Seven thirty five.
My jeans are still damp from my morning walk. Other than that I have no complaints, and it seems to me that everything is going well with the world. But this is easier to say when I ignore the news.
I dreamed last night that I was out after dark, walking along Fremont Avenue when I spotted a helicopter right overhead. As I neared my home, I realized with a jolt that the chopper was landing on my street, so I hurried inside and around to the family room. But I could hear the men following me outside to the backyard, and then I believed they would kill me. Throughout the action, the helicopter made a boisterous racket out front, fed in reality by the hum of my alarm clock. It was one of my paranoid dreams, which I have seldom anymore. Very clear and fresh like a hallucination: larger than life.
Real life, however, has been uneventful, routine, and rather boring. I prefer this to chaos and extremity, like when the Trumpsters attempted a coup of Washington two winters ago. The world is screwed up when people can’t tell the difference between truth and lies. I guess we believe what we want to believe, no matter what is really true. I blame it on the revival of Jamesian Pragmatism that started up during the 00 decade. We judge beliefs by their consequences, not rationally or factually. At least some of us care what is logical…
Quarter of eight.
Gloria is coming today at nine, but lately I’ve been feeling tired every day, so I’m not really looking forward to this. I don’t know of anyone who is actually clicking their heels these days. It’d be nice to believe in astrology, particularly the coming around of Jupiter to bring jollity. I wonder if it’s possible to conquer happiness as Bertrand Russell suggests? But it seems to be more like sunrise, sunset day after day. In this case we ought to appreciate the minutiae while they are still available to us. Dust off the Thornton Wilder book… The trip to market was pretty boring today. It’s Saturday, so the espresso shack wasn’t doing very well this morning. Lisa is always nice to me. My sense of things being larger than life is dwindling down to ordinariness. I realize that I’ll probably never be a rockstar, especially at my age. Even the local rockstars made it big one time, then spent all their money and faded back to relative obscurity. How do you get to be an icon in our culture? You have to be in the right place at the right time. It is best to set realistic goals, if you must have goals at all. And dust off the Thornton Wilder book.
I feel tired and dizzy, probably from the Lipitor I take for cholesterol. My dog was amazingly good while Gloria was here. I was just thinking about the place of pleasure in human life, and whether it is the highest good, or if instead some people have it backwards. The work ethic is strong in some people. Others may be indolent epicureans, maybe alcoholics, and maybe they’d be smart to enjoy life. I always wonder what I am to do in the wake of addiction. Only time can sort this out. Nothing is very clear in the meantime. We just do the best that we can.
I’ve been thinking about church and Easter, etc and how lonely I feel lately, like a kind of outsider from the human race. Until yesterday I didn’t realize that I miss my friends in church. And yet I see that there are so many ways of dividing people against each other; by their politics, religion, and other personal beliefs. I feel pulled in different directions at once, and the fact of being sober seems to make it more difficult. I know however that drinking is even more problematic than staying sober. It’s very hard to be a highly sensitive and perceptive individual, seeing all these conflicts and contradictions, the sheer confusion of everything. How to make it all compatible with itself; how to unify it all in harmony and peace? And then I remember the writings of Montaigne, who let the contradictions dangle unresolved. They could be allowed to coexist. I knew a friend in reality whose approach was very similar: she hated conflict and any kind of extremism. Her father and her oldest sister got into the worst fights with each other, starting with a disagreement and ending in violence. Thus, maybe my logic is overrated, my tendency towards black and white judgments, trying to nail everything down like Aristotle or another philosopher. Maybe better to say that’s life and let the loose ends stay that way.
I haven’t read very much Montaigne. I ought to look into it. I think that something about my method is not working very well, and Pastor was right about leaving things gray in order to have more friends and get along with more people. The relentless quest for the truth can be quite limiting for your social life. The truth may well be that there is no truth.
Six o’clock in the morning.
