Category Archives: Art

Self Imposed Solitude vs. Abandonment

Abandon: (n)

 “a letting loose, freedom from self-restraint, surrender to natural impulses,” by 1822 as a French word in English (it remained in italics or quotation marks through much of the 19c.; the naturalized abandonment in this sense was attempted from 1834), from a sense in French abandon “abandonment; permission” (12c.), from abandonner “to surrender, release”  

The noun was borrowed earlier (c. 1400) from Old French in a sense “(someone’s) control;” and compare Middle English adverbial phrase at abandon, i.e. “recklessly,” attested from late 14c. In Old French, the past-participle adjective abandoné came to mean “zealous, eager, unreserved.”

Abandon: (v) 

late 14c., “to give up (something) absolutely, relinquish control, give over utterly;” also reflexively, “surrender (oneself), yield (oneself) utterly” (to religion, fornication, etc.), from Old French abandoner “surrender, release; give freely, permit,” also reflexive, “devote (oneself)” (12c.).

The Old French word was formed from the adverbial phrase à bandon “at will, at discretion,” from à “at, to” (from Latin ad; see ad-) + bandon “power, jurisdiction,” from Latin bannum, “proclamation,” which is from a Frankish or other Germanic word, from Proto-Germanic *bannan- “proclaim, summon, outlaw” (things all done by proclamation); see ban (v.).

Mettre sa forest à bandon was a feudal law phrase in the 13th cent. = mettre sa forêt à permission, i.e. to open it freely to any one for pasture or to cut wood in; hence the later sense of giving up one’s rights for a time, letting go, leaving, abandoning. [Auguste Brachet, “An Etymological Dictionary of the French Language,” transl. G.W. Kitchin, Oxford, 1878]

Meaning “to leave, desert, forsake (someone or something) in need” is from late 15c. (Etymologically, the word carries a sense of “put (something) under someone else’s control.”) Earliest appearance of the word in English is as an adverb (mid-13c.) with the sense “under (one’s) control,” hence also “unrestricted.” Related: Abandonedabandoning.

https://www.etymonline.com/word/abandon

Solitude: (n)

mid-14c., from Old French solitude “loneliness” (14c.) and directly from Latin solitudinem (nominative solitudo) “loneliness, a being alone; lonely place, desert, wilderness,” from solus “alone” (see sole (adj.)). “Not in common use in English until the 17th c.” [OED]

A man can be himself only so long as he is alone; … if he does not love solitude, he will not love freedom; for it is only when he is alone that he is really free. [Schopenhauer, “The World as Will and Idea,” 1818]

Solitudinarian “recluse, unsocial person” is recorded from 1690s.

https://www.etymonline.com/word/solitude

Apanthropy: (n)

“aversion to human company, love of solitude,” 1753, nativized form of Greek apanthropia, abstract noun from apanthropos “unsocial,” from assimilated form of apo “off, away from” (see apo-) + anthropos “man, human” (see anthropo-). Related: Apanthropic.

 

I don’t cry very often.  If I do, it usually has something to do with the death of dogs.  This could be because I’ve had my dog for eleven years and I can’t imagine life without her, and I assume that everyone feels that way about their dog if they have one.

This companion has been with me through some very trying times.  She has weathered my emotional storms that come rarely but brutally. I know she won’t just run away, our trust and connection is very deep.  We rely on one another.

People, are a different story.  My relationships with people have been a different story and upon retrospect perhaps I have been too dismissive of humans who mean well and matter very much to me.  Perhaps I have taken for granted the love others are able to have for me as a person with meaning in their life.  Perhaps my willingness to be dismissive has created a reality where I am more easily dismissed.  Or, maybe, I am being the center of my own galaxy and taking things too personal. I don’t know, but I cried today over a human.

I cried because this human finally said that they were leaving this (at times God Forsaken town) in anywhere between four and six months.  There is nothing left here for this person, except me. However I am not a reason to stay here and I haven’t made much of an effort to validate that I could be worth staying for.  I’ve been somewhat dismissive.

Today I was faced with the thought experiment of what it will be like to be sort of back to square one when it comes to human connection outside of my living situation.  What it will be like to not see the one person I’ve see almost daily for at least a few minutes for the last six years, who isn’t related to me.

My heart is broken and I didn’t expect this.  I always figured if they were going to go, it would be a sort of relief, and yet I don’t feel relieved.  I feel scared as fuck. Despite the times we haven’t agreed and I’ve had to use my words to point out the things that are incongruous or vital to our growth, I am so scared to be alone again.  Friendless.

