My friend Les tracked me down and called me a few weeks ago. Les was one of my buddies from the old East Texas and Austin days, from '91 through '94. We used to do so much drinking and partying back in those days, along with an inordinately stupid amount of ecstasy and cocaine, with acid and mushrooms thrown in for variety. We lived in the Austin sub-culture of weirdos back then, along with Clint and my sister and her boyfriend. We were all roommates, and Les and I were just about as close as two friends can be. We were brothers back then, and we were also just stupid kids, trying to figure out what life was about, trying to enjoy our youth while we had it. Les' behavior bordered on self destructive a lot of the time when we were roommates together in Austin, and he did the most drugs out of all of us. It was an attempt to bury the pain of his guilt, I think.
When Les was was 15 he shot his best friend in the face with a shotgun and killed him. It was an accident. They were both getting ready to go camping, and Les decided play a joke on his friend by scaring him with the shotgun that they were taking with them. Les snuck up behind his friend and tapped him on the shoulder, and when he turned around, Les pointed the shotgun at his face and pulled the trigger. Les had meant to 'get him back', as his friend had just pulled the same joke on Les a few minutes before with the unloaded gun, and Les had assumed that it was still unloaded. He didn't know that his friend had since loaded the shotgun.
Les was put on probabtion for second degree manslaughter, and he spent several years in prison for not showing up to meetings with his probation officer. I think he purposefully put himself through the prison system as an attempt at atonement. He rarely ever talked about what happened, but he confided in me once about it when we were tripping on ecstasy back in '94 at a dance club in Austin, and he described the entire incident to me in detail. When he had finished relating it all to me, he said, "And you know what, man? I'm not sorry for it. Not one bit." I knew that was just wishful thinking though, and the drugs talking.
Les used to keep a .22 rifle in the trunk of his car, and one afternoon at his house, when we were getting ready to go somewhere or do something, he was rummaging through his trunk and he pulled out out the rifle. He put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger, and when it clicked, he laughed. I laughed too, thinking that it had been a joke that he'd planned, and then he said, "Hell man, I didn't know if the damn thing was loaded." Then he laughed again and put the rifle back in the trunk, and we went on with what we were doing and nobody mentioned it again.
Right before Les went to prison for the second time, he told me that he had decided to kill himself, but Johnny Law had caught up with him before he could formulate a plan. I guess that saved his life. Now he's living in Vermont and is married with a four year old boy. I never imagined that Les would wind up married and with a kid, and it came as a complete surprise when he told me about it. I think he's achieved some measure of peace in his life now. He says he's a practicing Buddhist.
When he called, he asked me how I was doing, and I don't know why, but I started spilling my guts about how unhappy I am. I was surprised that I was saying all of that to him, as I usually keep my feelings buried down deep and don't express them to anyone. Maybe it was because I've gotten used to confessing my despair to Fr. Justin... heck, I even spouted it all over facebook several weeks ago, after which I was terribly embarrassed and wished that I could have just erased that from happening. Anyway, as we were talking it all came tumbling out, and I thought, 'Way to go, Ash. You haven't seen or spoken to Les in six years, and the first thing you do is start unloading all this crap on him about how your life sucks.'
I felt embarrassed again. Somehow I felt as though I didn't deserve to be feeling bad around Les, and that it was a selfish, ugly thing and a horrible indulgence that I had no right to. I felt embarrassed confessing to him that I had 'joined the Orthodox Christians', as I put it to Les. Back in our drug addled party days, we had been brothers in atheism, and I felt as if I were betraying our friendship of old. I felt stupid, and slow, like a slug, and ugly, for trying explain to Les my effort to find comfort clinging desperately to a fairy tale. That's not how it is, but it's how I felt at the time. Just wretched and miserable about my Christianity. It's funny how certain people unnerve me for different reasons and in different ways. All of that was my own failing and weakness though, because Les doesn't see me that way. He said, "Oh, the Russian Orthodox? Yeah, I know them. Buddhists have a lot in common with those desert monks."
Les has changed a lot. He doesn't do drugs anymore, and he seems a lot happier just from talking to him, and I still can't get over the fact that he has a wife and a kid now. When he described to me how they met and decided to get married, I said, "You make it sound so easy." And he did make it sound so easy, like it just fell in his lap. It's funny how marriage and family is something I never cared about, or even wanted remotely, until recently. I wonder why I feel so differently about it now. Sometimes I think it's because God is trying to temper me with the pain of being alone, so that I can prepare for a monastic life. Maybe it's also because I'm not worthy of anything good right now, and the only way to get me to actually make the effort to become a better, more worthy person is by luring me down the narrow, righteous path with the idea of marriage as the reward, much like how God used the girl to lead me to the Church. I didn't get the girl, but I got the Church, and I won't get married, but I'll get salvation? It's a hard possibility to accept, but it might be the truth of things. Then again, I'm not really trying right now, so what business do I have to actually want companionship and love and a familiy, when I'd probably just screw it all up with my unworthy state of perpetual sin? I don't know. I'm too hard on myself a lot of the time.
Anyway. Since Les and I have been back in touch, he's left several little encouraging messages on my facebook page, things like 'I love you brother' and 'Mucho joyo, my lovely man'. He's the best friend anyone could ever ask for, and I miss him.
He also happens to be an amazing poet. He wrote this for me the other day.
as it happens just like so
this and that are these alone
a whytherefor with where to go
when as it is you never know
so we only as if though
in the least and for the most
in this very all along
altogether and so on
as such in such into so forth
however much and furthermore
with none the less in as of yet
like somenothing to forget
until maybe eventhough
an if and when if not also
where there and then somewhen will come
after awhile into the from
since all there is no matter how
is as it is as of now
and afterwords as from before
an after all with something more
or less
theofallings
the of All ings
the very meaning of the dream
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Friday, October 7, 2011
Whew
I'm back to paying all of the bills again, and it's been worrying me to death. I'm late with the rent this month and won't have the other half until I get paid next week, and even then I won't have all of it. I just talked to the landlord, and he said he was letting everybody slide with late fees because the economy is so dire and everyone is having such hard financial times. He said not to worry about it. That's a heckuva relief.
Fr. Justin gave me something to read by St. Theophan the Recluse - that we are where God wants us and no more is required of us.
Fr. Justin gave me something to read by St. Theophan the Recluse - that we are where God wants us and no more is required of us.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Tidbits of late
The other day I was outside sweeping the front of the store near the entrance. I had a cigarette sitting in the ash tray on top of the trash can. A young guy, looked like a college kid, walked up and stopped, looked at my cigarette, and picked it up and walked off. I said, "Hey, that was my..." he stopped and looked at me. "...cigarette, but I guess you can have it." He turned and walked away.
The UNT paper did a write up about the photos of shoplifters from the security cameras that Chiy posts on the windows. The gist of it was how the photos are a deterrent, because it's embarrassing to have your photo posted there for everyone to see, of you stealing something paltry like a beer or a candy bar. They came in and interviewed me, and I told them about how I've chased shoplifters. Most recently, a guy who picked up a 24 pack of water that was sitting outside and waltzed off with it. I chased him down to Fry St. and he took off into the small field on the corner of Oak and Fry, then disappeared into the bushes. He dropped the water and I picked it up. I also told them about how I chased one guy who just walked off without paying for the cigarettes I'd just given him, another who stole a candy bar and threw it under a car when he saw me running after him, and a gas drive off, back when we used to set the pumps before people payed. They got a real kick out of that and wrote it up in their article.
Last night I did a pencil rubbing of the raised dinosaur logo on the front of my Jurassic Park novel. I showed it to this girl who came in and told her that I hadn't done a pencil rubbing since I was a kid. We talked about how the book was far better than the movie, but the movie was still fun. She stood there with the pencil rubbing in her hand and was quiet for a few seconds, and said, "Is this mine?" I told her that it was, and she said she was going to hang it on her refrigerator.
The guy who I yelled at a couple of months ago finally came back in the other day. I'd been hoping he would, because I've felt terrible about it ever since. When he came up to my register, I told him how sorry I was and how awful I've been feeling. He apologized too (we were both rude bastards that day) and we shook hands.
Last night Olivia told me that I had to come to the rock star dress up party. It's on a Friday now, next Friday, so I guess I don't have any excuse not to go. I'll have to ask Matt for the car, though.
Ellie came into the store yesterday for the first time in ages. Yesterday she had art supplies with her, and I asked her if she was taking art classes. She said yeah, that she was taking design. I told her that I had an art degree, and that she'd better watch out or she'd wind up working at 7-Eleven.
Another guy came in and bought a can of Barbasol shaving cream. I told him that he'd better be careful with it, because it might have dinosaur embryos inside. I advised him that he should stick it in the freezer immediately when he got home. He looked at me like I was retarded. I guess he never saw Jurassic Park.
