I've been trying to delete the last two posts; the editing page shows them as absent, but here they remain. Ugh... So do me a favor, and don't read them, OK?
I finally procured some St.John's wort that works- man, what a difference. I feel sane again.
What do you think of this? Transhumanism My initial response- arrogant, idealisitic, and short sighted, in a way.
Thursday, January 29, 2004
Sunday, January 25, 2004
Well. It must seem that I was a little obsessed with the subject, and I have to admit that I found the pictures and accounts very disturbing. Here is more info. The thing is, I honestly had no idea it was such a major deal. But now I'm wondering whether (and how much of) the difficulties between the sexes are related to the trauma of having their genitals mutilated. No wonder some guys wear such an air of bravado- they're insecure. I think it's just a matter of time before the practice becomes outdated and that it will be looked upon with horror by future generations.
I'm reading The Catcher in the Rye. I feel a little sorry for the main character. He seems like such a loser, and the saddest part of it is that he's fairly oblivious to the fact. He's decent at heart and has a definite sympathy for people, and this seems to be his main redeeming feature. He doesn't seem to have any dreams, any goals, any aspirations in life, or....or even any curiosity to speak of. I get the impression that he just sort of floats along, taking in sensory data and responding to it with feelings. Maybe the book changes later on, but the guy just doesn't seem to have any depth of thought going on, though he has to be given credit for feelings. He seems determined to like people when given the slightest chance; I don't know, there's a sort of innocence about him, even though I think he's kind of a moron.
Latest visual interests- seashells. Nothing I could say with my clumsy words would do them justice. I wish they were easier to find around here.
Also- parakeets. They're such cheery little birds. I'm thinking about getting one when I move into town. Maybe.
I'm reading The Catcher in the Rye. I feel a little sorry for the main character. He seems like such a loser, and the saddest part of it is that he's fairly oblivious to the fact. He's decent at heart and has a definite sympathy for people, and this seems to be his main redeeming feature. He doesn't seem to have any dreams, any goals, any aspirations in life, or....or even any curiosity to speak of. I get the impression that he just sort of floats along, taking in sensory data and responding to it with feelings. Maybe the book changes later on, but the guy just doesn't seem to have any depth of thought going on, though he has to be given credit for feelings. He seems determined to like people when given the slightest chance; I don't know, there's a sort of innocence about him, even though I think he's kind of a moron.
Latest visual interests- seashells. Nothing I could say with my clumsy words would do them justice. I wish they were easier to find around here.
Also- parakeets. They're such cheery little birds. I'm thinking about getting one when I move into town. Maybe.
Friday, January 23, 2004
Wait a minute here: did I say "pro's and con's"? From what I could tell, there aren't any pro's. Not one. There is just no justification for doing that kind of a thing. And why anyone in their right mind would worship a god who commanded it just baffles me.
Also backtracking to the book about the geisha. I'm still scratching my head over this, because- well, because. The author is a man, and probably a white man at that (Arthur Golden- sounds white, definitely not Asian). Now here is the thing that makes me wonder if it is at least based on transcriptions of a real woman's experiences: I've read men's accounts of what it's like for a woman to have sex. They're funny. They're insane. They're ludicrous. I invariably end up throwing the book down in disgust and muttering to myself as to why the man even tried writing this. After all, I would *never* *ever* presume to know what it's like for a man, but it seems that all too many male authors simply write down what must be a female rendition of the male experience. But in this book, the geisha's account was right on. She described the kind of things that I honestly don't think most men could even begin to fathom, not because they're obtuse or stupid, but only because they've never been a woman. The motives, the feelings, the misgivings, the sort of things that men puzzle over and grumble about because they don't understand...some woman somewhere composed at least this section. I'm telling you, there is just no way a man could have written it.
For an example of a very poorly written, laughable account of a woman's side of things, read Gap Creek. I kept on wondering why he didn't find a woman and ask her what it's like, for godssake.
