Can you believe we really have words like "warp" and "woof"? I can't believe it. But as insane as it sounds, I guess it's true. Look it up. You'll see that whoever those guys are who use words, they'll be using these ones too, as they comment on "the warp and woof" of such and such.
To me it sounds like a perverted dog, one who rubs himself on guests, as in he's warped and he occasionally woofs. You get one warped enough -- not just perverted but evil -- and woofing enough, you put a heavy chain on him and drag him down to the Army recruiter. They need dogs like that in the various concentration camps our government runs.
Just a lot of woofing isn't enough to put one away. In fact your dog might be trying to tell you something if he woofs a lot. Because no one monitors territory like a dog. They're very territorial. And instinctual. They can read urine like DNA. They can detect subtle clues as to people's intentions. So when the fur stands up on your dog's back, that's a very good sign.
But "warp and woof" don't actually have anything to do with dogs, but with fabric. Fabric is made up of string going one way then another. If it goes one way it's the "warp" and if it goes the other it's the "woof." And if you turn it around the opposite is true. Like left and right. You might be the woof from one angle but you're the warp from another. So it gets confusing. Except what we're interested in is the finished product, once the warping and woofing is done, and we don't care what they call it.
The phrase gets applied to something like a figure of speech, to say what really makes up something. So you could have the warp and woof of meat, let's say, the straight meat of the bacon could be the warp, and the fat globby portions the woof. I believe so.
I've been re-reading my hiatus posts and I'm amazed at the rich fabric of them. Such emotion! Such passion! It's all so fascinating it deserves to be published -- maybe handwritten by very old, very skillful monks while chanting -- then preserved in a richly decorated, fabric hardback book about the size of a family Bible.
The outer fabric would have its warp and woof and be lush, lavish. But the real "fabric," if you catch my drift, would be the contents, with big decorative capital letters to start the first paragraph, etc. Like today, my first sentence starts with "Can you believe...", it'd be an enormous "C" to start the page, with some color and crosshatching. I love it!
The hiatus is going well. I've calmed down since whenever it was the last time that I was riled up about it. You can hear it in my voice, the cadence of confidence, renewed playfulness, restless creativity brimming over, and humor that sweeps over the entire production. I'm winking at everyone! I'm as light as a bee skimming over a field of nothing but flowers. My big old book needs to be scented with a floral scent.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Feeding On My Hiatus
You've all seen the Taoist yin-yang symbol, the curvaceous, circular conjoining of dark and light, black and white, each with the opposite colored circle in each's independent part of the overall circular shape? Perhaps an illustration would be helpful, but I've searched on the internet for the better part of an hour and can't find a single one.
Let me try to describe it a little better. You've got an overall circle, OK? But the circle has what looks kind of like a "6" on one side and a "9" on the other side. Let's say the "6" is black and the "9" is white. The "6" then has a white dot in the fat portion of the number, and likewise the "9" has a black dot in the fat portion of the number. They are together in a kind of opposite-attracting harmony.
Taoist philosophy teaches us that these two are "going at it" in an eternal relationship. Perhaps the relationship is a struggle, being at each other's throat. Perhaps they have joined forces against a common enemy and set aside their differences in a truce. Perhaps they marry and live happily ever after. One thing they can't do -- insofar as I know -- is break the circle, you know, with the "9" having a restraining order against the "6" and the "6" suing to keep the circle and kick the "9" out. Rather, at some point in eternity past, they made their bed and now they must lie in it ... together.
The "9" can't at this point wake up and look at the wrinkles on "6"'s face and seek out a younger partner. And the "6" can't say the "9" hasn't made a good living for her and that she wants someone richer. Each is in that everlasting struggle -- kind of like Grandma and Grandpa Slump were, till death did them part with Grandpa's non-suspicious demise in 1978. Only at that point, I guess, could the "6" hobble along as an independent entity. It could end up in a nursing home and play footsie with an old guy across the table, or accidentally brush body parts together while trying to get around the cleaning lady's wastebasket in the hall. For the most part they won't do this, since many of the sensors in our body parts shut off when we're around the age of 75, and, they say, the feeling conveys no pleasure to either person.
All these truths have a bearing on me and my hiatus. We have been locked in a fierce struggle. I sought the hiatus and took it. Then I woke up to find I was in bed with, alternately, a lech and a lump. The pleasure is no pleasure and the pain is all pain. I'm looking at wrinkles, the failure to make a living, constant stress from uncouth noises, and the added egregiousness of my wounded pride, having lost all my "friends" and "followers" by my dalliance, then blind alliance with this worthless, insatiable partner.
Just as the black and the white revolve in that eternal circle, and just as the "6" has to make way for the "9," so am I locked in by the foolishness of my choice. I was tricked. I was seduced. Now I can find no way out of the circle. The hiatus is feeding on me. I am feeding on the hiatus. The hiatus knows it will end if I end. But will I end if the hiatus ends? That's the question that is causing me the most grief.
Did I not start the hiatus? Can I not end it? We know, of course, that starting something is different from ending it. Even biology proves this conclusively. Does a hiatus, once started, have the right to continual existence and place? Ethicists wrestle with that problem. I need one to let me know! With the mutual feeding-on that we speak of in the "6" and the "9"'s relationship, can we even be divided at this moment ... without one of us having to die? Or face other existential consequences, including perhaps both of us ceasing to be ... mutual assured destruction!
Let me try to describe it a little better. You've got an overall circle, OK? But the circle has what looks kind of like a "6" on one side and a "9" on the other side. Let's say the "6" is black and the "9" is white. The "6" then has a white dot in the fat portion of the number, and likewise the "9" has a black dot in the fat portion of the number. They are together in a kind of opposite-attracting harmony.
Taoist philosophy teaches us that these two are "going at it" in an eternal relationship. Perhaps the relationship is a struggle, being at each other's throat. Perhaps they have joined forces against a common enemy and set aside their differences in a truce. Perhaps they marry and live happily ever after. One thing they can't do -- insofar as I know -- is break the circle, you know, with the "9" having a restraining order against the "6" and the "6" suing to keep the circle and kick the "9" out. Rather, at some point in eternity past, they made their bed and now they must lie in it ... together.
The "9" can't at this point wake up and look at the wrinkles on "6"'s face and seek out a younger partner. And the "6" can't say the "9" hasn't made a good living for her and that she wants someone richer. Each is in that everlasting struggle -- kind of like Grandma and Grandpa Slump were, till death did them part with Grandpa's non-suspicious demise in 1978. Only at that point, I guess, could the "6" hobble along as an independent entity. It could end up in a nursing home and play footsie with an old guy across the table, or accidentally brush body parts together while trying to get around the cleaning lady's wastebasket in the hall. For the most part they won't do this, since many of the sensors in our body parts shut off when we're around the age of 75, and, they say, the feeling conveys no pleasure to either person.
All these truths have a bearing on me and my hiatus. We have been locked in a fierce struggle. I sought the hiatus and took it. Then I woke up to find I was in bed with, alternately, a lech and a lump. The pleasure is no pleasure and the pain is all pain. I'm looking at wrinkles, the failure to make a living, constant stress from uncouth noises, and the added egregiousness of my wounded pride, having lost all my "friends" and "followers" by my dalliance, then blind alliance with this worthless, insatiable partner.
Just as the black and the white revolve in that eternal circle, and just as the "6" has to make way for the "9," so am I locked in by the foolishness of my choice. I was tricked. I was seduced. Now I can find no way out of the circle. The hiatus is feeding on me. I am feeding on the hiatus. The hiatus knows it will end if I end. But will I end if the hiatus ends? That's the question that is causing me the most grief.
Did I not start the hiatus? Can I not end it? We know, of course, that starting something is different from ending it. Even biology proves this conclusively. Does a hiatus, once started, have the right to continual existence and place? Ethicists wrestle with that problem. I need one to let me know! With the mutual feeding-on that we speak of in the "6" and the "9"'s relationship, can we even be divided at this moment ... without one of us having to die? Or face other existential consequences, including perhaps both of us ceasing to be ... mutual assured destruction!
Sunday, April 26, 2009
This Tormented Hiatus
We've had very tumultuous weather lately. Could it really just be a coincidence, going along with the indisputable fact that the season of Spring is known for many thunderstorms and rain? Or could it be that somehow the weather is related to me personally, something to do with my hiatus? Like it's time for me to be tormented.
I'm remembering that night I stood in the thunder and pouring rain and demanded that I be struck by lightning if I had done wrong, and all those houses were lost in the lightning fires. I thought that was a very good sign for me, clearing me of guilt. But now we're getting the intensity again, the thunder crashing down, and I'm hoping it doesn't mean my case has come up for review. And that my feeling of innocence isn't all it takes to pronounce actual guilt.