My e-book reader came in today! I haven't been this excited in years! It came with a King James Study Bible, another Holman Bible, and some Bible studies. Wow. And some other books... The Fishing Trip - A Ghost Story, Full Blooded Fantasy, The Zen Experience, and several titles in what look like German and French. One by Peter De Vries. That's gotta be a joke or something (if you've read Dune, you'll understand).
It's a little smaller than a paperback, and about half an inch wide. The text looks like it's printed on the screen, as opposed to the constituent glowing pixels of an LCD screen. I loves it :)
The UNT paper did a write up about the photos of shoplifters from the security cameras that Chiy posts on the windows. The gist of it was how the photos are a deterrent, because it's embarrassing to have your photo posted there for everyone to see, of you stealing something paltry like a beer or a candy bar. They came in and interviewed me, and I told them about how I've chased shoplifters. Most recently, a guy who picked up a 24 pack of water that was sitting outside and waltzed off with it. I chased him down to Fry St. and he took off into the small field on the corner of Oak and Fry, then disappeared into the bushes. He dropped the water and I picked it up. I also told them about how I chased one guy who just walked off without paying for the cigarettes I'd just given him, another who stole a candy bar and threw it under a car when he saw me running after him, and a gas drive off, back when we used to set the pumps before people payed. They got a real kick out of that and wrote it up in their article.
Last night I did a pencil rubbing of the raised dinosaur logo on the front of my Jurassic Park novel. I showed it to this girl who came in and told her that I hadn't done a pencil rubbing since I was a kid. We talked about how the book was far better than the movie, but the movie was still fun. She stood there with the pencil rubbing in her hand and was quiet for a few seconds, and said, "Is this mine?" I told her that it was, and she said she was going to hang it on her refrigerator.
The guy who I yelled at a couple of months ago finally came back in the other day. I'd been hoping he would, because I've felt terrible about it ever since. When he came up to my register, I told him how sorry I was and how awful I've been feeling. He apologized too (we were both rude bastards that day) and we shook hands.
Last night Olivia told me that I had to come to the rock star dress up party. It's on a Friday now, next Friday, so I guess I don't have any excuse not to go. I'll have to ask Matt for the car, though.
Ellie came into the store yesterday for the first time in ages. Yesterday she had art supplies with her, and I asked her if she was taking art classes. She said yeah, that she was taking design. I told her that I had an art degree, and that she'd better watch out or she'd wind up working at 7-Eleven.
Another guy came in and bought a can of Barbasol shaving cream. I told him that he'd better be careful with it, because it might have dinosaur embryos inside. I advised him that he should stick it in the freezer immediately when he got home. He looked at me like I was retarded. I guess he never saw Jurassic Park.
My e-book reader came in today! I haven't been this excited in years! It came with a King James Study Bible, another Holman Bible, and some Bible studies. Wow. And some other books... The Fishing Trip - A Ghost Story, Full Blooded Fantasy, The Zen Experience, and several titles in what look like German and French. One by Peter De Vries. That's gotta be a joke or something (if you've read Dune, you'll understand).
It's a little smaller than a paperback, and about half an inch wide. The text looks like it's printed on the screen, as opposed to the constituent glowing pixels of an LCD screen. I loves it :)
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Getting me an e-book reader, FINALLY
Whew! I just ordered an e-book reader, a Sony pocket reader.
Yee Haw
I looked at all kinds of different ones - I-Pad, Kindle, Nook, Kobo, Papyrus, Libre, etc. - and most of them come with all of these bells and whistles, like Wi-Fi internet, extensive online marketplace stores, ability to play mp3's and avi's, Android 2.4 with Flash support, color LCD screens, and all the stuff that comes with a tablet PC or an I-Pad. I don't remember any of the paperbacks I've read ever doing any of that stuff, so the one I ordered is bare bones, as far as e-book readers go. It's about the size of an actual book, it's got a 5 inch E-Ink screen, it's black and white, and it doesn't connect to any internet. But that's what I want, and the battery will last for months on one charge. It will also hold about 350 books.
Most of those other e-book readers, like the Kindle and the Nook, cost anywhere from 150 to 350 bucks, so I'm happy that I only paid 72 bucks for this one.
I can't wait! Estimated delivery date is the 28th.
Yee Haw
I looked at all kinds of different ones - I-Pad, Kindle, Nook, Kobo, Papyrus, Libre, etc. - and most of them come with all of these bells and whistles, like Wi-Fi internet, extensive online marketplace stores, ability to play mp3's and avi's, Android 2.4 with Flash support, color LCD screens, and all the stuff that comes with a tablet PC or an I-Pad. I don't remember any of the paperbacks I've read ever doing any of that stuff, so the one I ordered is bare bones, as far as e-book readers go. It's about the size of an actual book, it's got a 5 inch E-Ink screen, it's black and white, and it doesn't connect to any internet. But that's what I want, and the battery will last for months on one charge. It will also hold about 350 books.
Most of those other e-book readers, like the Kindle and the Nook, cost anywhere from 150 to 350 bucks, so I'm happy that I only paid 72 bucks for this one.
I can't wait! Estimated delivery date is the 28th.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Ow, again.
The super garlic pills Chey gave me were working for my toothaches, so I stopped taking them and now the pain is right back where it was before. It's a full blown headache now, and it feels like my skull is gonna crack open. I thought I'd be able to deal with it at vigil, but singing was making it hurt even worse and I had to leave early tonight. So, it's back on the super garlic. I'm amazed at how well it worked - I just stopped taking it too soon.
I'm going to lie down now and see if this cocktail of ibuprofen, naproxen sodium, acetaminophen, and aspirin will do anything.
I'm going to lie down now and see if this cocktail of ibuprofen, naproxen sodium, acetaminophen, and aspirin will do anything.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Here's what happened tonight right after work
Tonight Matt (the guy I work with) brought me a care package when he arrived to pick up Olivia at the end of the shift (he and Olivia and Stephen are all roommates) - Season 1 and 2 of Metalocalypse; an animated series about science fiction death metal headbangers, a book; 'On The Road' by Jack Kerouac, and one other item. Lately Matt has been letting me borrow some of his books now and then, which I think is super cool. I've never seen Metalocalypse or read the Jack Kerouac book, so I'll have something to do tomorrow on my day off. I might even walk around tonight and read it. It's a nice night... just perfect for Book Walking, actually.
So anywho, about the other item. For the past week I've been playing music on my mp3 player at work, and Tuesday, when I came out of the cooler after stocking it, Olivia had it pressed up to her ear while she was fronting and facing and making coffee and sweeping and mopping. She kept it for most of the day, listening to my music selection and every now and then commenting on a specific song. So tonight, along with the DVD's and the book, Matt had also brought a little pair of portable speakers for hooking up to an mp3 player, brand new and still in the plastic packaging. Olivia grabbed it and handed it to me and said, "Here, I bought you a present! I forgot to take it with me to work today, so I had Matt bring it with him tonight. These should work better than that styrofoam cup you've had taped to your mp3 player for the past week."
She had bought me a pair of external speakers for my little mp3 player. I was just completely taken aback. It always takes me by complete surprise when somebody does something so nice for me, completely out of the blue. Olivia is a real sweetie. After I got over the awesomeness of the moment, I thanked her and gave her a hug and thanked her again and went on about how thoughtful it was and what a sweetie she was, and gave her another hug. Then I found a pair of scissors and opened the package, put some batteries in it, and hooked it up to my mp3 player. I started it playing, and we all gathered around (me and Stephen and Matt and Shaq and Olivia) and listened to my new little speakers.
So anywho, about the other item. For the past week I've been playing music on my mp3 player at work, and Tuesday, when I came out of the cooler after stocking it, Olivia had it pressed up to her ear while she was fronting and facing and making coffee and sweeping and mopping. She kept it for most of the day, listening to my music selection and every now and then commenting on a specific song. So tonight, along with the DVD's and the book, Matt had also brought a little pair of portable speakers for hooking up to an mp3 player, brand new and still in the plastic packaging. Olivia grabbed it and handed it to me and said, "Here, I bought you a present! I forgot to take it with me to work today, so I had Matt bring it with him tonight. These should work better than that styrofoam cup you've had taped to your mp3 player for the past week."
She had bought me a pair of external speakers for my little mp3 player. I was just completely taken aback. It always takes me by complete surprise when somebody does something so nice for me, completely out of the blue. Olivia is a real sweetie. After I got over the awesomeness of the moment, I thanked her and gave her a hug and thanked her again and went on about how thoughtful it was and what a sweetie she was, and gave her another hug. Then I found a pair of scissors and opened the package, put some batteries in it, and hooked it up to my mp3 player. I started it playing, and we all gathered around (me and Stephen and Matt and Shaq and Olivia) and listened to my new little speakers.
Peek-a-boob
Today I was checking this girl and she started fussing with the front of her shirt, as if she had something in there that she was trying to procure... a wallet? Money? A debit card? Cigarettes? A gun? Just scratching her boobs, plain and simple? The t-shirt she was wearing was casual and loose, and as she fussed around with it, she actually pulled her boob right out and let it sit there for several seconds, fully exposed, plain as day, like a single solitary secret searchlight just staring right at me as she dug around more deeply in the depths of her shirt for whatever it was that was eluding her. As far as I know, she never found it, whatever it was. Maybe she was just airing those things out. Maybe she was giving me a sneak peek, like the episode with that other girl several months ago. It's a weird thing about 7-Eleven... a surprising amount of nudity tends to occur there.