As long as I'm incriminating myself talking about these things, a friend called yesterday. She was chortling about a new purchase she'd made; she likes weird christmas lights, she has a set of chili pepper lights that are up year round in her home. She found a set with, *ahem*, penises. (!) The thought suddenly struck me- THIS is the sort of thing that would be covered in the clause of embarrassing the other tenants, hanging a string or two of these in the window! :wicked grin: I can just see the look on the landlord's face... Oh, it would be so perfect... Yes, I'm bad, I know it. So bite me.
Also backtracking to the book about the geisha. I'm still scratching my head over this, because- well, because. The author is a man, and probably a white man at that (Arthur Golden- sounds white, definitely not Asian). Now here is the thing that makes me wonder if it is at least based on transcriptions of a real woman's experiences: I've read men's accounts of what it's like for a woman to have sex. They're funny. They're insane. They're ludicrous. I invariably end up throwing the book down in disgust and muttering to myself as to why the man even tried writing this. After all, I would *never* *ever* presume to know what it's like for a man, but it seems that all too many male authors simply write down what must be a female rendition of the male experience. But in this book, the geisha's account was right on. She described the kind of things that I honestly don't think most men could even begin to fathom, not because they're obtuse or stupid, but only because they've never been a woman. The motives, the feelings, the misgivings, the sort of things that men puzzle over and grumble about because they don't understand...some woman somewhere composed at least this section. I'm telling you, there is just no way a man could have written it.
For an example of a very poorly written, laughable account of a woman's side of things, read Gap Creek. I kept on wondering why he didn't find a woman and ask her what it's like, for godssake.
As long as I'm incriminating myself talking about these things, a friend called yesterday. She was chortling about a new purchase she'd made; she likes weird christmas lights, she has a set of chili pepper lights that are up year round in her home. She found a set with, *ahem*, penises. (!) The thought suddenly struck me- THIS is the sort of thing that would be covered in the clause of embarrassing the other tenants, hanging a string or two of these in the window! :wicked grin: I can just see the look on the landlord's face... Oh, it would be so perfect... Yes, I'm bad, I know it. So bite me.
Thursday, January 22, 2004
The current topic on the INTP list - what happens during circumcision. I feel sick. I can't believe anyone would do this to a baby, especially if they loved him. Oh, my god. (Yeah, God, if you're there, why in the hell would you give males something that makes perfect sense and then tell your chosen people to hack it off their week old babies? Huh??? Nice god....) It's just sick, barbaric, and cruel. Reading about the pro's and con's didn't help either- now I can see why some men are brutal. Hell yes... Man in his infinite folly- screw around with nature, fuck it up, and then blame it on an imaginary god. :stomach churning:
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
Yeah, lame I know. I just posted a few hours ago and here I am again. Oh well! I actually do have something else to do but obviously I'm not doing it yet.
I finished the book about the geisha. The story was so poignant that I was practically in tears by the last page of it (not really. I never cry, right? This is the cold hearted bitch, after all..) and it had an unexpectedly happy ending. All through the book I kept shaking my head and thinking, 'man...I can relate to this, but she's nuts, this is never going to work...' and then, in the last four or five pages, it all works out perfectly. So you can imagine just how pissed I was to discover that it is apparently a novel and not based on any true occurences, despite the so-called 'translator's note' in the introduction saying that he'd tape recorded the reminiscenses of an elderly geisha. The story was incredibly convincing, and when I found out i'd been duped, well....I wasn't happy about it, that's all. It's still a good read. Just don't get fixated on its being a true story.
Music- my Dire Straits CD hasn't arrived yet. This song keeps rolling through my head. All right- I'm going to admit something- Elton John is very F (feeling, emotional) in the tone of his music. Generally that kind of crap turns me off. But he has a way of expressing it perfectly- whatever it is he's trying to express in a particular song, I mean- and the songs tend to be a perfect marriage of lyrics and music. In that sense, I think he's a genius. The thing of it is, when it comes to feelings, I don't know what to do with them. Half the time I don't even realize they're there or what they are until it's too late and they're staring me in the face. Expressing them? Verbally??? You've got to be kidding. Besides, once I identify that there *is* a feeling of some sort and exactly *what* it is, I analyze it for hours (or days or months) and try to figure out just what it means, why it's there, etc etc...in other words I move it from feeling into thinking mode in order to deal with it.
