It's been a while since I've chosen to express my written word electronically. Sure, every now and then I post a cheeky picture or a few terse statements, but for the most part I have chosen to keep my abstractions, daily musings and larger philosophical inquires confined to paper. I don't know why and I do know why. A lot of it has to do with time and convenience- I am often on the computer with a limited amount of time and attention. I don't want to cheapen the thoughts I have by writing out a few sentences and aborting and in the first trimester to make it to class or take a shower or hop on the bicycle. Or trying to eek out a complicated thread of inquiry in a few trite and pregnant sentences that ultimately end up cheapening the amount of thought I have given to certain subjects.
Most of the time, I feel a certain self-consciousness and skepticism about publishing my ideas on the internet because of their accessibility. I like to think that I write for myself. And I know that when I write on this page, someone will ultimately read what I have to say.
If I follow this unto its conclusion, though, I realize that the only difference between writing on a page and writing on the computer is the immediacy and guarantee that a second party will read what I have to say. Ultimately, in a small part of my being, I hope that someone will read the volume of "journals" ( hate the term- "ohhh... it my jouuuurrrnallll".. but you get what I mean). I mean, shit, by the end of my days, whenever that may be, I will be certain to have a small library. I think every person who writes, even the most private of us who swear to its personal content, hope and know that someone will read what they have recorded at some point. It's a mortality complex- a way to immortalize the things you have encountered, conjured, spilled, expunged.
So, you know, electronic or not, it really is not all that different. I do feel more connected to a pen and paper than a keyboard, though. There's no backspace in manual writing (and fuck you, I don't have an eraser- never write in pencil. Messy buggers).
I've been having trouble sleeping lately, the past week and a half to be exact. It seems I wake up every couple of hours and look at the clock only to find that time has slowed down even more and I still have hours until the auto-brew on my coffee pot clicks on. Psychologists and sleep experts say that one should use their bed only for naps, sleep and sex, but that poses a problem for someone like me who lives in a one-bedroom house and has very limited seating. I like reading and writing in bed. I suppose I could get a cot and make a mock bed in my living room- but that just seems like an inefficient use of the limited space I have- not to mention neurotic. There is the possibility that I am drinking too much caffeine, coffee, in the morning. I have felt slightly off from drinking too much in the morning- acidic stomach, heady, etc. But it's so good! And I love the routine. I just started using the auto-brew-alarm on my coffee pot. It's the only alarm clock that I have found that actually gets me out of bed. Go figure. I just need to find one that will pull me shots of espresso and sit on my nightstand... or squeeze me fresh oj... or have sex with me. (Don't think Tim would like that...)
The most plausible explanation for my shitty-wake-sleep state is the inconsistency of my sleep schedule. Workin' on it.
Ah, Haiti. Disaster. Death. Devastation. Poverty. The other day I was at the gym and an image flashed on the screen of riots in the streets over supplies and relief goods. It was violent, scary. The desperation was tangible. It made me nauseous and sad and panicky to even watch the footage- I admit that I had to look away. I feel so conflicted about the whole thing- the news coverage, the calls for relief and money and help, the attention. I truly believe that it is up to the rest of the world to help one another when disaster strikes- and I know that it takes money and supplies and energy to help and rebuild. But I cannot help but see the hypocrisy in the Mediocracy and the Government.
I mean, western capitalism (Neoliberalism) and American foreign policy is largely responsible for the pre-quake state of the Haitian nation. The poverty and lack of infrastructure that existed before the quake facilitated the magnitude of disaster caused by the quake. Of course 70,000+ people died- most of them live in houses made from refuse. Many never had running water, sanitation, health care or food to begin with. Worst of all, Haitian immigrants are one of the most, if not the most, rejected of attempted immigrants into the United States. Prior to the quake, Haitian immigrants were denied access to the US because of the "threat" of aids. Infected or not.
So now this disaster strikes and everyone, the government notwithstanding, is up in arms about relief efforts and helping these people?
....Hypocritical? Little bit? Throw money at them.. as long as they stay OVER THERE. Huh. It just seems that if we have a responsibility to our neighboring nations, it shouldn't take a disaster of this magnitude to garner the attention and aid necessary for these people to live. Especially if our foreign policy is to blame for the squalor in the first place.
All ethics aside, though, I do have to admit that I am impressed with the amount of response that has been generated by non-profits and the government. Hypocritical or not, money and supplies are what is going to help the survivors OVER THERE and for most of us, money is all we can afford to give to the relief effort. I wonder if transportation to US hospitals for the moderately-to-severely wounded is happening? Or how much that would help?
I feel different- I am different. I have changed a lot in the last six months. In two days I will celebrate three months of sobriety, three plus months of committed therapy, three plus months of a new direction in my life. And not just a new physical direction. In fact, I am in the place I started... call it full circle. Zero degrees. I am no longer in flight. I am sitting. Looking around. Not interpreting, analyzing. My heart is beating and for the first time, possibly in my life, it is not struggling. I am gaining confidence. My tides are not extreme. I have love and I can give it. I am only slightly afraid. I am content. I feel centered. Comfortable to explore new things because I know that the things that matter- a safe space, friends, family, my lover, are with me. I am not seeking to be great at something, something, something. I am studying what I love, writing about what I know, creating and writing about what I know and what I love. Not trying to be anything but me. Not trying to "figure anything out" or "working on myself". Just livin', man.
Kitters and I have been spending a lot of time together. We communicate with one another via eye contact, gestures. She responds to my voice and seems to know when I am around or not- even if she cannot see me. Anyone who says animals do not have a soul.. or compares animal intelligence to human intelligence could not have possibly cohabitated with an animal.
Had my first real illustration class yesterday with D. Christiana- I am inspired by his enthusiasm and honesty toward his student's creations. Nearly every class, I record a truism or two in my sketchbook that escapes his wise mouth and sheds some light on creating and the creation process. Christiana seems to take a more organic approach to illustration and teaching- that is, fostering the ideas and skills we already possess and proselytizing modes of teasing out our creativity. A loosening of our censorship and linear thinking. I am looking forward to evolving in my own artistic processes! I can see the improvement, already.
A short note on the sunflowers: Three plants, each taller than 3 feet, with numerous flowers, buds, beginnings. I planted these during my lowest point in September- seeds in leftover fast-food styrofoam cups. Now they are so big, I have to prop up the shoots and stems with sturdy branches or the weight of the flowers will topple them over. How's that for growth?
Hmmm. Lastly, I love Neko Case. No seriously, I love her. And her music. Thanks, Neko.
