Everyone you ever know will abandon you.
Out of Office Reply
I’m sorry, the angst that you’re looking for is not here at the moment. It will be out for the remainder of the day. If your heart is urgent, please contact our mutual friend.
A good thing can derail you completely. For me, it’s always been love. Not that very heavy, philosophically speaking, duty bound, obligation wrapped, entrenched in existence, long term love. I mean the colloquial stuff. The stuff that we honestly shouldn’t call love, because it’s not, but we really want to anyways. It’s a combination of romance and a casual cat-and-mouse chase, sprinkled with that touch of light lust. The kind that doesn’t pine, but smiles.
It’s a game. A magnificent fantasy that lives in between the space of what we say, and what we don’t. A delightful, innocent yet guilty escape that we can all live in, just for a little while. A place where all of our worries and concerns, our truths and realities, can be put on a shelf and we can live a life where we’re really who we want to be.
It’s the really good stuff.
I’m addicted to it. I don’t care if it’s not real. When a pretty girl compliments me in just such a way that I can imagine they really do mean it, I’m transported to the top of the world.
The best do it with far more subtlety. A smile. A glance. A laugh. My favourite is a send-off. I know a friend who can do it with a thanks or a goodbye. Incredible grace. She knows the game.
I had the most extraordinary dream the other night. I know I’ve reported dreams before. And I know, one of the most boring thing to hear about is someone else’s dreams. But this was something else. This has got to be told. The very definition of a sweet dream. Nothing smutty, or slutty, or any of the usual nocturnal fantasies of male-ness. All our clothes stayed on. It was Romeo and Juliet without the bad ending.
Have you ever had one?
I will not bother you with the fantastic details. It is enough to say that I was visiting her, this woman of my dreams. Her dad was imposing. There was a challenge of egos. I won, but no one looked bad. We all laughed and spent time together. All of it, of course, distorted by the kaleidoscope of the dream world. Soon after our gallivanting, in a private moment, I admitted that I liked her. In retrospect it feels like the script was stolen from a high school special.
And then, in a moment of pure earnestness and honesty that I’m only capable of in dreams, I wrapped my fingers around hers and we held hands.
I woke up in that moment, in the warmest of ways.
It wasn’t that the dream had ended, so much as that it had become too blissfully real to be contained. If you’ve ever had a nightmare, that cumulated into an image that shook you awake, you’ll know the sort of thing I’m talking about. I didn’t know that it could happen the other way around, not with fear but with joy. Turns out, it can.
It certainly derailed me. None of the waking troubles of the world could touch me in the following hours. False as though it may have been, there had been a reality there that Hollywood and the best of lying lovers will never be able to imitate.
Whether it’s waking or sleeping: sweet dreams.
- Z
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Open Pandora's Box
In a fight between Gandhi and my dad, my dad would win. Just saying.
On my way into Starbucks today, I glanced at the headline of a newspaper. "H1N1 may become a regular seasonal flu." I realized, right then, that I was living in the future. The kind of future that predicts massive epidemics that wipe out 98% of the world.
Normally I don't care. Flu is flu, and I am healthy. I may get sick, but then I'll just be sick, and then I'll get healthy again. But a few months ago I had heart surgery. It still hurts when I cough. Sneezing is an event. A proper flu, whether by man or by swine, scares me. This year, I'm actually measuring whether or not I should get a vaccine.
And then I saw that headline. I am reminded of all of those philosophers, whose names I actively try to forget. The ones who tell us that life is merely suffering, and our inevitable end is our only saving grace. In our future, it certainly feels like that. If it's not a cold, it's the cold. If it's not the cold it's the heat. If it's not the heat, it's the drought. If it's not the drought, it's the famine. If it's not the famine, it's the flood. If it's not the flood, it's the fires. And if it's not the fires, then we can breath easy for the rest of the season.
As long as we're secure from the recession and our souls are saved.
But I'm not a doomsayer. Really. 9 days out of 10, I'm not. And the other day, I drink.
After a couple of drinks at a Christmas party last year, I told a friend that the world was just a million little small, simple things. The regalia was simply that - a few dozen lamps, and table clothes in a room built with simple wood and cement. But my point wasn't the theoretical simplicity of nature. It was the theoretical simplicity of ethics. I think she was confused about some politics between her and an old lover, or had made a comment about things being complicated between her friends.
I laughed a pleasantly inebriated laugh, and told her that it had a simple solution. I didn't know the particulars (people protect particulars), so I could only enlighten her as to the theory. Things that are complicated are all things that were once simple. Find the simple building blocks. Acknowledge the ones you can move and affect, and the ones that you can't. Move the ones you can. Untangle the web.