That's why I like Elton John. He expresses things that I can't, eloquently. I'll be listening to his music, and eventually a song will play where I'll say- "hey, yeah. That's exactly it." So, back to the song. I recognized that particular feeling the first time I heard it. You'd sort of have to hear it though, the lyrics aren't enough. But it feels like a kid cowering in a corner from an angry father, wanting his dad's approval and love, wondering what in the hell he did wrong and what he's got to do to be loved again. This is the most perfect expression of an abused child that I've ever heard. I have more to say on this note but the night is wearing on rather fruitlessly and there are some things I need to work on.
I finished the book about the geisha. The story was so poignant that I was practically in tears by the last page of it (not really. I never cry, right? This is the cold hearted bitch, after all..) and it had an unexpectedly happy ending. All through the book I kept shaking my head and thinking, 'man...I can relate to this, but she's nuts, this is never going to work...' and then, in the last four or five pages, it all works out perfectly. So you can imagine just how pissed I was to discover that it is apparently a novel and not based on any true occurences, despite the so-called 'translator's note' in the introduction saying that he'd tape recorded the reminiscenses of an elderly geisha. The story was incredibly convincing, and when I found out i'd been duped, well....I wasn't happy about it, that's all. It's still a good read. Just don't get fixated on its being a true story.
Music- my Dire Straits CD hasn't arrived yet. This song keeps rolling through my head. All right- I'm going to admit something- Elton John is very F (feeling, emotional) in the tone of his music. Generally that kind of crap turns me off. But he has a way of expressing it perfectly- whatever it is he's trying to express in a particular song, I mean- and the songs tend to be a perfect marriage of lyrics and music. In that sense, I think he's a genius. The thing of it is, when it comes to feelings, I don't know what to do with them. Half the time I don't even realize they're there or what they are until it's too late and they're staring me in the face. Expressing them? Verbally??? You've got to be kidding. Besides, once I identify that there *is* a feeling of some sort and exactly *what* it is, I analyze it for hours (or days or months) and try to figure out just what it means, why it's there, etc etc...in other words I move it from feeling into thinking mode in order to deal with it.
That's why I like Elton John. He expresses things that I can't, eloquently. I'll be listening to his music, and eventually a song will play where I'll say- "hey, yeah. That's exactly it." So, back to the song. I recognized that particular feeling the first time I heard it. You'd sort of have to hear it though, the lyrics aren't enough. But it feels like a kid cowering in a corner from an angry father, wanting his dad's approval and love, wondering what in the hell he did wrong and what he's got to do to be loved again. This is the most perfect expression of an abused child that I've ever heard. I have more to say on this note but the night is wearing on rather fruitlessly and there are some things I need to work on.
Went and looked at (counting...) five apartments today, and inquired about a number of others. The five I looked at are al owned by the same guy. I've met this man before, he's seems decent enough. I think he's a mormon. All the places were really nice. The most appealing one is about to have a lease signed on it, the most affordable one is way too small, the others are OK. The one I liked second best is expensive, I'd just about need a rommate to rent it with.
The apartment policies crack me up. A sampling: Profane, obscene, loud or boisterous language or unseemly behavior and conduct, is absolutely prohibited, and tenant obligates himself, and those under him, not to do or permit anything that will annoy, harass, embarrass,or inconvenience any of the other tenants or occupants in the subject or adjoining premises.
Landlord has the right to immediately remove combustible material from the premises. Say what??