See, I don’t want to cry over this.  I want to be callus because I fear this loneliness so much.  I felt abandonment to some degree every day of my life because my mom died when I was so young.  That feeling never left.  That abandonment eventually turned itself into self imposed solitude.  “You are the only one you can trust.  Everyone always leaves.”

I’ve used my loss as justification to build a very strong wall around myself.  It is constantly fortified and therefore basically unmovable, un-scale-able, and unbreakable. I’ve told myself that “It’s better this way.”  But is it?

Another thing I tell myself is “Everything works out in the end.  Go with the flow.”  Meanwhile, I am just as scared as the next guy who is scared of being alone forever.  I note that I am currently thirty-seven and that number isn’t decreasing.  My fortress needs to crack.  It needs to break, but all I know is how to build it stronger, not how to tear it down.

I am at a loss when it comes to how to deal with it, other than crying for a while, because I know that tomorrow I will tell myself to shove it back down and keep living without appearing to be broken.  And that life will continue and circumstances will change and I will be at the mercy of those changes.  That’s it, in a “go with the flow” mentality.  You realize you have no real control over anything but your own personal expression in the world. I suppose the impression I try to leave is resilience, strength and emotional independence.  Self reliance in times of uncertainty or trouble.  Am I successful at that?  I don’t really know.

I want to put out some blame here beyond myself, toward the pervasive programming in this world that has helped me fortify my fortress.  The blame goes to the insanity of feminism.  I never once called myself a feminist, but I have inherited many of the destructive belief patterns that are inherent in that movement.  Namely the degradation of the family.  More specifically, the demoralization of men and the positive role they can play in our lives.

I have no idea why I have taken on these views and manifested them into my reality the way I see them in this moment. I thought I knew better.  My dad is a really great person, a really dedicated individual.  My male family members (over all) have been wonderful, non violent people.   Where did all of this come from?

“Hey girl, you don’t need a man, you can do it on your own. Guys suck anyway.”

It just isn’t universally true.  And attitudes like that make you focus on every negative aspect of a person.  It programs you to look for the worst and to somehow capitalize on whatever you find in the most demoralizing way.  I’ve been with kind, supportive partners and with everyone of them, I tried to “break” them.  Why?  Why was I breaking them instead of building them up?  Why was I justifying that breaking them would build them up?   When has that ever worked out for the good of things and people?  It hasn’t.  It’s called mind control.

Mind Control is easily asserted on those whose minds have been broken by trauma.  I allowed an earlier trauma in my life to dictate my future reality with a certain sense of failure.  In turn I would blame myself as being “unlovable.”  If I received a compliment that was true, I would shrug it off as “niceties” or smoke being blown up my ass.   Never feeling worthwhile of praise unless it had something to do with external talent.

My heart is just so full of love, but it’s gotten harder over time to show it.  Express it.  Be it.  I didn’t like being broken like that today.  I didn’t like seeing that truth in myself.  But mostly, I didn’t like crying about it.  I didn’t like the submission of seeing a truth I had been avoiding. I didn’t like facing it alone and realizing that I set myself up for this.  Even though I fell into a program, I am the one who let it go on this long.  I am ashamed of myself, but I will commit to forgiveness.

I’m not sure how this moves forward, “but I am sure it will all work itself out in the end.”

 

 

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Letter to my 30 Year Old Self.

Dear 30 Year Old Mandie/ Madge- whatever you want to call yourself;

You kind of know me, because I am you and so this shouldn’t be creepy or offensive in any way…. but DAMN GIRL!  You are so adorable and just the right amount of weird and sexy.    Farming really looked good on you.  Nature is a place that brings out your best assets. I really miss the entire wardrobe you collected and discarded over the years.

I notice that you looked forward to 30, and you KNEW that once you arrived that you were on top of the world.  No longer a child, and old enough to say you know better… The prospect of thirty was exciting… and it felt like an accomplished age. You weren’t wrong.  You really played strong, hard and responsible with the right amount of reckless.   You learned and observed a lot. Despite normal selfishness, you wanted nothing more than to give and receive the gift of seeing others happy.   Your strength still helps me today.

I know you are still struggling with body dysmorphia at this point. You have a hard time facing it, as you always have.  Your diet is really great, you really try to “work your body” outside of the demands of a physically demanding job, and you still feel inadequate. I just want to say, damn girl.  If you could see me, the potential future you in my today; you would know what I am saying.