I tend to look at thunder and lightning as scientific facts, not instruments of judgment. Grandpa used to tell me the thunder was just potatoes rolling down the cellar stairs but I don't believe that anymore. There's more science to it, something about the air pressure building up to a point where the dew point is exceeded, then an electrical chain reaction makes contact -- between the polarities -- in the sky and earth. They meet in a loud crash somewhere in the middle, with the lightning going both up and down simultaneously. What comes back to earth affects us here, but what advances up in the sky shakes loose the rain, and so the weather gets worse. But what compels all of it? Is there a meta-science behind the science? That would be my question.
Why would I be judged for simply going on hiatus? It doesn't make a lot of sense. But the nature of transgression isn't always a thing of sense. It's also a thing of instinct and of just knowing. The chill up the spine. Your hair standing on end when the holy is in evidence. Science can't put these under a microscope and take a biopsy. You know what you know by leaps and bounds, tumultuous shifts in consciousness.
It could be that getting hit by lightning would be the best thing that ever happened to me. I take a hiatus. I perceive that judgment will come. Instead there's affirmation, in the form of being struck by lightning. Then after I'm struck, I become like lightning, like a super power. I'm able to jump into the sky and ride with the wind to a destination. At the destination, I crash down to earth. Everyone just thinks it's lightning. But I'm back behind a billboard taking off my charred clothes and putting on fresh. Then I walk into town and teach the people the lessons of life. Then I see the daughter of the guy who runs the hardware store. We hit it off and are holding hands in back of the grange. The father sees me, chases me into the country. I clap my hands, become a bolt of lightning, and I'm off to my next adventure.
Judgment's a funny thing. When you feel like you deserve it, you're fine. But when you feel innocent, that's a dangerous scene; that's when you're likely to be struck. I took this hiatus. I enjoyed myself. But now it could happen. I might be in for torments I can't even imagine.
I'm remembering that night I stood in the thunder and pouring rain and demanded that I be struck by lightning if I had done wrong, and all those houses were lost in the lightning fires. I thought that was a very good sign for me, clearing me of guilt. But now we're getting the intensity again, the thunder crashing down, and I'm hoping it doesn't mean my case has come up for review. And that my feeling of innocence isn't all it takes to pronounce actual guilt.
I tend to look at thunder and lightning as scientific facts, not instruments of judgment. Grandpa used to tell me the thunder was just potatoes rolling down the cellar stairs but I don't believe that anymore. There's more science to it, something about the air pressure building up to a point where the dew point is exceeded, then an electrical chain reaction makes contact -- between the polarities -- in the sky and earth. They meet in a loud crash somewhere in the middle, with the lightning going both up and down simultaneously. What comes back to earth affects us here, but what advances up in the sky shakes loose the rain, and so the weather gets worse. But what compels all of it? Is there a meta-science behind the science? That would be my question.
Why would I be judged for simply going on hiatus? It doesn't make a lot of sense. But the nature of transgression isn't always a thing of sense. It's also a thing of instinct and of just knowing. The chill up the spine. Your hair standing on end when the holy is in evidence. Science can't put these under a microscope and take a biopsy. You know what you know by leaps and bounds, tumultuous shifts in consciousness.
It could be that getting hit by lightning would be the best thing that ever happened to me. I take a hiatus. I perceive that judgment will come. Instead there's affirmation, in the form of being struck by lightning. Then after I'm struck, I become like lightning, like a super power. I'm able to jump into the sky and ride with the wind to a destination. At the destination, I crash down to earth. Everyone just thinks it's lightning. But I'm back behind a billboard taking off my charred clothes and putting on fresh. Then I walk into town and teach the people the lessons of life. Then I see the daughter of the guy who runs the hardware store. We hit it off and are holding hands in back of the grange. The father sees me, chases me into the country. I clap my hands, become a bolt of lightning, and I'm off to my next adventure.
Judgment's a funny thing. When you feel like you deserve it, you're fine. But when you feel innocent, that's a dangerous scene; that's when you're likely to be struck. I took this hiatus. I enjoyed myself. But now it could happen. I might be in for torments I can't even imagine.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
A Big Hiatus Headache
I thought that taking a hiatus would be a help to me, that I would have time off, that I would be able to reflect, then recharge and renew myself. Isn't that what a break's supposed to do? I go to the grocery store and I hear the checkout people saying, "I'm going to take my break," and the entire grocery store doesn't go out of business over such a heinous offense.
But the "friends" you meet on the internet are less forgiving than customers in a grocery store. The customers in the grocery store may indeed hate the checkout people's guts for taking breaks, but because of hunger, their need for groceries, they keep their mouth shut. I know I think the same way, essentially; I hear the checkout person saying they're going on their break -- the other day I actually heard one say, "I'm going to take my last break" [my emphasis] -- and I think, "Oh, that's real helpful to me, the paying customer." But when I think about letting the store know what I think and taking a stand, I quickly lose my courage, because I know I'm going to need groceries very soon. And that's the biggest reason you never see anyone picketing a grocery store.
It's not like that out here on the internet. No, the internet is like the Wild West of Shunning. Because it's just one big nameless, faceless blob, you can lose your "friends" and "followers" just like that. State an opinion that doesn't match up with the blob's prejudices and you'll have the blob all over you. Take a hiatus and you're dirt under their feet. It starts in small ways, a few curse words directed your way. But because the blob is a blob, it adds to and supplements its rolling girth, weight, and heft rather quickly. Emails fly at lightning speed, advancing, mutating, and pretty soon you're not just garbage, you're the scourge of the world! Every word is twisted in such a way that you yourself question your intent, then your worth.
I know about the blob because I've done it too; everyone has. You hear a crazy news story about a principal in another state who expels a kid for, say, being too smart, who made all the stupid kids feel inferior. The principal had a good defense, that budget cuts didn't allow a separate class for the smart kid. And telling the stupid kids' parents that their kids were inferior was out of the question, because there's more of them than there are of the smart kids. Naturally you have to sacrifice the smart kid. But by the time it gets to the internet, to feed the blob, the principal has done something very, very wrong. The hotheads take over! And she gets a ton of emails including a few death threats and quite a few cuss words. How great it feels for us to email this poor principal, cajoling and threatening her simply for doing her job.
But if you can, put yourself on the receiving end. That's where I've been the last couple weeks. I completely lost all my so-called "friends." Each and every one of my so-called "followers" has vacated the site. Why? Because I merely wanted to do what everyone wants to do once in a while, have some rest and relaxation and time for myself. Was that so dishonorable? Apparently so! The grocery store girl can get away with it, but not me. Because, as has become very obvious to me, people need groceries, but they don't need what I give. What I provide here is considered a luxury, the ideas and ideals that could help you in life. But when I'm not here, they fall back to their jungle morals and skin alive any leader who seems to have more than they do yet fails to hover over their highchair like Mommy Dearest to shove each spoonful of pablum in their darling little mouth.
How the mighty have fallen! I know the taunt. I know the drill. Put it on a sign and march around my house, it'll last longer! Sheesh. What did I do that was so bad? Didn't feed The Almighty Blob! Well, here, feed on this for a while! There you are! Nuzzle in good and close! Oh, wait, you didn't kiss me goodbye. Here you go, kiss this! That's it! A feast for the eyes as well as the lips!
As for me, I'm going to lock my door and take a nap, thank you very much. And just in case you get ideas, I'll be sleeping with about five guns. And should I ever break this hiatus and come back -- and at this point I'm feeling newly emboldened not to -- you, my dear "friend" will be the last person I'll invite back. Keep your distance. You're not wanted in these parts. None of you are!
But the "friends" you meet on the internet are less forgiving than customers in a grocery store. The customers in the grocery store may indeed hate the checkout people's guts for taking breaks, but because of hunger, their need for groceries, they keep their mouth shut. I know I think the same way, essentially; I hear the checkout person saying they're going on their break -- the other day I actually heard one say, "I'm going to take my last break" [my emphasis] -- and I think, "Oh, that's real helpful to me, the paying customer." But when I think about letting the store know what I think and taking a stand, I quickly lose my courage, because I know I'm going to need groceries very soon. And that's the biggest reason you never see anyone picketing a grocery store.
It's not like that out here on the internet. No, the internet is like the Wild West of Shunning. Because it's just one big nameless, faceless blob, you can lose your "friends" and "followers" just like that. State an opinion that doesn't match up with the blob's prejudices and you'll have the blob all over you. Take a hiatus and you're dirt under their feet. It starts in small ways, a few curse words directed your way. But because the blob is a blob, it adds to and supplements its rolling girth, weight, and heft rather quickly. Emails fly at lightning speed, advancing, mutating, and pretty soon you're not just garbage, you're the scourge of the world! Every word is twisted in such a way that you yourself question your intent, then your worth.
I know about the blob because I've done it too; everyone has. You hear a crazy news story about a principal in another state who expels a kid for, say, being too smart, who made all the stupid kids feel inferior. The principal had a good defense, that budget cuts didn't allow a separate class for the smart kid. And telling the stupid kids' parents that their kids were inferior was out of the question, because there's more of them than there are of the smart kids. Naturally you have to sacrifice the smart kid. But by the time it gets to the internet, to feed the blob, the principal has done something very, very wrong. The hotheads take over! And she gets a ton of emails including a few death threats and quite a few cuss words. How great it feels for us to email this poor principal, cajoling and threatening her simply for doing her job.