Now, understand me here. It isn't that I would go right out and break all the rules just for the sake of being perverse, though it's tempting when there are so many rules. I always like to read the rules wherever I go and see what all is prohibited so that I'll know what I'm getting into. These rules are lenient compared to those at a homeless shelter, where you cannot even kiss, hug, or hold hands unless you've got a signed marriage license. Also generally outlawed- eating your own food. If whatever they give you at the communal meals isn't enough or you can't eat it, tough luck. In fact, you're not even allowed to have your own food in your backpack, but I always did. I couldn't very well get rid of it knowing I'd be back on the streets in a day or two.
Why am I talking about homelessness again? I guess because my position at this point is tenous. The prospect of falling on hard times and possibly ending up on the streets scares the hell out of me. I'll do my damnedest to make sure that doesn't happen, and it shouldn't, but it's sort of the same uneasy, anxious feeling I get when the fridge and cupboards start to look empty. The strange thing is that I don't even have an appetite to speak of anymore. It's typical for me not to eat much of anything until 3-4 PM, at which point I'll have something small, and then dinner a few hours later. If I didn't get shaky and lightheaded about that time, chances are I'd skip out on eating at all. Yet if the food gets low I start to panic and given the opportunity, would probably stockpile food. Weird.
The apartment policies crack me up. A sampling: Profane, obscene, loud or boisterous language or unseemly behavior and conduct, is absolutely prohibited, and tenant obligates himself, and those under him, not to do or permit anything that will annoy, harass, embarrass,or inconvenience any of the other tenants or occupants in the subject or adjoining premises.
- Profane- does this mean I can't say 'God is dead' or somesuch? It must, because swearing is covered next.
- Obscene- assuming it isn't loud and noone can hear me, why not? It is going to hurt anyone if I sit quietly cussing while I'm on the computer?
- Loud- OK, I can see that.
- Boisterous- is this different from loud? How?
- Unseemly behavior and conduct- I'm not sure I want to know what's covered by this....
- Absolutely Prohibited- Wow.
- Tenant obligates himself- Oh, wait.. That doesn't include me, then. ;-)
- annoy- what if the other tenant is easily annoyed by perfectly ordinary and unobtrusive behavior?
- Harass- I can see that..
- Embarrass-Like walking around the apartment in the nude? Or would that be unseemly behavior? Maybe this means you have to be silent if you have sex? Huh.
- inconvenience- This is reasonable.
Landlord has the right to immediately remove combustible material from the premises. Say what??
Now, understand me here. It isn't that I would go right out and break all the rules just for the sake of being perverse, though it's tempting when there are so many rules. I always like to read the rules wherever I go and see what all is prohibited so that I'll know what I'm getting into. These rules are lenient compared to those at a homeless shelter, where you cannot even kiss, hug, or hold hands unless you've got a signed marriage license. Also generally outlawed- eating your own food. If whatever they give you at the communal meals isn't enough or you can't eat it, tough luck. In fact, you're not even allowed to have your own food in your backpack, but I always did. I couldn't very well get rid of it knowing I'd be back on the streets in a day or two.
Why am I talking about homelessness again? I guess because my position at this point is tenous. The prospect of falling on hard times and possibly ending up on the streets scares the hell out of me. I'll do my damnedest to make sure that doesn't happen, and it shouldn't, but it's sort of the same uneasy, anxious feeling I get when the fridge and cupboards start to look empty. The strange thing is that I don't even have an appetite to speak of anymore. It's typical for me not to eat much of anything until 3-4 PM, at which point I'll have something small, and then dinner a few hours later. If I didn't get shaky and lightheaded about that time, chances are I'd skip out on eating at all. Yet if the food gets low I start to panic and given the opportunity, would probably stockpile food. Weird.
Monday, January 19, 2004
Current reading list
-----------------------------------------
Still reading Faust now and then, and enjoying it. To be honest though, Memoirs of a Geisha is so captivating that I've neglected all other reading material, even seed and flower catalogs. The bittersweet portrait of a girl trying her best to better her lot in life (and so far not having any love or real closeness) is told with such sadness intermingled with an almost poetic style of expression....and it's all true.