If you could really SEE the whole you,  beyond picking the right take from a video meant for youtube,  You would be amazed at how often you’ve demonized yourself.  When things were good, they were great and yet still as avoidable and demonized as when things felt bad.

The You, who made up “Madge Midgely Laycock” and so many other avoidance characters, was both brilliant and sad.  You  honestly always said what it is you are experiencing, and sometimes bad grammar is your partner in crime, but it is adorable.

30 Year Old Mandie, I miss you.  I mean, its only been 8 years, but, WOW, I LOVE YOU!  I feel so much of our internal, eternal  realness was represented in your excitement, boldness and presence.   You didn’t even know you were thinking about Me, now, then.  But, I get it.  I feel ya girlfriend, self I am.

Thank you for being so unabashed, always.  I think that is one of the things I love most about you. You are really strong, creative and resilient.  It’s awesome to know that you are me.

I ‘m sorry if I have disappointed you.  I didn’t expect this, either.  You know how we roll?  With the punches.

I know I feel inclined to defend or explain myself to you, but you will understand when you get here.  And, if I know you, like I know me; there will be forgiveness, compassion and understanding.

Mandie2010-2012, You are a force to be reckoned with.  Thank you for the time we were able to spend together.   You taught me how to really be a friend to me, you, us, and the future.

In Trusting Love,

The 37 year old You.

M.E.S.

Facebook- Refine Your Desires, Define Your Face

This process of refining my Facebook feed has been interesting… and I am not done with it yet.

Slowly I am putting people into groups of demographic.  (Sorry kids, I don’t like labels either but now you each get your own space in a category.)

By clicking on my Friends Lists under the Heading “Explore”, I can see a grouping of posts from people that I have separated.  Which means if I don’t want to see stuff about my home town, music, or babies… I can effectively do that.  When I want to see what’s happening in the music community, I can click on that group and scroll, until the feed ends.

This experiment has been both awesome and gross.  One on hand I am taking control of my input and output and on the other hand I am silently judging and allocating realms for people, they don’t even realize they are now existing within.

Doing this has significantly cut down on my time scrolling my FB feed.  Now, if I am curious about something or someone, in particular, I go to the list I put them in.  I get the added benefit of seeing posts from people who are also existing in that category.  In relation to that and on a side note, the algorithms are putting similar posts in alignment.  This is when I see two strangers talk about the same thing, even though they are unaware of one another.  I like it for research purposes and find it creepy as fuck on another level.

I have to face the fact that I will be invisible to people I care about, who I thought cared about me due to the “unfollow.”

The “unfollow” means that two people are responsible for their interactions.  If they stop interacting online, eventually the dialog will dry up.  Who knows if you still call each other, send letters and talk, if you don’t do those things, expect that relationship to take a hit in the cyber realm.

I’m not sure yet if the menial contribution I have after this point, will be useful.  I’ve basically told you how to take baby steps in completely disconnecting from the most major social media site on the planet.

I haven’t missed the mindless scrolling, but I miss the late night banter on a controversial posts.  I suppose that says a lot about me, and the types of things I like to engage with.

Regardless, I want to feel confident and happy with my online social experience as well as being real with myself about how I do not want social media to dominate my social existence.

I will continue to post updates as I notice, notable things.  Such as the featured image on this post which begs the question of how badly I want to be involved in one of the largest data collection experiments in human history.   That isn’t as easy to answer as I do appreciate the platform for reference in the world.

See, even if I am isolated, I know what is going on around me because of this platform and it allows me to do something that I enjoy doing, which is to assist others with requests or needs.  I imagine that pretty soon everything will be powered by auto-bots virtual assistance (this is a growing trend and being marketed to individuals who don’t have the time to man a busy page all day, and have no trust for a human Admin.)  The program will scan for questions and deliver answers more quickly than waiting on a human to share their input.

There is a need to sincerely look at this from a higher perspective and not just the selfish nature of desire.

Until then, may you interact with social media with balance and responsibility.

My Unabashed Wyoming Bias

I have to admit it;  I am completely enamored and biased by people from Wyoming.  Specifically Cheyenne, Wyoming.

I was born there; raised there, excited to leave there, and reluctant to come back.

I’ve said it once and I will say it again; I think I came from a really special “breeding ground.”  It gave us everything other than what we wanted, and we made do  with what we had.