But if you can, put yourself on the receiving end. That's where I've been the last couple weeks. I completely lost all my so-called "friends." Each and every one of my so-called "followers" has vacated the site. Why? Because I merely wanted to do what everyone wants to do once in a while, have some rest and relaxation and time for myself. Was that so dishonorable? Apparently so! The grocery store girl can get away with it, but not me. Because, as has become very obvious to me, people need groceries, but they don't need what I give. What I provide here is considered a luxury, the ideas and ideals that could help you in life. But when I'm not here, they fall back to their jungle morals and skin alive any leader who seems to have more than they do yet fails to hover over their highchair like Mommy Dearest to shove each spoonful of pablum in their darling little mouth.
How the mighty have fallen! I know the taunt. I know the drill. Put it on a sign and march around my house, it'll last longer! Sheesh. What did I do that was so bad? Didn't feed The Almighty Blob! Well, here, feed on this for a while! There you are! Nuzzle in good and close! Oh, wait, you didn't kiss me goodbye. Here you go, kiss this! That's it! A feast for the eyes as well as the lips!
As for me, I'm going to lock my door and take a nap, thank you very much. And just in case you get ideas, I'll be sleeping with about five guns. And should I ever break this hiatus and come back -- and at this point I'm feeling newly emboldened not to -- you, my dear "friend" will be the last person I'll invite back. Keep your distance. You're not wanted in these parts. None of you are!
Friday, April 24, 2009
The Hiatus Could End
I'm saying the hiatus could end. Note the emphasis on the word could. I can't say it will end, because I simply don't know.
It may be too late. I let my mind go to pot. I wrecked all the goodwill I built up over the years at this blog, with the newsletters, and the friendships people thought they had with me in the real life visits. I burned too many bridges and now I'm afraid I've made too many enemies.
Yet I can't help thinking that some of you, many of you, maybe, will understand, and maybe come flocking back. Could it just be false confidence on my part to think that you'd give me a second chance, a chance to make it right?
I know I acted like I was being put upon by the responsibilities. That's true. But when you go from nothing to sitting on top of the world, sometimes a guy gets dizzy at the heights. And you know I went from zero to 100 in about 10 seconds. I'm entitled to go crazy once in a while.
So I took a hiatus. I withdrew. I let the world go by. I threatened permanent retirement. I turned my back on you. I made a shambles of things and I didn't care.
I stood in the center of the half acre on a particularly stormy day, with lightning crashing all around, and called on God Himself to strike me dead if I'd done wrong. I challenged Him. The rain is streaming down my face, I'm looking up with pure defiance. Again, lightning is crashing down everywhere.
Maybe you read in the papers what happened, although of course the papers didn't know about my part in this. About six homes in my neighborhood, a couple to the west, a couple to the south, and a couple to the east, were struck by lightning and completely burned down. The fact that I myself wasn't struck I took to be divine approval of my hiatus. And the fact that so many neighbors were now homeless I took as divine disapproval of any who would nay say my hiatus. Not that my neighbors themselves were naysayers, but in this interpretation they're stand-ins for those of you who were naysayers. (By the way, if any of you lost your home in a lightning fire, say, within the last two weeks, please think next time before you criticize.)
Let me hasten to disclaim any liability or responsibility for homes lost in lightning fires. This blog and the opinions expressed herein are for entertainment purposes only. By visiting this blog you agree to these terms. If you disagree with the terms, please leave now, but nonetheless know that when you were visiting the blog you automatically agreed to the terms. The terms being stated and agreed to, good luck with rebuilding, and please know that I am very sorry for whatever loss a relationship with me may have caused.
So, you can tell it's been a tumultuous time because of the hiatus. But I've been oblivious through a lot of it, and really thought I might be happier with permanent retirement. And like I said, my mind has gone to pot. I seriously don't know what I'd write about were I to come back. I could probably write about the strange conundrum of why the lightning didn't damage homes to the north. The north being entirely disagreeable to my nature, to think that just living north of somewhere else would be enough to spare you ... I could analyze that, except my mind has gone to pot.
OK, that's enough for the day. I will hold out hope. But please don't hold me to it. My mind -- whatever may not yet have gone to pot -- is toying with the idea. The more I think about it the more unlikely it seems. Could I come back? Haven't I destroyed all the bonds of trust? That's what's torturing me. Check that -- That's what's "enhancedly interrogating me."
Haven't I made my bed by everything I've said about the hiatus? I would be very shamefaced to come back now. Hi, it's me again. And everyone's booing. But don't they want me back? I don't think they do. But they might.
Good grief, I might come back only to be heckled back into hiatus. Then it would be a permanent retirement on someone else's terms. At least until my enemies were stricken. Or I could change my name and start again somewhere else.
It may be too late. I let my mind go to pot. I wrecked all the goodwill I built up over the years at this blog, with the newsletters, and the friendships people thought they had with me in the real life visits. I burned too many bridges and now I'm afraid I've made too many enemies.
Yet I can't help thinking that some of you, many of you, maybe, will understand, and maybe come flocking back. Could it just be false confidence on my part to think that you'd give me a second chance, a chance to make it right?
I know I acted like I was being put upon by the responsibilities. That's true. But when you go from nothing to sitting on top of the world, sometimes a guy gets dizzy at the heights. And you know I went from zero to 100 in about 10 seconds. I'm entitled to go crazy once in a while.
So I took a hiatus. I withdrew. I let the world go by. I threatened permanent retirement. I turned my back on you. I made a shambles of things and I didn't care.
I stood in the center of the half acre on a particularly stormy day, with lightning crashing all around, and called on God Himself to strike me dead if I'd done wrong. I challenged Him. The rain is streaming down my face, I'm looking up with pure defiance. Again, lightning is crashing down everywhere.
Maybe you read in the papers what happened, although of course the papers didn't know about my part in this. About six homes in my neighborhood, a couple to the west, a couple to the south, and a couple to the east, were struck by lightning and completely burned down. The fact that I myself wasn't struck I took to be divine approval of my hiatus. And the fact that so many neighbors were now homeless I took as divine disapproval of any who would nay say my hiatus. Not that my neighbors themselves were naysayers, but in this interpretation they're stand-ins for those of you who were naysayers. (By the way, if any of you lost your home in a lightning fire, say, within the last two weeks, please think next time before you criticize.)
Let me hasten to disclaim any liability or responsibility for homes lost in lightning fires. This blog and the opinions expressed herein are for entertainment purposes only. By visiting this blog you agree to these terms. If you disagree with the terms, please leave now, but nonetheless know that when you were visiting the blog you automatically agreed to the terms. The terms being stated and agreed to, good luck with rebuilding, and please know that I am very sorry for whatever loss a relationship with me may have caused.
So, you can tell it's been a tumultuous time because of the hiatus. But I've been oblivious through a lot of it, and really thought I might be happier with permanent retirement. And like I said, my mind has gone to pot. I seriously don't know what I'd write about were I to come back. I could probably write about the strange conundrum of why the lightning didn't damage homes to the north. The north being entirely disagreeable to my nature, to think that just living north of somewhere else would be enough to spare you ... I could analyze that, except my mind has gone to pot.
OK, that's enough for the day. I will hold out hope. But please don't hold me to it. My mind -- whatever may not yet have gone to pot -- is toying with the idea. The more I think about it the more unlikely it seems. Could I come back? Haven't I destroyed all the bonds of trust? That's what's torturing me. Check that -- That's what's "enhancedly interrogating me."
Haven't I made my bed by everything I've said about the hiatus? I would be very shamefaced to come back now. Hi, it's me again. And everyone's booing. But don't they want me back? I don't think they do. But they might.
Good grief, I might come back only to be heckled back into hiatus. Then it would be a permanent retirement on someone else's terms. At least until my enemies were stricken. Or I could change my name and start again somewhere else.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Just Hiatus Humdrum
Tapping my fingers on the table ... checking the meat for freezer burn ... dusting the telephone ... alphabetizing the cookbooks ... pressing my aprons ... whistling ... this is getting dull.
Grandpa's got those nails in the garage in baby food jars and coffee cans. I could make sure they're not rusting. They could be. He's been dead almost 31 years. Some of those coffee cans might be antiques and worth some money by now. I saw one of them had a promo on it for Doctor Doolittle. Isn't he the guy who had a two headed llama? Antique stores might pay a pretty penny for that.
I went to bed early and got up late, so at least I'm accomplishing something, getting plenty of rest. I'm relaxing pretty much, very mellow. Slippers, housecoat, sipping some apricot juice. Nothing in the weather's got me upset. The phone hasn't been ringing. My mail has dropped way off since I've been on hiatus. Most of my readers have moved on.
Maybe I ought to go out to Walmart and see if they still have that 10 gallon jobbie. Maybe get me some fish. And some color gravel. If I did I think it'd be best to get one of those aerated skin divers opening a treasure chest. Adds some life to it. And of course the fish swimming around adds life too.