Early morning liturgy
Dax texted me last night while I was at work, asking me if I could come in at 7:00 this morning and read for the liturgy. I really should start doing that on my own... anywho. So I got up early and walked to the church at about 6:30. It was a pleasant walk. Nobody was out and about yet, and the streets were quiet and still. It was nice and cool outside, and the sun hadn't come up yet, so when I got to the church the atmosphere was the way I like it - dark and candlelit and silent. After I received a blessing from Fr. Justin, I waited in the choir nook until it was time to start reading the hours. Just before that, Fr. Justin and I briefly went over the two troparia and the kontakion for the hours, and also the epistle for the prokeimenon reading. Hopes were high that I wouldn't mangle anything this time.
By the time I had finished reading the hours, Louise and I were the only parishioners who had shown up, so I was a one man choir this morning. As I was reading, I was actually kind of hoping that no other choir members would appear, as I wanted to experience what it was like to sing the entire liturgy by myself. Well, I got my wish, and my voice held out fine through the whole thing because I sang the melody instead of tenor. That was a relief, because to me, singing tenor for an hour is the same as trying to lift weights with my voice. Also, since I was the only person singing, my goof ups didn't result in the usual exponential cascade of chaos among the other choir members.
I did get ahead of myself a couple of times, and Fr. Justin had to get me started on a couple of the tones, and I was late walking up to the altar before the epistle reading, and I got flustered at the beginning and couldn't find the right page, and I only read half of the first line of the prokeimenon, and I read the wrong 'alleluia' at the end of it, and I forgot what I was doing during the middle of one of the litanies, but other than those nitpicks, things went fairly smoothly.
Afterward I went to CopyPro and printed up all of the tones onto little 4 x 5 note cards. I know all of the tones by ear and I can sing them when either Dax or Fr. Justin starts off with the melody, but trying to memorize which tone is which puts a dangerous strain on my left brain. Plus, the tones are referred to by number, and as far as I'm concerned, that's math. Math is also dangerous to my brain.
I'm going to make a little book out of them and carry them with me everywhere, and hopefully they'll sink in eventually.
By the time I had finished reading the hours, Louise and I were the only parishioners who had shown up, so I was a one man choir this morning. As I was reading, I was actually kind of hoping that no other choir members would appear, as I wanted to experience what it was like to sing the entire liturgy by myself. Well, I got my wish, and my voice held out fine through the whole thing because I sang the melody instead of tenor. That was a relief, because to me, singing tenor for an hour is the same as trying to lift weights with my voice. Also, since I was the only person singing, my goof ups didn't result in the usual exponential cascade of chaos among the other choir members.
I did get ahead of myself a couple of times, and Fr. Justin had to get me started on a couple of the tones, and I was late walking up to the altar before the epistle reading, and I got flustered at the beginning and couldn't find the right page, and I only read half of the first line of the prokeimenon, and I read the wrong 'alleluia' at the end of it, and I forgot what I was doing during the middle of one of the litanies, but other than those nitpicks, things went fairly smoothly.
Afterward I went to CopyPro and printed up all of the tones onto little 4 x 5 note cards. I know all of the tones by ear and I can sing them when either Dax or Fr. Justin starts off with the melody, but trying to memorize which tone is which puts a dangerous strain on my left brain. Plus, the tones are referred to by number, and as far as I'm concerned, that's math. Math is also dangerous to my brain.
I'm going to make a little book out of them and carry them with me everywhere, and hopefully they'll sink in eventually.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
Semi-random thoughts about memory
I can remember each phase of my life that I've considered happy - when it started, how long it lasted, and when it ended. There have been six so far:
1. The high school band marching seasons of '87 and '88 (state marching band competitions).
2. The spring and summer of '93 (constant partying with my sister and friends) and on through the entire year of '94 (my first year in Austin on my own and living with roommates).
3. The spring of '96 to the spring of '97 (my friendship and relationship with Lorraine).
4. The summer of 2000 (my first semester at the Art Institute).
5. The fall of 2001 through the summer of 2002 (when Laura was living with me).
6. The spring of 2008 until the autumn of 2009 (a year into my life reboot after giving up poppy seeds and pain pills, then beginning my job at 7-Eleven, and my relationship with Leah, before things started to decay in earnest).
Everything before, in and around, and after those specific phases ranged from ho-hum (most of the time), moderately depressing (frequently), or just downright horrible (rare, but awful... things such as heartache, my mom and dads divorce, feelings of extreme isolation, and full blown addiction).
It's interesting to note that the best period of my life, the spring of '08 through the fall of '09, occurred immediately after the worst, which began in early 2003 and lasted until the middle of 2007 - four solid years of constant drug use almost every day, feelings of hopelessness, and suicidal thoughts. During that time, I believed that my life was pretty much over, and that the only thing I had to live for or look forward to was getting high the next day. I may think that things are bad now, but I still marvel that my life is what it is, compared to what it was then.
Memory is a weird thing, especially when it's triggered by an association, such as a smell or a sound. Mostly it's smells and sounds which trigger specific memories in me, and usually they are nostalgic memories of a past time in my life which was important in some way; sometimes bad and sometimes good. It's remarkable when these associations take me by surprise, which is what happened today.
Recently I found an old mp3 player that had been lost since 2007, so I loaded some music onto it to listen to while I was in the cooler today at work. I was digging through my old spare hard drive and came across an MC Chris album which I haven't listened to in a long time, since early 2009. At the time I had really enjoyed it because it was so funny, so I thought, why not? and I loaded it onto the mp3 player.
Today when I was in the cooler, I put on my headphones and started with Soundgarden. That went by, and Asia was next. Then MC Chris started, and when it did, I was immediately hit with a powerful rush of memories. Oh wow, those days, when I first worked at 7-Eleven, it all came rushing back to me with the first few beats of the first song on that album. Leah was a brand new friend, and the emotion that accompanies the memory of those days was omniscient. Along with that feeling I also remembered that I'd used to like to tease her by playing and singing along with an MC Chris song called Fett's Vette (that song isn't on the album I was listening to, but that playful teasing was the first specific memory that erupted into my brain). I had to stop for a moment as the emotions of nostalgia washed over me - it was so fun back then, and Leah and I had just begun to think of each other as more than friends, and the idea of church was a new and curious thing to me, and I was ignorant and happy, and all that mattered was the moment, and the moment was full of promise.
1. The high school band marching seasons of '87 and '88 (state marching band competitions).
2. The spring and summer of '93 (constant partying with my sister and friends) and on through the entire year of '94 (my first year in Austin on my own and living with roommates).
3. The spring of '96 to the spring of '97 (my friendship and relationship with Lorraine).
4. The summer of 2000 (my first semester at the Art Institute).
5. The fall of 2001 through the summer of 2002 (when Laura was living with me).
6. The spring of 2008 until the autumn of 2009 (a year into my life reboot after giving up poppy seeds and pain pills, then beginning my job at 7-Eleven, and my relationship with Leah, before things started to decay in earnest).
Everything before, in and around, and after those specific phases ranged from ho-hum (most of the time), moderately depressing (frequently), or just downright horrible (rare, but awful... things such as heartache, my mom and dads divorce, feelings of extreme isolation, and full blown addiction).
It's interesting to note that the best period of my life, the spring of '08 through the fall of '09, occurred immediately after the worst, which began in early 2003 and lasted until the middle of 2007 - four solid years of constant drug use almost every day, feelings of hopelessness, and suicidal thoughts. During that time, I believed that my life was pretty much over, and that the only thing I had to live for or look forward to was getting high the next day. I may think that things are bad now, but I still marvel that my life is what it is, compared to what it was then.
Memory is a weird thing, especially when it's triggered by an association, such as a smell or a sound. Mostly it's smells and sounds which trigger specific memories in me, and usually they are nostalgic memories of a past time in my life which was important in some way; sometimes bad and sometimes good. It's remarkable when these associations take me by surprise, which is what happened today.
Recently I found an old mp3 player that had been lost since 2007, so I loaded some music onto it to listen to while I was in the cooler today at work. I was digging through my old spare hard drive and came across an MC Chris album which I haven't listened to in a long time, since early 2009. At the time I had really enjoyed it because it was so funny, so I thought, why not? and I loaded it onto the mp3 player.
