my apologies. i got slammed with correcting the acupoints final, and like a massive turd, it clogged up my system for a few days straight. it was frustrating because this year all the finals were submitted in electronic form- and some were out of order, or seemed to be missing pages, or... whatever. i have a billion excuses. fact is, i wasn't looking forward to doing it, it tends to be very mundane stuff... so i had to just sit (or lie down) and do it.
in any case, i have moved forward on a couple of things. i set up my first hydroponics station. we'll see how that works out. i also planted a bunch of seedlings, in preparation for planting to the left planter box section, as well as for future hydroponics stations. and, i purchased pretty much everything i need to set up the rain catchment system. so i guess you could say i am progressing towards... something.
every now and then, i play minecraft. i don't know what really endears me about minecraft. i mean, some of it is nostalgia. it's from a time when i used to play the game with my kids. and we started off the spring break doing that... but after they got animal crossing, that's the last i've heard of them. instead, i've been playing on my own. i must have started a few different worlds now. and i gleaned a few insights as to how i work. i like beginnings. i like getting thrown into situations where there is a kind of clarity as to the actions that need to be taken. people like to idealize beginnings, they like to say that beginnings are full of possibilities. it's true, in a sense, but in another, it's not true. actually, at the beginning, you are limited in what you can do, so there is a relatively clear path of progression. you need to do this to do that, and you need to do things in a particular order. and i guess i like that. i like the clarity (or rather the pressure) of doing things in a set order. the problem gets to be, ironically, in the "middle kingdom," where you start accomplishing things. then, there ARE open possibilities, there ARE things to do next, but there's no real compulsion any more. i mean, you have some food, you have some armor, you have what you need to survive... so why bother, and go further? there are arguments about what you can build next, or all these elaborate things you could do. but all of them have a cost... and not all of them have a... what's the word, necessity? for that matter, it's at that point, usually, that i wonder, "what is the point of this?" and then i start asking that fatal question: "why am i wasting my time here?" and then there is a simultaneous lack of motivation, and a feeling of mild disgust...
perhaps this is how things are in life too.
i once thought of things in terms of pressure. like water pressure. like, how there is a kind of clarity and flow when you have clear walls around you that contain you, and basically force you in one direction. and then, often, when you accomplish whatever it was you were driven to do, there is a loss of clarity, and an indecisiveness of flow... and you get lost. i suppose that's the dilemma of life, of always maintaining that pressure, that flow, even when the intial impetuses for things are lost... either that, or, well, things just get too difficult, it's too difficult to penetrate and proceed, and so you get a backflow... and again, there is this indecisiveness, this lack of clarity...
***
apologies... i kind of passed out in the midst of writing. i have been kind of tired today.
the world upsets me. let's just put that out there. i am disgusted by the daily news, and by the fact that a society that should be rational is letting the lowest common denominator rule. republicans, that means you... nuff said, before i go on another rant.
my wife is intending to volunteer to work for a friend. i guess it's the best thing right now. it keeps her busy... and she is worried about being cut after whenever this whole social isolation period is over (which seems indefinite)... i'm not sure if i'll be happy or sad when the world goes back to whatever it returns to... in a different form, no doubt. i've been okay with the way things are. honestly. of course, not the deaths, not the hit to the economy, not all the losses of opportunities, the risks to the essential workers, etc. but i mean this state of suspended animation, where we are expected to stay at home. that is what i sort of like. i mean, it has given me time to work on things. it has given me time to reflect a bit. and what's wrong with that?
Sunday, May 3, 2020
Tuesday, April 28, 2020
4/27/2020
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?
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?
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.
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