I'm planning on cooking a hotdog for dinner tonight. Probably need to check the expiration date on the relish. Hotdogs are easy to make. Brown them up, don't burn them. I'm sure they're pre-cooked. Where'd I get that idea? I wonder. What do they do, cook them at the factory? Maybe they go through a big oven on their way to the packaging center. But if they're pre-cooked how come there's no signs of puffing, searing, or anything? I don't know.
Maybe they meat's cooked before they press it into hotdogs. Like they take the animal meat, meat byproducts, and meat-like substances, mash it all together, and boil it. At that point it's cooked. Then hash it all up and form it in the classic hotdog shape. Then package them with no obvious signs of them having been cooked. We assume they're cooked. I know I've had them raw before.
They say if you've ever seen them made you'd never eat them. So I don't want my imagination to be too accurate.
Grandpa's got those nails in the garage in baby food jars and coffee cans. I could make sure they're not rusting. They could be. He's been dead almost 31 years. Some of those coffee cans might be antiques and worth some money by now. I saw one of them had a promo on it for Doctor Doolittle. Isn't he the guy who had a two headed llama? Antique stores might pay a pretty penny for that.
I went to bed early and got up late, so at least I'm accomplishing something, getting plenty of rest. I'm relaxing pretty much, very mellow. Slippers, housecoat, sipping some apricot juice. Nothing in the weather's got me upset. The phone hasn't been ringing. My mail has dropped way off since I've been on hiatus. Most of my readers have moved on.
Maybe I ought to go out to Walmart and see if they still have that 10 gallon jobbie. Maybe get me some fish. And some color gravel. If I did I think it'd be best to get one of those aerated skin divers opening a treasure chest. Adds some life to it. And of course the fish swimming around adds life too.
I'm planning on cooking a hotdog for dinner tonight. Probably need to check the expiration date on the relish. Hotdogs are easy to make. Brown them up, don't burn them. I'm sure they're pre-cooked. Where'd I get that idea? I wonder. What do they do, cook them at the factory? Maybe they go through a big oven on their way to the packaging center. But if they're pre-cooked how come there's no signs of puffing, searing, or anything? I don't know.
Maybe they meat's cooked before they press it into hotdogs. Like they take the animal meat, meat byproducts, and meat-like substances, mash it all together, and boil it. At that point it's cooked. Then hash it all up and form it in the classic hotdog shape. Then package them with no obvious signs of them having been cooked. We assume they're cooked. I know I've had them raw before.
They say if you've ever seen them made you'd never eat them. So I don't want my imagination to be too accurate.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
A Very Satisfying Hiatus -- Very Satisfying
Yesterday I was wistful about it, about certain things, but as the day wore on, dragged by, I felt my spirit reviving, and by the end had regained my characteristic perkiness. The dismal day could not change my essential character, which is one of perkiness.
I'm thinking in heroic terms about it. I the hero stand tall against the wistfulness of a downer day. One of the coolest things in heroic stories is where the hero is heroic even when he could take the day off. There are plenty of people who'd put their tails between their legs and slink off, in a manner of speaking; I'm not saying people have tails, although you've probably heard about the vestigial stuff about the tailbone and what it supposedly was for back in the days of Adam and Eve.
But getting back to the heroes, think with me of one of those stories where the hero is really offended. Someone offended his honor. Maybe dripped ice cream on the leather of his stagecoach. He's offended about it and says to the guy, "I demand satisfaction!" He wants to go head to head, toe to toe, in a duel to the death! I've seen shows where they even do that if someone whaps them lightly on the mouth with a hankie. "Now I definitely demand satisfaction!" So he kills the guy and rides off toward the sunset. And back then the sun always looked about three times as big as now, so he had to be brave, because it got pretty hot when you went west in those days.
Satisfaction. That's a great word. I'm sated, satisfied. Put that "-fied" on the end of a word and you're speaking of a process that has come to a completion. Snickers satisfies. That's a promise inviting putting it to a personal test. Check and see. OK, I'm unwrapping a Snickers, now munching on it. Umm-chew-good, very good. It is satisfying, at least I'm sensing something satisfying about it so far; the process is still underway. Now I'm down to the last little bit, one last bite, and in it goes. Umm-chew-good, very good. Swallow, and to the belly. Let me sit for a moment. Now I will walk around the living room. I've got a peanut in my teeth, need to pick it out with a pen here by the TV. OK, I'm ready to say, having eaten the Snickers bar, that, yes, Snickers satisfies. I am satisfied.
As far as my hiatus goes -- I am very satisfied, very satisfied indeed thus far. To be free -- completely free -- of all responsibilities as far as the duties from which I am now abstaining, that is a satisfying thought, and I have made the thought a reality.
It really helps, though, that I woke up with all kinds of an angry mood. I am angry at everyone who has put me down. I've been pushed, pulled, folded, spindled, and mutilated. I am angry at everyone who has ever told me what to do. I am angry at the machinations of those who think they know best. To do what? To stifle, to confound, to impose, and to block. I know I am right and I don't need to be told otherwise. When I know the truth, I know it. I'm not blocked from knowing it. I can glimpse in a flash exactly what the truth is about principles, ideals, bedrock stuff.
Being angry is also a very satisfying thing, very satisfying. And the longer my hiatus goes on -- put this in your pipe, please, and smoke it: I'm not ending this hiatus anytime soon! -- the more satisfied I hope to be. In that sense it's a process going on, though with satisfaction all along the way. I am very satisfied, and I hope to be very satisfied more.
I'm thinking in heroic terms about it. I the hero stand tall against the wistfulness of a downer day. One of the coolest things in heroic stories is where the hero is heroic even when he could take the day off. There are plenty of people who'd put their tails between their legs and slink off, in a manner of speaking; I'm not saying people have tails, although you've probably heard about the vestigial stuff about the tailbone and what it supposedly was for back in the days of Adam and Eve.
But getting back to the heroes, think with me of one of those stories where the hero is really offended. Someone offended his honor. Maybe dripped ice cream on the leather of his stagecoach. He's offended about it and says to the guy, "I demand satisfaction!" He wants to go head to head, toe to toe, in a duel to the death! I've seen shows where they even do that if someone whaps them lightly on the mouth with a hankie. "Now I definitely demand satisfaction!" So he kills the guy and rides off toward the sunset. And back then the sun always looked about three times as big as now, so he had to be brave, because it got pretty hot when you went west in those days.
Satisfaction. That's a great word. I'm sated, satisfied. Put that "-fied" on the end of a word and you're speaking of a process that has come to a completion. Snickers satisfies. That's a promise inviting putting it to a personal test. Check and see. OK, I'm unwrapping a Snickers, now munching on it. Umm-chew-good, very good. It is satisfying, at least I'm sensing something satisfying about it so far; the process is still underway. Now I'm down to the last little bit, one last bite, and in it goes. Umm-chew-good, very good. Swallow, and to the belly. Let me sit for a moment. Now I will walk around the living room. I've got a peanut in my teeth, need to pick it out with a pen here by the TV. OK, I'm ready to say, having eaten the Snickers bar, that, yes, Snickers satisfies. I am satisfied.
As far as my hiatus goes -- I am very satisfied, very satisfied indeed thus far. To be free -- completely free -- of all responsibilities as far as the duties from which I am now abstaining, that is a satisfying thought, and I have made the thought a reality.
It really helps, though, that I woke up with all kinds of an angry mood. I am angry at everyone who has put me down. I've been pushed, pulled, folded, spindled, and mutilated. I am angry at everyone who has ever told me what to do. I am angry at the machinations of those who think they know best. To do what? To stifle, to confound, to impose, and to block. I know I am right and I don't need to be told otherwise. When I know the truth, I know it. I'm not blocked from knowing it. I can glimpse in a flash exactly what the truth is about principles, ideals, bedrock stuff.
Being angry is also a very satisfying thing, very satisfying. And the longer my hiatus goes on -- put this in your pipe, please, and smoke it: I'm not ending this hiatus anytime soon! -- the more satisfied I hope to be. In that sense it's a process going on, though with satisfaction all along the way. I am very satisfied, and I hope to be very satisfied more.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Hiatus Time On My Hands
Taking a hiatus has been the best thing I've ever done. Not trying to come up with things for the blog. Not putting out my members newsletter. Not arranging real life meetings. I'm just vegetating, nothing but time on my hands. To do whatever.
I went out and checked on the half acre. Actually walked around the entire perimeter, really happy to have my little piece of Earth right here. I know I'm not the center of the universe, of course, but it's a nice thought to think, No globe would be complete if somehow they left off this half acre. What? You'd have a little sunken impression on the globe? No man's land? That's ridiculous. Because it actually is here. I can look from border to border, then straight up, and know that from here to infinity definitely starts with here. So I'm being here now.
