Blog

Metropolis

Almost four o’clock.

I was totally surprised! It turns out that we have a lot in common. We like a lot of the same music, but also we share a love for poetry and good literature. Ron is from New Jersey, and speaks with a bit of an accent. I’m quite impressed with his range of knowledge about music especially… My walk to Black Rock was uneventful at first. When I gained River Road from Kourt Drive, I saw that I’d misjudged where the crosswalk was, and had to go a little out of my way. It was rather amazing to see all the people on foot or waiting at bus stops, people who were essentially just like me. They came from who knows where to Eugene, with any variety of circumstances, but all having a story to tell. Some of them might have been educated and others not so lucky, but to me they all appeared intelligent in some way. I took my umbrella with me just in case. The sky is still overcast with some breaks here and there. The traffic on River Road at three o’clock in the afternoon was incredibly dense and noisy, and waiting for the walk signal took a few minutes. Still, it was an enjoyable experience. And then there was the chat with my new friend. He was a lot more sophisticated than anything I was used to from Eugene. It’s almost as if the whole city had become like the University campus in being savvy. I was amazed at what I witnessed. Like Rip Van Winkle, I awoke twenty years later and found everything transformed– into a minor metropolis. All this was going on just a mile from my house. So that I needn’t have gone out to seek the world; the world came to my backyard.

Potential of Gray

Seven o’clock.

Another pitch black predawn, or maybe no two daybreaks are alike. It could be an indeterminate cosmos, if I only would read my Edgar Poe. Because of a match in chords with my email alert, I keep hearing the Genesis song “Cinema Show.” Today is another shot at happiness. My sis is coming to get me in a few hours and we’ll finally have my birthday lunch. Just remember acausal universe. History need not repeat itself. And I wonder at the mystery of what lies beneath the surface appearance. Perhaps the immortal soul does exist? And maybe it is one thing, an oversoul common to all human beings. Shelley believed in the one mind, in which every individual consciousness participates. It seems that through the power of poetic language, any reality can be created. As long as this is true, we ought to create a joyful utopia rather than reinforce depression. I perceive the first gray light of day. Life is what you make it. A gray day can go either way, toward black or white. I will try to steer it to the light.

David Crosby

Four o’clock.

Things hit me…

It was Tuesday afternoon when I spun the CD Deja Vu by CSNY, a release of 1970. Now flooding the floor of my mind plays the title track, written by David Crosby. It grabs you from the very opening, with the 12-string acoustic guitar in G minor waltzing a fast 3/4. The vocals in harmony come in, expressing something about having been here before. Presently the key changes to E minor in a slow common time, giving way to an electric bass solo by Gregory Reeves while the voices chant, “We have all been here before…” The overall effect on me is haunting. Just the fact that I am sitting there hearing a recording from 1970 gives a chilling sense of “already seen.” Seen already… and to be seen again and again, to the throb of the Reeves Fender bass, taking us back and beyond — and forward.

Colonoscopy

Two fifty. Almost time to go to my appointment. A date with fate in a black taxi. I’m not having a good day. This tablet is freaking me out. I posted a rant about how I feel to my blog. It’s been a long day and it isn’t over yet. I feel the way most artists do when privacy is menaced.

One o seven. I need to figure out what is really bugging me lately, and I think it’s my coming colonoscopy. I complained of an invasion of privacy, and a camera up the butt can be no other than that. So I might as well talk about my feelings rather than let them infiltrate all my other thoughts. I feel that a colonoscopy is not only an invasion, but also a violation, even though I know it’s supposed to help me. Medical procedures, from a psychological point of view, are often strangely sexual. I feel the same way about psychotherapy. The bottom line is the word rape, and the word violence is related to the French viol, for rape. Once, when I was psychotic, I was in a bathroom of a phlebotomist and saw lingam and yoni in all the plumbing. The faucet looked like a phallus, the basin like a womb. I wonder if everyone has that experience subconsciously? Likewise, the fiber optic tube of a colonoscopy resembles a very long phallus inserted up the rectum and into the colon. So that whoever invented the procedure was probably anal sadistic, to use a Freudian term. I’m likely making too much of a fuss over a little thing. Everyone over fifty years old undergoes this operation, but still I must confess that I’m not mentally prepared for it…

