why the list of literature in The Canon is interpretive

recently, i heard mention of the grapes of wrath as a fantastic work of cultured something or other.

no. not so, kool-aid.
at 18, i was instructed to read it, for my AP English class, something that pleased me mostly because i love literature like fanatic groupies love rockstars. literature is my Aragorn. this particular bit of paper, however, was nothing like Of Mice And Men, that soundbox which encased my heartstrings for Steinbeck to pluck as he chose. i don't know what happened between writing the two works, but a book that acts as victrola for too-finely tuned violin music did not inspire from this Shieldmaiden any sort of fondness. what it did inspire, in the november 2006 that first saw me hurl a book across a room, was the following:

A Waste of 619 Pages

John Steinbeck disappoints me. His work, The Grapes of Wrath, was supposed to be some amazing piece of literature that “galvanized” [1] the millions who read it. At the time, I didn’t even know what ‘galvanized’ meant (“to stimulate somebody or something into great activity”), but I expected to glance up from the novel in thought and suddenly be overcome with the feeling. An emotion did slap my face while I read, but it was far less pleasant and more idenifiable that whatever ‘galvanized’ was. That emotion was annoyance.

Here, in this novel, dozens of little plot turtles plodded along, waiting to be snatched up and turned into eloquence. Unfortunately, the only thing snatched away during my experience was my eager desire to read this book. Then I found out that either all the critics in the literary world are liars, or Steinbeck needs a new theme. After reading my 3,458^th thinly veiled ‘I hate Capitalism,’ I became convinced that it was that latter one.

Granted, Steinbeck touches on several interesting topics. Key word there, by the way, is ‘touches.’ As in ‘barely glances at it,’ or ‘briefly considers veering off the dead-ended Anti-Capitalism trail to pace other pastures.’ Former preacher Casy spends a lot of time organizing strikes that worsen the economy or praying over the dead and performing other priestly rites. Whenever he can escape the obligations he takes on, Casy takes a second to ponder the Over-Soul[2] and how we’re supposed to act when little pieces of our friends and countrymen are in our minds, influencing our subconscious descions.

For the most part though, Steinbeck just forces socialism-love down the throats of the thoroughly Capitalistic consumers who supplied his salary by using said despised economic system to buy the book in which he bashes the whole process. I’m relatively[3] certain that The Grapes of Wrath was simply a cathartic (though decades-late) retribution for failing Civics.

I understand that Steinbeck endured some of the worst aspects of Capitalism, but all at the fault of Steinbeck’s own generation[4]; the overspeculation by all parties, the uncontrolled inflation, the use of credit lines as toys, and the overall irresponsible excess of the 1920s caused the Great Depression more than anything. Pure Capitalism is not to blame, for the industrial capitalism eapoused by Adam Smith calls for an “Invisible Hand” that would force everyone to, by acting in their best interests, actually perpetuate the common good[5].

I think if Steinbeck actually understood the theories behind Captialism, Socialism, Communism, and especially the latter’s contrast to its root, Marxism, then he would have written a truly fantastic novel. As it is, I’m surprised Ayn Rand didn’t send her Objectivist friends to his house to beat him up. Later, recouperating in the hospital, he could appreciate the irony of their collective action.

1. on the back of the Penguin book, The Grapes of Wrath is described as “The Pulizer Prize-winning epic of the Great Depression, a book that galvanized – and sometimes outraged – millions of readers.”
2. reference to Transcendentalism.
3. relatively meaning as certain about the truth of the following statement as the idea that molasses grows on trees.

4. Steinbeck was born in 1909; he would have been a teenager during the Roaring Twenties, and it was those younger generations that were most fashionable and radical, as the old ones were still recovering from the Great War.
5. by ‘best interests’ Smith meant in the long run, not just whatever’s interesting or wanted, but what’s needed. His capitalism works (splendidly) off of the definition of ‘best’ as what is of the highest quality or most suited to need.

two years later, and my disdain remains the same.

one does not compartmentalize oneself unless one believes the self has no potential

there is, it is said - by two people, no more, that i know of - something called the Quantum Theory Of Relationships. the addage goes: " [i] can't observe a relationship without changing it. If i stop to think about the whys and wherefores, it's destined to fail. i'm happy to let what happens happen for the moment." {http://belledejour-uk.blogspot.com/2008_11_01_archive.html#2231860428554564075}

as i have my own ideas about the cosmic jokes that interfere with personal interplay (refer to the post where i posit that interpersonal relationships are simply facets of economics in a social market), i find anything intriguing that differs from what i conceive as fact. particularly when, as is the case here, that differentiated opinion is so blatantly Stoic.

a Stoic, you see, was invented in classical rome, by a manchild who blinked balefully at the world, and attributed to himself such importance that he imagined all misfortunes flocked to him. it was a curse of fate, he assumed; a displeasurable happenstance mapped out in the cosmos. but, he decided, one whose ill effects could be sidestepped. simply pack away all emotions, advised the Stoic, and treat each event as though the world weighing upon your shoulders will be joined by moons and stars.

essentially, the basic solution for someone who struggles, insisted those who peddled Stoicism, is to assume a grand design where all success is sabataged. and then to soldier onward, a shining star braced for expansion, for explosion. for death.

you see, Stoicism is secretly simply a crass bastardization of Zen Buddhism, an aspect of the philosophy i for which i find myself especially fond. guising itself as defeatism, it claims honor and fortitude in the face of pain. i doubt an epistemology which encourages overpersonalizing entropy and hiding from life experiences can be considered inspiring or hero-making, but Stoicism has garnered quite a following for itself, as observable by the quote that inspired this post.