It doesn't quite work that way, she told me.
Sure it does. But here's the kicker, and why it doesn't seem like it does - everyone involved has to move the building blocks. If everyone's interested in doing it, then it is by definition - done.
Often it doesn't seem like that, of course. That's because, more and more, everyone always says they want it resolved. Both lovers in a fight will tell you in candid moments that they don't want to fight. Both lovers that earnestly care for one another will tell you in candid moments that they don't want to hurt one another. But both lovers that would rather protect themselves over their partner also say that they don't want to hurt one another. They've learned the script, the lover's lines.
The final twist from simple to complicated: often, people get so good at reciting these lines, they even think they believe them.
There's good news - there is a vaccine against this false belief. And while it is in very short supply, it is very easy to acquire, and very effective. But unfortunately, it can have side effects.
I've noticed, in my little life, that the vaccine is in highly disputed. Though its sole design is to increase our immune system to defend against self-deception and to increase self-awareness and group cohesion, many people claim that it will do more harm than good. They claim that, in trying to make community stronger, it will only complicate things further. It is folly to think that things can be simplified for they are by their very nature complicated, claim the disputers.
My friend left the issue simply at "you don't understand." The response, of course, was ironic.
What I shout to myself, at the top of my lungs, is how easy living is. Not the fires, or the floods, or any of those nasty things that we don't have control over. I mean, the things we are in control of: the simple building blocks.
The problem of ethics was solved a long time ago. But people still prefer not to take the medicine, thinking not doing so is the more natural route. Thinking it's the easier route. Sometimes even thinking it's the less painful route. It baffles me.
We may get over it this season, and the sick may get well again. But if things don't get simpler, they will get more complicated. The epidemics will only get worse.
My father, in his infinite wisdom, offers an alternative, more effective method than the vaccine in a recent email to me:
"All a problem is, is two opposing forces (remove one side and bingo no more problem)"
Kill the patient.
God I love him.
- Z
On my way into Starbucks today, I glanced at the headline of a newspaper. "H1N1 may become a regular seasonal flu." I realized, right then, that I was living in the future. The kind of future that predicts massive epidemics that wipe out 98% of the world.
Normally I don't care. Flu is flu, and I am healthy. I may get sick, but then I'll just be sick, and then I'll get healthy again. But a few months ago I had heart surgery. It still hurts when I cough. Sneezing is an event. A proper flu, whether by man or by swine, scares me. This year, I'm actually measuring whether or not I should get a vaccine.
And then I saw that headline. I am reminded of all of those philosophers, whose names I actively try to forget. The ones who tell us that life is merely suffering, and our inevitable end is our only saving grace. In our future, it certainly feels like that. If it's not a cold, it's the cold. If it's not the cold it's the heat. If it's not the heat, it's the drought. If it's not the drought, it's the famine. If it's not the famine, it's the flood. If it's not the flood, it's the fires. And if it's not the fires, then we can breath easy for the rest of the season.
As long as we're secure from the recession and our souls are saved.
But I'm not a doomsayer. Really. 9 days out of 10, I'm not. And the other day, I drink.
After a couple of drinks at a Christmas party last year, I told a friend that the world was just a million little small, simple things. The regalia was simply that - a few dozen lamps, and table clothes in a room built with simple wood and cement. But my point wasn't the theoretical simplicity of nature. It was the theoretical simplicity of ethics. I think she was confused about some politics between her and an old lover, or had made a comment about things being complicated between her friends.
I laughed a pleasantly inebriated laugh, and told her that it had a simple solution. I didn't know the particulars (people protect particulars), so I could only enlighten her as to the theory. Things that are complicated are all things that were once simple. Find the simple building blocks. Acknowledge the ones you can move and affect, and the ones that you can't. Move the ones you can. Untangle the web.
It doesn't quite work that way, she told me.
Sure it does. But here's the kicker, and why it doesn't seem like it does - everyone involved has to move the building blocks. If everyone's interested in doing it, then it is by definition - done.
Often it doesn't seem like that, of course. That's because, more and more, everyone always says they want it resolved. Both lovers in a fight will tell you in candid moments that they don't want to fight. Both lovers that earnestly care for one another will tell you in candid moments that they don't want to hurt one another. But both lovers that would rather protect themselves over their partner also say that they don't want to hurt one another. They've learned the script, the lover's lines.