Today when I was in the cooler, I put on my headphones and started with Soundgarden. That went by, and Asia was next. Then MC Chris started, and when it did, I was immediately hit with a powerful rush of memories. Oh wow, those days, when I first worked at 7-Eleven, it all came rushing back to me with the first few beats of the first song on that album. Leah was a brand new friend, and the emotion that accompanies the memory of those days was omniscient. Along with that feeling I also remembered that I'd used to like to tease her by playing and singing along with an MC Chris song called Fett's Vette (that song isn't on the album I was listening to, but that playful teasing was the first specific memory that erupted into my brain). I had to stop for a moment as the emotions of nostalgia washed over me - it was so fun back then, and Leah and I had just begun to think of each other as more than friends, and the idea of church was a new and curious thing to me, and I was ignorant and happy, and all that mattered was the moment, and the moment was full of promise.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Ow.
Now I remember clearly why I started taking pain pills to begin with, back in '99. Tooth. Hurts. Teeth actually. Two of them. They hurt almost all the time now. Acetaminophen and ibuprofen help, as well as aspirin and naproxen sodium, but only for up to an hour or two, and sometimes not at all. Oragel actually provides some relief, but only for up to half an hour at the most. I've been going through a tube of oragel every two days, and it's getting expensive, at almost ten bucks a tube. Dental work will be pricey too... Oh well. At least I'm not stuck on a deserted island. I was kind of wishing the other day that I had an ice skate handy, though...
I've got a little money saved, and hope to have a thousand dollars in a few months. I was planning on saving up for a new place, but I need to get something done about my teeth. I was also thinking about buying some dental insurance and using that to cover about half of the cost of some dental work, and paying the rest out over time. I've done that before. I'll need major work... at least two extractions, I think, and maybe one crown and several fillings. Maybe a root canal. I dunno if I'm going to worry about bridge work after the extractions. I've had it done before, but heck, I'm thinking that I can get some sculpey and just make my own tooth. Why not? I don't need no stinkin' dentist to charge me thousands of dollars for a couple of replacement teeth, when it would be more fun and would cost me practically nothing to make my own. I could make fangs, even. Or I could embed jewels in them, or coat them with a shiny black glaze, or tie dye them, or whatever the heck I wanted to do with them. Getting them to stay in place will be the trick... what's that stuff they use for dentures? Maybe a piece of bubble gum? Or I could just make them so that they fit tightly, with some kind of texture that holds them against my other teeth, like rubber or something. I'll figure it out, I'm smart.
I've got a little money saved, and hope to have a thousand dollars in a few months. I was planning on saving up for a new place, but I need to get something done about my teeth. I was also thinking about buying some dental insurance and using that to cover about half of the cost of some dental work, and paying the rest out over time. I've done that before. I'll need major work... at least two extractions, I think, and maybe one crown and several fillings. Maybe a root canal. I dunno if I'm going to worry about bridge work after the extractions. I've had it done before, but heck, I'm thinking that I can get some sculpey and just make my own tooth. Why not? I don't need no stinkin' dentist to charge me thousands of dollars for a couple of replacement teeth, when it would be more fun and would cost me practically nothing to make my own. I could make fangs, even. Or I could embed jewels in them, or coat them with a shiny black glaze, or tie dye them, or whatever the heck I wanted to do with them. Getting them to stay in place will be the trick... what's that stuff they use for dentures? Maybe a piece of bubble gum? Or I could just make them so that they fit tightly, with some kind of texture that holds them against my other teeth, like rubber or something. I'll figure it out, I'm smart.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Part of the day
I went to the Howdy Doody about an hour ago, and the inside of the car was warm. I drove around for a bit after that and turned on the AC, but it was blowing out hot air. Matt had turned up the heat. It's been a little cooler lately, and yesterday it was almost chilly when I took my walk. Matt is working long days again, and he walks to the bus station which takes him into Dallas to the job site. When he was telling me about his new job the other night, I mentioned the park and ride, that he could just drive the car to the bus station, but he said he would just leave it at home so I could use it.
When I got back I started watching a BBC documentary about Hiroshima. It consisted of interviews with the crew of the Enola Gay, and an assortment of Japanese survivors. When I'm by myself, I tend to get pretty emotional about things, and the stories of those people choked me up. Then I heard thunder outside, so I got up to take a look at the weather. It had clouded over since I got back, and it was sprinkling. I saw that the neighbor across the street had also decided to check out the weather, as he was standing on his front porch and taking it in. I moved out to the old Escort and leaned against the back of it and let the rain sprinkle on me. I looked around at things... to see if there were any other people, I think, and also to just take in the moment, because I love this kind of weather. A few cars drove past and I wondered what they were up to on this day, in this weather. A few houses down somebody got into their car and started it and left. Somebody else rode by on a bike and hollered at the guy on the porch across the street.
I looked at the trees directly in front of me, in the yard of the house across the street, and realized that I'd never properly noticed them before. One is a tall and of the pine variety, with very few branches until about two thirds of the way up, where they all suddenly seem to sprout. They looked like they were reaching out for the rain, all those spiky pine needles, thrust in every direction to catch the drops as they fell. Another tree beside it is of the deciduous variety, and a little bit shorter. A bush a few houses down on the left had pink flowers on it. In the yard of my neighbor to the immediate left, there is a tree which leans toward the north somewhat. I focused on the branches and imagined them without leaves, and then marveled at how much form those thin little wisps give to the tree.
There are so many things in life that I never even notice, little wondrous things. Before this minute, I couldn't have told anyone about that pine tree across the street. I didn't even know it existed, but I've lived in close proximity with it for the past four years. Four years of not even noticing another living thing that I shared air and rain and space with. I marveled in a form of quiet fascination and dismay at my own ego and self centeredness.
Later I was back in the house and it was dark because of the storm that moved in. In the hallway, it was silent. The air conditioners are all turned off today. It was just dark, and silent, and then the thunder rolled again, gently, and muffled. Nothing moved, and all was silent except for fading sound of the distant thunder. In the still half-light of the hall, I realized at that moment that peace isn't something you ever attain, it's just something you experience now and then.
When I got back I started watching a BBC documentary about Hiroshima. It consisted of interviews with the crew of the Enola Gay, and an assortment of Japanese survivors. When I'm by myself, I tend to get pretty emotional about things, and the stories of those people choked me up. Then I heard thunder outside, so I got up to take a look at the weather. It had clouded over since I got back, and it was sprinkling. I saw that the neighbor across the street had also decided to check out the weather, as he was standing on his front porch and taking it in. I moved out to the old Escort and leaned against the back of it and let the rain sprinkle on me. I looked around at things... to see if there were any other people, I think, and also to just take in the moment, because I love this kind of weather. A few cars drove past and I wondered what they were up to on this day, in this weather. A few houses down somebody got into their car and started it and left. Somebody else rode by on a bike and hollered at the guy on the porch across the street.
I looked at the trees directly in front of me, in the yard of the house across the street, and realized that I'd never properly noticed them before. One is a tall and of the pine variety, with very few branches until about two thirds of the way up, where they all suddenly seem to sprout. They looked like they were reaching out for the rain, all those spiky pine needles, thrust in every direction to catch the drops as they fell. Another tree beside it is of the deciduous variety, and a little bit shorter. A bush a few houses down on the left had pink flowers on it. In the yard of my neighbor to the immediate left, there is a tree which leans toward the north somewhat. I focused on the branches and imagined them without leaves, and then marveled at how much form those thin little wisps give to the tree.
There are so many things in life that I never even notice, little wondrous things. Before this minute, I couldn't have told anyone about that pine tree across the street. I didn't even know it existed, but I've lived in close proximity with it for the past four years. Four years of not even noticing another living thing that I shared air and rain and space with. I marveled in a form of quiet fascination and dismay at my own ego and self centeredness.
Later I was back in the house and it was dark because of the storm that moved in. In the hallway, it was silent. The air conditioners are all turned off today. It was just dark, and silent, and then the thunder rolled again, gently, and muffled. Nothing moved, and all was silent except for fading sound of the distant thunder. In the still half-light of the hall, I realized at that moment that peace isn't something you ever attain, it's just something you experience now and then.
Unused Audio Commentary By Howard Zinn And Noam Chomsky, Recorded Summer 2002 For The Fellowship Of The Ring (Platinum Series Extended Edition) Dvd. Part One.
By Jeff Alexander and Tom Bissell
If anyone reads this and can't continue life without more of it, here are links to the rest of it. It continues in part two of The Fellowship of the Ring, and then The Return of the King in four parts. I guess they never did The Two Towers.
2
3
4
5
6
Chomsky: The film opens with Galadriel speaking. “The world has changed,” she tells us, “I can feel it in the water.” She’s actually stealing a line from the non-human Treebeard. He says this to Merry and Pippin in The Two Towers, the novel. Already we can see who is going to be privileged by this narrative and who is not.
Zinn: Of course. “The world has changed.” I would argue that the main thing one learns when one watches this film is that the world hasn’t changed. Not at all.
Chomsky: We should examine carefully what’s being established here in the prologue. For one, the point is clearly made that the “master ring,” the so-called “one ring to rule them all,” is actually a rather elaborate justification for preemptive war on Mordor.