i suppose the only good thing to come of that epidemic known as Stoicism is that now it has infested the emotastic blogosphere. perhaps there will be an end to those who formerly released tedious tantrums to cope with the lack of higher brain functioning that would have enabled them to blossom in the wake of frigid failures? may they cling to Stoicism like parasites, and the comfort of the ensuing silence will spare the rest of us from remembering them.

hmm. i had intended, i confess, to conduct this entry in a far different direction, but i suppose i got on the wrong train. i imagine no irretrievable loss, however.

all our stars are fallen embers

watching that Doctor Who episode "Turn Left" today, i contemplated destiny.

in the episode, a character's life is altered by one choice, by the simple decision to turn right instead of left, to be goaded into a safe lifestyle by her mother instead of believing in her luck and forcefulness to get her from uncertainty to where she wanted to be. because the show in question is of the science fiction genre, this It's A Wonderful Life plotline showed a dystopic diversion from what we the viewers know of the show, and in that one instant everything shifted. she stepped sideways; another realm took place of the one destined for her, and everything went to hell because of it. she never reached the stars, and so they plummeted without her to help hold them aloft.

“But all around the downpour of stars went on. And then the starless patch began to grow, spreading further and further out from the center of the sky…With a thrill of wonder (and there was some terror in it too) they all suddenly realized what was happening. The spreading blackness was not a cloud at all; it was simply emptiness. The black part of the sky was the part where there were no stars left. All the stars were falling."
- C.S. Lewis

someone once said that the idea of falling stars was a chilling one. "Overhead, without any fuss, the stars were going out." - Anthony C. Clark writers terrify with that thought, with the presentation of a celestial orb snuffed out. we fear this presumably because we always imagine them as beacons, cheering us up and guiding us home. guiding us to destiny.

but what happens when they fade out? we're not always watching for them; we spend our lives looking at our feet, carefully placing one in front of the other. so there is plenty of time for the stars to sneak away with our dreams when no one is paying attention. what destiny can manifest without the lamps to guide our feet toward the paths we must take?

worse still is the sinking of reality when one remembers that light takes oh so very long to travel, in a vacuum; by the time we're made aware of them, all our stars are long gone. all our dreams are dead. those guides are nothing but remnants of old ghosts.

so what of Destiny? as far as i know, i am certainly no fictional heroine. there is more chance that we on Earth will find a way to reverse global warming and the damages of pollution than that i shall voyage among the stars in a magnificent timeship piloted by a wonderful - yet terrible - and delightful man. i have little chance for anything fantastical in my life at all, let alone so much otherworldly adventure. what destiny is there, in this existence we know as reality? here, the celestial bodies are but residual glow from simple space gas, which itself has already burnt into Nothingness. so what of our hopeful guides can be found, when they have long since been absorbed into The Dark?

step sideways.

a plea for us all to get our heads out of our asses

i have a bone to pick with the psychiatric industry. i will use Borderline Personality Disorder {BPD} as a primary vessel for my arguments, as well as refer to Alcoholism/Addiction, and probably mention a few other diagnosable ailments in passing. as always in this blog, i do not proclaim to have a degree in anything (yet) other than my own bullshit (in that, i have a PhD) and the research & deductive analysis involved in writing these articles are made on my own presumably limited resources.

this particular entry is not about complaining or declaring that i have a better way of doing things than the way my nation chooses to solve its problems now [1]. with these words, i put to (digital) paper what has been floating around in my mind for a few years; i aim to point out what i see as logical holes in our consideration of the mentally disenfranchised [2].

that disclaimed, i write.

****

i read somewhere that BPD is often prescursed by emotional trauma, like abuse or something. and while my father was certainly a perfectionist, one to crap on my sense of self-worth if i made a blunder or spilled a drink or misacted in some way, i doubt that occasional belittlement - even by a figure central to one's childhood - would cause anything overtly psychologically dysfunctional in a person but a low sense of self-esteem [3].

i have, in light of noting that mental illness appears to claim a particular 'type' of person over all others, always wondered what exactly is it that - provided both subjects were raised in the same environment - inhibits one person's ability to maintain full control of ones mental faculties and reasoning centres, yet does nothing to anothers?

i recently read this one wikibook article thing that inspires me to dissect this into something more understandable to me (the following is an excerpt from the article/book/thing "Dialectical Behavioral Therapy/Borderline Personality Disorder/Bisocial Model" {http://en.wikibooks.org/wiki/Dialectical_Behavioral_Therapy/Borderline_Personality_Disorder/Biosocial_Model} and the empasis is mine):

BPD results from a biological predisposition to emotional dysregulation combined with certain dysfunctional (invalidating) environments which interact over time. The characteristics of BPD begin developing during childhood because the fundamental inability to regulate emotions is exacerbated by an invalidating environment. The vulnerable child fails to learn how to identify feelings or regulate emotional stimulation. She does not learn to trust her private experience as valid and real. BPD individuals fail to learn how to tolerate emotional distress.

As adults, BPD individuals adopt the characteristics of the invalidating environment in which they grow up. Looking to others for accurate reflections of reality and oversimplifying the ease of solving life’s problems characterize this self-invalidation.