The thought of the half acre, just wandering it, puts me in a wistful mood. Too bad Grandpa isn't here to see me still here, haven't left. He wouldn't be too happy about Grandma's bad health, of course, but his wasn't much better, which he died from. I keep thinking if you just stay right where you are you won't die. But that doesn't make any sense. Because you have to leave sometime. I've been places that I've left and I'm still alive. Some places I needed to leave. Like if I left a building, then 15 years they demolished it, I can't help thinking, Good thing I got out when I did. I would've never lived through the blast. But for the most part it's true: If you're right there, you survive. I knew a young woman who died at 23; if she'd've been someplace else, it would've never happened.
I'm not a big fan of wistful moods. But I remember how it'd be out here with the cousins. Roto when he was a kid. The ones from out in Wyoming who came every year. We'd be messing around with the crawdads over by the tree, pumping the well, messing around with the outhouse, watching Grandpa mow the yard, posing for pictures. Now Roto's out in the country and I don't see the Wyoming bunch anymore. They're married, I guess -- maybe divorced -- and have grown kids and grandkids. Who knows? Maybe a few of them died. They have grief in Wyoming. Must shake off wistful mood. Wistful me goes downhill fast.
Maybe that's why I got into everything that now I'm taking a hiatus from. I need something to occupy my time. Tons of ideals. Ideas. Insights for the masses. They're looking for a guy like me out in the bush. The local man. A Brian the Hermit kind of guy. To send the signal for all to gather, to take back our proud land from the conquerors. To warn of the dangers of the North, of Skidrow, of fly by night carpet stores. To invoke dreams of free women in red convertibles. And everything else I weighed in on. But no, must enjoy myself on hiatus.
I could go out and throw dirt clods. And study their aerodynamisticity.
I went out and checked on the half acre. Actually walked around the entire perimeter, really happy to have my little piece of Earth right here. I know I'm not the center of the universe, of course, but it's a nice thought to think, No globe would be complete if somehow they left off this half acre. What? You'd have a little sunken impression on the globe? No man's land? That's ridiculous. Because it actually is here. I can look from border to border, then straight up, and know that from here to infinity definitely starts with here. So I'm being here now.
The thought of the half acre, just wandering it, puts me in a wistful mood. Too bad Grandpa isn't here to see me still here, haven't left. He wouldn't be too happy about Grandma's bad health, of course, but his wasn't much better, which he died from. I keep thinking if you just stay right where you are you won't die. But that doesn't make any sense. Because you have to leave sometime. I've been places that I've left and I'm still alive. Some places I needed to leave. Like if I left a building, then 15 years they demolished it, I can't help thinking, Good thing I got out when I did. I would've never lived through the blast. But for the most part it's true: If you're right there, you survive. I knew a young woman who died at 23; if she'd've been someplace else, it would've never happened.
I'm not a big fan of wistful moods. But I remember how it'd be out here with the cousins. Roto when he was a kid. The ones from out in Wyoming who came every year. We'd be messing around with the crawdads over by the tree, pumping the well, messing around with the outhouse, watching Grandpa mow the yard, posing for pictures. Now Roto's out in the country and I don't see the Wyoming bunch anymore. They're married, I guess -- maybe divorced -- and have grown kids and grandkids. Who knows? Maybe a few of them died. They have grief in Wyoming. Must shake off wistful mood. Wistful me goes downhill fast.
Maybe that's why I got into everything that now I'm taking a hiatus from. I need something to occupy my time. Tons of ideals. Ideas. Insights for the masses. They're looking for a guy like me out in the bush. The local man. A Brian the Hermit kind of guy. To send the signal for all to gather, to take back our proud land from the conquerors. To warn of the dangers of the North, of Skidrow, of fly by night carpet stores. To invoke dreams of free women in red convertibles. And everything else I weighed in on. But no, must enjoy myself on hiatus.
I could go out and throw dirt clods. And study their aerodynamisticity.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Next: Maybe A Yearly Hiatus
I'm always thinking, What comes next? I know that's a nasty way of thinking, since it takes away the joy of this moment, the whole satisfaction there is in savoring what you have. Who hasn't thought of how nice it might be to just put off tomorrow till it gets here? Or next year?
You see it when you watch the World Series or the Super Bowl. The winner isn't off the field yet before the announcers are wondering if they'll be able to repeat next year because three or four star players will be gone. It makes you want to scream, Let them enjoy it for five minutes, always popping everyone's bubble like that. But our brain seems to be designed just like the dog's. A dog can't savor its food; it just wolfs it down as soon as possible, because somewhere in its mind it knows another dog will get it.
(If I'm saying a dog "wolfs" down its food, shouldn't I just use the wolf as my example? And anyway, the plural of wolf being wolves, it seems like the same rationale would apply to the word used as a verb, making it, "A dog wolves down its food." Seems like it, but you only hear it the other way. I saw the opposite of wolving one time. I gave a pork chop to a dog who must have thought he was civilized. He sat there looking at it in his bowl, then looked up at me like he wanted me to leave before he did the nasty business of wolving it down. I never saw a dog hesitate with food like that before or since. Well, in a flash, a cat darted out from the bushes, grabbed the chop and disappeared around the garage. The dog looked at me like, Whot hopponed? I hadn't cooked the pork chop for him, of course, but since he was so sad about "That Darn Cat," I went and fixed him another one. I like my current dog's style of eating more. She wolves down the food in midair and the bowl is still clean. She vents a tiny burp and that's the meal.)
So the question, if put to me, of What Comes Next? about the hiatus I'm taking from this blog, is not a welcome question. Please, let me enjoy the time off, at least five minutes. Because I don't really know what comes next. It could be -- if I ever start enjoying myself -- who knows? -- I might take a yearly hiatus. Or maybe I won't come back at all. I could do the whole Enoch thing, go for a walk and just never come back. Or maybe I will be back. I didn't start this hiatus with the thought of permanent retirement. But I might permanently retire. We just don't know.
Remember, Johnny Carson took 15-20 weeks of vacation every year. Then he permanently retired and immediately died. So, let that be a lesson to you. You might see me back here. Or maybe you won't.
UPDATE: It might be critical that I come back. I checked around and I can't find any other story like this one about The Dog, The Cat, and The Pork Chop. None of our national blogs seem to have one. It's just the lowly "Local Man" who's able to recall such an incident. That story is now preserved, but who knows how many more great stories might slip through the cracks? This will give me something serious to think about as I consider how long my hiatus will last or whether I will go permanently into retirement.
You see it when you watch the World Series or the Super Bowl. The winner isn't off the field yet before the announcers are wondering if they'll be able to repeat next year because three or four star players will be gone. It makes you want to scream, Let them enjoy it for five minutes, always popping everyone's bubble like that. But our brain seems to be designed just like the dog's. A dog can't savor its food; it just wolfs it down as soon as possible, because somewhere in its mind it knows another dog will get it.
(If I'm saying a dog "wolfs" down its food, shouldn't I just use the wolf as my example? And anyway, the plural of wolf being wolves, it seems like the same rationale would apply to the word used as a verb, making it, "A dog wolves down its food." Seems like it, but you only hear it the other way. I saw the opposite of wolving one time. I gave a pork chop to a dog who must have thought he was civilized. He sat there looking at it in his bowl, then looked up at me like he wanted me to leave before he did the nasty business of wolving it down. I never saw a dog hesitate with food like that before or since. Well, in a flash, a cat darted out from the bushes, grabbed the chop and disappeared around the garage. The dog looked at me like, Whot hopponed? I hadn't cooked the pork chop for him, of course, but since he was so sad about "That Darn Cat," I went and fixed him another one. I like my current dog's style of eating more. She wolves down the food in midair and the bowl is still clean. She vents a tiny burp and that's the meal.)
So the question, if put to me, of What Comes Next? about the hiatus I'm taking from this blog, is not a welcome question. Please, let me enjoy the time off, at least five minutes. Because I don't really know what comes next. It could be -- if I ever start enjoying myself -- who knows? -- I might take a yearly hiatus. Or maybe I won't come back at all. I could do the whole Enoch thing, go for a walk and just never come back. Or maybe I will be back. I didn't start this hiatus with the thought of permanent retirement. But I might permanently retire. We just don't know.
Remember, Johnny Carson took 15-20 weeks of vacation every year. Then he permanently retired and immediately died. So, let that be a lesson to you. You might see me back here. Or maybe you won't.
UPDATE: It might be critical that I come back. I checked around and I can't find any other story like this one about The Dog, The Cat, and The Pork Chop. None of our national blogs seem to have one. It's just the lowly "Local Man" who's able to recall such an incident. That story is now preserved, but who knows how many more great stories might slip through the cracks? This will give me something serious to think about as I consider how long my hiatus will last or whether I will go permanently into retirement.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
A Hiatus Health Update
No, no, no, I haven't got a life-threatening illness, disease, or syndrome that is the real reason for my hiatus. But if I did have such an illness, that would be great reason for a hiatus, because I would need time to battle my way to full health, enduring a grueling regimen of applying various salves from the Mexican black market. You may say I'm "stuck in the '80s" for saying this, but believe me, there's nothing quite like the horse medicine they've got down there.