I stepped outside my FB echo chamber today, to check out my Cheyenne Friends List.  I set this up almost ten years ago, as a new offering on the FB platform.

See it automatically set up a “Cheyenne, Wy” friend group, but it was purely based on the people who listed Cheyenne as their current home town.  At that point I created my own list including people I have known over the 18 years of growing up, and then adding people I met living there, from real life and online interactions.

Some of my favorite people from my past, exist on that list.  I root for them the hardest.  I believe in them the most.  They rarely disappoint.

By this point in my life, I thought I would be the type of person that  would be “followed” or “friended” for this specific type of list but somewhere down the line I really stopped giving a fuck and I am sure people have noticed and unfollowed or unfriended me along the way.

I am no longer the over achieving-personality pleasing person I thought I was.  I am not jumping large social hurdles, or even putting up much appearance at all.  I am okay with that because it leaves me time and energy to root on other people.  It gives me something outside of myself to “believe in.”

Personally, I feel pretty solid in the fact that I have to keep myself in balance  enough to the point that I can’t really rely on others for supplemental encouragement or energy; nor do I want to be an energetic vampire.  So we sit in stasis.

I will admit I know some amazing people who  continue to exist with amounts of personal drive that I have a hard time fathoming, but probably could have trumped in my earlier years.

These people are from my home town.  These are people I want to follow. People I knew, “once upon a time.”

I want to see how they thrive and fall.  I want to be there to encourage them no matter what.

But I feel this way about other people who have fallen in and out of my periphery since then.  I never want to see them hurt.  I do not want to contribute to their pain.  I believe in them and their purpose.

Perhaps it is just those old stories, of when we were young and lacking confidence and suddenly found ourselves falling into a new group of friends, or perhaps it is just that rubbernecking attitude like watching a car wreck on the highway; I will never leave on a purposefully mean note.  I may not agree with everything they say, but I feel that they represent me on some level, whether due to geography of once upon a time or some other relating factor, I believe deeply in who those people are and what they have to offer.

I love my Wyoming Kin.  I love having a list to check up on, when I am curious.

I say : Go dominate the world with the amazingness that  you are my fellow Wyomites.  Always ask Wy-Om-In(g) here?  Wy-Om-I- (will)ngly to stay or go?  You know the Wind will always blow you in the right direction, if you are listening.

Wyoming- sometimes you aggravate the shit out of me, but for some reason, I always have your back; the people you produce and spit into the vast space of time and separation are worth keeping and holding close.  I will remember this when you forget.

Wyoming you are more akin to the dandelion than you are the Indian Paintbrush… unless of course they are plant cousins, and then I can see the relation and purpose in distinction.

Here is a bowl-full of love for the vast, beautiful creativity that was able to dissipate outside the square we were living in.  I hope to see your beautiful faces, sooner than later.

In the meantime, we will still be here waiting for you to return with your wild seeds, ready and willing to plant a new and colorful generation.

The FB Unfollow Experiment: Is Anyone Out There?

My  FB feed is almost completely empty.

I am in my own echo chamber.

Things are awkward.

I am thinking even more about my previous posts than before  (Thanks FB Memories On This Day) … I re-read them and listen.

(I really did think about them a lot before I posted, but some were quite slapdash. )

Things that I would think before posting:

“Who isn’t going to like this and do I care?”

“Who is going to troll me or beat me down because of what I posted and why?  Are they on my friend list?”

“I’m tired, I know my grammar sucks and my message is messy; we all do it,  who is going to beat me down about that?”

“Do I really believe what I am posting right now, or am I just looking for reactions and interactions?”  ( These are posts without any preface in commentary.  Posts that I know will be catalytic, they are usually highly commented on, or left as silent posts no one seems to see. In this case I always wonder, “What are my ‘friends’ capable of?”)

“Am I just lonely right now, looking for conversation?” ( I like thought provoking, mind expanding and controversial conversations… can I create a breeding ground of bias or honest offerings?)

“Who is willing to be raw in public?”

“Is this a feisty post meant to ruffle feathers because I feel like stirring the proverbial pot right now? ” ( I have nothing to physically hit in my frustration.  Is this a universal feeling in the moment or is it me, being the ultimate weirdo?)

“Am I proud of what I wrote?”

“What happens when someone gets fierce and I don’t expect it?”

“Can I keep my integrity in my responses?”

“Will I allow myself to look at responses and respond?”

“Is someone going to have me committed to an asylum for just being myself online?”