Oversimplification of life’s difficulties leads to unrealistic goals. Those with BPD tend to have an inability to use reward instead of punishment for small steps toward final goals. When they fail to achieve these goals they are filled with self-hate.

part of the reason i believe that certain psychological disorders are in actuality psychochemobiological or neuropsychological or whatever the proper term for it would be, is because of phrases like "high-functioning" and "low-functioning" and the idea of a "disease" that has a "cure" vs. an "illness" that is "managed." when i say bring up such phrases, i don't mean the colloquial (and often incorrect) usage of the terms, but the defined codes under which they are applied in professional circles; sometimes people with mental illness get better - for ever - and sometimes they don't get anything but control, cleverly disguised as a heavensent cure - until the next time they end up in inpatient services, and are made to feel as though they have brought their circumstances upon themselves.

i keep coming back to that question: what separates the "crazies" from the "disaffected?" what is it that causes the formulation of conditions like BPD, where a person's entire worldview - even the reasoning she uses to sort out appropriate responses to stimuli - is shaped by the disorder, and why that mysterious Whatever sows severe illness in one person, but minor neuroses in another?

i can only imagine that there is a factor inherent in the individual's biochemistry that - at best - increases the risk of something going sideways in the person's psychological development. there have already been statements tossed around about "predisposition" to Alcoholism or Addiction, {http://neuroscientificallychallenged.blogspot.com/2008/06/impulsivity-and-predisposition-to.html} though the probability of that increases especially when a direct ancestor has struggled with either, and any adverse affects on the brain have been presumably passed down via damaged genes [4].

if that is so (that some people have neurochemobiological predispositions to certain psychological states, that is) than one can logically assume that such predisposition to psychological disorders extends beyond a tendency toward addictive behavior. this is further confirmed by the studies suggesting that some mental disorders are not only biochemical in nature, but genetic as well {http://psychcentral.com/news/2008/08/18/genetic-link-for-bipolar/2771.html}.

to tie this in with what i was originally rambling about: if it is true that some people relate to psychological disorders unusually because they are either predisposed to be vulnerable to that particular shade of illness (i.e. an inborn tendency toward addictive behaviors) or because they have a gene that hardwires their brains so that psychological dysfunction is - for them - normal (bipolar disorder, other mental illnesses associated with a person's biochemicals or neurons), then why is it that - as explains the article [5] i will quote after this sentence - most clinicians and doctors treat mental disorders as if they are indicative of a particular individual's personal failures, especially brain "software" illnesses like personality disorders? {http://news.thresholds.org/poc/view_doc.php?type=doc&id=11198&cn=4}

"Mood swings in the context of borderline personality disorder are thought of as 'software' problems brought on by changes in the patient's perception and appraisal of their social situation. This is in contrast to bipolar disorder patients whose mood swings are thought of as occurring due to brain chemistry problems (e.g., a 'hardware' problem)."

if i understand what i read correctly (and i like to think that i do) then when someone has a genetic defect that causes her brain to process its own chemical regulation incorrectly, which in turn causes her to undergo intense sessions of mania or depression, that's acceptable, and she should be comforted and assisted, but if someone has developed an inability to process and react to stimuli with the degree of reason deemed socially acceptable [6], causing her to undergo intense sessions of existence at varied emotional extremes, that is shameful and stigmatized. how does this make sense?

"A personality disorder is a very rigid pattern of inner experience and outward behavior. The pattern extends across most of the person’s interactions, continues for many years, and differs from the experiences and behaviors usually expected of people. The rigid traits of people with a personality disorder often result in unpleasant experiences, which may cause psychological pain and social or occupational difficulties. Personality disorders typically become recognizable in adolescence or early adulthood, although some start during childhood (APA, 1994).

Personality disorders may disrupt many aspects of a person’s life and may also bring pain to others. They are among the most difficult psychological disorders to treat. Many sufferers are not even aware of their personality problems, and they fail to trace their difficulties to their rigid style of thinking and behaving. It has been estimated that between 4 and 15 percent of all adults may have a personality disorder (Link, 1997; APA, 1994)."

so declares the wikibooks article titled "A Textbook On Recovery Psychology/Unit 2/Ch3Personality Disorders," {http://en.wikibooks.org/wiki/A_Textbook_on_Recovery_Psychology/Unit_2/Ch3_Personality_Disorders} emphasis once again mine. from my research on personality disorders, the problems seem to stem (as said the first article i quoted) from a combination of stressful or invalidating environmental experiences, the exacerbation of an individual's innate personality traits, and the way they all play into each other, until the individual in question learns a deviant version of behavioural codes and contexts that seem perfectly reasonable to her.

one could contrast this historic refusal to understand (or even to seek out, in some instances) the underlying causes in the development of a personality disorder to the worldwide race to "cure" Autistic people of their natural brain biochemistry. explains the fact sheet at autism-help.org (empasis always my own):

"A genetic basis for autism has definitely been established and at this stage it appears that multiple genes may be responsible. There is currently no genetic test that can be done to detect autism.

There is much much research and discussion on possible environmental causes that could affect brain development, and many researchers believe that the causes of Autism Spectrum Disorders will prove to be an interplay of genes and environmental causes. It is theorized that these multiple “causes” interact with each other in subtle and complex ways, and would thus explain the wide range of differing outcomes and behaviors in each individual. ... Another non-medical view is that there is no one condition called autism. This view was put forward by autistic author Donna Williams. She presents a holistic model called autism as a fruit salad model and demonstrated how the severity of someone's autism could be linked to their degree of co-morbid communication, sensory-perceptual, gut/immune, neurological integration, mood, anxiety and compulsive disorders a person inherited or developed, coupled with cognitive and learning style differences and unusual personality trait collections"

until hollywood endorsed Autism, it was considered similar to retardation, and is still linked to Dennis Hoffman and to little kids screaming and bashing their heads into walls, as a survey of my own conduction discovered [7]. few other mental disorders could be so lucky as to have the muddled alliegence of a community on the outside of the Autistic one, clamoring to be let in so those well-meaning but ignorant outsiders can "cure" the Aspies (nickname the Autistic Spectrum community has cheerfully foisted upon its members with Asperger's Syndrome). and yes, that is fortune: most of the mentally ill are shuffled off to asylums or thrown in hospitals until they agree to be corralled into 'proper' modes of behaviour [8].

circling around yet again, i iterate: how can we decide that the mentally ill - those who are truly afflicted, and not the "high-functioning"elite simply prone to breaking from societal norms when stressed - are responsible for their own foibles when we are increasingly being handed proof that there is something larger involved in the entire affair than just people behaving badly? this calls for research. and when i say "research" i do mean the gathering of properly explained and understood information from the subjects themselves, via ethnomediology {http://www.hewett.norfolk.sch.uk/CURRIC/soc/ethno/intro.htm}.