After these two are finished, I have Catcher in the Rye and one by Asimov. I bought not one but TWO copies of Stranger in a Strange Land, only to find out that neither one is the uncut version, which is what I want. I can't see any reason to read these since I want the whole thing! Man that makes me feel like a dork.
Movies
--------------------------------------------
I LOVED The Meaning of Life. Man, that movie is funny! It's just great. :-) This one gets added to my top ten favorite movies.
Haven't watched the next two yet. There are a bunch of books and movies I want to find, as well as music. Found Dire Straits, it's now in the mail on its way to me. I'll have to compile a list of the stuff I'm looking for. Definitely Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass, The Handmaiden by Ursula Leguin (a favorite author) and if I could find them I'd probably get more books on art...hmmm, maybe Modigliani? Love those long ovoid heads with their almond eyes...
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Every day that goes by I think I should paint or draw something but the time just sllips away or gets all befuddled with so much noise and commotion and upset, by the time I wind down on the computer it's well past time to go to bed. If I don't do something, my life is going to slip away just like that, one day at a time- one futile, hectic day after another until there's nothing left of me- or nothing worth preserving anyhow.
-----------------------------------------
- Faust- Goethe
- Memoirs of a Geisha- Arther Golden
Still reading Faust now and then, and enjoying it. To be honest though, Memoirs of a Geisha is so captivating that I've neglected all other reading material, even seed and flower catalogs. The bittersweet portrait of a girl trying her best to better her lot in life (and so far not having any love or real closeness) is told with such sadness intermingled with an almost poetic style of expression....and it's all true.
After these two are finished, I have Catcher in the Rye and one by Asimov. I bought not one but TWO copies of Stranger in a Strange Land, only to find out that neither one is the uncut version, which is what I want. I can't see any reason to read these since I want the whole thing! Man that makes me feel like a dork.
Movies
--------------------------------------------
- The Meaning of Life (Monty Python)
- The Search for Bobby Fischer
- Pirates of Silicon Valley
I LOVED The Meaning of Life. Man, that movie is funny! It's just great. :-) This one gets added to my top ten favorite movies.
Haven't watched the next two yet. There are a bunch of books and movies I want to find, as well as music. Found Dire Straits, it's now in the mail on its way to me. I'll have to compile a list of the stuff I'm looking for. Definitely Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass, The Handmaiden by Ursula Leguin (a favorite author) and if I could find them I'd probably get more books on art...hmmm, maybe Modigliani? Love those long ovoid heads with their almond eyes...
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Every day that goes by I think I should paint or draw something but the time just sllips away or gets all befuddled with so much noise and commotion and upset, by the time I wind down on the computer it's well past time to go to bed. If I don't do something, my life is going to slip away just like that, one day at a time- one futile, hectic day after another until there's nothing left of me- or nothing worth preserving anyhow.
Thursday, January 15, 2004
I'm thinking about discontinuing this blog. It occurs to me that having it might not be such a bright idea. This is coupled with the fact that I truly doubt anyone reads it, making the risk fairly pointless, if you know what I mean... It's just stupid to write the things that I do here, when a diary would do just as well.
What else- I went through a photo album the other day, and I noticed a few things.
About my sister- she's younger but I've always lived in her shadow. She's glamorous and cute and pretty and well, she has that something...charisma? that I totally lack. She's got style and confidence. We look pretty much the same, it isn't that I'm homely, it's that she presents herself as though she's a beauty queen and utterly secure about it. I wouldn't want to be her, I wouldn't be happy living her life, and I prefer who I am, yet there is this nasty green streak of envy. Everybody likes her. She's sweet and outgoing and amiable. She gets what she wants. Cuteness goes a long, long way in life, and at time I have to admit to resenting that. She and I are such a contrast in almost every way despite the fact that we had the same upbringing. It's hard to blame my lack of success on a rough start when she's done so well. I asked her once how she did it, why everything seems to work out so well for her. She said that long ago, she'd seen how I was and the results of my weird unconventional ways, and decided that whatever I did, she'd do the exact opposite, and that it'd worked out pretty well. OUCH!