Zinn: I think that’s correct. Tolkien makes no attempt to hide the fact that rings are wielded by every other ethnic enclave in Middle Earth. The Dwarves have seven rings, the Elves have three. The race of Man has nine rings, for God’s sake. There are at least 19 rings floating around out there in Middle Earth, and yet Sauron’s ring is supposedly so terrible that no one can be allowed to wield it. Why?
Chomsky: Notice too that the “war” being waged here is, evidently, in the land of Mordor itself — at the very base of Mount Doom. These terrible armies of Sauron, these dreadful demonized Orcs, have not proved very successful at conquering the neighboring realms — if that is even what Sauron was seeking to do. It seems fairly far-fetched.
Zinn: And observe the map device here — how the map is itself completely Gondor-centric. Rohan and Gondor are treated as though they are the literal center of Middle Earth. Obviously this is because they have men living there. What of places such as Anfalas and Forlindon or Near Harad? One never really hears anything about places like that. And this so-called map casually reveals other places — the Lost Realm, the Northern Waste (lost to whom? wasted how? I ask) — but tells us nothing about them. It is as though the people who live in these places are despicable, and unworthy of mention. Who is producing this tale? What is their agenda? What are their interests and how are those interests being served by this portrayal? Questions we need to ask repeatedly.
Chomsky: And here comes Bilbo Baggins. Now, this is, to my mind, where the story begins to reveal its deeper truths. In the books we learn that Saruman was spying on Gandalf for years. And he wondered why Gandalf was traveling so incessantly to the Shire. As Tolkien later establishes, the Shire’s surfeit of pipe-weed is one of the major reasons for Gandalf’s continued visits.
Zinn: You view the conflict as being primarily about pipe-weed, do you not?
Chomsky: Well, what we see here, in Hobbiton, farmers tilling crops. The thing to remember is that the crop they are tilling is, in fact, pipe-weed, an addictive drug transported and sold throughout Middle Earth for great profit.
Zinn: This is absolutely established in the books. Pipe-weed is something all the Hobbits abuse. Gandalf is smoking it constantly. You are correct when you point out that Middle Earth depends on pipe-weed in some crucial sense, but I think you may be overstating its importance. Clearly the war is not based only on the Shire’s pipe-weed. Rohan and Gondor’s unceasing hunger for war is a larger culprit, I would say.
Chomsky: But without the pipe-weed, Middle Earth would fall apart. Saruman is trying to break up Gandalf’s pipe-weed ring. He’s trying to divert it.
Zinn: Well, you know, it would be manifestly difficult to believe in magic rings unless everyone was high on pipe-weed. So it is in Gandalf’s interest to keep Middle Earth hooked.
Chomsky: How do you think these wizards build gigantic towers and mighty fortresses? Where do they get the money? Keep in mind that I do not especially regard anyone, Saruman included, as an agent for progressivism. But obviously the pipe-weed operation that exists is the dominant influence in Middle Earth. It’s not some ludicrous magical ring.
Zinn: You’ve mentioned in the past the various flavors of pipe-weed that Hobbits have cultivated: Gold Leaf, Old Toby, etc.
Chomsky: Nothing better illustrates the sophistication of the smuggling ring than the fact that there are different brand names associated with the pipe-weed. Ah, here we have Gandalf smoking a pipe in his wagon — the first of many clues that link us to the hidden undercurrents of power.
Zinn: Gandalf is deeply implicated. That’s true. And of course the ring lore begins with him. He’s the one who leaks this news of the supposed evil ring.
Chomsky: Now here, just before Bilbo’s eleventy-first birthday party, we can see some of the symptoms of addiction. We are supposed to attribute Bilbo’s tiredness, his sensation of feeling like too little butter spread out on a piece of bread, to this magical ring he supposedly has. It’s clear something else may be at work, here.
Zinn: And soon Gandalf is delighting the Hobbits with his magic. Sauron’s magic is somehow terrible but Gandalf’s, you’ll notice, is wonderful.
Chomsky: And note how Gandalf’s magic is based on gunpowder, on explosions.
Zinn: Right.
Chomsky: And it is interesting, too, that Gandalf’s so-called magic is technological, and yet somehow technology seems to be what condemns Saruman’s enterprises, as well as those of the Orcs.
Zinn: Exactly.
Chomsky: But we will address that later. Here we have Pippin and Merry stealing a bunch of fireworks and setting them off. This might be closer to the true heart of the Hobbits.
Zinn: You mean the Hobbits’ natural inclination?
Chomsky: I think the Hobbits are criminals, essentially.
Zinn: It also seems incredibly irresponsible for Gandalf to have a firework that powerful just sitting in the back of his wagon.
Chomsky: More of his smoke and mirrors, yes? Gandalf conjures the dragon Smaug to scare the people.
Zinn: One can always delight the little people with explosions.
Chomsky: As long as they’re blowing up somewhere else. Now we come to Bilbo’s disappearance. Again, we have to question the validity of the ring, and the magic powers attributed to it. Did Bilbo Baggins really disappear at his party, or is this some kind of mass hallucination attributable to a group of intoxicated Hobbits? When forced to consider so-called magic compared to the hallucinatory properties of a known narcotic, Occam’s Razor would indicate the latter as a far more plausible explanation.
Zinn: I also think it is a spectacular display of bad manners to disappear at your own birthday party. And here, for the first time, Gandalf speaks to Bilbo about magic rings. Still, it is never clearly established why this one ring is so powerful. Everything used to justify that belief is legendary.
Chomsky: Gandalf is clearly wondering if it’s time to invoke his plan for the supposed revelation concerning the secret magic ring. Why now? Well, I think it’s because the people in Mordor — the Orcs, I’m speaking of — are starting to obtain some power, are starting to ask a little bit more from Middle Earth than Middle Earth has ever seen fit to give to them. And I don’t think it’s unreasonable for them to expect something back from Middle Earth. Of course, if that happened, the entire economy would be disrupted.
Zinn: The pipe-weed-based economy.
Chomsky: And, as you pointed out earlier, the military-industrial-complex that exists in Gondor. This constant state of alertness. This constant state of fear. And here Gandalf reveals his true nature.
Zinn: Indeed. Gandalf darkens the room and yells at poor Bilbo for rightfully accusing him of trying to steal his ring. It is abundantly obvious that Gandalf wants to steal the ring. But if he is caught with the ring himself, his pretext will dissolve. He needs to throw as much plausible deniability into his scheme as possible, which is why, later, he has Frodo carry the ring for him.
Chomsky: Gandalf knows the ring is powerless. It’s interesting that he attaches so much importance to it and yet will not pick it up himself. This is because he knows that merely possessing the worthless ring will not help his cause. It’s important to keep others thinking that it can. If Gandalf held the ring, he might be asked to do something with it. But its magic is nonexistent.
Zinn: Well, power needs to have its proxies. That way the damage is always deniable. As long as the Hobbits have the ring, no one will ever question the plot Gandalf has hatched. So here is the big scary ring, and all that happens when Gandalf moves to touch it is that he sees a big flaming eye. And notice it is a… different kind of eye — not like our eye.
Chomsky: Almost a cat-like eye.
Zinn: It’s on fire. Somehow being an on-fire eye is this terrible thing in the minds of those in Middle Earth. I think this is a way of telling others in Middle Earth to be ashamed of their eyes. And of course you see the Orcs’ eyes are all messed up, too. They’re this terrible color. And what does Gandalf tell Frodo about the ring? “Keep it secret. Keep it safe.”
Chomsky: “Let’s leave the most powerful object in all of Middle Earth with a weak little Hobbit, a race known for its chattering and intoxication, and tell him to keep it a secret.”
Zinn: Right. And here we receive our first glimpse of the supposedly dreadful Mordor, which actually looks like a fairly functioning place.
Chomsky: This type of city is most likely the best the Orcs can do if all they have are cliffs to grow on. It’s very impressive, in that sense.
Zinn: Especially considering the economic sanctions no doubt faced by Mordor. They must be dreadful. We see now that the Black Riders have been released, and they’re going after Frodo. The Black Riders. Of course they’re black. Everything evil is always black. And later Gandalf the Grey becomes Gandalf the White. Have you noticed that?
Chomsky: The most simplistic color symbolism.
Zinn: And the writing on the ring, we learn here, is Orcish — the so-called “black speech.” Orcish is evidently some spoliation of the language spoken in Rohan. This is what Tolkien says.
Chomsky: From what I understand, Orcish is a patois that the Orcs developed during their enslavement by Rohan, before they rebelled and left.
Zinn: Well, supposedly the Orcs were first bred by “the dark power of the north in the elder days.” Tolkien says that “Orc” comes from the Mannish word tark, which means “man of Gondor.”
Chomsky: Shameless really.
Zinn: Gandalf mentions the evil stirring in Mordor. That’s all he has to say. “It’s evil.” He doesn’t elaborate on what’s going on in Mordor, what the people are going through. They’re evil because they’re there.
Chomsky: I think the fact that we never actually see the enemy is quite damning. Then again, Gandalf is the greatest storyteller of all. He weaves the tales that strand Middle Earth in this state of perpetual conflict.
