. It takes on the amount of meaning that you want to put into it. In that class it wasn't just me feeling important. I saw some nodding, all hyper aware that yes(!) we are at the Workforce and we are getting tips on interviews and maybe we do need to get better. Together. Revere Ourselves! This is how the scenario applies to us! Tempted again, I was, by one of these meta-moments of comedic imaginings--the brilliance of all the workings under the florescent light--my current mantra at once reminded me of and deflected my revelations: Do Not Go Off Somewhere Else! In a humbled state of self-love and present for the State of Texas employment services, it felt like a splash of water on this drying summer seed. Next time I can speak to who I am maybe. Clearly. And then shut up. And to have hope in a drought? The truly daring creature proceeds.
And so of our deeper exploration into employment barriers, which now were starting to take the proportions of what it was that was keeping us from being part of the human race, we finally get told in a mercy-cold way, that it is OK. We are loved anyway. But I'll tell you what, it's eternally delightful and amusing to watch us try and become. Just like the girl, whose drained expression hints that all of her energies required to feign an interest have transferred into her Cricket-mashing fingers, well, just like her shirt says in multi-colored font: "Every Damn Day!" We all be funny asking funny things every damn day. Just trying to become every damn day. Because what's funny is we don't know that we are being empowered there. Into taxpayers? "That is the answer." Into humans? Well, that depends. At least for today, each of one of us there, well our dreams ain't true. But there is power to be had somewhere. Once a little listen is had. I am convinced of this and today I for one am listening.
There was an example given by the teacher about the interview before the interview, small talk pre-questions like in the lobby of an imaginary interview: "What's your favorite kind of dog?" the ever-esteemed bi-monthly check collector might ask. Know your answer, own it, and don't say something like Rottweiler or Poodle. No powder keg breeds. Certainly those four walls aren't a space for controversy. And while being regaled with a story about how Mr. Head with the droopy neck actually came to like poodles after his wife insisted on getting one, a very literal Asian man raised his hand. He confessed he knew nothing of dogs and would have no idea how to answer that question. So what should he say? The reply, "The answer is Labrador. Say a Lab."
"But I don't know what that is, and so what would I have said in that case."
"Well now you do know. Look up Labrador Retriever on the computer. Everybody likes them. The answer is Labrador. See for yourself." The student scribbles down the answer in his spiral. That is how the scenario applies to him.
Me, see I know how to ask questions. All prideful, nervous, young and healthy, placed high in all the assessment exams. Troubled past. In image I may have them right where I want them. Walking potential with a new-found interest in the actual. I'm jobless. I'm too mental and emotionally volatile to be self-supporting. I'm congenial and ashamed. Submissive but still full of pride. I know this all and am still at a severe advantage over the room full of people with an entire history of eating under a roof every day. Cause they old. Because today's companies have said so. Mr. Head, himself, acknowledged it. But I'm sitting there (again, I'm there) in my working prime broke smart deep unsure trying to grow MY plot of land in this life and I raise my hand and say something to the effect of: "What about answering when they ask about my weaknesses? What do I say then." On the way home driving I laughed out loud thinking back on this. I was trying to think about it from Mr. Head's head. Glaring the weaknesses be, fool. That's how that scenario applies to me.
But when I see how it applies to everybody, my dreams look different. And I will be working then. And soon. This truth feels ok. And easy. And I have a deep affection for it. I woke up and didn't expect the day to unfold quite like this day. And I can say that for most. When I write and think carefully, there is redemption. When I don't, there is not. I am angry. I want revolution. I am gifted everything in this life and I can seek redemption or not. Break down the barriers if you must, but one thing that me and the State of Texas and Mr. Head can all agree on is that I am a dislocated seeker. And that's OK. For now. There was this man sitting next to me, I daresay about 18 years late on the matter of cell phone etiquette, who interrupted class by answering his phone and what we could hear instead of the teacher's voice for a minute was, "I am at the Work Center. I am at an interview class with the job force, and I guess we are learning how to do interviews better," etc. etc. I love these moments in public when somebody answers their phone and starts explaining everything that is around them. You start to listen carefully and feel a heightened importance in playing a role in the scene being described for an off-stage stranger. This is a scenario invented by modern times. Something that didn't used to happen eighteen years ago. It takes on the amount of meaning that you want to put into it. In that class it wasn't just me feeling important. I saw some nodding, all hyper aware that yes(!) we are at the Workforce and we are getting tips on interviews and maybe we do need to get better. Together. Revere Ourselves! This is how the scenario applies to us! Tempted again, I was, by one of these meta-moments of comedic imaginings--the brilliance of all the workings under the florescent light--my current mantra at once reminded me of and deflected my revelations: Do Not Go Off Somewhere Else! In a humbled state of self-love and present for the State of Texas employment services, it felt like a splash of water on this drying summer seed. Next time I can speak to who I am maybe. Clearly. And then shut up. And to have hope in a drought? The truly daring creature proceeds.