I didn’t sleep very well last night. I thought about how my mentality changed after my first girlfriend, when I loaded up my plate with philosophy courses in school to build up a rational defense from my feelings. But I’m getting tired of this analysis.
My trip to the market was uneventful and nondescript. The sun is coming up very slowly, or perhaps I made my excursion way earlier than usual. I heard a lot of birds and spotted a pair of Canada geese on the wing. I don’t miss the church much, though I still think of it sometimes. It seems to me like a ship of fools, and Pastor is power hungry with his parish. The outbreak of Covid gave him an opportunity to seize control of everybody, even telling them to get vaccinated and boosted. His sermons are mere brainwashing, like a mass hypnosis for the unwary… I grew to resent all of that and finally shook the crap off of me. There are many roads to recovery. It might be one that you devise for yourself.
Eight o’clock. I remember when V— used to do mornings at the store. She was rather uncivil to some customers, citing her right to free speech. She spared me this abuse for some reason. V— was a sassy little blond and a hard nut to crack, but she opened up to me a few times. She would say she’d get married again if she wanted to be lied to, and she valued honesty from people.
There’s been a fine mist of rain this morning, so I took an umbrella to the store. They were out of Snapple tea; I bought a Dr Pepper instead. I seemed to see green everywhere on my way, like a symbol that follows me around. I think it means nature and pure life as opposed to the dead language of old traditions, also ubiquitous but unpromising, unless the god you believe in is not sandwiched in a book. If there must be a bible, perhaps a person can use Leaves of Grass, something roomier than the other options. My umbrella is black, but during school I had a green and yellow Duck umbrella, lost in the fire three years ago.
The essence is happiness, I always remind myself. Though I have no complaints, neither am I jumping for joy. What happened to the fun I used to have? There’s always something to screw up any utopia, so the best we can do is make the most of every minute.
Were the good times with alcohol really fun for me or was it all just an illusion of joy? My experience with drinking was a relationship, a romance or an old friendship, and everyone else was second to the booze. Before the pandemic came, I enjoyed church, and now those are the good old days. Maybe I overindulged in using my brain for a long period, because today I’m burned out on intellectual pursuits and only want to feel what is true for me. But it’s hard to tell between emotional truth and rational defense. First thing this morning I felt pretty good. Right now the sun is shining and won’t set for another four hours. It could be a very pretty afternoon and evening.
Thanks for your comments on what WordPress is like now. They gel together with my own perceptions of the scene. But you know, today my head is quite empty of philosophical thoughts. It was kind of cool to tune in to my dog’s mentality and do something good for his pleasure. I realized that he had been depressed for a long time, so that a walk outdoors really lit him right up. I verbally promised him that we’d do it again tomorrow morning at the same time. It’s funny how realistic a dog can be. Very grounded and centered in the here and now, and as I keep saying, Aesop is intelligent. I could no longer ignore his presence as a conscious being. It’s also interesting how the “meta” things people do have no meaning for a dog. For instance, dogs don’t like music or anything creative or artistic because they seem unreal to them. They have no use for fictions like human beings do. And sometimes this can be refreshing and admirable in Aesop. It would be very difficult for a dog to tell a lie.
Ten forty at night.
I must’ve hit the nail on the head, because everybody skedaddled from my blog when I posted about the Democrats. In that case, I believe I’ve been in the wrong place for the last five years. For the record, I am a Democrat and have always been a Democrat. In my very first election I voted for Jesse Jackson for President of the United States because it was the right thing to do, even though in 1988 the country wasn’t ready for a Black President. When George H. W. Bush was elected instead, my mother said that was the last straw and had me drive her Downtown to change her voter registration to Democrat. I remember that day with pride. It meant so much to her at that stage in her life to give voice to her convictions… Readers can forsake my blog now all they want if that’s how they feel about it. Meanwhile I’ll be looking for a different online platform to jump over to. It’s been an interesting stay on WordPress, but it looks like it has come to an end. Farewell to all of you.
