i am back again. i think as i become compulsive about this routine of mine, the wheel spins faster and faster and faster. i hope it doesn't blur into some sort of sloppiness. my hope is that the wheel spirals or even drills, and that i penetrate the bedrock of my reality and find a new space, a new emptiness, in which to abide...
not much to report today. i fulfilled my responsibilities. i didn't work on certain things, including the acupoints finals that i have yet to grade, or the hydroponics that i have yet to set up, or the rain catchment system that i have yet to build... i'm not sure. there's something comforting about a routine. like it will take you to some place you know. and it's good for you, in some way. and it has an end. i suppose i'm a lazy fool, and i only like to pursue things that end before i do. i'm not the sort that likes an infinity to stretch before me... except, of course, in the realm of desire, before i "run out." which i always do.
i don't get really obsessed with things, to the point of pursuing them at the expense of everything else. or i do, but i force everything to be consumed in bite-sized pieces. there are some that would say that makes me an amateur. but i would say (and have said) that i prefer myself to be the round sphere that rolls through life... and that the all-encompassing pursuit of any one thing has its consequences... things come back to bite you. or rather, the enemies that you forgot lay in wait for you, just waiting to stab you in the ribs and in the back.
yes, i had this thought. there is this notion of squaring the circle, and circling the square. ideas from martial arts. the square represents action that is linear, particular things like punches, which rely upon a linear vector to deliver a forceful impact in the shortest amount of time. the circle, meanwhile, represents the way that is not direct, but which is able to redirect or turn forces. thus squaring the circle, circling the square. the latter is, for example, applied in principle in aikido, in which the "square" energy of the opponent is redirected by the "circular" force of the target... squaring the circle means that when one is ensnared by the circular force, it helps to target the hold itself and break it with linear force. at least that's how i look at things. it is a never-ending play of forces, the circle and the square.
i think of this also with regards to objectives in life. and in this, there is sort of a dichotomy between zen styles and traditions and schools. the rinzai (or linchi) school of zen advocates sudden enlightenment, often accomplished through single minded (and often maddeningly compulsive) meditation upon single koans... the goal is to find a breakthrough. and by breakthrough, we literally mean a breaking of conventional consciousness to achieve a radical awakening. whether this awakening lasts, and is able to be integrated into "everyday consciousness" is a matter subject to question... in any case, its "opposite" is the soto (tsaotung) school of zen, represented in japan by dogen zenji. in this school, there is the idea of shikan-taza, which i translate (probably erroneously or simplisitically) as "just sitting." this is gradual enlightenment, that allows that simply the practice of sitting enacts buddhahood... and there is no positing of a goal above it. no reaching, in other words. i like to think that this is the idealization of process over end.
i tried to do rinzai method. i still sometimes recall and reenact that sort of practice. i say "who am i?" to myself in various moments, to break through the framework of my present thinking... but never with the expectation that an answer will spontaneously show itself up. i guess i didn't try hard enough, but i have always despaired of reaching the goals myself. i suppose i'm still of the mentality (even in buddhism!) that there is a god who understands all of these things, and withholds the secrets from me, and laughs in my face and my pitiful attempts. i'd say this comes from my brother, but i sometimes think it is something more primordial for me, like i was born with this chip on my shoulder... nowadays, i kind of do shikan taza or soto method meditation. i use the "koan" (it technically wasn't a koan, but something more fundamental and simple, according to shodo) of "who am i" to repeatedly reframe my awareness... to break out of attaching to the thought forms and reidentify or rather requestion who it is that thinks, who it is that breathes, who it is that... whatever. i think the constant and consistent reframing leads to a thinning of the strength of thought forms, leading to- what?
***
maybe i should practice what i preach, and meditate more. maybe i will incorporate it as part of my "routine."
***
i wonder at how broken i am. how judgmental i am. how neglectful i am. how incredibly lustful i am. all of it saddens me. and yet, i am attached to this thought form of a self. i am, as a writer, incredibly invested in making a believable narrative out of the story that is me. without it, what? i am afraid of the end. i am afraid of decrepitude. and at times, that's all i see in emptiness. the loss of virility. the softening of things. that old return of the feeling of being overlooked. of being ignored...
i guess that's the theme, and the impetus of me. no one saw my worth, so i am obsessed with being worthy. the flip side of that is that i do not see anything as worthy... or i don't recognize what is truly worthy, which is not... which is immaterial, mostly... subtle. things that cannot be captured by any valuation system. i am afraid of being unworthy... even more than i am afraid of being unloved.
sydney carton... that's his game. the resurrection game. i am the life, and i am the resurrection. if you don't believe it, then- what?
Tuesday, April 28, 2020
Monday, April 27, 2020
4/26/2020
yes, i'm here again...
today, we went over to the farmer's market, right at the end. just as i was walking in, one of willow's teachers recognized me, and stopped to talk to me (i'm not sure how he knew it was me, as i was wearing my requisite face mask). the teacher is very friendly and seems very dedicated. he is one of the few teachers who seems to make repeated efforts to contact and engage students. i know there are some teachers out there who haven't reached out at all- and we are more than a month into this quarantine!
anyway, i got my french dip sandwich from the lady and the pig. it is so much that it accounts for my breakfast and my lunch. i eat half of the sandwich in the morning, and then later, when i start getting hungry again, i consume the second half and drink the "dip." great stuff...
***
i don't know who i perform for. margaret atwood speaks of an ideal reader. she says that we aren't writing for readers en masse. we are always writing for a particular reader; a reader who, as she says, cries when s/he's supposed to, laughs at the rest... someone who understands. someone who has both the intellect and the heart to understand... i also appreciate her citing emily dickenson, who felt that writing is our "letter to the world." separated in time and place from that environment of the reader- reaching across this abyss- like some unspeakably risky bridge, being built into above some fog shrouded emptiness- never knowing your construct will find relief in another shore.
is all of life for this?
who do i perform for?
***
i thought, as i was walking the dog this evening, of doing a meditation on the koan of love. how there are people we should love, and yet, have a difficulty loving. why is there often no congruence between our hearts and our heads (and maybe other parts)? why is there always this dissonance and even resistance? i often cite that quote from haruki murakami, something about how fairness is a human construct, a fiction imposed upon the universe. true, but so what? how can we convince ourselves of that fiction? how can we make that apply through and through? i guess it's important, because- well, because i don't understand why i can't be- consistent.
i also don't understand something about how i treat musubi, our little dog. i tend to be cruel to him. not abusive, necessarily, but mocking. i know i've had this problem before. i recall once, on a trip to japan, when i happened to be one of the elder kids, i sort of befriended this younger boy. i thought i was being jovial and showing my camaraderie with him when i joked about him, teased him about some girl or something or other. but it turns out i really hurt his feelings. i've also done that to other people- abused them, without really meaning to. why do i do that?
i think of my brother, and the way he dismissed my feelings. is that way of thinking imprinted on me? that way of discounting weakness, of belittling it? i hate that. but there is something in me that rejects being too kind sometimes. it forbids me from being too gentle. it's complex, like a knot, but it, on the one hand, makes me less masculine, and- i don't know- there's a sense- a warped sense- of justice about it all. like the world is cruel, and i'm going to show that to you...
as musubi gets older, and i notice he gets more and more tired- i realize i should be merciful.
i also realize that i have a jealous heart. and if i can't be the one that is the "favorite," the true love of someone, then i push that person, that dog, away. i reject it first. maybe it is because i am used to that. how everyone fauned over my fucking brother. if they only knew, i would think. and i would push them away. because it hurt, having the world only see him. always see him. and only always see the bright side of him, while he pushed my head into the shit. i learned to hate the world for that. maybe i still do.
there's this fantasy drama in my head- that, when i am, as i feel, unjustly ignored- then i stalk off into the emptiness and train. maybe that's my whole fetish with monasticism. was it really to be strong and find emptiness, or did i- do i- always think that someone will feel sorry for me, maybe even long for me, maybe even feel regret for me? (and maybe, secretly, feel desire for me? no... that is an entirely different register- again... that contradiction between what is just, and what is the plain, bald-faced truth. lust/desire/love occupies a different register from respect/admiration. i think i will see this soon with sydney carton. i don't know the story, but i suspect he will do something grandiose and self-sacrificing- but no matter what, he will NOT be loved... just as i will not be loved. just as the world will always love my brother, but never me. never me.)
today, we went over to the farmer's market, right at the end. just as i was walking in, one of willow's teachers recognized me, and stopped to talk to me (i'm not sure how he knew it was me, as i was wearing my requisite face mask). the teacher is very friendly and seems very dedicated. he is one of the few teachers who seems to make repeated efforts to contact and engage students. i know there are some teachers out there who haven't reached out at all- and we are more than a month into this quarantine!
anyway, i got my french dip sandwich from the lady and the pig. it is so much that it accounts for my breakfast and my lunch. i eat half of the sandwich in the morning, and then later, when i start getting hungry again, i consume the second half and drink the "dip." great stuff...