[1] i will not hesitate to say that i totally am the most fantastic and capable person ever and should undoubtedly be elected Ruler Of The Universe, however
[2] how's that for a politically doublespoken euphemism?
[3] which isn't really a symptom of dysfunction in itself so much as a burden born upon anyone who has ever been made to feel as if her best effort achieved less than what it should have been able to, regardless of whether or not she could have actually achieved more than she did. nevertheless: digression
[4] not to say that the individual is damaged from birth, though i suppose the theory is that the brain is, which is why i don't know how else i would explain away how scientists have made the connection
[5] written by two people with the letters "PhD" after their names, by the way. here's hoping that's indicative of a doctorate degree in psychology, as opposed to my dad's master's degree in engineering.
[6] or, in some cases, simply with the only reaction that has been deemed acceptable in those circumstances.
[7] that sort of image was what 44% of the people i surveyed thought of when i mentioned Autism. classy.
[8] but that is a rant about the foolishness of touting some so-called social norm and shunning anyone who might possibly deviate from it as eeeevil or hopelessly deranged, and therefore quite off-topic, as is my anger about the public's attempt to "cure" Autism, the way they wanted to erradicate left-handedness and any form of sexual expression that wouldn't fit in the 1950s vanilla lifestyle of rich, white, and oppressive.
and yes, i say that as a middle-class white girl barely hurtling over 20 years of life, with virtually no experience outside of my parents' income bracket, not including my intellectual and emotional ennui or that week i spent homeless.

the history books forgot about us [didn't mention us, not even once]

i have mentioned that i hate romantic comedies.

i hate that they put the characters through the wringer and then refuse to explore the psychological implications of anything that just happened
i hate that they assume a flowery monologue and a backdrop of earnest pop song and dizzying cinematography will cure all ills
i hate they they create a person to act as romantic foil, then crumple her/him up and toss her/him aside and don't even have the decency to pretend that they aren't brutally sacrificing her/him to the alter of Twu Lwuv.
i hate they they teach society that it's morally acceptable - even perfectly reasonable - to wrap yourself around someone who loves you just so you aren't stuck in a room with yourself, realizing what a complete shitbag you are, will you wait for the one you really want to have an epiphany wherein it becomes clear that s/he is really choosing between a life of looking at oneself in the mirror, of listening for life and hearing only oneself, and letting another person's babbling baggage distract her/himself from her/his own self-loathing.

and yes, that really is what i see when confronted with hollywood's answer to the need for human connection; a society reared to manipulate other people into giving them value.

i think that's partly why i believe in God.

which, yes, is a strange segue, but the thoughts follow each other fluidly; my goal is Jesus, and the path i walk to Him is Buddhism (the philosophical kind, not the religious belly-rubbing one). regardless of whether or not there is a god, or anything after this life at all, in Jesus, i have a sort of guarantee that someone gives a shit. that i do matter, even if it's only to Him, even if i don't do anything to make history remember me at all, there's the idea that someone out there sees me and feels for me and aches when i cry.

so even if there is nothing out there, i can take comfort in imagining this individual watching my life and throwing Vengeful Popcorn Of Smite at the screen when things don't go my way, even if if takes a while for the instrument of my defense to snowball into the properly devastating effect that i would desire.

and if all i really have after i die is a wood box lined with linen, at least i will be well-versed in pretending that i am significant to someone.

all that you have of home

if you could take a potion to erase your most desperate fixation on whatever most obsessive addiction, would you?

i don't mean vicodin or alcohol, no heroin junkie stories tonight; i refer to chemical dependence. the University Of Virginia Health System Website declares that chemical dependence is a term "used to describe the compulsive use of chemicals (drugs or alcohol) and the inability to stop using them despite all the problems caused by their use. used to describe the compulsive use of chemicals (drugs or alcohol) and the inability to stop using them despite all the problems caused by their use." in that context, the question i pose may be moot, because the whole point of the term is that one literally cannot find it within oneself to unlock the shackles that bind them to the substance that haunts one.

what i propose, however, is a psychological question: if those shackles fell off, if one could with a word remove that mental block that made it impossible to even dream of a life outside one's dependency, would one suddenly find oneself equpped with all the weapons needed to stage a revolt, and sieze back control of one's life? would all things immediately seem brighter, more vibrant, more focused, and no obstacle too fantastic to sidestep? or would one shrink back into the fold of that addiction, seeking its familiarity, its double-bladed protection and whimsical promises?

what is it that would be stripped away, assuming only one thing is the major force exerting its pull upon a person; how would the other factors of one's livelihood and temperment pick up the slack of the newly vanished? is there but a sole component buried in the entanglement of yearning and desperation, the merger between reckless extravagence and self-made prophecies of worthlessness?