Zinn: He is celebrated on one hand as a great statesman, a wise man, and viewed by the people who understand the role that he actually plays as a dangerous lunatic and a war criminal. And you will notice that Gandalf’s war pitch hits its highest note when the Black Riders arrive in Hobbiton. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.
Chomsky: This is the Triumph of the Will.
Zinn: And now Frodo and Sam are joined by Merry and Pippin, as they finally escape the Shire. They’re being chased by the Black Riders. Again, if these Black Riders are so fearsome, and they can smell the ring so lividly, why don’t they ever seem able to find the Hobbits when they’re standing right next to them?
Chomsky: Well, they’re on horseback.
Zinn: Right.
Chomsky: This episode in Bree should cause us to ask, too, how much Frodo knows about the conspiracy. He seems to be piecing it together a little bit. I think at first he’s an unwitting participant, fooled by Gandalf’s propaganda.
Zinn: I’m much more suspicious of Frodo than you are. I’ve always viewed him as one of the most malevolent actors in this drama, precisely because of how he abets people like Gandalf. He uses a fake name, Mr. Underhill, just as Gandalf goes by several names: Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim, the White Rider. Strider is also Aragorn, is also Estel, is also Elessar, is also Dunadan. He has all these identities.
Chomsky: We call those aliases today.
Zinn: But is Sauron ever anything but Sauron? Is Saruman ever anything but Saruman?
Chomsky: And now, with Frodo in the midst of a hallucinogenic, paranoid state, we meet Strider.
Zinn: Note that the first thing he starts talking about is the ring. “That is no trinket you carry.” A very telling irony, that. It is the kind of irony that Shakespeare would use. It is something Iago might say. And did you hear that? “Sauron the Deceiver.” That is what Strider, the ranger with multiple names, calls Sauron. A ranger. I believe today we call them serial killers.
Chomsky: Or drug smugglers.
Zinn: And notice how Strider characterizes the Black Riders. “Neither living nor dead.” Why, that’s a really useful enemy to have.
Chomsky: Yes. In this way you can never verify their existence, and yet they’re horribly terrifying. We should not overlook the fact that Middle Earth is in a cold war at this moment, locked in perpetual conflict. Strider’s rhetoric serves to keep fear alive.
Zinn: You’ve spoken to me before about Mordor’s lack of access to the mineral wealth that the Dwarves control.
Chomsky: If we’re going to get into the socio-economic reasons why certain structures develop in certain cultures… it’s mainly geographical. We have Orcs in Mordor — trapped, with no mineral resources — hemmed in by the Ash Mountains, where the “free peoples” of Middle Earth can put a city, like Osgiliath, and effectively keep the border closed.
Zinn: Don’t forget the Black Gate. The Black Gate, which, as Tolkien points out, was built by Gondor. And now we jump to the Orcs chopping down the trees in Isengard.
Chomsky: A terrible thing the Orcs do here, isn’t it? They destroy nature. But again, what have we seen, time and time again?
Zinn: The Orcs have no resources. They’re desperate.
Chomsky: Desperate people driven to do desperate things.
Zinn: Desperate to compete with the economic powerhouses of Rohan and Gondor.
Chomsky: Who really knows their motive? Maybe this is a means to an end. And while that might not be the best philosophy in the world, it makes the race of Man in no way superior. They’re going to great lengths to hold onto their power. Two cultures locked in conflict over power, with one culture clearly suffering a great deal. I think sharing power and resources would have been the wisest approach, but Rohan and Gondor have shown no interest in doing so. Sometimes, revolution must be —
Zinn: Mistakes are often —
Chomsky: Blood must be shed. I forget what Thomas Jefferson —
Zinn: He said that blood was the —
Chomsky: The blood of tyrants —
Zinn: The blood of tyrants —
Chomsky: — waters the tree of —
Zinn: — revolution.
Chomsky: — freedom. Or revolution. Something like that.
Zinn: I think that’s actually very, very close.
If anyone reads this and can't continue life without more of it, here are links to the rest of it. It continues in part two of The Fellowship of the Ring, and then The Return of the King in four parts. I guess they never did The Two Towers.
2
3
4
5
6
Chomsky: The film opens with Galadriel speaking. “The world has changed,” she tells us, “I can feel it in the water.” She’s actually stealing a line from the non-human Treebeard. He says this to Merry and Pippin in The Two Towers, the novel. Already we can see who is going to be privileged by this narrative and who is not.
Zinn: Of course. “The world has changed.” I would argue that the main thing one learns when one watches this film is that the world hasn’t changed. Not at all.
Chomsky: We should examine carefully what’s being established here in the prologue. For one, the point is clearly made that the “master ring,” the so-called “one ring to rule them all,” is actually a rather elaborate justification for preemptive war on Mordor.
Zinn: I think that’s correct. Tolkien makes no attempt to hide the fact that rings are wielded by every other ethnic enclave in Middle Earth. The Dwarves have seven rings, the Elves have three. The race of Man has nine rings, for God’s sake. There are at least 19 rings floating around out there in Middle Earth, and yet Sauron’s ring is supposedly so terrible that no one can be allowed to wield it. Why?
Chomsky: Notice too that the “war” being waged here is, evidently, in the land of Mordor itself — at the very base of Mount Doom. These terrible armies of Sauron, these dreadful demonized Orcs, have not proved very successful at conquering the neighboring realms — if that is even what Sauron was seeking to do. It seems fairly far-fetched.
Zinn: And observe the map device here — how the map is itself completely Gondor-centric. Rohan and Gondor are treated as though they are the literal center of Middle Earth. Obviously this is because they have men living there. What of places such as Anfalas and Forlindon or Near Harad? One never really hears anything about places like that. And this so-called map casually reveals other places — the Lost Realm, the Northern Waste (lost to whom? wasted how? I ask) — but tells us nothing about them. It is as though the people who live in these places are despicable, and unworthy of mention. Who is producing this tale? What is their agenda? What are their interests and how are those interests being served by this portrayal? Questions we need to ask repeatedly.
Chomsky: And here comes Bilbo Baggins. Now, this is, to my mind, where the story begins to reveal its deeper truths. In the books we learn that Saruman was spying on Gandalf for years. And he wondered why Gandalf was traveling so incessantly to the Shire. As Tolkien later establishes, the Shire’s surfeit of pipe-weed is one of the major reasons for Gandalf’s continued visits.
Zinn: You view the conflict as being primarily about pipe-weed, do you not?
Chomsky: Well, what we see here, in Hobbiton, farmers tilling crops. The thing to remember is that the crop they are tilling is, in fact, pipe-weed, an addictive drug transported and sold throughout Middle Earth for great profit.
Zinn: This is absolutely established in the books. Pipe-weed is something all the Hobbits abuse. Gandalf is smoking it constantly. You are correct when you point out that Middle Earth depends on pipe-weed in some crucial sense, but I think you may be overstating its importance. Clearly the war is not based only on the Shire’s pipe-weed. Rohan and Gondor’s unceasing hunger for war is a larger culprit, I would say.
Chomsky: But without the pipe-weed, Middle Earth would fall apart. Saruman is trying to break up Gandalf’s pipe-weed ring. He’s trying to divert it.
Zinn: Well, you know, it would be manifestly difficult to believe in magic rings unless everyone was high on pipe-weed. So it is in Gandalf’s interest to keep Middle Earth hooked.
Chomsky: How do you think these wizards build gigantic towers and mighty fortresses? Where do they get the money? Keep in mind that I do not especially regard anyone, Saruman included, as an agent for progressivism. But obviously the pipe-weed operation that exists is the dominant influence in Middle Earth. It’s not some ludicrous magical ring.
Zinn: You’ve mentioned in the past the various flavors of pipe-weed that Hobbits have cultivated: Gold Leaf, Old Toby, etc.
Chomsky: Nothing better illustrates the sophistication of the smuggling ring than the fact that there are different brand names associated with the pipe-weed. Ah, here we have Gandalf smoking a pipe in his wagon — the first of many clues that link us to the hidden undercurrents of power.
Zinn: Gandalf is deeply implicated. That’s true. And of course the ring lore begins with him. He’s the one who leaks this news of the supposed evil ring.
Chomsky: Now here, just before Bilbo’s eleventy-first birthday party, we can see some of the symptoms of addiction. We are supposed to attribute Bilbo’s tiredness, his sensation of feeling like too little butter spread out on a piece of bread, to this magical ring he supposedly has. It’s clear something else may be at work, here.
Zinn: And soon Gandalf is delighting the Hobbits with his magic. Sauron’s magic is somehow terrible but Gandalf’s, you’ll notice, is wonderful.
Chomsky: And note how Gandalf’s magic is based on gunpowder, on explosions.
Zinn: Right.
Chomsky: And it is interesting, too, that Gandalf’s so-called magic is technological, and yet somehow technology seems to be what condemns Saruman’s enterprises, as well as those of the Orcs.
Zinn: Exactly.