***
i don't know who i perform for. margaret atwood speaks of an ideal reader. she says that we aren't writing for readers en masse. we are always writing for a particular reader; a reader who, as she says, cries when s/he's supposed to, laughs at the rest... someone who understands. someone who has both the intellect and the heart to understand... i also appreciate her citing emily dickenson, who felt that writing is our "letter to the world." separated in time and place from that environment of the reader- reaching across this abyss- like some unspeakably risky bridge, being built into above some fog shrouded emptiness- never knowing your construct will find relief in another shore.
is all of life for this?
who do i perform for?
***
i thought, as i was walking the dog this evening, of doing a meditation on the koan of love. how there are people we should love, and yet, have a difficulty loving. why is there often no congruence between our hearts and our heads (and maybe other parts)? why is there always this dissonance and even resistance? i often cite that quote from haruki murakami, something about how fairness is a human construct, a fiction imposed upon the universe. true, but so what? how can we convince ourselves of that fiction? how can we make that apply through and through? i guess it's important, because- well, because i don't understand why i can't be- consistent.
i also don't understand something about how i treat musubi, our little dog. i tend to be cruel to him. not abusive, necessarily, but mocking. i know i've had this problem before. i recall once, on a trip to japan, when i happened to be one of the elder kids, i sort of befriended this younger boy. i thought i was being jovial and showing my camaraderie with him when i joked about him, teased him about some girl or something or other. but it turns out i really hurt his feelings. i've also done that to other people- abused them, without really meaning to. why do i do that?
i think of my brother, and the way he dismissed my feelings. is that way of thinking imprinted on me? that way of discounting weakness, of belittling it? i hate that. but there is something in me that rejects being too kind sometimes. it forbids me from being too gentle. it's complex, like a knot, but it, on the one hand, makes me less masculine, and- i don't know- there's a sense- a warped sense- of justice about it all. like the world is cruel, and i'm going to show that to you...
as musubi gets older, and i notice he gets more and more tired- i realize i should be merciful.
i also realize that i have a jealous heart. and if i can't be the one that is the "favorite," the true love of someone, then i push that person, that dog, away. i reject it first. maybe it is because i am used to that. how everyone fauned over my fucking brother. if they only knew, i would think. and i would push them away. because it hurt, having the world only see him. always see him. and only always see the bright side of him, while he pushed my head into the shit. i learned to hate the world for that. maybe i still do.
there's this fantasy drama in my head- that, when i am, as i feel, unjustly ignored- then i stalk off into the emptiness and train. maybe that's my whole fetish with monasticism. was it really to be strong and find emptiness, or did i- do i- always think that someone will feel sorry for me, maybe even long for me, maybe even feel regret for me? (and maybe, secretly, feel desire for me? no... that is an entirely different register- again... that contradiction between what is just, and what is the plain, bald-faced truth. lust/desire/love occupies a different register from respect/admiration. i think i will see this soon with sydney carton. i don't know the story, but i suspect he will do something grandiose and self-sacrificing- but no matter what, he will NOT be loved... just as i will not be loved. just as the world will always love my brother, but never me. never me.)
Sunday, April 26, 2020
4/26/2020
this weekend, i am cycling pretty rapidly through my routines. it is already the third cycle.
i disposed of the cherry tomato plant. it was sad, but as time progressed, you could visibly see the wilt occurring. the entire plant was drooping. whereas yesterday, at the very least, the new leaves looked promising, by today, everything was falling. so i just pulled the entire monstrous thing by its roots. it took a significant amount of the hydrocorn (the clay pebbles that serve as the substrate for the grow bed). it also left a kind of mud behind. i'm not sure if that's healthy or not, but after i removed the plant, the waters in the fish tank turned a muddy, murky brown, opaque... on a positive note, the removal of that monstrous cherry tomato plant appears to have opened up space and sunlight for the surrounding plants, which, quite frankly, were being smothered out.
my gradual weeding efforts on the front lawn seem to be progressing (although that is an eternal task). i noticed that i could not find those little red-stemmed mimosa-leafed weeds clustering near a grass patch (as they are wont to do; hiding out; those little bastards). that's not to say that they weren't there, but they weren't as visible. this led me (or leads me) to thinking about the nature of problems. how we allow them to grow so that they are visible enough or important enough to address... because to hunt down every single little weedling seems... well, obsessive. and unrealistic.
my vegetable plants in the front right planter box seem to be doing well. but i am daunted by the death of the cherry tomato. it can happen literally overnight, the infestation of an otherwise healthy plant. everything i have is vulnerable.
***
i read a few chapters of berserk. i think i watched this part in that little montage of clips on youtube. but it is truly a tragic life. to have been sold into abuse by someone you considered to be your own father. and to have been blamed by said father for everything; the death of your adoptive mother, the loss of a leg... what i consider hopeful in the story is the idea that ruthless training can make one a force to be contended with... along with relentless will. even the godhand would pay attention to him.
***
my wife bought me mustache wax. i still have to learn how to use it. the mustache and beard thing is growing- well, slovenly. i notice the wind when it blows, because the hair around my mouth moves with the wind. i also notice it's hard to eat cleanly. some of the food (especially soup, or milk from a cereal bowl) gets wet, and i'm sure there are little bacterial colonies that form in the remnants... so i would like to trim the mustache at the very least.
***
ok, see ya!
i disposed of the cherry tomato plant. it was sad, but as time progressed, you could visibly see the wilt occurring. the entire plant was drooping. whereas yesterday, at the very least, the new leaves looked promising, by today, everything was falling. so i just pulled the entire monstrous thing by its roots. it took a significant amount of the hydrocorn (the clay pebbles that serve as the substrate for the grow bed). it also left a kind of mud behind. i'm not sure if that's healthy or not, but after i removed the plant, the waters in the fish tank turned a muddy, murky brown, opaque... on a positive note, the removal of that monstrous cherry tomato plant appears to have opened up space and sunlight for the surrounding plants, which, quite frankly, were being smothered out.
my gradual weeding efforts on the front lawn seem to be progressing (although that is an eternal task). i noticed that i could not find those little red-stemmed mimosa-leafed weeds clustering near a grass patch (as they are wont to do; hiding out; those little bastards). that's not to say that they weren't there, but they weren't as visible. this led me (or leads me) to thinking about the nature of problems. how we allow them to grow so that they are visible enough or important enough to address... because to hunt down every single little weedling seems... well, obsessive. and unrealistic.
my vegetable plants in the front right planter box seem to be doing well. but i am daunted by the death of the cherry tomato. it can happen literally overnight, the infestation of an otherwise healthy plant. everything i have is vulnerable.
***
i read a few chapters of berserk. i think i watched this part in that little montage of clips on youtube. but it is truly a tragic life. to have been sold into abuse by someone you considered to be your own father. and to have been blamed by said father for everything; the death of your adoptive mother, the loss of a leg... what i consider hopeful in the story is the idea that ruthless training can make one a force to be contended with... along with relentless will. even the godhand would pay attention to him.
***
my wife bought me mustache wax. i still have to learn how to use it. the mustache and beard thing is growing- well, slovenly. i notice the wind when it blows, because the hair around my mouth moves with the wind. i also notice it's hard to eat cleanly. some of the food (especially soup, or milk from a cereal bowl) gets wet, and i'm sure there are little bacterial colonies that form in the remnants... so i would like to trim the mustache at the very least.
***
ok, see ya!
Saturday, April 25, 2020
4/25/2020
i am in a fever to cycle through my routines in ever higher and dizzying heights. progress. spiraling progress...
unfortunately, one of the plants, perhaps the oldest, the one remnant from my first generation of aquaponics plants, is suffering from what i believe to be a scale insect infestation. i have tried to prune the dead branches, and clean off the scale insects, which look like white powdery dots. i have sprayed the plant with neem oil... but it seems as though as the day progresses, the more the plant degenerates. even the healthy branches are now seeming to droop. it's getting to the point where i suspect that there are deeper problems with the plant. i noticed, as i clipped one of the older stalks, that there was some kind of white worm thing hanging out in the woody hollow of the stalk. maybe that's the culprit?
this again highlights the vulnerability of planting anything outside. while nothing replaces actual sunlight, putting plants outside makes them extremely vulnerable to attack by a multitude of invisible pests. i remember earlier this year when some sort of moth attacked my zucchini plant. the zucchini plant had been the model of healthiness, producing large yellow blossoms, and at least 4 zucchinis. and then, overnight, it died. when i looked closely at the stalks of the plant, i noticed the telltale holes, which resembled the spaced holes of a flute... it angered me, it filled me with despair. but what can you do?
i suppose i could try to construct some sort of greenhouse. or screen the plants off. but i'm not sure what the tradeoff would be. i mean, would i reduce access of MYSELF to the plants? and would i be cutting down the amount of available sunlight that the plants accessed? not sure... all i can say is, it seems as though attacking pests is usually too little too late. by the time you notice there's a problem, the plant is already irretrievably lost.