I know where the rumor that I have a life-threatening illness started. I mentioned how I get these terrible olfactory hallucinations, which means I smell things that aren't there. Or I'm smelling what's there, it just smells differently than it used to. It's like a dog's hearing with a greater range of frequencies. There's a way to help your dog, by the way, but it's expensive; someone actually markets a collar with a graphic equalizer, so that's progress. But ... getting back to me ...
I also said it's possible that I have a brain tumor, because that's one of the known causes for these smell hallucinations. But now the whole situation is a lot better. I'm not having them as often or as bad. There's a couple possibilities. 1) I don't have a brain tumor; 2) The hallucinations are just something in my nose that's out of whack, like matted cilia. Or it could be that I do have a brain tumor and it's just not that bad a condition. I do have a theory.
My theory on tumors is not as well known as it should be. I looked it up on the internet but can't find anyone else advocating it. Briefly it's this, that there are two kinds of tumors, stationary tumors and free-floaters. The stationary tumor is the worst, because it abides in one place all the time, and all it has to do all day is eat and get fat. But your free-floaters are on a trajectory like a comet, and that motion is good. Only when they're close to your brain on their path, that's when cause the most trouble as a brain tumor. Then they move on and the noticeable symptoms naturally decrease, and for the most part you're OK. Even the sniffles you get from a cold is really, probably, just from a free-floating tumor, so tumors are quite common.
What I've been saying about my hiatus all along, believe it or not, is the real story. But since I'm not thinking very clearly today, for whatever reason, you'll need to read some of my old posts to see what I've been saying. I really don't remember. Please excuse me today -- and all through this hiatus, however long it turns out to be. Maybe it will indeed be full retirement. I haven't considered that yet, but now that I think of it, it doesn't sound like a terrible idea. I'm getting some dark spots in front of my eyes. My eyes are burning. I think it's happening, friends, that my free-floater is advancing up here somewhere on its path. I hope it doesn't slow down and stay.
The spots aren't terrible, but I can't keep my eyes open. There's some throbbing, nothing back here, all toward the surface. I need to knock off the blog now. I'm going to go sit under Grandma's grow lamps. That's some relief. I'm fine, I hope. Be patient. Must go.
I know where the rumor that I have a life-threatening illness started. I mentioned how I get these terrible olfactory hallucinations, which means I smell things that aren't there. Or I'm smelling what's there, it just smells differently than it used to. It's like a dog's hearing with a greater range of frequencies. There's a way to help your dog, by the way, but it's expensive; someone actually markets a collar with a graphic equalizer, so that's progress. But ... getting back to me ...
I also said it's possible that I have a brain tumor, because that's one of the known causes for these smell hallucinations. But now the whole situation is a lot better. I'm not having them as often or as bad. There's a couple possibilities. 1) I don't have a brain tumor; 2) The hallucinations are just something in my nose that's out of whack, like matted cilia. Or it could be that I do have a brain tumor and it's just not that bad a condition. I do have a theory.
My theory on tumors is not as well known as it should be. I looked it up on the internet but can't find anyone else advocating it. Briefly it's this, that there are two kinds of tumors, stationary tumors and free-floaters. The stationary tumor is the worst, because it abides in one place all the time, and all it has to do all day is eat and get fat. But your free-floaters are on a trajectory like a comet, and that motion is good. Only when they're close to your brain on their path, that's when cause the most trouble as a brain tumor. Then they move on and the noticeable symptoms naturally decrease, and for the most part you're OK. Even the sniffles you get from a cold is really, probably, just from a free-floating tumor, so tumors are quite common.
What I've been saying about my hiatus all along, believe it or not, is the real story. But since I'm not thinking very clearly today, for whatever reason, you'll need to read some of my old posts to see what I've been saying. I really don't remember. Please excuse me today -- and all through this hiatus, however long it turns out to be. Maybe it will indeed be full retirement. I haven't considered that yet, but now that I think of it, it doesn't sound like a terrible idea. I'm getting some dark spots in front of my eyes. My eyes are burning. I think it's happening, friends, that my free-floater is advancing up here somewhere on its path. I hope it doesn't slow down and stay.
The spots aren't terrible, but I can't keep my eyes open. There's some throbbing, nothing back here, all toward the surface. I need to knock off the blog now. I'm going to go sit under Grandma's grow lamps. That's some relief. I'm fine, I hope. Be patient. Must go.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
My Hiatus Part Of The Master Plan
I've gotten a real outpouring of support from you concerning my decision to take a hiatus from this blog, as well as the newsletter and any possible real life meetings. I've frankly been very jittery over it, wrung out, running myself ragged -- all the rest -- and you know some of the reasons why. I set my mind to do this, I took charge, I put myself out front, and now it seems like I've been failing you.
Let me just put a little confession here out front. I've never told anyone this, but here I am spilling my guts this bright morning. Oh, man, I can't believe I'm about to say this. OK, here goes. I've always had a soft spot in my heart for the drum majorette at football games. They usually find the tallest girl they can, a giantess, then put a hat on her four foot tall, and give her one of those big sticks to thrust in the air. She's as tall as the flagpole and kicks with the authority of a Thirty Ought Six, and it's something to behold. That's what I've been doing. I'm here with you, essentially the star of the show, the one indispensable element in the whole arrangement, standing tall, kicking with power, and now I've pulled back.
Of course there's some sadness in that. Can the show go on? It looks like maybe the show can go on, even though we're in a hiatus phase at this particular time.
For some of you -- only a small minority -- my hiatus is a problem. "Why don't you just get it together?" one discouraging note read. I believe he went on to call me "a drama queen," and threatened to take his patronage elsewhere, adding that there are a million or more blogs seeking followers, and new ones popping up everyday, and an estimated 99% of them were better than this one. And they don't spend their every waking moment complaining about their workload and the high personal cost that their labors exact on their sanity, equilibrium, and physical safety. To which I reply, "Well, la-dee-da for them!"
OK, sap! Go to one of those other blogs! See what I care! It's not for you, you scumbag, that I'm sitting here, even now with tears in my eyes, putting forth this effort! As stupid as you are -- ha! -- you probably can't read anyway, and no doubt needed your Mommy to write your scurrilous note! Didja?? And as for the statistical approach, yes there may be a million or more blogs and new ones everyday. There's also a million stars in the sky, each one a sun in its own right, but there's only one Sun close enough to do us any good. And as far as the blogging world goes, you'll never know which one of the million is putting forth the radiant beams. It's right here, nitwit! What a dim bulb. What a dweeb. Absolutely moronic. The kind of stupidity you can't make up. Sheesh!
Why don't you just get it together? That galls me. I also could ask him a few questions. Such as wondering why he doesn't just take a walk on a pier, if you've ever heard that one. It's an excellent question, designed to twist his little pea brain into enough knots that were they ever to untangle it they'd be left with not enough pea powder to make soup for a family of three ants for each to have a full bowl. I don't know. Drop it. Let the loser have his fun. Move on. I'll be the bigger man.
Most of the other notes I got I appreciated. You let me know you're hanging in there! And that's definitely something that cheers me. But one of the notes was especially sweet and is worthy of my fullest attention. It was a woman's handwriting, signed only "Love, J.B.," and, even though it was short, it was very encouraging. It came in the mail, I think, or maybe it somehow manifested itself out of the mist of the morning. It could have arisen from Mother Earth or it could have descended from the dew drenched hills. That's how good it was. In it, "J.B." was very sweet, telling me that she senses that my hiatus "is part of the master plan." As I think on that phrase I think of the ebb and flow of the tides. Or the way the Sun -- lord of the day -- sleeps at night. Nature itself speaks of a hiatus! "J.B.," you're in my thoughts. That's beautiful.
"Part of the master plan." So nice. Maybe she meant "part of the Master's plan." Either way.
Let me just put a little confession here out front. I've never told anyone this, but here I am spilling my guts this bright morning. Oh, man, I can't believe I'm about to say this. OK, here goes. I've always had a soft spot in my heart for the drum majorette at football games. They usually find the tallest girl they can, a giantess, then put a hat on her four foot tall, and give her one of those big sticks to thrust in the air. She's as tall as the flagpole and kicks with the authority of a Thirty Ought Six, and it's something to behold. That's what I've been doing. I'm here with you, essentially the star of the show, the one indispensable element in the whole arrangement, standing tall, kicking with power, and now I've pulled back.
Of course there's some sadness in that. Can the show go on? It looks like maybe the show can go on, even though we're in a hiatus phase at this particular time.
For some of you -- only a small minority -- my hiatus is a problem. "Why don't you just get it together?" one discouraging note read. I believe he went on to call me "a drama queen," and threatened to take his patronage elsewhere, adding that there are a million or more blogs seeking followers, and new ones popping up everyday, and an estimated 99% of them were better than this one. And they don't spend their every waking moment complaining about their workload and the high personal cost that their labors exact on their sanity, equilibrium, and physical safety. To which I reply, "Well, la-dee-da for them!"