Yeah… I’m not really a “write unabashedly with no thoughts and post” kind of person.

I have at least 30 things sitting in a draft bank because it hasn’t felt like the “right time, place or articulation” to post and the ideas are just that…  ideas.  It doesn’t always pour forth as clear and  thought out thoughts, commentary or observation.

The ideas are not always fleshed out in an edited way.  Sometimes it’s bare bones;  basically notes, with some cohesive sentences lacking  the obvious mechanics of language  people need to be able to read English.  They are sloppier than my normal lackadaisical writing style.

( I still write for myself… if you like it, or if it helps you; BONUS!)

I, much like every other human, are worried about being brutally disseminated by people who either honestly disagree, or are inspired by playing devils advocate.  I get the same reaction most people do when they are confronted about their offerings… upper lip sweat, under arm sweat and heart palpitations.   It’s not  a great look but it hasn’t killed me yet.

Sometimes I will write something, and I go to bed, my body coursing with the stress hormone cortisol (which assists in weight gain) silently worrying about what responses I am going to wake up to.

You wanna know nuts?  That shit is NUTS.  My entire sleep cycle, and body hormone production is being influenced by my fear of “who might hate me tomorrow, because I was somehow controversial  in their opinion, and how they will let me know about it.”

The people I have met in real life, and have had the wonder of calling “friend”, is priceless to me… and I always fear losing it, because I was often the “third wheel” growing up.  Treated as a prop for jealousy or bullying.

When I did make friends in adult hood, it really filled an empty space in my heart and I wanted to hold on as hard as I could… but sometimes it feels like those friendships are slowly draining out because that is the harsh reality of maintaining friendships in adulthood, through changes.  It’s a hard two way street.

So often I feel like I have nothing to offer but my mind; imagination, creativity, kindness and experience; and even that feels somehow worthless.  (This is by no means a pity party… just the personal and internal interpretation of experience by the author.)

At the end of  the day, I just really want to talk to people that I enjoy and love, while also  inquiring about how they see the world and interact with it.  The cyber interaction reality is a bit different than real life connection.  I set myself up for a huge potential disaster with this tactic, online.

I wake up. I feel fine, sometimes even great… and then I think… “Oh yeah, I wrote or posted a provocative thing… I guess I am going to have to deal with that later.”

Eventually, I would hesitantly approach my feed and notifications and expect to see bombs, but instead, mostly, I found an echo chamber.

I justified this as ” I have really respectable friends.”  I assumed those that didn’t agree, just didn’t respond.  I didn’t take into account “unfollowing.”

This whole experiment was provoked in me, because one of my longest running female friends, (who I put in the category of my first REAL female friend in adulthood, and therefore was admitted to Best Friend Territory)  admitted that she unfollowed me ” a long time ago” after a recent and controversial post that I had made somehow popped up on her regulated feed.

Of course I didn’t know that she had unfollowed me.  Facebook doesn’t tell you that.

I mean, she still honored our relationship because she still calls me on the phone, and she didn’t FB unfriend me; however my posts were so disturbing to her, that  it was enough to make her question my mental state.  She chose to unfollow, as to not engage in topics that I posted that cause her to feel cognitive dissonance .

Before the recent post came up on her feed, she didn’t tell me that she was worried about my mental health or well being and I she rarely commented on anything that wasn’t commented on by a mutual friend.

This begs the question of how much we actually care about each other, and how much we use each other as entertainment and distraction, or as a fulcrum for  disagreement; as well as how far we will go to create our own self perpetuated echo chambers.

To me, this seems like a great reason to experiment.  I feel like I am super honest about my mental health in my posts, and my blog writing.  How much of that you choose to read, as a reader or friend, is up to you.

If  anyone needs  me to spell it out,  “I am lonely as fuck and I crave insightful, creative and thought provoking conversations.  I love thought experiments and imagination.  I crave human contact.  Most of all, I want sincere and deep connections.” Few people in my real life offer this, so I find it where I can and in my spare time, I provoke it online.

As I mentioned in my last post, I am hoping that over a week or so, I start getting posts on my feed again, especially from people that I really care about.  Honest posts, raw posts, thought provoking posts.  Simply, “Engaging Posts.”

When I engage online, I do it with an open heart, an open mind and a strong desire to CONNECT.  (Hey, I want hits of Oxytocin, too and I am in a huge hug drought!)

I am not holding my breathe.

Right now, my feed exists of  me; the pages I admin (if they have activity), ads,suggestions of new  friends and FB direct posts on how to properly use FB.