***
not sure...
***
what is it that i want? and what dreams fuel the actions i take? and are those dreams consistent, morally, with my present self? and are those dreams rational? should they be? at times, it seems that the motivations for things don't necessarily jive with our present structured self. i know all of these are constructs: present, structured, self. but we need this convenient fiction to survive. and, again, we invent these illusions, these notions of progress, these goals and objectives, in order to pretend movement. because movement is important. (why?)
one thing i haven't been doing much of is meditating. it's hard to clear that space and time amidst this quarantine. there is no silence, or privacy. and people demand attention. (as they should) but i'm not sure if meditation will actually lead to something productive. more often than not, it is the acid bath that dissolves all of my fictitious efforts. or rather, it makes of my efforts a fiction that i cannot believe in or adhere to... which leads me into this soup of waste. which i hate. i idealize life as being one that is productive. one that does not hesitate. one that moves when it should, and stays still when it should. i don't know how else to put it...
***
reach. stretch. do not regress... (but maybe all aging is a regression, a folding in, alas).
unfortunately, one of the plants, perhaps the oldest, the one remnant from my first generation of aquaponics plants, is suffering from what i believe to be a scale insect infestation. i have tried to prune the dead branches, and clean off the scale insects, which look like white powdery dots. i have sprayed the plant with neem oil... but it seems as though as the day progresses, the more the plant degenerates. even the healthy branches are now seeming to droop. it's getting to the point where i suspect that there are deeper problems with the plant. i noticed, as i clipped one of the older stalks, that there was some kind of white worm thing hanging out in the woody hollow of the stalk. maybe that's the culprit?
this again highlights the vulnerability of planting anything outside. while nothing replaces actual sunlight, putting plants outside makes them extremely vulnerable to attack by a multitude of invisible pests. i remember earlier this year when some sort of moth attacked my zucchini plant. the zucchini plant had been the model of healthiness, producing large yellow blossoms, and at least 4 zucchinis. and then, overnight, it died. when i looked closely at the stalks of the plant, i noticed the telltale holes, which resembled the spaced holes of a flute... it angered me, it filled me with despair. but what can you do?
i suppose i could try to construct some sort of greenhouse. or screen the plants off. but i'm not sure what the tradeoff would be. i mean, would i reduce access of MYSELF to the plants? and would i be cutting down the amount of available sunlight that the plants accessed? not sure... all i can say is, it seems as though attacking pests is usually too little too late. by the time you notice there's a problem, the plant is already irretrievably lost.
***
not sure...
***
what is it that i want? and what dreams fuel the actions i take? and are those dreams consistent, morally, with my present self? and are those dreams rational? should they be? at times, it seems that the motivations for things don't necessarily jive with our present structured self. i know all of these are constructs: present, structured, self. but we need this convenient fiction to survive. and, again, we invent these illusions, these notions of progress, these goals and objectives, in order to pretend movement. because movement is important. (why?)
one thing i haven't been doing much of is meditating. it's hard to clear that space and time amidst this quarantine. there is no silence, or privacy. and people demand attention. (as they should) but i'm not sure if meditation will actually lead to something productive. more often than not, it is the acid bath that dissolves all of my fictitious efforts. or rather, it makes of my efforts a fiction that i cannot believe in or adhere to... which leads me into this soup of waste. which i hate. i idealize life as being one that is productive. one that does not hesitate. one that moves when it should, and stays still when it should. i don't know how else to put it...
***
reach. stretch. do not regress... (but maybe all aging is a regression, a folding in, alas).
4/24/2020
and just like that, it's three days later. in addition to addressing my work responsibilities, i guess i kind of got stuck on my routines, and i was also wrestling with this inexplicable exhaustion that struck me over the past two days. i would make a brief call with a student and then crash on the sofa. the sleep felt like- well, like something inevitable. but just like rising from the ocean, the water of sleep made me feel heavy, and it seemed harder and harder to rise out of it. instead of feeling refreshed, i just felt more and more tired...
i still wrestle at times with dreams. with impossibilities. with anger. with rage.
i suppose i hate it when my position is threatened. my first reaction (after the disbelief) is to lash out. to defend myself. i suppose some of it is irrational. i justify it by claiming grievances from the day i was born, second, to an asshole. but i guess just because you were hurt before doesn't mean you have a legitimate claim to justice. and the violent hatred that you have accumulated within you from years of abuse, well, it is blind, and lacks discrimination. witness the french revolution (which i am reading about in "a tale of two cities").
honestly, some of the descriptions of the maddening crowd, the mob, found in that book seem- both horrifying and- prophetic. i worry that our world will turn into that one. we already have a mob of complete stupidity (i can feel the hate in me rising up). i hate, most of all, how those who support trump tend to be the most religious. i, who studied religion, who understand the motivations behind some of those phenomenon, who actually wanted to invest myself in those phenomena... well, now i call complete bullshit. the arrogance of those who hold a position of judgment over the world. i hate the smugness of those people, who are operating out of complete irrationality and ignorance... "in the name of." how can they live with themselves?
***
in any case... i don't know what else is really on my mind. i guess... i'm just blah-ing now. this is my blah-g.
***
one of my insights... i suppose i've mentioned this before... but in my old age, i can't push too hard to do anything. or else it all pushes back. and, again, there is a kind of guilt that accompanies that push back. sort of like a disruption in the current. have you ever seen water in confusion? at the juncture of multiple flows? there is a bubbling up that represents chaos and confusion. i don't like that disruption. i like the clarity of a clear path, an inevitability of direction. i wish life were always like that...
in the end, you make a choice, whether you make a choice.
Tuesday, April 21, 2020
4/21/2020
another day. today, i conferenced with several of my students, and had a brief meeting with the grade 5 team. after, and in between, i checked on some of my plants. i noticed that the bitter melon died pretty quickly, i believe because i overfertilized it, and basically burned it. i also noticed that the lima bean bush is starting to exhibit signs of burning as well, with leaves taking on this dry yellow color. i'm hoping that the plant is established enough to survive my "good intentions." the rest of the plants seem to be doing well (cross my fingers and hide by [black] thumbs).
i also worked on my routines: exercises alternating with activities that are more "cognitive", and meant to stretch my capacities. things like reading a chapter of a good book, drawing something, learning my kanji, learning how to program, and other things... right now, i'm kind of tired, worn out from some of the workouts that i've done, piecemeal, throughout the day. things like the ab ripper x exercises (i do about 3 every rotation) and the legs and backs stuff (i do about 6 of those). i'm no spring chicken, and i feel i have to respect my limitations, or i'll end up incapacitated for a month. :)
the writing has been- hard. i have a good idea for how to proceed with the story, but the execution of it- well, it's been slow going. i think part of the problem is that, for a while, i've been using the word count to motivate me, to just blindly accumulate words words words. but when i realized things weren't exactly working, or there were some deep inconsistencies, then i had to cut things down. so i went from almost 14000 words to something above 12000. not exactly motivating when you edit your work down. but again, i've got a better sense of direction. and i hope the motivations of the characters will make more sense. i also had a good idea for a device (or explanation). the main character of the kappa noodle story has a lament, that he basically feels he has no soul. the kappa explains that he must have a hole, a leak, or something, through which all the "water" drains out. and he needs to find where that hole is to plug it up... i just realized that the main character could be this rare individual who is born without a soul. in the world of old japanese culture, this would be explained by his lack of a shirikodama, a sort of ball (physical) that holds your soul, located somewhere within your anus (i believe it's a delicacy of the kappa, and they love to pull it out of your ass and swallow it whole, essentially killing you). the main character's lack of a shirikodama would explain why there's no "plug" in him, resulting in the perpetual drain of his self- his motivation, his drive, his feelings of anger... this problem isn't necessarily "solved." it's just explained. the main drive of the story is the return of the boy to his own home, supported by his progressive recollections of his brother.
(i think this makes for a better story than my original, in which the kappa was attempting to relive a memory of a fictitious brother, through vicariously experiencing the main character's memories of his problematic relationship with his brother).
***
i despair of our country. behind everything is this internal frustration that we have essentially elected an asshole, the king of a party of assholes, with an inconsistent philosophy hiding (barely) greed and corruption and hypocrisy. i can't understand the people who still support this idiot, who IS going to bring our country down to the bottom of the shithole.