It’s a lot warmer out this morning and there’s rain in the forecast. I want to be more grounded in nature now rather than a kite in the atmosphere of philosophy. I don’t want to feel a mile high. The store should be open right now. I just heard a crow cawing to the east, out in the neighborhood. Aesop is asking me for something; it would be great if he could talk or if I were Dr Doolittle: even Snow White or Mary Poppins. But this is not realistic either. Funny how our wishes pollute our experience of the world; as if by believing something, we could make it true. Reality doesn’t yield before human language as in a story by Borges, although this point is debatable. More crows are raising a racket, but otherwise the Sunday morning is silent. My dog probably wants me to go to the store for his snacks. I never cared much for the sabbath day, especially when I had a job and dreaded going back on Monday. The other day I saw J— at the agency. I think something was wrong because she didn’t talk to anybody; just read a local paper and seemed to be waiting for something, perhaps an appointment. Usually she is very busy working in the optical office. I wanted to talk to her but she was closed and taciturn. She was as uncommunicative as the truth of nature… Any time now I’ll have the motivation to run to market. The rain is supposed to begin at around ten o’clock. I’ve got some time until that happens.
I’ve just got up from an evening nap. Then I checked my emails: someone liked my post from last October titled “A Calling,” after two other people had since Friday. I frankly didn’t remember it, so I went back and read it again. Turns out it’s about transcendence and also the moon in the sky over the Maxwell overpass: rather a romantic observation, especially when the surrounding streets are in a fallen state of poverty and squalor, ashy gray barrenness like a human desert. Above all that, the moonlight calls from very far away as I trudge the sidewalk early in the morning, the spirit of Diana luring me on (although I didn’t say that in my post). And now I think not of Mallarme but of Keats’ Endymion, which describes a lover’s tryst of himself with the moon goddess. But this wasn’t in my post either. Maybe it was better without the allusion to Keats and Diana. The best part of it is the contrast between reality and the ideal that you can feel tugging at you like the moon’s magnetism causing the tides; still I’m embellishing what is only implicit. I should probably write another post on the same subject: maybe when the moon shows up above the overpass again in the clear sky like a smudge of white chalk against the blue blackboard, a little hazy and dreamlike, a fantasy of Vishnu, not quite real. Kind of like when I walked out of the market and it was virtually framed by an arc of rainbow 🌈 to either side of the doors and the whole building, like a blessing from God, a token, a benediction from a high place, and again, a vision in a dream.
Quarter after seven.
Even though the forecast says it’s cloudy, I can hear it raining outside. Never take another person’s version of the truth. I really didn’t like yesterday’s A— News. Maybe I’m not a Democrat anymore, seeing the effects of the current politics.
Eight thirty five.
My mood is better just now. I’ve been to the store and had my Snapple tea. I saw four teenagers grabbing a snack at the market before they went to school. Cathy manned the registers by herself. Again Michelle was not there, but I had no time to ask about her, for the store was rather busy. I notice the clouds breaking up to the east and there’s a reprieve from the rain. I look forward to the spring, when my utility bill is lower and I’ll have a little pocket money to do some things I want to do. I know I can’t afford to buy a car; just being realistic. Every form of transportation is very expensive nowadays, pricing me out of my lifestyle. And maybe my rock and roll days are over anyway. It’s interesting just to watch the wheels turn around, as long as I don’t have to get too involved. Otherwise it’s very hard to be a person in society today. The worst part of it is being told what to think regarding the nature of reality, when the door ought to be left wide open for speculation. I just saw a glimmer of sun on the magnolia leaves. To dream the impossible dream of freedom for all: Don Quixote wasn’t at all crazy.
Quarter of ten. My dog Aesop is cute when he enjoys a cookie. He seems pretty relaxed this morning. As for me, some things are out of my hands, so I might as well take it easy, maybe read a good book today.