OK, sap! Go to one of those other blogs! See what I care! It's not for you, you scumbag, that I'm sitting here, even now with tears in my eyes, putting forth this effort! As stupid as you are -- ha! -- you probably can't read anyway, and no doubt needed your Mommy to write your scurrilous note! Didja?? And as for the statistical approach, yes there may be a million or more blogs and new ones everyday. There's also a million stars in the sky, each one a sun in its own right, but there's only one Sun close enough to do us any good. And as far as the blogging world goes, you'll never know which one of the million is putting forth the radiant beams. It's right here, nitwit! What a dim bulb. What a dweeb. Absolutely moronic. The kind of stupidity you can't make up. Sheesh!
Why don't you just get it together? That galls me. I also could ask him a few questions. Such as wondering why he doesn't just take a walk on a pier, if you've ever heard that one. It's an excellent question, designed to twist his little pea brain into enough knots that were they ever to untangle it they'd be left with not enough pea powder to make soup for a family of three ants for each to have a full bowl. I don't know. Drop it. Let the loser have his fun. Move on. I'll be the bigger man.
Most of the other notes I got I appreciated. You let me know you're hanging in there! And that's definitely something that cheers me. But one of the notes was especially sweet and is worthy of my fullest attention. It was a woman's handwriting, signed only "Love, J.B.," and, even though it was short, it was very encouraging. It came in the mail, I think, or maybe it somehow manifested itself out of the mist of the morning. It could have arisen from Mother Earth or it could have descended from the dew drenched hills. That's how good it was. In it, "J.B." was very sweet, telling me that she senses that my hiatus "is part of the master plan." As I think on that phrase I think of the ebb and flow of the tides. Or the way the Sun -- lord of the day -- sleeps at night. Nature itself speaks of a hiatus! "J.B.," you're in my thoughts. That's beautiful.
"Part of the master plan." So nice. Maybe she meant "part of the Master's plan." Either way.
Friday, April 17, 2009
My Well-Guarded Hiatus
After yesterday's post -- in which I both hit the heights and dragged the depths, and both embraced you all and kicked you to the curb -- I felt like I had it in me both to break my hiatus and make it a permanent retirement. Now that's what I call being torn! I'm a lot like da Vinci's famous spread eagle man, so busy flapping my wings and kicking my feet that I don't always know if I'm coming or going.But it hasn't all been in vain. Because growth has been real, with lots of personal discovery -- for me, and I'm hoping eventually for you. I didn't know I could fly so high. On the other hand, when I crash and burn there's very little left to sweep up.
And that's where I am now, leading to this time of hiatus.
I've been a skyrider, like ghost riders in the sky; I've caught too much lightning barehanded and now I'm singed. I flew too close to the sun, dangerously close, and my wings couldn't take the extra, excruciating, unpleasant heat. I must have made a Faustian bargain with the devil that I don't consciously recall: "In exchange for these enhanced abilities we will meet again one day," he must've said. I rose above my station. I ascended Mount Carmel, Mount Sinai, Mount Molehill, Mount Moriah. I cried out to the gods, "I defy thee! Striketh thou me if thou musteth!" I raced through an impossible labyrinth and disappeared at the unknown nexus, the fabled vanishing point. Where vapors flare and quickly dissipate. My body became fire and I burned through my clothes, leaving me, again, like the da Vinci man.
Who wouldn't need a hiatus after that? I know it must be hard for you to understand, when you sit there all passive like a baby in a high chair with your mouth open, waiting for your mother's spoon. The whole passive approach I've never liked. Even when I was a baby I didn't like it. My mother would show up with a fresh diaper and I'd say, "Give me the d--- thing." Then I'd chew her out and say, "You know I can't walk yet! Next time get me to the d--- outhouse before it's too late! Sheesh!" I know it's never a popular thing to admit disrespecting your mother, but forgive me this one time. I'm just wanting to illustrate the fact that passivity and me don't get along.
That's probably part of this whole thing, why I crash so hard when it happens. I'm surrounded by baby bird readers, mouths agape, never mature enough to leave the nest. You're great at taking, taking, taking! What has Momma Bird got for me today, this very minute? Your hunger's never satisfied. If I gave you a Snickers you'd still have your mouth busting at the edges, hungry for something more, more, more. So something has to give! Whether it's this blog, the newsletter, our real life meetings, none of it's been enough, and that's been an oppressive weight on me for far too long. And how to separate you out, the sincere and compliant from the criminal and demanding, like Garrett Al ... this has been almost an impossible task thanks to the lies of the internet.
I mention him -- Garrett Al. What a loser. His lust was not for my mind -- which could've done him some good -- but my body. The real issue was with Garrett Al's mind. It's as worthless as a peach pit. If he would've only sought my mind, not my body, then he'd've settled down and flown right. But because his mind is so far gone, all he can see through is that prism of primeval lust, and that means there's no way back for him. They put him in jail for the night, perhaps a fitting punishment for the crime at the social level. But as far as I'm concerned, the crime never dies. And I won't say exactly what I'll do if he shows up at my door again. Just let me say that Grandpa Slump did believe in the Second Amendment, and I feel more secure now knowing the full extent to which he did.
So that's where my hiatus stands as of right this minute. I'm taking a well-deserved break, while standing guard. And in rare moments of relaxation -- when I'm able to shake off the exhaustion for a second -- I'm trying to think of ideas and principles to share with you, my beloved readership, to try once again, likely in vain, to satisfy your needs. But right now I cannot do it. I must not even try.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Think Of Hiatus As My Canteen Time
My mind is overwhelmed with cliches about pressure cookers, the breaking point, crawling through the desert, stress being public enemy number one, and the dark night of the soul. My mind's abuzz with a thousand clamoring voices and I can't turn it off.
It's all craziness but, yes, I know you're out there. I have you to deal with and I have me to deal with. I'll start with me. I am of course a goal-oriented person, very task-oriented. I make a resolution and I want to achieve it. I took on the responsibility of this blog and the newsletter and I take my responsibilities seriously. I want to present ideas and insights so they'll be out there. There is some value in that to me as the person doing the thinking, then setting it forth. And like I said, I have you. I know that you could, possibly, conceivably get some good out of my insights and ideas, and, if you're lucky, achieve some measure of equilibrium from having shared them.
Some of you no doubt are reprobates, set apart for certain destruction whether by a destiny not of your own choosing or, worse, through your own obstinance and unwillingness to yield. If you are in that category, my writings are not for you. You are too far gone or are incapable of changing, of growth, so nothing here will make any difference. Even though I say that, I don't think very many of you are in that category. Rather, I feel it likely that most of you are among those who could step it up, achieve your dreams, and reach for the highest things.
It is for those who are reaching for the highest things that I feel compelled to put forth these deep ideas, ideals, and insights. Believe me, I'm not writing for all the money I make on Google Ads. Those do of course bring in quite a bit of income, and I'm getting very comfortable with all the added luxuries I'm now able to afford, but that's not my main interest. If it were just the money I could stop writing right this second, leave all my posts up just as they are, and simply cash the checks they're generating everyday. Like residuals. Because seekers will be hitting those articles till the end of time. But that's not my thing, material riches.
I feel compelled to keep on here because you've gotten to a certain level -- we have together. And if I leave you hanging, anything could happen. You could go the wrong direction. You might even deny the progress you've made and give up. Then what? I would hear the statistics, that admissions to insane asylums have suddenly spiked, and I would know in my heart of hearts that I had something to do with that. And there you'd be. And here I'd be, imagining you at the asylum window, holding the bars of the window, a forlorn look on your face, howling at the moon, barely able to answer questions at the social interaction and self esteem classes they'd have you in every afternoon. Yes, I know about the free potato chips and those little ice cream cups -- and canteen time, during which you may buy soda pop for the reduced price of 35 cents a can -- but even those amenities surely wouldn't make it entirely worthwhile.
I've met some of you in our real life meetings -- and I know how needy you are, and not just the kind of fleshly needs like Garrett Al had. Which were pathological. In his case he had the weird instinct to procreate but it'd gone entirely wacky. I'm a man! How could Garrett Al expect me to have his baby? It's absurd. Anyway, I know you from the meetings, a few of you. And I know what you've written in about the newsletters and how my writings have touched you. I'm not a people person -- we know that. But that doesn't mean I'm not also touched in return.
Each of us is being prepared for something, some path, some destiny we don't necessarily know. And it's these kinds of insights that help "keep it real." But right now I'm emotionally exhausted -- physically and in every other way -- and I so desperately need a break. I do hope to be back. I do not want to leave you hanging. What I have started I want to see through. Getting it accomplished is everything to me. It's like clearing away the jungle to make a home. Sometimes the more you hack the more hopeless it seems. But if you don't keep hacking the hopelessness is assured. Somehow Tarzan did it, and I believe we can too!