***
oh well, nothing much else to report.
i also worked on my routines: exercises alternating with activities that are more "cognitive", and meant to stretch my capacities. things like reading a chapter of a good book, drawing something, learning my kanji, learning how to program, and other things... right now, i'm kind of tired, worn out from some of the workouts that i've done, piecemeal, throughout the day. things like the ab ripper x exercises (i do about 3 every rotation) and the legs and backs stuff (i do about 6 of those). i'm no spring chicken, and i feel i have to respect my limitations, or i'll end up incapacitated for a month. :)
the writing has been- hard. i have a good idea for how to proceed with the story, but the execution of it- well, it's been slow going. i think part of the problem is that, for a while, i've been using the word count to motivate me, to just blindly accumulate words words words. but when i realized things weren't exactly working, or there were some deep inconsistencies, then i had to cut things down. so i went from almost 14000 words to something above 12000. not exactly motivating when you edit your work down. but again, i've got a better sense of direction. and i hope the motivations of the characters will make more sense. i also had a good idea for a device (or explanation). the main character of the kappa noodle story has a lament, that he basically feels he has no soul. the kappa explains that he must have a hole, a leak, or something, through which all the "water" drains out. and he needs to find where that hole is to plug it up... i just realized that the main character could be this rare individual who is born without a soul. in the world of old japanese culture, this would be explained by his lack of a shirikodama, a sort of ball (physical) that holds your soul, located somewhere within your anus (i believe it's a delicacy of the kappa, and they love to pull it out of your ass and swallow it whole, essentially killing you). the main character's lack of a shirikodama would explain why there's no "plug" in him, resulting in the perpetual drain of his self- his motivation, his drive, his feelings of anger... this problem isn't necessarily "solved." it's just explained. the main drive of the story is the return of the boy to his own home, supported by his progressive recollections of his brother.
(i think this makes for a better story than my original, in which the kappa was attempting to relive a memory of a fictitious brother, through vicariously experiencing the main character's memories of his problematic relationship with his brother).
***
i despair of our country. behind everything is this internal frustration that we have essentially elected an asshole, the king of a party of assholes, with an inconsistent philosophy hiding (barely) greed and corruption and hypocrisy. i can't understand the people who still support this idiot, who IS going to bring our country down to the bottom of the shithole.
***
oh well, nothing much else to report.
Monday, April 20, 2020
4/19/2020
i'm keeping with my routines. in fact, i had the vision of the relentless cycling of my routines, so much that i spiral up and improve dramatically... but yes, tomorrow begins the working with the kids again, and all of my other obligations, so that's not really going to happen. but i can dream, can't i? this idea of approaching perfection. or at least, making a difference.
so this morning, after an early start, and monitoring the plants and washing the dishes, i went with my wife over to the farmer's market at mililani high school. i bought an oxtail pho, and some thai iced tea, and some spring rolls (i didn't eat those, my wife did). my wife, for her part, was looking for some special honey that she had used in her teriyaki sauce (it was GOOD). and then we went back home...
later, i convinced lynn to go out again. we headed out to the windward side of the island. i think that the very first place we went to was the aquaponics store in waimanalo. i actually spent $80 there. asked the guy that worked there (i think his name is travis) about hydroponics. he gave me a brief run-down, something about how plants have a vegetative state and a fruiting/blooming state. some plants have only a vegetative state (like lettuce, or other leafy greens, where the "vegetable" is the leaves of the plant), whereas others that go through a blossoming phase and a fruiting phase... well, you get the idea. anyway, travis explained that these require two different nutrient solutions... so i got them, and i also got something for algae (just remembered it!) because one of my aquaponics tanks has water that is murky green from all the algae that has taken up in it. (don't know why it is just that tank- the first tank, the original one, turned a murky brown due to all the tannic acid buildup in it- and then, when exposed to sunlight, it cleared up- and now, it's starting to turn brown again).
after the aquaponics store, we went over to bob's pizzeria in kailua. we ate a couple of slices while they were fresh. then, we headed over to foodland to pick up a couple of flowers to lay at lynn's family graves. it was slim pickings over at foodland, but we managed to get 3 roses, in varying states of decay. we headed over to the memorial grave (i can't quite remember what the name of the graveyard is, but it is the big one that you can see when you come out of the tunnel on the windward side). we found the hashimoto graves quickly, and she laid the flowers while i disposed of the trash.
our last stopoff before heading home was to the koolau farmers store. like the aquaponics place, it was actually pretty busy. i guess that home gardening is a big thing during this whole coronavirus thing. anyway, i got about 5 recumbent junipers. i decided to use them in the middle to back end of the planter box on the right side of my house, because 1) that side is dedicated to being more ornamental (complimenting the walking path), 2) there is less sunlight there, so it's inappropriate to plant vegetables, and 3) i'm hoping that when those plants get big they serve as a deterant against all the stinking cats...
*****
anyway, nothing much else to report.
i feel a mild sense of panic when i think about the state of the world right now. the warning sign is that there are long lines at the food bank. whenever people go hungry, then things go to shit. that's my opinion. unfortunately, we have the worst government right now, run by republicans. if we fail, it's not because of the disaster of the virus, but the disaster of mismanagement and corruption that "addressed" it.
you heard it here first. :P
so this morning, after an early start, and monitoring the plants and washing the dishes, i went with my wife over to the farmer's market at mililani high school. i bought an oxtail pho, and some thai iced tea, and some spring rolls (i didn't eat those, my wife did). my wife, for her part, was looking for some special honey that she had used in her teriyaki sauce (it was GOOD). and then we went back home...
later, i convinced lynn to go out again. we headed out to the windward side of the island. i think that the very first place we went to was the aquaponics store in waimanalo. i actually spent $80 there. asked the guy that worked there (i think his name is travis) about hydroponics. he gave me a brief run-down, something about how plants have a vegetative state and a fruiting/blooming state. some plants have only a vegetative state (like lettuce, or other leafy greens, where the "vegetable" is the leaves of the plant), whereas others that go through a blossoming phase and a fruiting phase... well, you get the idea. anyway, travis explained that these require two different nutrient solutions... so i got them, and i also got something for algae (just remembered it!) because one of my aquaponics tanks has water that is murky green from all the algae that has taken up in it. (don't know why it is just that tank- the first tank, the original one, turned a murky brown due to all the tannic acid buildup in it- and then, when exposed to sunlight, it cleared up- and now, it's starting to turn brown again).
after the aquaponics store, we went over to bob's pizzeria in kailua. we ate a couple of slices while they were fresh. then, we headed over to foodland to pick up a couple of flowers to lay at lynn's family graves. it was slim pickings over at foodland, but we managed to get 3 roses, in varying states of decay. we headed over to the memorial grave (i can't quite remember what the name of the graveyard is, but it is the big one that you can see when you come out of the tunnel on the windward side). we found the hashimoto graves quickly, and she laid the flowers while i disposed of the trash.
our last stopoff before heading home was to the koolau farmers store. like the aquaponics place, it was actually pretty busy. i guess that home gardening is a big thing during this whole coronavirus thing. anyway, i got about 5 recumbent junipers. i decided to use them in the middle to back end of the planter box on the right side of my house, because 1) that side is dedicated to being more ornamental (complimenting the walking path), 2) there is less sunlight there, so it's inappropriate to plant vegetables, and 3) i'm hoping that when those plants get big they serve as a deterant against all the stinking cats...
*****
anyway, nothing much else to report.
i feel a mild sense of panic when i think about the state of the world right now. the warning sign is that there are long lines at the food bank. whenever people go hungry, then things go to shit. that's my opinion. unfortunately, we have the worst government right now, run by republicans. if we fail, it's not because of the disaster of the virus, but the disaster of mismanagement and corruption that "addressed" it.
you heard it here first. :P
Sunday, April 19, 2020
4/18/2020
tonight, i yelled at my son because his report card was not good. i hated the way it made me feel. later on, when i went to call him down for dinner, i found him in his room, and in his closet, in the dark, crying. i tried to talk to him and tell him that although i was disappointed, i still loved him, and that it was not the end of the world. i tried to tell him that no matter what happens, we pick ourselves up and try again... you know, all those sorts of platitudes.
i guess as a father, i'm sort of a disappointment (in myself? in him?). i never really worked my son. i never pushed him. i guess there was a moment in the past that sort of shocked me out of doing anything like that. when my son was in kindergarten, and he had the WORST teacher ever (i don't care how much people like her, or shower her with accolades and praise- to my son, and to me, she was the WORST teacher), well, i realized i kind of lost my temper when he couldn't tell me what a rectangle was- this after all that time in preschool and all that time working with him. and then when the counselor talked to me about the ialac (it's an acronym for "i am lovable and capable"), and how my son's ialac had been hurt- well, it broke my heart. and i promised myself that i wouldn't get that angry with him again.
it's been difficult. i sometimes think that my son needs someone to push him, to structure his life... but at this point, i kind of feel it's too late. he has formed his life. he makes his own decisions. i can make recommendations, but ultimately it is his choice to take them. i don't know if i'm just being lazy or what, but i neither think that i should get so up in his business that it is no longer his business, nor should i communicate anything that damages his ego. yes, i know, there's all this talk nowadays about how this generation of parents is coddling their kids- but whatever.
i love my son, and i suppose there is a feeling of hesitation whenever i see him hurt. like, maybe i had planted that in him. and i don't want him to ever feel that, that self-hatred. i mean, i wrestle with that to this day. it haunts me still. i don't want him to feel like that. i want him to feel safe in his own skin.