could a formula be concocted to errode that which ties one most suffocatingly to one's acursed weakness? for how long would it work, and in what manner; would a person have to direct the flow of the cleansing liquid, like a guru guiding a soul through the unblocking of wretched chakras?

would it matter? would the thing that plagues deepest be conscious, a compulsion, not a circumstance; a choice? it is said that chemical dependence is the worst form of addiction, because the psychological need is near indistinguishable from the physical. what if one could flood clean all traces of the latter, obliterate the rembrance of peace coming from relieved muscles, but the taste of necessity still lingered, glutinous and firm as plaque?

what if, in the end, one would glance between the steep, shadowed ridge to rigoured recovery and the smooth silver slide back to old standbys, and flee to find solace in the ever-familar ghost of cold nails scarring skin and synapses?

the answer may just be that one Occam could never gleen, for its sheer obviousness; one's addiction is to submit, to sink one's soul into the chemical embrace with all due abandon. all is hopeless when that erstwhile paramour's love was never the strived-for goal, but simple scenery on the path to oblivion.

word association meme

from AMA.
what images come to mind when one mentions vicious?
...strong?
...weak?
...beautiful?
...pain?
...sex?
...wrong?
...right?
...politics?
...religion?


here are mine:





vicious










strong










weak







beautiful (i couldn't pick just one)











pain










sex















wrong














right










politics









religion

the economics of society

i fancy myself Socrates tonight, so this post shall in part take on dialogue form, though not with the same teaching methods as he employed.


for our first segment; the initial conversation:
mon amie (2:28:06 AM): are you looking forward to going back?
self (2:30:56 AM): sort of
self (2:31:00 AM): i have people i miss
self (2:31:24 AM): but i don't really attach to physical things. Buddhist, after all.
self (2:31:33 AM): life goes on, whereever you are.
self (2:31:48 AM): do you really feel unattached to people?
mon amie (2:32:04 AM): (people as an example?)
self (2:38:14 AM): ...i feel like i have to work myself to exhaustion to incline other people to attach to me.
self (2:38:25 AM): and even then it doesn't always take.
mon amie (2:40:25 AM): wow.
mon amie (2:40:31 AM): my computer is so LAME.
mon amie (2:40:40 AM): i didn't even see your i/m's and now i feel bad.
mon amie (2:40:58 AM): do you feel like you always need to keep in touch and other just don't reciprocate? i get that, really.
self (2:41:53 AM): mhmm.
self (2:42:42 AM): it's more than that, even when first becoming acquainted with someone, i can't turn the person into a friend, unless he or she pursues me.
self (2:43:16 AM): i don't know how, or what's so disenchanting about me, but i am just not someone with whom other people want to associate.
self (2:43:28 AM): unless i have something outside myself to trade.
mon amie (2:43:40 AM): do you think of that of me?
mon amie (2:43:44 AM): wait:
self (2:43:52 AM): so they stay mere acquaintences, because i have nothing of myself to offer that would endear me to them.
mon amie (2:43:49 AM): do you think about that from me?
mon amie (2:44:01 AM): i feel like i can't word that right...
self (2:44:57 AM): i think i understand what you mean...
self (2:45:02 AM): let me explain myself.


the second, the pontification:
self (2:45:32 AM): my view of human interaction is that it's all based on a system of trade. stop me if you've heard this particular rant before...
mon amie (2:45:21 AM): go on.
self (2:47:25 AM): there are levels of association. Acquaintenship: when one meets another, and finds that person has frequent fun parties, or access to movie tickets, or something entirely impersonal, and it's just an informal trade of goods.
mon amie (2:47:02 AM): well put.
self (2:48:25 AM): i knew a guy, i would always get gasoline at his store, and pay in cash. i became recognized by him, and we would engage in hellos and howareyous. that's the Base Acquaintence.
mon amie (2:47:55 AM): i had that, too!
self (2:48:41 AM):
self (2:48:46 AM): see? truth.
self (2:48:49 AM): anyway.
self (2:50:41 AM): the other kind of Acquaintence is when the exchange is of services. someone shares your love of Lost, etc. it's still impersonal enough for the service to be interchangeable; you can get that fandom feeling from all sorts of other people, but this person happens to be closest.
mon amie (2:50:26 AM): what happens to be closest?
mon amie (2:50:31 AM): the tandom feeling?
mon amie (2:50:42 AM): fandom*
self (2:51:49 AM): the person.
self (2:52:19 AM): for example, say you met someone in one of your classes who likes Lost, and you chat about it sometimes.
mon amie (2:51:51 AM): ahh, gotcha.
self (2:52:54 AM): it never occurs outside of those first few minutes of class, and you could chat about Lost with anyone, but she's readily available
self (2:52:56 AM): mhmm
mon amie (2:52:48 AM): yes, i had those quite frequently.
self (2:54:15 AM): of course, those are the most common sorts of interaction.
self (2:54:46 AM): we have venders who sell us our groceries and our gas, and technology has recently put a barrier between we and them.
self (2:55:09 AM): so our forms of interaction come mostly in what cannot be dupilcated (yet) by machines.
mon amie (2:55:35 AM): what do you mean by duplicated?
self (2:57:05 AM): ...synthesized?
self (2:57:25 AM): instead of human to human contact, the internet itself speaking to us?
self (2:57:46 AM): as opposed to the individuality no one has yet been able to replicate in robots.
self (2:57:52 AM): sorry if i get scifi.
mon amie (2:57:39 AM): robots not being able to feel, etc.?
self (2:58:27 AM): mhmm
self (2:58:37 AM): or come up with entirely original respones.
self (2:58:41 AM): responses*
self (2:58:45 AM): they cannot improvise.
self (2:58:52 AM): nor opinionate.
mon amie (2:59:22 AM): and by having non human interaction, we are just leading to more seclusion amongst each other typething?
self (3:04:16 AM): i believe so.
self (3:04:28 AM): that is another ramble, however.
[from there, our conversation derailed, so we shall leave it where it was]


et en fin, the lecture:
as there are Acquaintences, concerned with those goods and services provided externally and impersonally, there are also Friends, whose interest is determined by what a person sells of him/herself.