Aug 1, 2011
Day 57
Ammo-ninity. N. an expression for preemptively assuming protection of private information and thoughts, due to it being a more crushing blow for said information to be broadcast publicly and nobody batting an eye, or really much giving a shit.
Darkly toned tales and figures represent me, namelessly drowning in a sea. Which when drank up, leaves others still thirsty—maybe too aplenty in drops of not-enough? Social security numbers and salty pasts? Brothers and sisters, all you gotta do is ask. Preferences and credit scores, take’m, they're yours...and to say it all to you, salt and pepper girl, nothing would free me more. Because all—and I mean all—interpretations of me and my secrecy, took a giving axe to some growth-like identity. Right now, I’m looking clear at it. As is, it should burn pretty well, a nice and fresh split. So what’s the cost of restored sincerity? Like if a repairman existed and spent his Saturdays in the shop and on-call? How much is it to repair and mend and reclaim me as whole? Well, the cost is giving over these types of tidbits, I've found. Because what I have to offer--if I’m not beyond repair--well, there's an inexhaustible amount to go around. And, by and large baby, it’s a solid seed in fertile ground—potentially, even a wise tree. Wise enough to play its strength as a sway with the breeze. It’s just about a sprout and I want it all yours, because you got the one thing I need. You got a mind and the pipes to tell me you appreciate me. Perhaps just maybe you’re doing night duty on-call? Oh ok, I totally get it, just trust I understand what you say, and let me hang up this phone ok? Your tones of voice dial-up fragile insides, and I hear inconvenience in what you don’t say. With a proud and tall capital I. It’s fine, I can keep moving on, and truth is, it’s not like it’s just me. I mean, feeling ok’s always purchasable from the almighty He, and a bit of that lonesome tv. Make yourself comfy in the imagination land of my Ammo-ninity.
Darkly toned tales and figures represent me, namelessly drowning in a sea. Which when drank up, leaves others still thirsty—maybe too aplenty in drops of not-enough? Social security numbers and salty pasts? Brothers and sisters, all you gotta do is ask. Preferences and credit scores, take’m, they're yours...and to say it all to you, salt and pepper girl, nothing would free me more. Because all—and I mean all—interpretations of me and my secrecy, took a giving axe to some growth-like identity. Right now, I’m looking clear at it. As is, it should burn pretty well, a nice and fresh split. So what’s the cost of restored sincerity? Like if a repairman existed and spent his Saturdays in the shop and on-call? How much is it to repair and mend and reclaim me as whole? Well, the cost is giving over these types of tidbits, I've found. Because what I have to offer--if I’m not beyond repair--well, there's an inexhaustible amount to go around. And, by and large baby, it’s a solid seed in fertile ground—potentially, even a wise tree. Wise enough to play its strength as a sway with the breeze. It’s just about a sprout and I want it all yours, because you got the one thing I need. You got a mind and the pipes to tell me you appreciate me. Perhaps just maybe you’re doing night duty on-call? Oh ok, I totally get it, just trust I understand what you say, and let me hang up this phone ok? Your tones of voice dial-up fragile insides, and I hear inconvenience in what you don’t say. With a proud and tall capital I. It’s fine, I can keep moving on, and truth is, it’s not like it’s just me. I mean, feeling ok’s always purchasable from the almighty He, and a bit of that lonesome tv. Make yourself comfy in the imagination land of my Ammo-ninity.
Jul 25, 2011
shapes of old ideas....making new
DOCTORED WRITING FROM A FEW YEARS AGO...ENCOURAGEMENT TO KEEP GOING!