A Rant

Hello. Just a test. Yes I guess this app will work ok…

One thirty seven. The ads on this app are making me a little crazy. No wonder it was free. I hear The Song of the Nightingale in my head. Damn machines. I wish I could reverse time and progress but it only goes in one direction, and we have to do it together. If I could emigrate from the human race, sometimes I feel that I would. I feel terrible this afternoon. I don’t have time to take a nap. We can only grow the way the wind blows. I feel an invasion of privacy by using this tablet. Aesop is barking at other dogs in the neighborhood. Well let me express myself intelligently and then maybe the world is an ok place. Since when is the whole world my family? Being connected means much more than it used to. No one has any privacy at all. And it will only get worse. It’s like George Orwell ‘s worst nightmare come true. I had believed that my family was the only problem, but no; nobody can be an individual anymore. This is my impression from using my tablet again after a long hiatus. The world is bound to get a lot louder and the inner realm of silence, the subjective experience, will simply go out of existence. Only the public shall prevail while the private goes extinct. And then there won’t be much more for me to do…

Like the Weather

I have to be ready to leave at three o’clock. I’ll go to the store after ten o’clock or so. The weather is gray but not stormy or even rainy. It’s just sort of glum and blah. It is neither warm nor bright; just the opposite. I’m getting tired of the same old food day after day, but I still enjoy the ginger ale. Remember to avoid caffeine because it gives me shortness of breath. I thought I would die the last time I did Coke… I haven’t heard from any musical prospects since Monday. I look forward to another jam with Mark, but he has to find us a guitar player to make a trio. I guess I’m trying to hurry things, but it takes time to put something together. I should just relax and let the future happen. I hear “Cinema Show” in my head, an old Genesis classic. Aesop gets his breakfast in an hour. He’s such a good companion. Smart as a whip. I feel that I should accept life more as it is rather than try to change it. It’s so important to love ourselves and each other and basically let it be. We are where we are in life, so no need to push things or try to force them to happen. I’m thankful that the schizophrenia is well managed and that life is as good as it is. What if it doesn’t get any better than this? Shouldn’t I be happy just the same? Maybe idealism has its drawbacks. Progress is slow and painful, and perfect is probably impossible. It amazes me sometimes how I run into the same people now and then. Everyone does the best that they can at all times. To ask for more is being unrealistic, so just accept and move on… Therefore, the weather may not be beautiful today, but it could be much worse. And human beings are like the weather.

Hyperbole

Quarter of three. It is very cold inside the house. I’m not sure why I got up for a few minutes. All the world’s asleep and the questions run so deep for such a simple man. Yet I’m not simple at all, in the eyes of other people. My family can’t figure me out, but I think I have them pegged. As I’ve said before, I’m a conventional intellectual just as they are conventional cowboys. Everyone is a stereotype, and we are molded that way by education and other modes of society. It isn’t anybody’s fault; it was the monster. The big machine makes us what we are. It gives us a few options along the way, but what we are is ultimately determined by precisely those choices. It is much like choosing the words to write on this tablet even this very moment. It makes me want to be a Luddite and break all machines; sneak into the factories in the dead of night and do the dirty deed. Human beings are not as stupid as society believes we are. The best we can do is start from scratch, break the old molds and defy tradition as much as possible. We need to be our own option makers. We need to esteem value for ourselves, and again from scratch. Perhaps I’m only writing this for myself? But no: the machines are taking over humanity and it’s up to you and me to do something about it. Together we must rise and read our D H Lawrence and read the writing on the wall. Someday our humanity will be completely extinct, all the red blood sucked out of our vessels, all our spontaneous instinct destroyed, our brains chipped and bionic. The Age of the Cyborg is upon us, as corny as this sounds. What are you going to do about it?