again, as with Acquaintences, this grouping can be split into two categories, the Status Quo Friend (SQF) and the True Friend. the former is thrown into a relationship with another person by circumstance. one could enjoy another's sense of humor, or feel capable of conversing for hours on any subject, and thereby create a sense of kinship with that person. not only is made an exchange of, perhaps, laughter, but also of the possession most widely prized by mortals: time. the commodity then, is internal, for the good provided is something unique to the vendor. however, though a bond is formed, it can be severed at a moment's notice, with a whithering word or a distasteful deed.

that brings us to the final level of social interaction: True Friends (TF) [it is so-named only because i could not formulate a less clichéd term for it in the little time i alloted for this post].

the final level is categorized when bits of self are included amongst the goods traded. energy, empathy, and
experience are the most commonly offered services, initially. eventually, however, so much is constantly whirring back and forth that the involved parties simply set aside aspects of themselves for the sole use of one another. only amusing anecdotes are traded with a SQF, but every experience is detailed for the benefit of a TF.

further, a branch of the TF category applies to those labelled as Significant Others; persons are given such a title when the aspects reserved for them encompasse the entirety of another.


therefore:
that is why, some people attach easily to others, and create an assembly of aloof admirers, while others have a cadre of close companions. just as in the real world market, people are an assortment of traits and tradeable services; depending on who's looking, and for what, each individual's worth can be reduced to the state of his/her inventory.

"Disturbia," or "An Account Of An Epic Battle Between Man And Nature"

last night, i went to a hookah bar.

not alone, naturally; some friends had bought two hookahs and were passing the hoses around. one actually paid me a dollar to get me to drive out there and join them. :-) drole and unfulfilling as the tobacco has always been, i puffed it down dispassionately and saved my greed for inhaling the pleasure of their company. soon i was lazily soaring amongst the exhaled vapors that spiraled beyond the black of the midnight sky.

until surprised shouts and the splatter of water on pavement attracted my attention.

someone had found a frog relaxing on a cobblestone, possibly enjoying secondhand smoke. the discoverer of said amphibian, in his determination to display his dominance over nature, had been the source of that kerfluffle that distracted we smokers from our socializing.

now, here was a man in his mid-thirties, who had apparently grown weary of the leftist propaganda which declares that we of the species homo sapiens have a derelict duty to defend and even doctor our animalian brethren of earth. from his actions, i deduced that he had long ago uncovered the terrible treachery of our conservationist-leaning citizens - they were spies. they sought to rid Earth of men and their straight-laced family values by discouraging admittedly random but entirely couth acts of discrimination and violence, and replace the good denizens of America with stepfordian hippie robots! this intrepid soldier of humanity about whom i tell these tales immediately rejected the brainwashing of PETA and declared himself a vigilante against all bestial usurpers of Man's Worldly Throne, and that included preventing the hookah-loving frog from undermining mankind by infiltrating America's youth!

i deduced this, because only such a backstory as epic and obviously heroic as that could explain what he did next.

unsheathing water from the plastic bottle-shaped container in which he carried it (by way of cap-twistation) this Knight Of Man reacted to that slimy sight with battle-honed reflexes; he took his flask in his mighty fist, raising it above his shoulder, and tilted it a sweeping 180 degrees! as God had flooded the world to rid it of people-vermin, so our fantastical protagonist flooded the sidewalk.

the frog jolted under the assault, twitching this way and that. our hero was ever-cunning, however, and shook his canteen, in a long, decided motion, and the water scattered on the ground like machine-gun artillery. the frog, that vile, pestilent purveyor of doom, was instantly surrounded. it slipped, crashing sideways into the jagged cement, flailed desperately for a few moments, then was engulfed by the rising tide. peace was once again restored to the universe, and the relieved chatter of satisfied youth drowned out the final keening of that amphibious anathama.

i'm a penny in a diamond mine

i have come to realize that people don't like me.

they like how i treat them, sure. they like that i look into their eyes and cock my head to catch the nuances of their words. they like the sensation of intensity slathered all over them, of seeing their reflection in my irises so clearly that they could use it to preen. and they do, naturally.

but me, myself, this person who makes them feel like they might suddenly understand what it means to be larger than life, to be the epicenter? i don't think anyone really knows who that is. including me.

but my lack of a well-refined, uncontradictory ego is not the concept i aim to explore. it is that realization of mine on which i plan to pontificate today.

people don't like me. they like how i treat them. they like that i don't see their bank accounts or their clothes or significant others. or, more accurately, that i see all these things but choose to put them aside, and focus instead on Who these people Are. i don't care about their socio-economic status or the grades they had in school. i find the experiences of the inhabitants of their family tree pointless and irrelevant. and i really couldn't care less about designer handbags or armani tuxedos. in a sense i am Tyler Durden, though i don't devalue individuals and slopping them all into the same vat of stanky mystery meat. i don't even liken each person to a favorite stuffed animal or some other much-beloved object. i don't see them as extensions of anything at all. just themselves.

it's a part of my ethics, you see. treat human beings like human beings, with intrinsic value. not as symbols of something else, or in light of connections to things entirely outside themselves. apparently that's a novelty to most people. why it should be so rare to find oneself treated as a human being, with inherent value, is beyond me, but it is considered such. in truth, i have found few others who view other people as i do, tragically enough.

i provide people with a sense of validation when i talk with them, about their problems and their wants; their hopes, dreams, aspirations. when i am genuninely interested, facinated, even, in what we're talking about. and people hope it means something more, that it means i care for them, specifically, and more seriously than for anyone else. because than they can lock that validation up in a box and carry it around in their pockets. which, really, speaks volumes more about them than it does me.

the ever-growing list of things to do before i die

-- write a book/article/essay that impacts the world
this is my life goal, so it's natural place is first on my list.