The final twist from simple to complicated: often, people get so good at reciting these lines, they even think they believe them.
There's good news - there is a vaccine against this false belief. And while it is in very short supply, it is very easy to acquire, and very effective. But unfortunately, it can have side effects.
I've noticed, in my little life, that the vaccine is in highly disputed. Though its sole design is to increase our immune system to defend against self-deception and to increase self-awareness and group cohesion, many people claim that it will do more harm than good. They claim that, in trying to make community stronger, it will only complicate things further. It is folly to think that things can be simplified for they are by their very nature complicated, claim the disputers.
My friend left the issue simply at "you don't understand." The response, of course, was ironic.
What I shout to myself, at the top of my lungs, is how easy living is. Not the fires, or the floods, or any of those nasty things that we don't have control over. I mean, the things we are in control of: the simple building blocks.
The problem of ethics was solved a long time ago. But people still prefer not to take the medicine, thinking not doing so is the more natural route. Thinking it's the easier route. Sometimes even thinking it's the less painful route. It baffles me.
We may get over it this season, and the sick may get well again. But if things don't get simpler, they will get more complicated. The epidemics will only get worse.
My father, in his infinite wisdom, offers an alternative, more effective method than the vaccine in a recent email to me:
"All a problem is, is two opposing forces (remove one side and bingo no more problem)"
Kill the patient.
God I love him.
- Z
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Prove It.
My favourite part about Halloween is the irony and near-obvious hypocrisy. We take off our natural masks to don closer facsimiles of our true nature. Real artists must love this holiday. So must psychologists. I don't like to dress up. I dress up every other day of the year.
The first time I heard about "To Write Love on Her Arms" was on a T-Shirt. I almost rolled my eyes and stifled contempt. If not for the political ramifications of speaking out against it, I probably would have done so, right then and there. I would have provided a genuine, obviously uninformed criticism of the on-the-surface value of such a shirt.
The most recent time I heard about the "movement," as they're calling it, was on Facebook. I did roll my eyes, this time. Someone told me, or I read somewhere, that all of the sales for the merchandise goes to mean-well organizations. Charities to help the depressed, or the suicidal, or something like that. I've learned also, that this merchandise is in addition to a giant attempt to raise awareness for these emotional and psychological causes, as well as to genuinely show those afflicted or who feel unloved that they are indeed cared for. This is done by having everyone physically write "love" on their arms, on a specific day.
I've known a couple of "cutters." I think they self-identify as cutters, but I'm not perfectly sure if they do. I'm not about to ask. If a label helps, great. If it doesn't, toss it. I just know them by their names. They've got those curious marks up and down their arms. The ones that you notice, but try not to notice. The ones that encourage an immediate thought in your brain; a judgement, even if it's a judgement not to judge.
I'm glad I've met them, and known them. Honestly, having known people before, during and after they've cut, as well as asking and talking to them about it, has empowered me to the whole thing. I can look at those arm-scars with far less judgement, and certainly without label. It sounds cliché, and is in no way meant to downplay their significance, but they feel merely like another part of who they were and have come to be.
I would be embarrassed to be in their company and have "love" written on my arm. But I'm not embarrassed to tell anyone that I care for how much they mean to me. I'm not embarrassed to tell them they can call me at 3 in the morning if they want to. And I'm not angry when they do call. I'll take a taxi right on over.
My Facebook live-status thing informs me that 9 more friends will be attending "To Write Love On Her Arms". I can't help but wonder if they've ever held a person close while they wept. No ink on a wrist compares. Have they ever altered their actions and taken the time to talk to someone they were concerned about? Do they ever think, unbidden by any presented tragedy, of the well being of specific others? I don't know. But I've known people who don't.
Caring is officially a cause. Hypocrisy, really. Defying the definition of "support." It boils my blood. It's what we excel at, actually. We would rather "raise awareness" than be aware ourselves. Pay lip service rather than actual service. We would rather donate to a fantastic cause than alter our lives to naturally support it. The democracy of the dollar. Buy the image you want, then be whoever else you want to be underneath.
And don't even get me started on corporations. Legally people too, they embrace the masquerade with a particular penchant.
Happy Halloween.
By now, I must sound like the Gandhi quote that I abhor: "Be the change that you wish to see in the world." I don't believe that. I don't think that if you want there to be no war, you must become a pacifist. I don't think the key to everyone loving each other is to start loving.
(The best way to cause change in the world is to convince the people in power that it's in their best interest, while veiling the change in the costume of democracy, and the frills of capitalism. Often that requires a smiling deception, not a genuine adoption of a change well before its time. For more education on the matter, watch any reality TV show.)