***
i managed to plant the plants in the planter box. i guess i mentioned that yesterday, but i suppose i'm still riding on that. i made a decision to do hydroponics outside, using the old round buckets (that we used to use for practice drums for taiko). there are a couple of problems: 1) i don't have a lot of the supplies, like pH monitors and such, nor do i have the nutrient solution; and 2) i don't have the plants ready for the hydroponics yet. i guess there's a third factor, and that is that i don't really know all the intricacies of hydroponics yet. in a sense, aquaponics is easier in that it really does mimic a natural cycle. and hopefully, in aquaponics, if everything is going right, then you don't have to mess with it much... but i'll gradually try to figure it out.
***
a couple of insights:
1) i sometimes live my life with this sort of gentle pressure. i mean, i have a sense of the goals i want to achieve, but i've learned not to push too hard for any one thing. i guess, in my experience, there is this inevitable push back and accompanying guilt if i try too hard and focus too much on any one thing. life is round, after all. and even with me gently addressing each thing, i neglect so much! but in any case, i had this vision of coal turning into a diamond... or that line from shawshank redemption, something about how all that is needed to change things is pressure and time. yes, with a lot of my goals, i kind of skitter around, seemingly not doing anything much for them, but just sort of touching this or touching that. at times, i surprise myself with the impetus or force with which i do things. but usually, i just walk around the idea of doing something...
why is there this push back? is that what holds me back from being more forceful? am i afraid of making mistakes?
2) i can't really recall the second insight now. but... i guess there is still attachment to the "sumptuousness" of life, of youth. i said before, there is fear of decrepitude, of old age, because from my perspective it just seems like this degeneration, this loss, this emptiness. but maybe it's because i have a mistaken notion of emptiness. i know that when shodo was trying to teach me about the concept of emptiness in buddhism, that that was one of the greatest errors: to think of emptiness in a limited sense, like some sort of void or something. the character for emptiness is the same as that for the sky- which can help you get a sense of what emptiness is really all about- some vast openness that allows for all possibilities. i wish i could glimpse that sky someday. i never managed to realize enlightenment under shodo, and as time passes, i think it is less and less likely that i ever will. i no longer have the discipline to do something like that. life impinges on me all the time, and i am comfortable in my decadence... i don't know.
sometimes i wonder why i do or why i did everything that i do/did. i still hold in my mind this image of some feminine figure, like some sort of angel or something, that looks down upon me and approves of my actions. it's an endearing image. or rather, an enduring image. i'm married and all, but it still stays with me. i'm doing something for approval, and for release. i don't know how else to explain it. i guess that's why i write, as well. to reach some audience, to move them. but it's kind of complicated nowadays, because i question whether the audience even exists. i mean, art is not solipsistic, or it shouldn't be, but it also isn't just a capitulation to the needs and desires of the other. i like to think that it is a flowing out of the author- his or her perspective...
anyway... i don't know what else to really write about.
i wish life made more sense. i wish i were consistent with my thoughts, my feelings. but i guess that's life.
i guess as a father, i'm sort of a disappointment (in myself? in him?). i never really worked my son. i never pushed him. i guess there was a moment in the past that sort of shocked me out of doing anything like that. when my son was in kindergarten, and he had the WORST teacher ever (i don't care how much people like her, or shower her with accolades and praise- to my son, and to me, she was the WORST teacher), well, i realized i kind of lost my temper when he couldn't tell me what a rectangle was- this after all that time in preschool and all that time working with him. and then when the counselor talked to me about the ialac (it's an acronym for "i am lovable and capable"), and how my son's ialac had been hurt- well, it broke my heart. and i promised myself that i wouldn't get that angry with him again.
it's been difficult. i sometimes think that my son needs someone to push him, to structure his life... but at this point, i kind of feel it's too late. he has formed his life. he makes his own decisions. i can make recommendations, but ultimately it is his choice to take them. i don't know if i'm just being lazy or what, but i neither think that i should get so up in his business that it is no longer his business, nor should i communicate anything that damages his ego. yes, i know, there's all this talk nowadays about how this generation of parents is coddling their kids- but whatever.
i love my son, and i suppose there is a feeling of hesitation whenever i see him hurt. like, maybe i had planted that in him. and i don't want him to ever feel that, that self-hatred. i mean, i wrestle with that to this day. it haunts me still. i don't want him to feel like that. i want him to feel safe in his own skin.
***
i managed to plant the plants in the planter box. i guess i mentioned that yesterday, but i suppose i'm still riding on that. i made a decision to do hydroponics outside, using the old round buckets (that we used to use for practice drums for taiko). there are a couple of problems: 1) i don't have a lot of the supplies, like pH monitors and such, nor do i have the nutrient solution; and 2) i don't have the plants ready for the hydroponics yet. i guess there's a third factor, and that is that i don't really know all the intricacies of hydroponics yet. in a sense, aquaponics is easier in that it really does mimic a natural cycle. and hopefully, in aquaponics, if everything is going right, then you don't have to mess with it much... but i'll gradually try to figure it out.
***
a couple of insights:
1) i sometimes live my life with this sort of gentle pressure. i mean, i have a sense of the goals i want to achieve, but i've learned not to push too hard for any one thing. i guess, in my experience, there is this inevitable push back and accompanying guilt if i try too hard and focus too much on any one thing. life is round, after all. and even with me gently addressing each thing, i neglect so much! but in any case, i had this vision of coal turning into a diamond... or that line from shawshank redemption, something about how all that is needed to change things is pressure and time. yes, with a lot of my goals, i kind of skitter around, seemingly not doing anything much for them, but just sort of touching this or touching that. at times, i surprise myself with the impetus or force with which i do things. but usually, i just walk around the idea of doing something...
why is there this push back? is that what holds me back from being more forceful? am i afraid of making mistakes?
2) i can't really recall the second insight now. but... i guess there is still attachment to the "sumptuousness" of life, of youth. i said before, there is fear of decrepitude, of old age, because from my perspective it just seems like this degeneration, this loss, this emptiness. but maybe it's because i have a mistaken notion of emptiness. i know that when shodo was trying to teach me about the concept of emptiness in buddhism, that that was one of the greatest errors: to think of emptiness in a limited sense, like some sort of void or something. the character for emptiness is the same as that for the sky- which can help you get a sense of what emptiness is really all about- some vast openness that allows for all possibilities. i wish i could glimpse that sky someday. i never managed to realize enlightenment under shodo, and as time passes, i think it is less and less likely that i ever will. i no longer have the discipline to do something like that. life impinges on me all the time, and i am comfortable in my decadence... i don't know.
sometimes i wonder why i do or why i did everything that i do/did. i still hold in my mind this image of some feminine figure, like some sort of angel or something, that looks down upon me and approves of my actions. it's an endearing image. or rather, an enduring image. i'm married and all, but it still stays with me. i'm doing something for approval, and for release. i don't know how else to explain it. i guess that's why i write, as well. to reach some audience, to move them. but it's kind of complicated nowadays, because i question whether the audience even exists. i mean, art is not solipsistic, or it shouldn't be, but it also isn't just a capitulation to the needs and desires of the other. i like to think that it is a flowing out of the author- his or her perspective...
anyway... i don't know what else to really write about.
i wish life made more sense. i wish i were consistent with my thoughts, my feelings. but i guess that's life.
Saturday, April 18, 2020
4/17/2020
it's been a couple of days since i last wrote. i don't know where the time goes. i guess i got really busy with prepping a final and doing my student conferences and attending meetings. as far as my routines went, i've been trying to keep up, but i guess yesterday i was feeling somewhat tired. today, i did manage to plant some of the little vegetables that i got at walmart the other day. they are now taking up the front right section of the planter box. for the longest time, i didn't have anything there (except the weeds, of course). now, hopefully, we will have more crops that we can eat: two kinds of eggplant, zucchini, cucumbers, lima beans, isla vine tomatoes, and peas (i think). in total, it's supposed to be nine things, so i'm missing a couple of things. oh yeah, there were green onions or some kind of scallion. i'm hoping that they grow well, because that's pretty much the sunniest part of the yard. i hope to fertilize them regularly, so that they grow up big and healthy. i also hope those stupid cats don't do their regular defecation on that portion of the yard.
i also have other ideas for the sections of the planter box that don't get very much sunlight. i plan on planting recumbent junipers to go along with the overall theme of the oriental walking path. i wish that i could get access to my grandparents' yard, so i could take another legacy plant and give it a home in the soil of my yard. but alas, i can never get a hold of my uncle, who is the current caretaker of the place...
eventually, i want to try the hydroponics thing, but with the covid-19 thing going on, i'm reluctant to shop around for hydroponics fluid (liquid nutrients). the whole monitoring thing seems a bit complicated to me. in addition to monitoring pH, they also monitor nutrient concentration. the part that seems like such a waste to me is how in hydroponics, you dump the nutrient solution after a certain point. that's where aquaponics has an edge over hydroponics, because ideally in aquaponics everything is recycled. (of course, you have to keep a watch on it, because the plants do lose water through evapo-transpiration, especially on hot days).
but enough of that.
i think i've been kind of stalling out on writing my kappa noodle story. i mean, at times, it seems like i have a point, and then at other times it just seems stupid. not sure if it really is about me, or my brother, or what. not sure if it really reflects my true feelings, or if i'm just trying to make it fit some sort of format or something. i did want to capture some kind of ambiguity in the relationship, how he basically ignored/treated me like shit (which i must admit is kind of an exaggeration- or at least, it tends to involve more the former than anything else)- but at the same time, i, like pretty much everyone else, admired him. i am still trying to play a piano song that i recall he used to play in the early mornings- a song that haunts me to this day. little things like that. and i used to steal his drawings to show off at school, because i thought they were so cool... until people actually started to think that i drew them. it's actually a simple thing to write about that, but for some reason, i am trying to frame it in some larger story. i don't know why i really have to do that, but it's been kind of the form i've been aiming at for so long that i don't know if i can write it any other way...