But now, in these moments, friends, I very much need this rest, this hiatus from my responsibilities. Therefore, you will not be seeing me here as much, for a while. Let's not say Goodbye, but let's just say, Hors d'ouevres. And if it's helpful to you, just think of this hiatus as my canteen time. To your way of thinking, as far as you're concerned, I'm just stepping out for soda ... and possibly a candy bar ...
It's all craziness but, yes, I know you're out there. I have you to deal with and I have me to deal with. I'll start with me. I am of course a goal-oriented person, very task-oriented. I make a resolution and I want to achieve it. I took on the responsibility of this blog and the newsletter and I take my responsibilities seriously. I want to present ideas and insights so they'll be out there. There is some value in that to me as the person doing the thinking, then setting it forth. And like I said, I have you. I know that you could, possibly, conceivably get some good out of my insights and ideas, and, if you're lucky, achieve some measure of equilibrium from having shared them.
Some of you no doubt are reprobates, set apart for certain destruction whether by a destiny not of your own choosing or, worse, through your own obstinance and unwillingness to yield. If you are in that category, my writings are not for you. You are too far gone or are incapable of changing, of growth, so nothing here will make any difference. Even though I say that, I don't think very many of you are in that category. Rather, I feel it likely that most of you are among those who could step it up, achieve your dreams, and reach for the highest things.
It is for those who are reaching for the highest things that I feel compelled to put forth these deep ideas, ideals, and insights. Believe me, I'm not writing for all the money I make on Google Ads. Those do of course bring in quite a bit of income, and I'm getting very comfortable with all the added luxuries I'm now able to afford, but that's not my main interest. If it were just the money I could stop writing right this second, leave all my posts up just as they are, and simply cash the checks they're generating everyday. Like residuals. Because seekers will be hitting those articles till the end of time. But that's not my thing, material riches.
I feel compelled to keep on here because you've gotten to a certain level -- we have together. And if I leave you hanging, anything could happen. You could go the wrong direction. You might even deny the progress you've made and give up. Then what? I would hear the statistics, that admissions to insane asylums have suddenly spiked, and I would know in my heart of hearts that I had something to do with that. And there you'd be. And here I'd be, imagining you at the asylum window, holding the bars of the window, a forlorn look on your face, howling at the moon, barely able to answer questions at the social interaction and self esteem classes they'd have you in every afternoon. Yes, I know about the free potato chips and those little ice cream cups -- and canteen time, during which you may buy soda pop for the reduced price of 35 cents a can -- but even those amenities surely wouldn't make it entirely worthwhile.
I've met some of you in our real life meetings -- and I know how needy you are, and not just the kind of fleshly needs like Garrett Al had. Which were pathological. In his case he had the weird instinct to procreate but it'd gone entirely wacky. I'm a man! How could Garrett Al expect me to have his baby? It's absurd. Anyway, I know you from the meetings, a few of you. And I know what you've written in about the newsletters and how my writings have touched you. I'm not a people person -- we know that. But that doesn't mean I'm not also touched in return.
Each of us is being prepared for something, some path, some destiny we don't necessarily know. And it's these kinds of insights that help "keep it real." But right now I'm emotionally exhausted -- physically and in every other way -- and I so desperately need a break. I do hope to be back. I do not want to leave you hanging. What I have started I want to see through. Getting it accomplished is everything to me. It's like clearing away the jungle to make a home. Sometimes the more you hack the more hopeless it seems. But if you don't keep hacking the hopelessness is assured. Somehow Tarzan did it, and I believe we can too!
But now, in these moments, friends, I very much need this rest, this hiatus from my responsibilities. Therefore, you will not be seeing me here as much, for a while. Let's not say Goodbye, but let's just say, Hors d'ouevres. And if it's helpful to you, just think of this hiatus as my canteen time. To your way of thinking, as far as you're concerned, I'm just stepping out for soda ... and possibly a candy bar ...
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
The Case For Hiatus
It's seriously weighing on me, my grounds for taking what I believe is a very well-deserved hiatus versus the needs and desires of others who question and pick and "seek clarification." At some point I need to ask, "Am I not free to do as I please?" Apparently not.
One obvious response is simply to do what I want, what I choose, to bull my way through. I could do that. Just don't respond at all. Let it drift where it will go. Cut it off and leave a stump behind. Just pack it in and vanish in the night. I've thought of it, don't think I haven't. I'm at the individual level here, without a lot of employees and hungry mouths depending on my every move. But I am also a reasonable person, especially with something like this that really is my baby. I ought to respond in a reasonable way when I can without being overly prickly about it.
I will speak my piece and that'll be it. If there remains yet any objection, then we'll have to agree to disagree. More likely you'll go your way and I'll go mine. But at this point my thinking is that at least it will not occur without a clear statement of my principles and reasons.
I haven't said much about the real life visits I've had with some of you. But there's a principle concerning real life visits that seems to be true. And that is, Those who seek real life visits of people they meet online are more likely to be hopeless psychos than not. Note, I said "more likely," without giving statistics. I don't know the true statistics, of course, but I wouldn't be surprised if it were in the 99% range. The bigger surprise to me is that we are able to know anyone in real life without being jumped with a knife. And being propositioned. Oh yeah!
Now, I have my strict policy of not running anything I consider "blue material." So I won't be describing in any detail my experiences along those lines, except to say it's completely disgusting and reprehensible. I might sit there like la la la, but inside I'm dying. Please get out of my yard, out of my town, as far away from me as possible. Something like that.
There was one psycho and the guy ended up in jail for the night. Some people don't like the word no. He had been drinking. (I'll leave off his last name, Garrett Al ___.) Like Geritol. Sorry for the humor. I'm just glad I can kind of laugh about it now.
Long story short. We got together for one of these real life visits, big mistake. He brought along a bottle and a knife. I also had a knife and we were out whittling by the garage. It's a family custom to whittle while we visit, but those times were never with psychos we met online.
But too much drinking, and Garrett Al being a big amorous guy whose fantasies of meeting someone in real life had finally come true, and his having a knife were almost a lethal mix. When I said no everything went bing bang in his head, and I ended up with a cut on one hand. But he was at a big disadvantage because I know all the places where our lawn tools are leaning. I whacked him with a rake and called the police. My first prayer was, "Thank God for Better Homes and Gardens."
So see? I've been through the mill. I hesitate to mention any of this but every word is true. I'm even shaking right now just to think about it. He could've slipped me a mickey and I could've woke up in Vegas with Property of Garrett Al tattooed to my pelvis. It's crazy.
Anyway, let me have this hiatus -- I'm going to take it -- and I'll try my best to spare you the disgusting details.
One obvious response is simply to do what I want, what I choose, to bull my way through. I could do that. Just don't respond at all. Let it drift where it will go. Cut it off and leave a stump behind. Just pack it in and vanish in the night. I've thought of it, don't think I haven't. I'm at the individual level here, without a lot of employees and hungry mouths depending on my every move. But I am also a reasonable person, especially with something like this that really is my baby. I ought to respond in a reasonable way when I can without being overly prickly about it.
I will speak my piece and that'll be it. If there remains yet any objection, then we'll have to agree to disagree. More likely you'll go your way and I'll go mine. But at this point my thinking is that at least it will not occur without a clear statement of my principles and reasons.
I haven't said much about the real life visits I've had with some of you. But there's a principle concerning real life visits that seems to be true. And that is, Those who seek real life visits of people they meet online are more likely to be hopeless psychos than not. Note, I said "more likely," without giving statistics. I don't know the true statistics, of course, but I wouldn't be surprised if it were in the 99% range. The bigger surprise to me is that we are able to know anyone in real life without being jumped with a knife. And being propositioned. Oh yeah!
Now, I have my strict policy of not running anything I consider "blue material." So I won't be describing in any detail my experiences along those lines, except to say it's completely disgusting and reprehensible. I might sit there like la la la, but inside I'm dying. Please get out of my yard, out of my town, as far away from me as possible. Something like that.
There was one psycho and the guy ended up in jail for the night. Some people don't like the word no. He had been drinking. (I'll leave off his last name, Garrett Al ___.) Like Geritol. Sorry for the humor. I'm just glad I can kind of laugh about it now.
Long story short. We got together for one of these real life visits, big mistake. He brought along a bottle and a knife. I also had a knife and we were out whittling by the garage. It's a family custom to whittle while we visit, but those times were never with psychos we met online.
But too much drinking, and Garrett Al being a big amorous guy whose fantasies of meeting someone in real life had finally come true, and his having a knife were almost a lethal mix. When I said no everything went bing bang in his head, and I ended up with a cut on one hand. But he was at a big disadvantage because I know all the places where our lawn tools are leaning. I whacked him with a rake and called the police. My first prayer was, "Thank God for Better Homes and Gardens."
So see? I've been through the mill. I hesitate to mention any of this but every word is true. I'm even shaking right now just to think about it. He could've slipped me a mickey and I could've woke up in Vegas with Property of Garrett Al tattooed to my pelvis. It's crazy.
Anyway, let me have this hiatus -- I'm going to take it -- and I'll try my best to spare you the disgusting details.
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