Chomsky: But we will address that later. Here we have Pippin and Merry stealing a bunch of fireworks and setting them off. This might be closer to the true heart of the Hobbits.
Zinn: You mean the Hobbits’ natural inclination?
Chomsky: I think the Hobbits are criminals, essentially.
Zinn: It also seems incredibly irresponsible for Gandalf to have a firework that powerful just sitting in the back of his wagon.
Chomsky: More of his smoke and mirrors, yes? Gandalf conjures the dragon Smaug to scare the people.
Zinn: One can always delight the little people with explosions.
Chomsky: As long as they’re blowing up somewhere else. Now we come to Bilbo’s disappearance. Again, we have to question the validity of the ring, and the magic powers attributed to it. Did Bilbo Baggins really disappear at his party, or is this some kind of mass hallucination attributable to a group of intoxicated Hobbits? When forced to consider so-called magic compared to the hallucinatory properties of a known narcotic, Occam’s Razor would indicate the latter as a far more plausible explanation.
Zinn: I also think it is a spectacular display of bad manners to disappear at your own birthday party. And here, for the first time, Gandalf speaks to Bilbo about magic rings. Still, it is never clearly established why this one ring is so powerful. Everything used to justify that belief is legendary.
Chomsky: Gandalf is clearly wondering if it’s time to invoke his plan for the supposed revelation concerning the secret magic ring. Why now? Well, I think it’s because the people in Mordor — the Orcs, I’m speaking of — are starting to obtain some power, are starting to ask a little bit more from Middle Earth than Middle Earth has ever seen fit to give to them. And I don’t think it’s unreasonable for them to expect something back from Middle Earth. Of course, if that happened, the entire economy would be disrupted.
Zinn: The pipe-weed-based economy.
Chomsky: And, as you pointed out earlier, the military-industrial-complex that exists in Gondor. This constant state of alertness. This constant state of fear. And here Gandalf reveals his true nature.
Zinn: Indeed. Gandalf darkens the room and yells at poor Bilbo for rightfully accusing him of trying to steal his ring. It is abundantly obvious that Gandalf wants to steal the ring. But if he is caught with the ring himself, his pretext will dissolve. He needs to throw as much plausible deniability into his scheme as possible, which is why, later, he has Frodo carry the ring for him.
Chomsky: Gandalf knows the ring is powerless. It’s interesting that he attaches so much importance to it and yet will not pick it up himself. This is because he knows that merely possessing the worthless ring will not help his cause. It’s important to keep others thinking that it can. If Gandalf held the ring, he might be asked to do something with it. But its magic is nonexistent.
Zinn: Well, power needs to have its proxies. That way the damage is always deniable. As long as the Hobbits have the ring, no one will ever question the plot Gandalf has hatched. So here is the big scary ring, and all that happens when Gandalf moves to touch it is that he sees a big flaming eye. And notice it is a… different kind of eye — not like our eye.
Chomsky: Almost a cat-like eye.
Zinn: It’s on fire. Somehow being an on-fire eye is this terrible thing in the minds of those in Middle Earth. I think this is a way of telling others in Middle Earth to be ashamed of their eyes. And of course you see the Orcs’ eyes are all messed up, too. They’re this terrible color. And what does Gandalf tell Frodo about the ring? “Keep it secret. Keep it safe.”
Chomsky: “Let’s leave the most powerful object in all of Middle Earth with a weak little Hobbit, a race known for its chattering and intoxication, and tell him to keep it a secret.”
Zinn: Right. And here we receive our first glimpse of the supposedly dreadful Mordor, which actually looks like a fairly functioning place.
Chomsky: This type of city is most likely the best the Orcs can do if all they have are cliffs to grow on. It’s very impressive, in that sense.
Zinn: Especially considering the economic sanctions no doubt faced by Mordor. They must be dreadful. We see now that the Black Riders have been released, and they’re going after Frodo. The Black Riders. Of course they’re black. Everything evil is always black. And later Gandalf the Grey becomes Gandalf the White. Have you noticed that?
Chomsky: The most simplistic color symbolism.
Zinn: And the writing on the ring, we learn here, is Orcish — the so-called “black speech.” Orcish is evidently some spoliation of the language spoken in Rohan. This is what Tolkien says.
Chomsky: From what I understand, Orcish is a patois that the Orcs developed during their enslavement by Rohan, before they rebelled and left.
Zinn: Well, supposedly the Orcs were first bred by “the dark power of the north in the elder days.” Tolkien says that “Orc” comes from the Mannish word tark, which means “man of Gondor.”
Chomsky: Shameless really.
Zinn: Gandalf mentions the evil stirring in Mordor. That’s all he has to say. “It’s evil.” He doesn’t elaborate on what’s going on in Mordor, what the people are going through. They’re evil because they’re there.
Chomsky: I think the fact that we never actually see the enemy is quite damning. Then again, Gandalf is the greatest storyteller of all. He weaves the tales that strand Middle Earth in this state of perpetual conflict.
Zinn: He is celebrated on one hand as a great statesman, a wise man, and viewed by the people who understand the role that he actually plays as a dangerous lunatic and a war criminal. And you will notice that Gandalf’s war pitch hits its highest note when the Black Riders arrive in Hobbiton. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.
Chomsky: This is the Triumph of the Will.
Zinn: And now Frodo and Sam are joined by Merry and Pippin, as they finally escape the Shire. They’re being chased by the Black Riders. Again, if these Black Riders are so fearsome, and they can smell the ring so lividly, why don’t they ever seem able to find the Hobbits when they’re standing right next to them?
Chomsky: Well, they’re on horseback.
Zinn: Right.
Chomsky: This episode in Bree should cause us to ask, too, how much Frodo knows about the conspiracy. He seems to be piecing it together a little bit. I think at first he’s an unwitting participant, fooled by Gandalf’s propaganda.
Zinn: I’m much more suspicious of Frodo than you are. I’ve always viewed him as one of the most malevolent actors in this drama, precisely because of how he abets people like Gandalf. He uses a fake name, Mr. Underhill, just as Gandalf goes by several names: Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim, the White Rider. Strider is also Aragorn, is also Estel, is also Elessar, is also Dunadan. He has all these identities.
Chomsky: We call those aliases today.
Zinn: But is Sauron ever anything but Sauron? Is Saruman ever anything but Saruman?
Chomsky: And now, with Frodo in the midst of a hallucinogenic, paranoid state, we meet Strider.
Zinn: Note that the first thing he starts talking about is the ring. “That is no trinket you carry.” A very telling irony, that. It is the kind of irony that Shakespeare would use. It is something Iago might say. And did you hear that? “Sauron the Deceiver.” That is what Strider, the ranger with multiple names, calls Sauron. A ranger. I believe today we call them serial killers.
Chomsky: Or drug smugglers.
Zinn: And notice how Strider characterizes the Black Riders. “Neither living nor dead.” Why, that’s a really useful enemy to have.
Chomsky: Yes. In this way you can never verify their existence, and yet they’re horribly terrifying. We should not overlook the fact that Middle Earth is in a cold war at this moment, locked in perpetual conflict. Strider’s rhetoric serves to keep fear alive.
Zinn: You’ve spoken to me before about Mordor’s lack of access to the mineral wealth that the Dwarves control.
Chomsky: If we’re going to get into the socio-economic reasons why certain structures develop in certain cultures… it’s mainly geographical. We have Orcs in Mordor — trapped, with no mineral resources — hemmed in by the Ash Mountains, where the “free peoples” of Middle Earth can put a city, like Osgiliath, and effectively keep the border closed.
Zinn: Don’t forget the Black Gate. The Black Gate, which, as Tolkien points out, was built by Gondor. And now we jump to the Orcs chopping down the trees in Isengard.
Chomsky: A terrible thing the Orcs do here, isn’t it? They destroy nature. But again, what have we seen, time and time again?
Zinn: The Orcs have no resources. They’re desperate.
Chomsky: Desperate people driven to do desperate things.
Zinn: Desperate to compete with the economic powerhouses of Rohan and Gondor.
Chomsky: Who really knows their motive? Maybe this is a means to an end. And while that might not be the best philosophy in the world, it makes the race of Man in no way superior. They’re going to great lengths to hold onto their power. Two cultures locked in conflict over power, with one culture clearly suffering a great deal. I think sharing power and resources would have been the wisest approach, but Rohan and Gondor have shown no interest in doing so. Sometimes, revolution must be —
Zinn: Mistakes are often —
Chomsky: Blood must be shed. I forget what Thomas Jefferson —
Zinn: He said that blood was the —
Chomsky: The blood of tyrants —
Zinn: The blood of tyrants —
Chomsky: — waters the tree of —
Zinn: — revolution.
Chomsky: — freedom. Or revolution. Something like that.
Zinn: I think that’s actually very, very close.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Song lyrics
First things first. I passed an old lady today when I was out walking, with her head buried in a book, just like I'm always doing. But I didn't have my book with me! I had decided to just listen to music today as I walked. Dammit! That would have been perfect, to pass a fellow Book Walker. I imagine that we would have nodded casually to each other, both of us content in our own knowledge of the secret to paradise on Earth.