...well, i don't have much else to say tonight.
komaru means to have a problem. the character for it, in both japanese and chinese, basically has a picture of a tree in a box. this is in essence what it means to have a problem. a tree, by its very nature, wants to be free. a box, by its very nature, seeks to contain. so you have two irreconcilable forces.
i think of myself as a dichotomy. sometimes i am more of a motive force, just this restlessness that keeps wanting to move. no sense of real direction or perfection, just the appreciation of feeling a kind of surge or flow through me. but then there comes a point where you lose that force, you feel listless and empty, and you feel guilty about it all. kind of like if you lost pressure on a firehose. and then in the emptiness, you start to seek something else, a kind of precision, and perfection. you seek meaning in the crystalline. and then that order seems to take on pre-eminence, and you become anal about maintaining it. until, again, you seem to lose motive force for doing it, and then that too becomes empty...
komarimasu yo ne!
i also have other ideas for the sections of the planter box that don't get very much sunlight. i plan on planting recumbent junipers to go along with the overall theme of the oriental walking path. i wish that i could get access to my grandparents' yard, so i could take another legacy plant and give it a home in the soil of my yard. but alas, i can never get a hold of my uncle, who is the current caretaker of the place...
eventually, i want to try the hydroponics thing, but with the covid-19 thing going on, i'm reluctant to shop around for hydroponics fluid (liquid nutrients). the whole monitoring thing seems a bit complicated to me. in addition to monitoring pH, they also monitor nutrient concentration. the part that seems like such a waste to me is how in hydroponics, you dump the nutrient solution after a certain point. that's where aquaponics has an edge over hydroponics, because ideally in aquaponics everything is recycled. (of course, you have to keep a watch on it, because the plants do lose water through evapo-transpiration, especially on hot days).
but enough of that.
i think i've been kind of stalling out on writing my kappa noodle story. i mean, at times, it seems like i have a point, and then at other times it just seems stupid. not sure if it really is about me, or my brother, or what. not sure if it really reflects my true feelings, or if i'm just trying to make it fit some sort of format or something. i did want to capture some kind of ambiguity in the relationship, how he basically ignored/treated me like shit (which i must admit is kind of an exaggeration- or at least, it tends to involve more the former than anything else)- but at the same time, i, like pretty much everyone else, admired him. i am still trying to play a piano song that i recall he used to play in the early mornings- a song that haunts me to this day. little things like that. and i used to steal his drawings to show off at school, because i thought they were so cool... until people actually started to think that i drew them. it's actually a simple thing to write about that, but for some reason, i am trying to frame it in some larger story. i don't know why i really have to do that, but it's been kind of the form i've been aiming at for so long that i don't know if i can write it any other way...
...well, i don't have much else to say tonight.
komaru means to have a problem. the character for it, in both japanese and chinese, basically has a picture of a tree in a box. this is in essence what it means to have a problem. a tree, by its very nature, wants to be free. a box, by its very nature, seeks to contain. so you have two irreconcilable forces.
i think of myself as a dichotomy. sometimes i am more of a motive force, just this restlessness that keeps wanting to move. no sense of real direction or perfection, just the appreciation of feeling a kind of surge or flow through me. but then there comes a point where you lose that force, you feel listless and empty, and you feel guilty about it all. kind of like if you lost pressure on a firehose. and then in the emptiness, you start to seek something else, a kind of precision, and perfection. you seek meaning in the crystalline. and then that order seems to take on pre-eminence, and you become anal about maintaining it. until, again, you seem to lose motive force for doing it, and then that too becomes empty...
komarimasu yo ne!
Wednesday, April 15, 2020
4/14/2020
i don't know what to say. today was somewhat busy. i took care of things. i did the calls that i felt were important. i attended a meeting for the fifth grade teachers. i even sent out a bunch of mail, payment for some stupid bills...
i initially had the mentality of being constantly active, of making each touch with the world a resistance against entropy. but i had the idea (perhaps i mentioned this yesterday) of passive resistance. of the resistance of freedom, of infinite possibility. you lose your - well, i was going to be explicit, but just stopped myself- but you lose your- i'll be a bit tasteful here- libido for the world when too much of it is offered to you. well, when there is nothing left to do. the best way to live, the moment that i tend to identify with, is the one where i have a direction, a vector, a purpose. something to do, and a way to do it. but of course life isn't like that most of the time. it loses us. we lose it. i don't know. and that confusion is so hated for me. it makes me turn in on myself. it makes me hate myself. why is it that i can't abide by that sort of situation? why is the hatred so restless to cave in to me?
why can't i be innocent and stupid?
there were moments that i wish i could be a child. i wish i could play. i wish i could appreciate this life. but something constantly compels me to put a purpose to things. i don't know if it's a good or a bad thing. i mean, it's the truth, that if you want to get to certain places, then you need to prepare, and you need to work. but it's also the truth that you fail to appreciate your reality if you constantly abstract yourself from it in order to pursue something else...
***
i'm not sure what else to write about.
are we always either in the moment, or out of it? so engrossed in what we are doing that we can't speak? or so out of the moment that we can no longer understand it? no longer relate to it? i guess that has always been my quandary. "now that you feel it, you don't."
***
the things that compel me, maybe, are fear and sex and beauty. truth isn't really a motivation. i mean, if we're ever really honest (see what i did there), we don't really want the truth. it's just there. it's waiting for us when we drop our illusions. and much of the time, for me, anyway, it's kind of a disappointment.
***
there is a feeling of perfection, of immanence, in the doing of things. the reason we like beginnings is because there is little resistance to the action, and the immediate necessities compel us to move, they shape our pathways. i guess that's always comforting. when the story goes deeper, and things become far more ambiguous and less clear, then we get lost, and we get dirty, and we know longer like the story so much.
necessity.
the way that the walls get put up around a situation and compel one. that is exciting. that is compelling. it is like the walls of a hose, that force water in a direction. motive force. the walls make the situation, as much as the motive force does. in fact, you need both.
freedom isn't necessarily what we want, for freedom is the release from the walls that give us shape and force. sure, we might say we want it, but the consequence is a loss of form, and therefore a loss of meaning.
i initially had the mentality of being constantly active, of making each touch with the world a resistance against entropy. but i had the idea (perhaps i mentioned this yesterday) of passive resistance. of the resistance of freedom, of infinite possibility. you lose your - well, i was going to be explicit, but just stopped myself- but you lose your- i'll be a bit tasteful here- libido for the world when too much of it is offered to you. well, when there is nothing left to do. the best way to live, the moment that i tend to identify with, is the one where i have a direction, a vector, a purpose. something to do, and a way to do it. but of course life isn't like that most of the time. it loses us. we lose it. i don't know. and that confusion is so hated for me. it makes me turn in on myself. it makes me hate myself. why is it that i can't abide by that sort of situation? why is the hatred so restless to cave in to me?
why can't i be innocent and stupid?
there were moments that i wish i could be a child. i wish i could play. i wish i could appreciate this life. but something constantly compels me to put a purpose to things. i don't know if it's a good or a bad thing. i mean, it's the truth, that if you want to get to certain places, then you need to prepare, and you need to work. but it's also the truth that you fail to appreciate your reality if you constantly abstract yourself from it in order to pursue something else...
***
i'm not sure what else to write about.
are we always either in the moment, or out of it? so engrossed in what we are doing that we can't speak? or so out of the moment that we can no longer understand it? no longer relate to it? i guess that has always been my quandary. "now that you feel it, you don't."
***
the things that compel me, maybe, are fear and sex and beauty. truth isn't really a motivation. i mean, if we're ever really honest (see what i did there), we don't really want the truth. it's just there. it's waiting for us when we drop our illusions. and much of the time, for me, anyway, it's kind of a disappointment.