My feed is the biggest  self echo chamber in the cyber world right now… to be honest, it feels pretty fucking lonely, awkward and weird; but somehow appropriate because that sums up my real life.

I am still receiving notifications on my own posts or comments on posts… so you know, I can attend to those but if I want to know “wuzz up” with someone, I have to navigate to their page, and scroll their feed.

Do you know what happens when you scroll a feed?  It isn’t always ordered by the date of the post.. so you might scroll through 45 pictures that were taken 5 months ago (highly commented on) and somewhere in the middle of that find something that was posted recently.

When my friend told me that the post that upset her popped up on her feed… I had to wonder:

Is FB trying to break the real life friendships we have made and have been able to maintain over decades, or is it just trying to create some subtle but extra chaos in the world because now we base so much of our worth on our likes and responses? (Now every time you respond, there is an automatic audience able to respond.)

I don’t know, but it feels wack.

I don’t want the friends that I have had for years, whom I’ve  met in real life and helped or helped me and been present in some really personal  and trying times to placate me as obtuse because of my online posts.  That is really scary territory.

Yeah, I admit, I am kind of a strange and at times considered a controversial person.

Often I don’t fit into the mainstream.

What I do understand, is that the world is full of critics and trolls ready to beat someone down.  I don’t want to fall victim to that, and I don’t want my real life friends to be on the  worst end of my insecurities.

I am my own worst critic; sometimes it is really hard to be “nice” or “kind” to myself, and it is the exact reason I don’t decimate people for fun, online.  It would be easy to do but I fully understand that most people are hypercritical of themselves and need no help  in the self destructing process.

My job is to see the best in all of us, and to encourage that.   My posts,  especially those  that are  considered fringe, are just that… fringe: thought experiments for the willing. If you are unwilling, and reactive in a mad way, check yourself.  Why does this shit make you mad. I really have no invested interest other than “getting to know you better” ,  this is a way to gauge what we can and cannot talk about and it is completely based on you.

(Who ever “you” are, You could probably talk about anything with me. Unless you hurt people for fun.. Those topics make me upset.)

I feel less likely to post those random things now  because I am begininning to have some new thoughts,

“How many of my ‘friends’ have ‘unfollowed’ me because they think I should be committed for a post they didn’t like?”

“Am I going to be forced to conform for the sake of others and if I do, will I find out I have no actual friends?”

These are scary thoughts, scarier than my thought experiments about things we can’t prove because there will be an eventual out come that exists out of our control.

It reminds me of why I’ve always wanted to just run away and disappear.

These are not fun thoughts to have,and I plan on pooping them out soon because so far as I can tell, they belong in the waste bin.

Even my “crazy” posts are more positive than being okay with fading away or disappearing.  But sometimes, I want it, because I can’t seem to get the connection I want or need.

If you want a thought experiment, think about fading away or disappearing with no reason or clue, and then contemplate about who would care and why.  I’m not ready to give up on Life because of the opinions of others, and I still desire connection.

Facebook is a mind fuck.

 

 

 

 

What Would You Pay For Survival?

Some people think I have lived a hard life.  In fact sometimes, it feels that way.  But it doesn’t feel hard like other peoples’ lives are hard.

Emotional pain has been my biggest teacher and adversary; it has showed up in many ways, for as long as I can remember.  I suppose happens when you realize you must make friends with the inevitable.  Ideally we would never suffer, however, we do and this is a periodic truth for everyone to some degree.  A period of suffering emotionally.

Now some people, they have hard lives because of physical things. Being dealt a raw deck.  Maybe their care taker(s) were mean, abusive or addicted.

Maybe they were left to the system.

Perhaps they fit the archetype of being from the wrong side of the tracks and not having money.

Maybe they grew up in a war zone.

Maybe they had everything and still felt empty, regardless.

I could think of a million situations a person could be borne into that are stylistically worse than any trauma I have ever had in my life.

Suffering is personal.  A personal misery is a strange and unique filter.

On both ends, there arel people dealt worse hands, even within my own town and county.  How and why, would I have such an amazing, yet at times absolutely mundane life, whilst feeling suffering or lack, or loss?

I can’t help but wonder…

There are certain things we realize must happen in basic survival.  Food and shelter.  That is the basic frame work of life.  If you are a pregnant mom, you basically embody that; but, to sustain that you must feed and shelter yourself.  So, that, is what we do; all through life, we survive on food and shelter.  We look for it; we work for it, we pay for it, we up grade it, we miss it when we don’t have it, crave it when it is unattainable, and customize the shit out of it.