-- visit the Cappadocia Cave Hotel
it's this epically fantastic hotel carved into the Yunak Evleri mountains, in Turkey. the pictures i have seen of it are simply breathtaking. i will probably never have enough money to go there, but God it would be magnificent. something that makes me understand why some women will do anything to date a rich, doting man.

-- live in New York City
if i can make it there, i can make it anywhere, yes?

-- join the Mile High Club
preferably after having just jacked something massive, a la Gone In 60 Seconds or those Ocean's movies. i hope to one day have so much adrenaline pumping through my system that i actually get stoned. or die. the rush would be worth every possible consequence.

--go bungee-jumping
life is just not an adventure without free-falling ("out into nothing")

--work with the Peace Corps
sometimes i wish that they accepted people who hadn't gone to college. no. not sometimes; it would be a good idea. too many unqualified people running around? give 'em something to do. give 'em purpose. what better reason to live could they possibly think up than Helping People Not Starve/Die In Some Other Entirely Preventable Disease & Neglect-Related Way?

--dance the night away in a high-quality Las Vegas club
something about the thought of techno throbbing through my limbs is irresistable. i do it all the time, privately. in my dorm room where no one can see this strange creature wiggling around with her eyes squeezed shut against reality, shiny blue iPod clenched in her fist like she could just absorb it through her flesh if she tried hard enough. i love music. i would do potentially anything to never have to sense silence. some big anonymous party would be a perfect place to just...flow. feel the mass rhythm. i could totally sneak in, too.

-- backpack across Europe
i would potentially not stay in a youth hostel, but some cheap hotel, or in a rental car or something, but i want to go. the ruined Colusseum, the oxymoronic entrance of the Louvre, the moors of Scotland, the mountains of Austria and Switzerland, the cobbled streets of Prague, the cultured architecture in general; the photo op alone would be worth the journey.

--have an intellectual conversation with a foreigner in a cafe
technically i have done something like this, but somehow i imagine myself speaking Latin while i do this. of all the strange, random wishes, this is the one i see myself checking off the list first.

-- visit Africa
part of my quest to travel, to know the world. and then figure out what i need to give it.

-- own a pet Siberian Husky
he will have blue eyes, and be so cuddly when he's a puppy. i will read journals, or edit articles or something, and sip my chai with him forever curling up in my lap. i will raise him to never lose that trait, and eventually he will grow large enough to occasionally be my pillow.

-- have someone speak Occitan to me
i hear it's a most beautiful language, and i almost don't care what foul things he or she would say to or about me (only i do because i would probably understand enough of the corrupted French to figure out what was being said). i just think closing my eyes to a song softly sung in that language would be like meditating with Vivaldi playing in the background; bliss.

the list is far from over...

footnote: i have noticed that much of what i seek is based on some idealised notion or another. i would apologise for my blatant Transcandentalist Romanticism, but i am also a Cynic forever perched on the edge of misanthropy: there will be no apologies for being myself.

what's love got to do with it?

love is a burden. love is a curse. love is lying, crumpled, plastered, on a dusty floor.

i will not have it [no mas, señor]

children waiting for the day they feel good

people run in circles. humans are a race of packs and classes, conformity a security blanket out of which not a one can manage to grow out.

i was scrolling through my friends' myspace profiles, as i sometimes do, and adding to my ever-growing collection of music the songs on their profiles that i enjoyed. nothing out of the ordinary, except me.

like moving backwards on an escalator, i can see everyone in my life as they shift from one thing to another. crappy minimum-wage job to something more specialized; a shared three-bedroom household is reformed to accommodate visitors instead of boarders, while cockroaches greet their new flatmate. the higher up i get, the faster they flit, these people with whom i shared months, sometimes years, of life. shrunken figures scampering to the next "big thing," the newest "big break," that will provide them everything they want, though they shuffle slower after each change of plans.

i click through these pages of people with thousands of friends and millions of comments, and wonder just how many of those conversations are between the same three persons. how many of these oh-so-close acquaintances look right through one another? i always thought it was something unique to me, that, packed into claustrophobic spaces of however degree, i was continuously as alone as though i had never felt any other human presence beside me. recent conversations aim to convince me otherwise. i never gave them much credence before, as everyone who insisted loneliness was simultaneously ingrained into some sort of clique or club; there was always a place for them to return at the end of the day, no matter how unsettled they felt at that day's apex.

i suppose now that i am the fortunate one. though my shambled society is small, it is genuine.

why yes, this is what passes for an introduction post 'round here

the soundtrack to my life (unless i don't know myself at all, which has been known to happen)

one: "(I'd Start A) Revolution" - Aimee Allen
"Up all night, I waste my time / I am fine, but a day behind / Up all night feelin' stupid 'n' happy / But the days are overlapping"
i am convinced that i could rule the world. i am just...too lazy. and like the speaker of the song, my schedule is never in synch with the rest of the world.