***
there is a feeling of perfection, of immanence, in the doing of things. the reason we like beginnings is because there is little resistance to the action, and the immediate necessities compel us to move, they shape our pathways. i guess that's always comforting. when the story goes deeper, and things become far more ambiguous and less clear, then we get lost, and we get dirty, and we know longer like the story so much.
necessity.
the way that the walls get put up around a situation and compel one. that is exciting. that is compelling. it is like the walls of a hose, that force water in a direction. motive force. the walls make the situation, as much as the motive force does. in fact, you need both.
freedom isn't necessarily what we want, for freedom is the release from the walls that give us shape and force. sure, we might say we want it, but the consequence is a loss of form, and therefore a loss of meaning.
Monday, April 13, 2020
4/13/2020
i believe this is a new day, and i'm not double-posting. but if i am, i apologize.
this morning, there were a few meetings (some of which i failed to remember). those meetings are like faint calls of that other world, the world of responsibility and duty. i hearken to them on occasion. but there is also a kind of helplessness to the situation, and i sometimes capitulate to that helplessness. i lack the firm resolve of youth, i suppose. now, i have other concerns. concerns about what? about maintaining. about meaning. i don't know.
i liked the post by miles maeda, accompanied by the picture of some itinerant zen master in zazen. something about advice to a practitioner. something about how the times of solitude are for getting your affairs in order. in real and practical ways. it's not necessarily of some spiritual quest, you see. it's facing life, in all its boring and terrifying reality. those are the true "demons."
i have demons too, you see. so many of them. the predilection for- i don't know- an ecstatic existence far removed from my own. the obligations that i fail to live up to. the notion of death, and of wasted potential. memories. and an emptiness that i carry about with me. maybe i should speak of the kappa in that sense, that he is an emptiness made aware. you're hollow too, you just don't have it on the top of your head at every moment. people like me, creatures like me, we are painfully aware of such things, of the danger of drying up, or evaporating, or pouring out. we never bow. unless it is worth it.
i worry about my stories, about whether they are any good. i worry about where they are going. whether they are just tiresome stories. or whether they have much of any point. what's the point of my lamentations regarding my brother? is there any real resolution to it, or is it just- i don't know- whyning?
***
death is coming for us all.
***
and before that, old age. well, not true, necessarily. because some die young and beautiful, before the fall. before the decrepitude.
i worry about that. about losing a point. about dulling. once you lose a purpose, you lose a reason to exist. that's what i have thought about. life is best when you can somehow maintain that pressure, even if it is fictitious. for life, in itself, does not often compel us to do much of anything. we are like water that wishes to maintain its "motive force" (i don't know where i get that idea of "motive force"; sounds like a physics or even electronics sort of thing) but is confronted by the resistance of the quiescent water. or even the wayward currents. you want to push towards something, but life is always, if not completely dismissive and ignorant of your wishes, then seemingly active in its resistance...
and so we make up a purpose, over and over and over. life always resists. we always have to come up with the fight to make our control and our intention "real." that is the problem. and it grows so tiring. it wears upon one. it makes one think, "what's the point?" (like again, a dulled needle. where's my point? where's my point?)
sometimes there are feelings that seem to compel one to live. feelings that seem real. but as i grow older, maybe hormonally deficient or something, sometimes even those feelings just seem less compelling. and if that wellspring truly dries up, if all feeling becomes bland and insipid and lifeless, then, well, where is the life? what is the reason? then we live for principle or for the benefit of others or something dry-boned as a zen master.
i like the image of zen masters, because they seem to posit a life beyond what we would normally consider life. i mean, for one thing, they're monks. i mean, duh, how could you exist without sexuality? especially as a younger man, i would always gripe about that, even as i sought that life. i was still entranced by women, and believed they held some secret key to truth, or at least happiness. now, i'm not so sure. women are definitely a draw, but they are just ordinary people too. they haven't any particular monopoly on wisdom... so if you come looking for it, for an "answer," you're bound to be as disappointed as anything or anyone. and maybe it's true of the zen master too. in the end, the truth you own is the one you must work for. i guess that's the only real thing i've learned.
this morning, there were a few meetings (some of which i failed to remember). those meetings are like faint calls of that other world, the world of responsibility and duty. i hearken to them on occasion. but there is also a kind of helplessness to the situation, and i sometimes capitulate to that helplessness. i lack the firm resolve of youth, i suppose. now, i have other concerns. concerns about what? about maintaining. about meaning. i don't know.
i liked the post by miles maeda, accompanied by the picture of some itinerant zen master in zazen. something about advice to a practitioner. something about how the times of solitude are for getting your affairs in order. in real and practical ways. it's not necessarily of some spiritual quest, you see. it's facing life, in all its boring and terrifying reality. those are the true "demons."
i have demons too, you see. so many of them. the predilection for- i don't know- an ecstatic existence far removed from my own. the obligations that i fail to live up to. the notion of death, and of wasted potential. memories. and an emptiness that i carry about with me. maybe i should speak of the kappa in that sense, that he is an emptiness made aware. you're hollow too, you just don't have it on the top of your head at every moment. people like me, creatures like me, we are painfully aware of such things, of the danger of drying up, or evaporating, or pouring out. we never bow. unless it is worth it.
i worry about my stories, about whether they are any good. i worry about where they are going. whether they are just tiresome stories. or whether they have much of any point. what's the point of my lamentations regarding my brother? is there any real resolution to it, or is it just- i don't know- whyning?
***
death is coming for us all.
***
and before that, old age. well, not true, necessarily. because some die young and beautiful, before the fall. before the decrepitude.
i worry about that. about losing a point. about dulling. once you lose a purpose, you lose a reason to exist. that's what i have thought about. life is best when you can somehow maintain that pressure, even if it is fictitious. for life, in itself, does not often compel us to do much of anything. we are like water that wishes to maintain its "motive force" (i don't know where i get that idea of "motive force"; sounds like a physics or even electronics sort of thing) but is confronted by the resistance of the quiescent water. or even the wayward currents. you want to push towards something, but life is always, if not completely dismissive and ignorant of your wishes, then seemingly active in its resistance...
and so we make up a purpose, over and over and over. life always resists. we always have to come up with the fight to make our control and our intention "real." that is the problem. and it grows so tiring. it wears upon one. it makes one think, "what's the point?" (like again, a dulled needle. where's my point? where's my point?)
sometimes there are feelings that seem to compel one to live. feelings that seem real. but as i grow older, maybe hormonally deficient or something, sometimes even those feelings just seem less compelling. and if that wellspring truly dries up, if all feeling becomes bland and insipid and lifeless, then, well, where is the life? what is the reason? then we live for principle or for the benefit of others or something dry-boned as a zen master.
i like the image of zen masters, because they seem to posit a life beyond what we would normally consider life. i mean, for one thing, they're monks. i mean, duh, how could you exist without sexuality? especially as a younger man, i would always gripe about that, even as i sought that life. i was still entranced by women, and believed they held some secret key to truth, or at least happiness. now, i'm not so sure. women are definitely a draw, but they are just ordinary people too. they haven't any particular monopoly on wisdom... so if you come looking for it, for an "answer," you're bound to be as disappointed as anything or anyone. and maybe it's true of the zen master too. in the end, the truth you own is the one you must work for. i guess that's the only real thing i've learned.
Sunday, April 12, 2020
4/13/2020
another day. i am conscious of certain things, like this routine that seems like a lifeline to me. there are certain things that i do that are private, and other things that are public. most of the private things are somehow essential to me, even though they are things that cannot or should not be shared. they are also the irrational things, the things that i cannot justify by reason. thankfully, they are not things that hurt other people, or at least, they do not hurt people physically. perhaps they hurt concepts. perhaps they hurt my conceptions of things, and in that sense, they are not innocent. but they are necessary nonetheless.
i think i should write about such things, about the things that compel us, but do not necessarily make sense. but these are not things i am necessarily comfortable writing about. sexuality, for instance. that is something that is difficult for me to convey, largely because i am- it is hard for me to discuss such things. even to myself. there is something- i don't know- still shameful about it. particularly for a male, but particularly so for someone like me, who by nature tends to keep things at a distance, and tends to only look at and deal with the surfaces of things...
i don't know why, or what was wrong with me, to not be seduced over the course of my life. some might consider it a strength, but it really wasn't. there was such a naivette, and an oblivion, to me. and even if i had been aware (and i know, i know, a part of me was aware, or else i would not be able to look upon such events with- nostalgia?), it simply was not possible for me to summon the desire at those particular moments. there were images of hair, and the smell, and the darkness, and i simply wanted things to be clean. stainless steel. it is only later, in those other moments, that i can summon the feeling, and the fire. it is so strange, how there is not that synchronicity. how we often do not live up to those moments. and it is not that i would not want to have had something happen. it's just that the timing was not perfect. it's that i am two (or more) different people, and that was the wrong person for the wrong moment. a split infinity, as it were. i wish i could be whole, and consistent. but maybe then i wouldn't be honest. because honesty is what fragments us. (or is it?)