I'm not pretending to be a saint, myself. Often, the largest reason I donate to the homeless is because someone else is watching. I don't feel the need to meaningfully connect with every person that I meet on the street. I use careful scepticism to ensure that I feel validated in not donating to charity. And, emotionally, I'm god-awfully selfish.
What I'm trying to say is be the person you claim to be. Be the label, don't label the being. Writing love on your arm doesn't show you care. Actively caring shows you care. So, if you want to show your support, support! Don't write letters, write phone numbers. Don't stand on a soap-box, sit at a coffee table.
And, if you must, then instead volunteer to write love on the arms of anyone that has shown you earnest caring. Better a contest than a cause. It's a far better costume.
Love,
- Z
The first time I heard about "To Write Love on Her Arms" was on a T-Shirt. I almost rolled my eyes and stifled contempt. If not for the political ramifications of speaking out against it, I probably would have done so, right then and there. I would have provided a genuine, obviously uninformed criticism of the on-the-surface value of such a shirt.
The most recent time I heard about the "movement," as they're calling it, was on Facebook. I did roll my eyes, this time. Someone told me, or I read somewhere, that all of the sales for the merchandise goes to mean-well organizations. Charities to help the depressed, or the suicidal, or something like that. I've learned also, that this merchandise is in addition to a giant attempt to raise awareness for these emotional and psychological causes, as well as to genuinely show those afflicted or who feel unloved that they are indeed cared for. This is done by having everyone physically write "love" on their arms, on a specific day.
I've known a couple of "cutters." I think they self-identify as cutters, but I'm not perfectly sure if they do. I'm not about to ask. If a label helps, great. If it doesn't, toss it. I just know them by their names. They've got those curious marks up and down their arms. The ones that you notice, but try not to notice. The ones that encourage an immediate thought in your brain; a judgement, even if it's a judgement not to judge.
I'm glad I've met them, and known them. Honestly, having known people before, during and after they've cut, as well as asking and talking to them about it, has empowered me to the whole thing. I can look at those arm-scars with far less judgement, and certainly without label. It sounds cliché, and is in no way meant to downplay their significance, but they feel merely like another part of who they were and have come to be.
I would be embarrassed to be in their company and have "love" written on my arm. But I'm not embarrassed to tell anyone that I care for how much they mean to me. I'm not embarrassed to tell them they can call me at 3 in the morning if they want to. And I'm not angry when they do call. I'll take a taxi right on over.
My Facebook live-status thing informs me that 9 more friends will be attending "To Write Love On Her Arms". I can't help but wonder if they've ever held a person close while they wept. No ink on a wrist compares. Have they ever altered their actions and taken the time to talk to someone they were concerned about? Do they ever think, unbidden by any presented tragedy, of the well being of specific others? I don't know. But I've known people who don't.
Caring is officially a cause. Hypocrisy, really. Defying the definition of "support." It boils my blood. It's what we excel at, actually. We would rather "raise awareness" than be aware ourselves. Pay lip service rather than actual service. We would rather donate to a fantastic cause than alter our lives to naturally support it. The democracy of the dollar. Buy the image you want, then be whoever else you want to be underneath.
And don't even get me started on corporations. Legally people too, they embrace the masquerade with a particular penchant.
Happy Halloween.
By now, I must sound like the Gandhi quote that I abhor: "Be the change that you wish to see in the world." I don't believe that. I don't think that if you want there to be no war, you must become a pacifist. I don't think the key to everyone loving each other is to start loving.
(The best way to cause change in the world is to convince the people in power that it's in their best interest, while veiling the change in the costume of democracy, and the frills of capitalism. Often that requires a smiling deception, not a genuine adoption of a change well before its time. For more education on the matter, watch any reality TV show.)
I'm not pretending to be a saint, myself. Often, the largest reason I donate to the homeless is because someone else is watching. I don't feel the need to meaningfully connect with every person that I meet on the street. I use careful scepticism to ensure that I feel validated in not donating to charity. And, emotionally, I'm god-awfully selfish.
What I'm trying to say is be the person you claim to be. Be the label, don't label the being. Writing love on your arm doesn't show you care. Actively caring shows you care. So, if you want to show your support, support! Don't write letters, write phone numbers. Don't stand on a soap-box, sit at a coffee table.
And, if you must, then instead volunteer to write love on the arms of anyone that has shown you earnest caring. Better a contest than a cause. It's a far better costume.
Love,
- Z
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