So anywho. As I said a few sentences ago, I was out walking today and listening to an old mp3 player, one that had been lost for about 4 years. I found it when I was digging through the dark depths of the corners of my room the other day, looking for something or another. It has a bunch of old Pearl Jam songs on it that I haven't heard in years, along with a bunch of other music I had been really into at the time. I'm not supposed to post song lyrics here according to my own rule, but these ones are important in that I identify strongly with them. And after all, it's all about me, isn't it? No? It isn't? Well, I can pretend.
These are all Pearl Jam songs. This first one pretty much speaks for itself. And for me, too.
"Wishlist"
I wish I was a neutron bomb for once I could go off
I wish I was a sacrifice but somehow still lived on
I wish I was a sentimental ornament you hung on
The Christmas tree I wish I was the star that went on top
I wish I was the evidence I wish I was the grounds
For 50 million hands upraised and open toward the sky
I wish I was a sailor with someone who waited for me
I wish I was as fortunate as fortunate as me
I wish I was a messenger and all the news was good
I wish I was the full moon shining off a Camaro's hood
I wish I was an alien at home behind the sun
I wish I was the souvenir you kept your house key on
I wish I was the pedal brake that you depended on
I wish I was the verb 'to trust' and never let you down
I wish I was a radio song, the one that you turned up
I wish I wish I wish I wish I guess it never stops.
------------------------------------------------------------
I didn't realize this one was about suicide until today. The guy in the song pretty much describes me, all except the part at the end when he checks out. I've spent far too much time in my life thinking about it, though. And I've actually done the sitting in the car bit, listening to the radio, and watching people as they arrive home and pull up to their houses at the end of the day.
"Sleight of Hand"
Routine was the theme. He'd wake up, wash, and pour himself into uniform.
Something he hadn't imagined being.
As the merging traffic passed, he found himself staring down at his own hands.
Not remembering the change. Not recalling the plan. Was it?
He was okay, but wondering about wandering.
Was it age, by consequence, or was he moved by sleight of hand?
Mondays were made to fall. Lost on a road he knew by heart.
It was like a book he read in his sleep. Endlessly.
Sometimes he hid in the radio, watching others pull into their homes.
While he was drifting.
On a line of his own. Off the line of the side. By the by.
As dirt turned to sand. As if moved by sleight of hand.
When he reached the shore of his clip on world, he resurfaced to the norm.
Organized his few things. His coat and keys.
And he knew realizations would have to wait.
Till he had more time. More time.
A time to dream to himself. He waves goodbye to his self.
I'll see you on the other side.
Another man moved by slight of hand.
------------------------------------------------------------
This one is about addiction. When you're high, truly, nothing is as it seems. It's a big, beautiful lie.
"Nothing as it Seems"
Don't feel like home. He's a little out.
And all these words alone, it's nothing like your poem.
Putting in. Inputting in. Don't feel like methadone.
A scratching voice all alone. It's nothing like your baritone.
It's nothing as it seems. The little that he needs, it's home.
The little that he sees is nothing, he concedes. It's home.
One uninvited chromosome. A blanket like the ozone.
It's nothing as it seems. All that he needs, it's home.
The little that he frees is nothing, he believes.
Saving up a sunny day. Something maybe two tone.
Anything of his own. A chip off the corner stone.
Who's kidding? Rainy day. A one way ticket headstone.
Occupations overthrown. A whisper through a megaphone.
It's nothing as it seems. The little that he needs, it's home.
The little that he sees is nothing he conceives. It's home.
And all that he frees, a little bittersweet... it's home.
It's nothing as it seems. The little that you see, it's home.
------------------------------------------------------------
And this one is about love and pain in relationships, with a lot of dysfunction thrown in. Mostly I identify with the pleading pain. The implied violence, abuse and control drama is something I've seen a lot of in other relationships.
"Go"
Oh please don't go out on me,
Don't go on me now
Never acted up before,
Don't go on me now
I swear I never took it for granted,
Just thought of it now
Suppose I abused you,
Just passing it on
Once passive, servile,
Now you're getting sharp
Moving oh so swiftly,
With such disarm
I pulled the covers over head,
Should've pulled the alarm
Turned to my nemesis,
A fool not a fucking god
Please...
Don't go on me
Please...
Go... fuck... blood... touch... burn...
Oh... time... tunnel vision... search... turn...
Please, please, please...
Don't go on me
Please...
Don't you want me...
Don't go on me
Please...
Don't go on me
I'll add more as I think of them.
So anywho. As I said a few sentences ago, I was out walking today and listening to an old mp3 player, one that had been lost for about 4 years. I found it when I was digging through the dark depths of the corners of my room the other day, looking for something or another. It has a bunch of old Pearl Jam songs on it that I haven't heard in years, along with a bunch of other music I had been really into at the time. I'm not supposed to post song lyrics here according to my own rule, but these ones are important in that I identify strongly with them. And after all, it's all about me, isn't it? No? It isn't? Well, I can pretend.
These are all Pearl Jam songs. This first one pretty much speaks for itself. And for me, too.
"Wishlist"
I wish I was a neutron bomb for once I could go off
I wish I was a sacrifice but somehow still lived on
I wish I was a sentimental ornament you hung on
The Christmas tree I wish I was the star that went on top
I wish I was the evidence I wish I was the grounds
For 50 million hands upraised and open toward the sky
I wish I was a sailor with someone who waited for me
I wish I was as fortunate as fortunate as me
I wish I was a messenger and all the news was good
I wish I was the full moon shining off a Camaro's hood
I wish I was an alien at home behind the sun
I wish I was the souvenir you kept your house key on
I wish I was the pedal brake that you depended on
I wish I was the verb 'to trust' and never let you down
I wish I was a radio song, the one that you turned up
I wish I wish I wish I wish I guess it never stops.
------------------------------------------------------------
I didn't realize this one was about suicide until today. The guy in the song pretty much describes me, all except the part at the end when he checks out. I've spent far too much time in my life thinking about it, though. And I've actually done the sitting in the car bit, listening to the radio, and watching people as they arrive home and pull up to their houses at the end of the day.
"Sleight of Hand"
Routine was the theme. He'd wake up, wash, and pour himself into uniform.
Something he hadn't imagined being.
As the merging traffic passed, he found himself staring down at his own hands.
Not remembering the change. Not recalling the plan. Was it?
He was okay, but wondering about wandering.
Was it age, by consequence, or was he moved by sleight of hand?
Mondays were made to fall. Lost on a road he knew by heart.
It was like a book he read in his sleep. Endlessly.
Sometimes he hid in the radio, watching others pull into their homes.
While he was drifting.
On a line of his own. Off the line of the side. By the by.
As dirt turned to sand. As if moved by sleight of hand.
When he reached the shore of his clip on world, he resurfaced to the norm.
Organized his few things. His coat and keys.
And he knew realizations would have to wait.
Till he had more time. More time.
A time to dream to himself. He waves goodbye to his self.
I'll see you on the other side.
Another man moved by slight of hand.
------------------------------------------------------------
This one is about addiction. When you're high, truly, nothing is as it seems. It's a big, beautiful lie.
"Nothing as it Seems"
Don't feel like home. He's a little out.
And all these words alone, it's nothing like your poem.
Putting in. Inputting in. Don't feel like methadone.
A scratching voice all alone. It's nothing like your baritone.
It's nothing as it seems. The little that he needs, it's home.
The little that he sees is nothing, he concedes. It's home.
One uninvited chromosome. A blanket like the ozone.
It's nothing as it seems. All that he needs, it's home.
The little that he frees is nothing, he believes.
Saving up a sunny day. Something maybe two tone.
Anything of his own. A chip off the corner stone.
Who's kidding? Rainy day. A one way ticket headstone.
Occupations overthrown. A whisper through a megaphone.
It's nothing as it seems. The little that he needs, it's home.
The little that he sees is nothing he conceives. It's home.
And all that he frees, a little bittersweet... it's home.
It's nothing as it seems. The little that you see, it's home.
------------------------------------------------------------
And this one is about love and pain in relationships, with a lot of dysfunction thrown in. Mostly I identify with the pleading pain. The implied violence, abuse and control drama is something I've seen a lot of in other relationships.
"Go"
Oh please don't go out on me,
Don't go on me now
Never acted up before,
Don't go on me now
I swear I never took it for granted,
Just thought of it now
Suppose I abused you,
Just passing it on
Once passive, servile,
Now you're getting sharp
Moving oh so swiftly,
With such disarm
I pulled the covers over head,
Should've pulled the alarm
Turned to my nemesis,
A fool not a fucking god
Please...
Don't go on me
Please...
Go... fuck... blood... touch... burn...
Oh... time... tunnel vision... search... turn...
Please, please, please...
Don't go on me
Please...
Don't you want me...
Don't go on me
Please...
Don't go on me
I'll add more as I think of them.
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