to look upon the gaze of a woman, to see the want in it. it is difficult. is there a desire sparked only from the impossibility of a woman? why is it that there is something that dies when that gaze is present, and there is a vulnerability? it is almost as though we desire the impossible. and when it is no longer impossible, but possible, perhaps the proximity to something so ignored and despised, perhaps it is when the desired occupies the same reality as myself, that it becomes- sullied, somehow. and no longer- wanted. why is this? and is there some sort of deception in the capacity to act upon desire? as though the only way is to pretend that it is the other story, that other reality, that one where desire can still live and breathe?
why are we so broken?
the coldness is on my back. i write. sometimes the ramblings of my son (who is in the same room) annoy me. i no longer feel obligated to- correct or train or educate him. he is (and perhaps always was) his own person.
tonight, i'm not sure what else to write about. people. certain people. i guess i feel a certain disgust towards religiosity. the fact that it allows some people to "stand above" and speak with authority. it disgusts me, about that. the capacity to judge. i guess that is why i'm reluctant to join any group. because it posits itself as above others. and allows judgment. which is not true. i prefer to remain outside, not to be difficult, but to maintain the capacity for truth and compassion...
and their fucking "bravery." it is not bravery, but the reliance upon the fiction of the group. socially derived notions of right and wrong. i hate that. i hate that beyond hating.
i think i should write about such things, about the things that compel us, but do not necessarily make sense. but these are not things i am necessarily comfortable writing about. sexuality, for instance. that is something that is difficult for me to convey, largely because i am- it is hard for me to discuss such things. even to myself. there is something- i don't know- still shameful about it. particularly for a male, but particularly so for someone like me, who by nature tends to keep things at a distance, and tends to only look at and deal with the surfaces of things...
i don't know why, or what was wrong with me, to not be seduced over the course of my life. some might consider it a strength, but it really wasn't. there was such a naivette, and an oblivion, to me. and even if i had been aware (and i know, i know, a part of me was aware, or else i would not be able to look upon such events with- nostalgia?), it simply was not possible for me to summon the desire at those particular moments. there were images of hair, and the smell, and the darkness, and i simply wanted things to be clean. stainless steel. it is only later, in those other moments, that i can summon the feeling, and the fire. it is so strange, how there is not that synchronicity. how we often do not live up to those moments. and it is not that i would not want to have had something happen. it's just that the timing was not perfect. it's that i am two (or more) different people, and that was the wrong person for the wrong moment. a split infinity, as it were. i wish i could be whole, and consistent. but maybe then i wouldn't be honest. because honesty is what fragments us. (or is it?)
to look upon the gaze of a woman, to see the want in it. it is difficult. is there a desire sparked only from the impossibility of a woman? why is it that there is something that dies when that gaze is present, and there is a vulnerability? it is almost as though we desire the impossible. and when it is no longer impossible, but possible, perhaps the proximity to something so ignored and despised, perhaps it is when the desired occupies the same reality as myself, that it becomes- sullied, somehow. and no longer- wanted. why is this? and is there some sort of deception in the capacity to act upon desire? as though the only way is to pretend that it is the other story, that other reality, that one where desire can still live and breathe?
why are we so broken?
the coldness is on my back. i write. sometimes the ramblings of my son (who is in the same room) annoy me. i no longer feel obligated to- correct or train or educate him. he is (and perhaps always was) his own person.
tonight, i'm not sure what else to write about. people. certain people. i guess i feel a certain disgust towards religiosity. the fact that it allows some people to "stand above" and speak with authority. it disgusts me, about that. the capacity to judge. i guess that is why i'm reluctant to join any group. because it posits itself as above others. and allows judgment. which is not true. i prefer to remain outside, not to be difficult, but to maintain the capacity for truth and compassion...
and their fucking "bravery." it is not bravery, but the reliance upon the fiction of the group. socially derived notions of right and wrong. i hate that. i hate that beyond hating.
4/12/2020
it is now almost mid-april. the covid-19 stay-at-home orders have put a pause of sorts on normal life. to be honest, i've been quite happy to stay at home. i've worked a lot in the yard. i've fixed it up, cleaned out a lot of weeds, did a lot of pruning and such. and now, i have grand ideas of planting more food crops in the planter boxes, and also starting a hydroponics station in the garage. i guess i sort of got into the mode of focusing only on certain things, on certain projects, so i detracted or got away from doing my routines. i also, i feel, got away from a certain mentality of mine, which had its pros and cons, its positives and negatives. i suppose, in a certain sense, i lost my motivation for a lot of things... i have thought a lot about motivations. my insights sort of come and go, ebb and flow. but for a time, it seemed as though i "got something" about doing long, unending tasks like the yard work. there's always a tiny voice (actually, not so tiny) that says "why are you doing this? what a waste of time!" and i attribute it to a lot of different people, or i imagine a lot of different people saying this of me. people like my brother, or some people at work. people, who i imagine, are living lives of worth, active lives. and then there are counter voices. one that persistently comes up is that of my friend shari, who used to tell me, in response to a lot of my "whynes": "why not?" i love how that sort of voice, and tone, sort of short circuits a lot of the thinking in my head. ultimately, what i do is what i do, and that statement sort of allows me to sink into myself, deaf and blind to the mini-critiques of the world around me (imagined or otherwise).
i have imagined myself as a hole. i have imagined myself as some sort of storm drain. the water falls through me, and echoes into the dark and empty places, carried away to something else. nothing accumulates in me, in a way that matters. i have imagined that that is my problem, that there is somehow a hole in the bottom of who i am. you need to plug up that hole, says the kappa. otherwise, there is no saving you. who says this? why is there that ghost? what is the point of him, if it is only to- what? why couldn't it be a kappa? someone who cares for him? i want it to be the kappa, but there was a problem with him. what was his story? what was his motivation? maybe it was better to have randy drink from those bowls. but why? what is the purpose of doing that?
there are different mentalities. there is the mentality of trying to do things perfectly. of having a reason or a way to do things, and not just doing things "on the fly." and then there is that, the spontaneous way of dealing with things. the thing about the latter is that eventually it makes me feel dirty, it makes me feel as though i have sullied myself by acting in an uncontrolled (unfocused) manner. but then again... i think that there is maybe a problem when i "switch" over to that way of thinking, the "whatevers" kind of thinking. and i do do that, a lot, particularly when there are other people involved. for example, when i play in a game with my son, i automatically switch over to this mode where i just accommodate him. for better or for worse. i don't "care" about it in the same way.
i suppose that that is part of the problem. the response to other's voices. do i just back away, or do i assert myself? it is such a messy thing, to be involved in the lives or wishes of others...
there is also this consistent hatred of certain people that keeps popping up. i don't know what it is about me. i know the hatred is irrational, but then again, so are they. i think that there is a problem with uncritical thinking. i think there is a problem with the "group" mentality. i always stand outside and alone, because i have seen firsthand the problem with groups, with thinking you are a part of something, and with identifying with that. there is always the outsider, there is always someone who is left out, i don't care how inclusive the group thinks it is, and if you don't always radically pay attention to who that is, and how you can help him, then you just become a part of the problem...
oh well, just some random thoughts.
i have imagined myself as a hole. i have imagined myself as some sort of storm drain. the water falls through me, and echoes into the dark and empty places, carried away to something else. nothing accumulates in me, in a way that matters. i have imagined that that is my problem, that there is somehow a hole in the bottom of who i am. you need to plug up that hole, says the kappa. otherwise, there is no saving you. who says this? why is there that ghost? what is the point of him, if it is only to- what? why couldn't it be a kappa? someone who cares for him? i want it to be the kappa, but there was a problem with him. what was his story? what was his motivation? maybe it was better to have randy drink from those bowls. but why? what is the purpose of doing that?
there are different mentalities. there is the mentality of trying to do things perfectly. of having a reason or a way to do things, and not just doing things "on the fly." and then there is that, the spontaneous way of dealing with things. the thing about the latter is that eventually it makes me feel dirty, it makes me feel as though i have sullied myself by acting in an uncontrolled (unfocused) manner. but then again... i think that there is maybe a problem when i "switch" over to that way of thinking, the "whatevers" kind of thinking. and i do do that, a lot, particularly when there are other people involved. for example, when i play in a game with my son, i automatically switch over to this mode where i just accommodate him. for better or for worse. i don't "care" about it in the same way.
i suppose that that is part of the problem. the response to other's voices. do i just back away, or do i assert myself? it is such a messy thing, to be involved in the lives or wishes of others...
there is also this consistent hatred of certain people that keeps popping up. i don't know what it is about me. i know the hatred is irrational, but then again, so are they. i think that there is a problem with uncritical thinking. i think there is a problem with the "group" mentality. i always stand outside and alone, because i have seen firsthand the problem with groups, with thinking you are a part of something, and with identifying with that. there is always the outsider, there is always someone who is left out, i don't care how inclusive the group thinks it is, and if you don't always radically pay attention to who that is, and how you can help him, then you just become a part of the problem...
oh well, just some random thoughts.
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