About the goats and I: the fact that the only pleasing pictures of me invariably include a goat says something significant. I've been thinking about drastically or completely reducing the number of goats in the herd. I can't enjoy them as I'd like to- when I've got to be tied down with so many little kids, dealing with them becomes more of a chore than a joy. Then I looked at these pictures and I realized- ya know, the goats make me happy. Life is about trying to be happy. Maybe I don't need so many, and perhaps I will eventually sell them off, but there are precious few things in this life that put a smile on my face and dammit, the goats are one of them.
What else- I went through a photo album the other day, and I noticed a few things.
- It would be useful to organize the photos by person or possibly time period. Having all sorts of family friends and whatnot from a span of 20-30 years jumbled together is confusing, a mishmash.
- I've got a lot of pictures of my full sister, and I do mean a LOT! It would not surprise me if a third or more of them had her in them.
- I don't photograph well....at all.... But the pictures that are decent generally have me smiling happily with a goat or two.
About my sister- she's younger but I've always lived in her shadow. She's glamorous and cute and pretty and well, she has that something...charisma? that I totally lack. She's got style and confidence. We look pretty much the same, it isn't that I'm homely, it's that she presents herself as though she's a beauty queen and utterly secure about it. I wouldn't want to be her, I wouldn't be happy living her life, and I prefer who I am, yet there is this nasty green streak of envy. Everybody likes her. She's sweet and outgoing and amiable. She gets what she wants. Cuteness goes a long, long way in life, and at time I have to admit to resenting that. She and I are such a contrast in almost every way despite the fact that we had the same upbringing. It's hard to blame my lack of success on a rough start when she's done so well. I asked her once how she did it, why everything seems to work out so well for her. She said that long ago, she'd seen how I was and the results of my weird unconventional ways, and decided that whatever I did, she'd do the exact opposite, and that it'd worked out pretty well. OUCH!
About the goats and I: the fact that the only pleasing pictures of me invariably include a goat says something significant. I've been thinking about drastically or completely reducing the number of goats in the herd. I can't enjoy them as I'd like to- when I've got to be tied down with so many little kids, dealing with them becomes more of a chore than a joy. Then I looked at these pictures and I realized- ya know, the goats make me happy. Life is about trying to be happy. Maybe I don't need so many, and perhaps I will eventually sell them off, but there are precious few things in this life that put a smile on my face and dammit, the goats are one of them.
Tuesday, January 13, 2004
Current mood- Not so good. Pretty crummy actually. But there isn't a lot that can be done about it, so.... there are a lot of other thoughts rolling through my head. Such as:
Originality- It's something I've always placed a very high value on. I used to go out of my way to be just as weird and unconventional as I could possibly be and get away with. It's on par with intelligence as far as importance goes, though I suppose there's some crossover between the two, because it seems to me that intelligence requires at least some originality in the thought processes. I'm digressing. What I wonder every so often is whether we have the capacity to be truly original, or do we simply blend and tweak the familiar and known slightly beyond what is expected? Take plagarism (sp?) : don't most artists mimic and copy something they've seen? If not other art, then nature, the shapes of architecture, etc? Ah- there is the abstract; but isn't this influenced as well by the input that has already entered our minds? It has to be, right? How much of what we come up with is truly unique? I'm thinking not much. Then again- Salvador Dali comes to mind. I love this quote of his- "The only difference between me and a madman is that I'm not mad."
So anyway, back to what I was saying, I think that maybe the deal is that even though a particular train of thought may not be truly original (i.e. it has been thought of before by others), it becomes so when you make it your own by having thought it through and aligning or contrasting it with the other data in your mind. What 's really dangerous are the people who simply take in what they've heard or been taught without assimilating it or even being aware.