Meanwhile, Society is programmed to accept this diatribe of;

” If you want to survive, you have to put a price on it, and you have to work like a pimp for it,and we are always going to make you crave more, bigger, better and extravagant… unless you are the type who wants, small; in which case we are going to make you feel very small, and it will reinforce your own insecurity of your own insignificance.  Yet at the end of the day, you will justify all of it by boasting about your tiny carbon footprint.  Meanwhile, you will continue to sell yourselves out; all for the ultimate feeling of security when it comes to the two things in life that shouldn’t cost you your actual life and livelihoods to maintain.”

Ouch.  Right?

Our consumption relies not only on demand, but also on curiosity.  We are in an age of curiosity, but mostly that curiosity is boiled down to “new, different, and extreme ways of making money.”

Remember when youtube was really kind of a crap shoot when it came to great, and well produced content?  Anybody can do that now.  Combine that with the ad revenue, you have several echo chambers, some real scabs, and the worlds first “In Real Time Soap Opera.”  There are youtubers who literally make their income by talking shit about other youtubers.  There are cliques and alliances, fall outs and bad moves.

Thank YOU, YouTube, for deleting me!  If I would have known then, what I know now… no way I would want to be on that platform today.  Lucky for me, I was in and out before monetization was really kicking into high gear.  Meaning, only really, really big channels had the option of ads.  Now anyone can start a channel and sell out, basically, almost immediately.

There are studies that talk about how all the “likes”, and “updates” trigger  dopamine receptors in the brain, and we are basically living like cyber drug addicts; only the drug is confirmation.  It is the confirmation that we exist.  A validation that what we have to say, is worth attention.  We live in a society that is telling us that We All have a story that we need to share… that there is some sort of urgent imperative to getting it all out there.

I notice all these stories are leaning toward “Entertainment.”  Note even on TV, many of the stories are rehashes of the lives of people in their 30-40’s.  The 70’s ,80’s and 90’s.   Not everyone gets the opportunity to write a sitcom, but anyone can be an actor, reporter, sketch artist, or musician on Youtube.

So here we are.

Couples pulling pranks on each other to make some views, laughs, and cash.  They need to feed the need to be seen.

We have kids with severe dis-morphia, dying before our eyes, as they slowly kill themselves for comments.

We have ranters, ravers, over consumers looking for likes as they un-box merchandise they will never use, and sometimes destroy.

You have the “internet recycle teams” that take this trash, and make more trash with it, putting it into the greater place where internet trash goes…. viral or just congestive.

Our cyber world is a bigger trash heap, than it is a resource tool for usefulness.  But this is to be expected.   When you have years worth of content uploaded and downloaded every second of every day… it’s going to get nasty when trying to sift through it all.

The” Bigger Plan” must be aimed to Absolutely Bog People Down- take them so deep that they have no way of digging themselves out, EVER.

My life has been magical, because I know what it feels like to be “bogged down.”  The image for me, is like being drenched in muddy water, fully clothed, in layers so soaked that it is hard to walk.  I know what it is to want to wish myself away, but it isn’t that easy.  Sometimes the options are to walk away slowly or completely strip down and run.

I’ve felt pretty stripped down recently and I don’t have anywhere to run to.  It’s like standing naked in the wind, and letting the Wind, run it’s course.  It is freeing in some different kind of way, but I am left with a crusty layer I have to deal with.

The act of survival; eating and having a place to rest and care for yourself, should be a non-issue at this point in history.  Where have we gotten so off course to make even more extreme jumps in the gap of the “have’s” and “have not’s”, except for now how easy it is to brand oneself and reap that paycheck. To fulfill the need of being wanted or worth something.

The weird thing is, we are each priceless, and yet we will be the first to put a price upon ourselves. This saddens me, because this is the New Way.  People are sick of working for others, so they work for themselves, selling their egos.  Sometimes products come with it.  And this is the New Commerce, this is how people figure out their worth, they redirect their work energy toward themselves,  hoping to reconcile on the outside, that which they inherently know to be true but are afraid to look at directly in the eye.

In this process they monetize it, and wait for reward.  But what are these real rewards we seek?   To, “not have a normal job”?   What happens when this too, becomes saturated, (as it seems to be) suffering it’s own crash because of demonetization and disinterest?  Will Self worth plummet?  Or will the real message prevail?  It’s hard to say.