two: "The City Is At War" - Cobra Starship
"Oh, pretty please, it breaks my heart to see another tragedy / She finally got her picture on TV / Come on, live it up while you can / But always in the end, no you don't get another shot"
this sort of sums up how i see most other people. attention whores in the sell-your-soul-for-any-scraps kind of way. all so desperate for that momentary fame.

three : "Paralyzer" - Finger Eleven
"And I feel awkward, as I should / This club has got to be / The most pretentious thing / Since I thought you and me"
the lyrics are slightly sarcastic, and fit my boredom with everything. i also tend to read good/bad/neutral qualities of people immediately, and when meeting new types, i know that, even if my interest has been caught, it takes quite a bit for me to find anyone fascinating, so i walk into situations with my paranoid eyes wide open and well aware. which was possibly the most confused statement ever. hmm.

four: "Tuesday Afternoon" - The Moody Blues
"The trees are drawing me near, / I've got to find out why. / Those gentle voices I hear, / Explain it all with a sigh."
this perfectly captures both my penchant for daydreaming and my love of simplicity.

five: "Mary Jane's Last Dance" - Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers
"You never slow down, you never grow old / I'm tired of screwing up, I'm tired of goin down / I'm tired of myself, I'm tired of this town"
simultaneously meloncholy and energized, this is totally the type of dichotomy (feel-good music with lyrics about dissatisfaction, for example) that features prominently in my life.

six: "New Slang (When You Notice The Stripes)" - The Shins
"I'm looking in on the good life i might be doomed never to find. / Without a trust or flaming fields am i too dumb to refine?"
i can't seem to stay away from these lonely indie songs. this is kind of where my life is at, however. dissatisfied with how things have gone. the perfect song about my struggle between the idealistic worldview in my heart and the cynical pragmatism with which i must act.

seven: "Big Lie, Small World" - Sting
"I hit the postman, hit your lover / Grabbed the letter, ran for cover"
it just fits my neuroticism. i would have instead included "Fool In The Rain" by Led Zeppelin, but i find it more than probable that i would get arrested for antics similar to this.

eight: "Heaven Beside You" - Alice In Chains
"Do what you wanna do / Go out and seek your truth / When I'm down and blue / Rather be me than you"
this fits my cynicism. i am bitter and i snidely sneer enough to prevent me from ever being a proper hippie; i am a bitch. regardless, i will not change myself on other peoples' whims, often to the detriment of my relationships.

nine: "Creep" - Radiohead
"I don't care if it hurts, I wanna have control / I want a perfect body / I want a perfect soul // I want you to notice / When I'm not around / You're so fucking special / I wish I was special"
sums up my goals and self-image quite succinctly [don't respond by telling me i am pretty. i will shank you].

ten: "Nightblindness" - David Gray
"Where we going to find the eyes to see / The bright of day // I'm sick of all the same romances / Lost chances / Cold storms"
this song is full of understated desperation. this is how i worry, when i do, about my future and my life. when i look around and realize i missed several opportunities, or when my finances are tighter than usual, and i can feel myself slowly edging toward panic, i feel nightblind.

eleven: "Just Like The Movies" - Regina Spektor
"Don't say goodbye like you're burying him / 'Cause the world is round and he might return // But if he loves me then why does he leave?"
as with most songs about relationships of mine, this one describes the disconnect between my perception of interactions i have, and how those people see me in return. i am used to caring far more for my friends and the like than they for me. i am always abandoned in the end. >sigh<>

twelve: "Falling From Grace" - The Gentle Waves
"If I could tear my heart / And keep it miles apart / From love of beast or man / And never give a damn"
this was originally "Hide And Seek" by Imogen Heap, because i, like everyone else who makes pretensions on this song, am moved and spoken for by her electronified voice. however, this fit better. i would like to approach life with this kind of contented detachment.

thirteen: "Transatlanticism" - Death Cab For Cutie
"The distance is quite simply much too far for me to row / It seems farther than ever before / Oh no. // I need you so much closer"
it could work for my estrangement from society itself, but this is my God song. i never worry that God isn't there, only that i am far from Him, or that i, with my corporeal body, am trapped on the other side, where i cannot be properly abstract and entangled with the Universe. this is that sorrow that comes from being unable to hug the person that matters more to me than anything and everything, not because there is a rift, but because there are simply 'too many miles to go before i sleep,' to borrow a phrase.

fourteen: "Tyrant" - The Bravery
"I'll believe anything that you want / You gotta teach me how to live / Cause you make me wanna die / You took it all, now you're all I've got"
i hate how quick i am to assume people are good-hearted, well-intentioned, etc. how willing i am to believe lies. i think my interpersonal intelligence must be abhorrently low.

fifteen: "Keeping It Together" - Katy Rose
"Because you stabbed me with your lies / You're not the only one that's broken...// And I'm never ok / Cause I'm pretending like I'm keeping it together / Cause I'm pretending like I'm keeping it together / And they'll never know "
this reflects how erratic my moods are, and yet, how disdainful i am of addiction, losing control, etc. it's hard to explain quite how well this fits me in my confused, psychotropic moods.

sixteen: "With A Little Help From My Friends" - The Beatles (as performed by Joe Anderson, Jim Sturgess & Dormmates)
"(Does it worry you to be alone) / How do I feel by the end of the day / (Are you sad because you're on your own) / No, I get by with a little help from my friends"
my friends are my life. they are amazing people and i love them more than they will ever know.

seventeen: "Ocean City Girl" - Ivy
"Ocean city girl / Is fading / Ocean city girl / Is saying goodbye"
i would die like this. other than that, this is just really a beautiful song.