Now, this leads me to another tangent. How many people *are* aware, in the sense that they question and think about stuff? My main gripe with TV is the propensity that people have to rely on it for entertainment (rather than imagination) and information (which they rarely critique). Even books can take on this role. Nothing irritates me in quite the same way as to hear someone spouting off quotes from some book as though it's the blessed truth, even a book that has merit. I mean, if they quote from it because they found some passage interesting or personally meaningful, that's one thing, but to say; "well, Edgar Cayce says....." or, "The book of New Age Enlightenment says...." just irks the heck out of me. It's nigh impossible to have a good conversation with such people. They don't really *think*.
So- can people actually be original? If you took someone and alienated them from all human data, what kind of things would they think, assuming they lived and weren't so dysfunctional as to be non-human...would that be possible? I don't think so. All we can do is to take what we have and add it together, or subtract, etc. But from whence do the leaps of genius come? Those, are they simply stretching what's available beyond what most are accustomed to (which actually wouldn't be hard, if you think about it..)?? Or?
Originality- It's something I've always placed a very high value on. I used to go out of my way to be just as weird and unconventional as I could possibly be and get away with. It's on par with intelligence as far as importance goes, though I suppose there's some crossover between the two, because it seems to me that intelligence requires at least some originality in the thought processes. I'm digressing. What I wonder every so often is whether we have the capacity to be truly original, or do we simply blend and tweak the familiar and known slightly beyond what is expected? Take plagarism (sp?) : don't most artists mimic and copy something they've seen? If not other art, then nature, the shapes of architecture, etc? Ah- there is the abstract; but isn't this influenced as well by the input that has already entered our minds? It has to be, right? How much of what we come up with is truly unique? I'm thinking not much. Then again- Salvador Dali comes to mind. I love this quote of his- "The only difference between me and a madman is that I'm not mad."
So anyway, back to what I was saying, I think that maybe the deal is that even though a particular train of thought may not be truly original (i.e. it has been thought of before by others), it becomes so when you make it your own by having thought it through and aligning or contrasting it with the other data in your mind. What 's really dangerous are the people who simply take in what they've heard or been taught without assimilating it or even being aware.
Now, this leads me to another tangent. How many people *are* aware, in the sense that they question and think about stuff? My main gripe with TV is the propensity that people have to rely on it for entertainment (rather than imagination) and information (which they rarely critique). Even books can take on this role. Nothing irritates me in quite the same way as to hear someone spouting off quotes from some book as though it's the blessed truth, even a book that has merit. I mean, if they quote from it because they found some passage interesting or personally meaningful, that's one thing, but to say; "well, Edgar Cayce says....." or, "The book of New Age Enlightenment says...." just irks the heck out of me. It's nigh impossible to have a good conversation with such people. They don't really *think*.
So- can people actually be original? If you took someone and alienated them from all human data, what kind of things would they think, assuming they lived and weren't so dysfunctional as to be non-human...would that be possible? I don't think so. All we can do is to take what we have and add it together, or subtract, etc. But from whence do the leaps of genius come? Those, are they simply stretching what's available beyond what most are accustomed to (which actually wouldn't be hard, if you think about it..)?? Or?
Sunday, January 11, 2004
I think my dad has disowned me. I didn't hear a peep from him this holiday season. I don't care about the presents, but on the other hand it is nice to feel as though you exist to your parents and they're happy you're around. Actually his wife always handled the presents; I kind of think I wouldn't have heard from him most years if she weren't around. Maybe he read the blog and got mad. Or maybe it was the bit on my website that hinted I don't believe in God anymore. It's hard to say for sure. He's at least as uncommunicative as I am (wonder where I learned it?).
I didn't hear from my mom either, despite trying to contact her both by phone and email several times. So between the two of them, I was feeling pretty orphaned. :-(
My mom finally called yesterday. In the course of the hour or two long conversation, I think I figured out why my dad might be put out with me. His birthday is close to Christmas (as is hers, they're the same age), and my mom mentioned offhand that she'd just hit the big 5-0. This was a shock- I thought they were turning 49 this year. In fact, I was planning to go out and visit my dad and do something really special for his fiftieth. I can't believe this. Since when does someone forget their parent's age, especially someone who has a whole battery of phone and other long numbers memorized? Geez.