I do think that the collective path we tread, presently, is using this desire to fulfill needs and wants in a most peculiar and inappropriate way.  At this point, it looks as if people will use the tool of technology to destroy themselves, before technology will get the opportunity to turn against the people.

We can be our own worst enemy.

It takes a certain death and destruction of oneself (some times a series of many), in order to get out of ones own way.

 

In Honor of Life and Death

The whole of humanity is a series of cycles and connections.

 

 All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

– Willy Shakes  (William Shakespeare)  “As You Like It.”

wshakesp

I think William Shakespeare, (if that’s EVEN his REAL name) summed up the cycles of life very eloquently in that prose from the well known play As You Like It.  And yet, it plays the individual as an island… and we KNOW, No Man Is An Island.

 

”No Man Is an Island” by John Donne

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend’s or of thine own were. Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.  

jdonne

So, if humans, are merely actors, that must interact with other actors on the stage of life… Do we not follow scripts?  Taking on the attributes of the Archetypes, at times passing the torch off to another player… at time’s being upstaged by an understudy?

There is no step missed in the organic cycles of living… but are we living or dying?

Anne Sexton addressed this well in her book of Poems Live or Die

Live or die, but don’t poison everything…

Well, death’s been here
for a long time –
it has a hell of a lot
to do with hell
and suspicion of the eye
and the religious objects
and how I mourned them
when they were made obscene
by my dwarf-heart’s doodle.
The chief ingredient
is mutilation.
And mud, day after day,
mud like a ritual,
and the baby on the platter,
cooked but still human,
cooked also with little maggots,
sewn onto it maybe by somebody’s mother,
the damn bitch!

Even so,
I kept right on going on,
a sort of human statement,
lugging myself as if
I were a sawed-off body
in the trunk, the steamer trunk.
This became perjury of the soul.
It became an outright lie
and even though I dressed the body
it was still naked, still killed.
It was caught
in the first place at birth,
like a fish.
But I play it, dressed it up,
dressed it up like somebody’s doll.

Is life something you play?
And all the time wanting to get rid of it?
And further, everyone yelling at you
to shut up. And no wonder!
People don’t like to be told
that you’re sick
and then be forced
to watch
you
come
down with the hammer.

Today life opened inside me like an egg
and there inside
after considerable digging
I found the answer.
What a bargain!
There was the sun,
her yolk moving feverishly,
tumbling her prize –
and you realize she does this daily!
I’d known she was a purifier
but I hadn’t thought
she was solid,
hadn’t known she was an answer.
God! It’s a dream,
lovers sprouting in the yard
like celery stalks
and better,
a husband straight as a redwood,
two daughters, two sea urchings,
picking roses off my hackles.
If I’m on fire they dance around it
and cook marshmallows.
And if I’m ice
they simply skate on me
in little ballet costumes.

Here,
all along,
thinking I was a killer,
anointing myself daily
with my little poisons.
But no.
I’m an empress.
I wear an apron.
My typewriter writes.
It didn’t break the way it warned.
Even crazy, I’m as nice
as a chocolate bar.
Even with the witches’ gymnastics
they trust my incalculable city,
my corruptible bed.

O dearest three,
I make a soft reply.
The witch comes on
and you paint her pink.
I come with kisses in my hood
and the sun, the smart one,
rolling in my arms.
So I say Live
and turn my shadow three times round
to feed our puppies as they come,
the eight Dalmatians we didn’t drown,
despite the warnings: The abort! The destroy!
Despite the pails of water that waited,
to drown them, to pull them down like stones,
they came, each one headfirst, blowing bubbles the color of cataract-blue
and fumbling for the tiny tits.
Just last week, eight Dalmatians,
3/4 of a lb., lined up like cord wood
each
like a
birch tree.
I promise to love more if they come,
because in spite of cruelty
and the stuffed railroad cars for the ovens,
I am not what I expected. Not an Eichmann.
The poison just didn’t take.
So I won’t hang around in my hospital shift,
repeating The Black Mass and all of it.
I say Live, Live because of the sun,
the dream, the excitable gift.

-Anne Sexton  “Live”
anne-sexton2-18-10

 

So a human, can play a role.  Have a script, whilst still choosing to serve Life or Death.  And each day we are asked to choose; “Do you serve Life, or do you serve Death.”

Perhaps some people feel like they don’t really have a choice.

Death is inevitable.