This is the story. The regiment. The self-satisfaction. The enslavement to the illusion of what you want to become, which was borne out of an illusion dictated by the media in the first place. You progress get smarter stronger wiser and it feels like a full life--is it? There is the empty feeling that won’t go away no matter how much it’s shared or how unique it is, the empty inside gets really big and people handle that in different ways. Radical groups against it…this that. Pour gasoline on the fire or alkaline on the acid. But to have the nerves of restraint? To let it grow natural and accept what becomes? Who does that? I'm interested in those that do that. Those that listen to anyone and everyone fairly blindly get pretty far pretty fast so there is good reason for them to keep going for it. Those that don’t and can't grow resentful. Most are in between and often people feel guilty that they’re not trying harder at it. All want the far-off thing of greatness somehow some way. There are problems here. No faith. No ground. No nerves toward restraint and wonder. Insecurity and not quite-knowing but seeing anyway. Mind-centered rational living claims to have balance, but it is just fulfilling preset marks with little of the creative and intuitive logic that makes living a full life special. Some even justify praying and meditating saying it changes your neural pathways. How can you make deals with god if you're excited only by that un-mined pathway YOU think YOU are creating??? They don't get it and certainly take license over something they just got as a gift. I pray. Not know. Let things be done for me which I can't do alone. Keep the storm and disorder up.
This is the story. The regiment. The self-satisfaction. The enslavement to the illusion of what you want to become, which was borne out of an illusion dictated by the media in the first place. You progress get smarter stronger wiser and it feels like a full life--is it? There is the empty feeling that won’t go away no matter how much it’s shared or how unique it is, the empty inside gets really big and people handle that in different ways. Radical groups against it…this that. Pour gasoline on the fire or alkaline on the acid. But to have the nerves of restraint? To let it grow natural and accept what becomes? Who does that? I'm interested in those that do that. Those that listen to anyone and everyone fairly blindly get pretty far pretty fast so there is good reason for them to keep going for it. Those that don’t and can't grow resentful. Most are in between and often people feel guilty that they’re not trying harder at it. All want the far-off thing of greatness somehow some way. There are problems here. No faith. No ground. No nerves toward restraint and wonder. Insecurity and not quite-knowing but seeing anyway. Mind-centered rational living claims to have balance, but it is just fulfilling preset marks with little of the creative and intuitive logic that makes living a full life special. Some even justify praying and meditating saying it changes your neural pathways. How can you make deals with god if you're excited only by that un-mined pathway YOU think YOU are creating??? They don't get it and certainly take license over something they just got as a gift. I pray. Not know. Let things be done for me which I can't do alone. Keep the storm and disorder up.
And there's this too:
“What Orwell feared were those who would ban books. What Huxley feared was that there would be no reason to ban a book, for there would be no one who wanted to read one. Orwell feared those who would deprive us information. Huxley feared those who would give us so much that we would be reduced to passivity and egoism. Orwell feared that the truth would be concealed from us. Huxley feared the truth would be drowned in a sea of irrelevance. Orwell feared we would become a captive culture. Huxley feared we would become a trivial culture, preoccupied with some equivalent of the feelies, the orgy porgy, and the centrifugal bumblepuppy”—Neil Postman “Amusing Ourselves to Death.
techno flesh
Tough feet--tender mind. Calloused hands--soft heart. All scarred on the outside all new on the inside. Harsh elements leave the gentle charmed. Who maybe even see some points to the harm. And the hard-inside people even did concede: “God damn it, you’ve got to be kind” (Vonnegut). Suppose you resign to acting fine, so you don't gotta talk that way. Like if there ever was matter made by what postulating Powers say.
Tender feet—tough mind. Soft hands—rough heart. Carefully presented skin—inside still no gut direction. And a people's rule has always been: the poor have the fun while the rich wish on; wish maybe that the excess was served up a slight-bit different. Go on, increasing schemes for what's not even there anymore—we’re just trying to use what we got, and what it's for.
Which raises my point about those hands and the feet again. Because I saw a picture today. It showed the most advanced bionic hand created to date, a hand made by who knows how many a man. Fabricated all that imagining into a working part, which spawned an image sent before me through a machine. And frankly, it led me to a simple state of wonder—to wonder if all that touches can necessarily feel.
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