I still can't figure this out though. I'm 31 and a virgo. She says I was conceived on his birthday, and she was eighteen when she was pregnant with me. They're both Sagittarius, so the conception story holds some water. By this math, they both should have been 18 when I was born, yet she says they were 19? I am seriously confused....I was sure they were both born in 1954... I don't know how I am going to admit that I had no idea he was 50 this year...but on the other hand I don't want him to think I ignored it. My mom didn't care (she didn't want to be reminded of the fact!) but he's so sensitive and easily offended...man, have I ever screwed up this time.
I didn't hear from my mom either, despite trying to contact her both by phone and email several times. So between the two of them, I was feeling pretty orphaned. :-(
My mom finally called yesterday. In the course of the hour or two long conversation, I think I figured out why my dad might be put out with me. His birthday is close to Christmas (as is hers, they're the same age), and my mom mentioned offhand that she'd just hit the big 5-0. This was a shock- I thought they were turning 49 this year. In fact, I was planning to go out and visit my dad and do something really special for his fiftieth. I can't believe this. Since when does someone forget their parent's age, especially someone who has a whole battery of phone and other long numbers memorized? Geez.
I still can't figure this out though. I'm 31 and a virgo. She says I was conceived on his birthday, and she was eighteen when she was pregnant with me. They're both Sagittarius, so the conception story holds some water. By this math, they both should have been 18 when I was born, yet she says they were 19? I am seriously confused....I was sure they were both born in 1954... I don't know how I am going to admit that I had no idea he was 50 this year...but on the other hand I don't want him to think I ignored it. My mom didn't care (she didn't want to be reminded of the fact!) but he's so sensitive and easily offended...man, have I ever screwed up this time.
Saturday, January 10, 2004
Friday, January 02, 2004
I'm still trying to think of something profound to start the New Year off with. Mainly, I'd like to have fun and actually *enjoy* life for a change. Isn't that deep and thought provoking? No? Oh. Sorry. Not really...sorry that is...being sorry all the time isn't fun. ;^)
OK. Well how about this: The Meaning of Life (As I see it).
--------------------------------------------------------------------
For the past two years or more, I've been trying to figure out why we're here. Once I had faith in some kind of a higher meaning; after I discarded that, it all seemed more meaningless than ever. The concept of a meaningless and futile life was unacceptable- my life isn't happy enough that I can tolerate the notion that all this struggling and surviving has been done for its own sake...I mean, if that were the case, why bother at all? It really tormented me, because I just can't handle the idea that it's always going to be this way and worse, that there wasn't and isn't a reason for me to be here at all. (and then sometimes I think....what? I'm so important??? There's a *reason* for my being here? get real...) But I'm getting sidetracked.
I think the deal is this: we have to create a meaning for ourselves. It isn't something that's out there in the cosmos or higher being somewhere, waiting to be discovered by some profound enlightenment. We have to make it. And if we don't, then hell yes, our lives will in fact be meaningless.
OK. Well how about this: The Meaning of Life (As I see it).
--------------------------------------------------------------------
For the past two years or more, I've been trying to figure out why we're here. Once I had faith in some kind of a higher meaning; after I discarded that, it all seemed more meaningless than ever. The concept of a meaningless and futile life was unacceptable- my life isn't happy enough that I can tolerate the notion that all this struggling and surviving has been done for its own sake...I mean, if that were the case, why bother at all? It really tormented me, because I just can't handle the idea that it's always going to be this way and worse, that there wasn't and isn't a reason for me to be here at all. (and then sometimes I think....what? I'm so important??? There's a *reason* for my being here? get real...) But I'm getting sidetracked.
I think the deal is this: we have to create a meaning for ourselves. It isn't something that's out there in the cosmos or higher being somewhere, waiting to be discovered by some profound enlightenment. We have to make it. And if we don't, then hell yes, our lives will in fact be meaningless.