I don't communicate well.
I mean, I arguably write well, but that's not actually communicating.
I mean technically it is but this is actually proving my point.
You know I love. I love strongly and deeply and completely. There is not a person in my life who I don't feel some love for. Even the ones I hate. Especially the ones I hate.
I'm even in love with several of you. And it's all fake kisses and cowardice, bad timing and being the wrong person. It's fairies and butterflies watched through stolen eyes. It's angels made of earth and meat reached for with claws of bone but never touched. Souls dancing the most temporary and therefore beautiful of moments.
The above is an example.
We don't speak the same language you and I. I learned yours. I do everything in my power to do so. I try so very hard to. I generally do.
I've been told I'm hard to understand. That I don't talk or am passive aggressive. I've been made fun of for word choices or autoresponses I use. I'm not speaking your language. I can understand yours but I can't get you to understand mine.
Well... sometimes. Kind of.
My constant use of metaphors isn't an attempt at poetry. It's literally how I think.
It's entireties.
It's paradoxes.
It's fantasies.
Feeling and thought and metaphor and image aren't different. They're all a colossal web of intertwined meaning. It's madness and imagination crashing in waves. It's fear and love, pain and pleasure, joy and sorrow blended into a paste filling my skull.
But how do you translate that? So much of it is intuition and energy. It's spirits and goblins and golems. It's a fairy tale played out in real time. The reality of reality is sideways.
And you ask me to explain what that means. But you don't speak the language. You can't examine it with the lens require. How could you? How can I tell you the smell of your joy? How can I tell you the fire you ignite with simple words? How can I when you can't feel it burning in your hands?
I am Madness.
I am Shaman.
I am the construction of an age that never existed. I'm pieced together from pieces I've stolen from all of you. I'm welding together through naked will and a handful of poisons in tiny capsules on my shelf.
Talking can be hard. Because it takes so much energy to translate. And I prepare myself for every possible way you'll react. I'm never entirely right or entirely wrong. But it means I have hurt people. A lot.
I've ghosted.
I've cut deeper with silence then I ever could with knives.
I've come across as passive aggressive because I am so deeply frustrated with myself and my inability to process or communicate so I stop talking or ignore my own needs.
I hate it. But I can't really change it. I know cause I've tried. Gods how I've tried.
I wish I spoke your language.
I wish I could be what you need me to be.
But I am a hurricane in people clothes.
I'm a beast following smells.
And I don't communicate well.
Thursday, August 18, 2016
Tuesday, August 16, 2016
Ramblings
I'm writing this purely out of jealousy.
A feeling that is generally so rare for me that I don't know what it feels like. It is not one of mine my prime motivators. It's something I generally have contempt for on the deepest possible level.
And yet... Here we are.
A dear friend wrote some pretty words. Two days in a row he wrote some pretty words, and as I read them I felt the words welling up in me.
But they are not pretty.
They are words about transmuted flesh and the severed hands of God.
They are rusted iron knives and axes made of stolen bone.
They are carapaces of jade hiding the madness bloated wreck of what should have been a heart.
They're words about love. About a play. About the pain and expense involved in survival.
I fell in love. As I usually do. Warm feeling slipping in the cracks in my armor. Someone who made me not just want to be but feel like a better person.
I wrote a poem for them. But I didn't show them. Not really. I threw it into the digital tide. I hurled it into the ether. Because I wanted them to see it, but I was too cowardly to show it. Something that should have been fake, was fake, had suddenly become terrifying, heart-wrenchingly real.
Love is easy. It's cheap and fast and overwhelms like the salt in those enlarged fries that you know you don't need but bought anyway. But you'll always come back. Cause you're hungry and love is food.
What's hard is everything else.
Logistics. Attraction. Relationship. Homemaking. Scheduling.
That's the rub. That's where it all falls apart. And the last one Compatibility.
That's the kick in the teeth. That's the severed hand of god.
They are earth and horse and flowers.
Whilst I am a hurricane of rusted metal and jagged bone crammed into a defective meatsuit.
I am ever so slowly exploding. I have little more to offer than madness and love. And that will never be enough.
And that's okay. It'll all be okay. Cause one way or another...
We're all just stardust in the end.
A feeling that is generally so rare for me that I don't know what it feels like. It is not one of mine my prime motivators. It's something I generally have contempt for on the deepest possible level.
And yet... Here we are.
A dear friend wrote some pretty words. Two days in a row he wrote some pretty words, and as I read them I felt the words welling up in me.
But they are not pretty.
They are words about transmuted flesh and the severed hands of God.
They are rusted iron knives and axes made of stolen bone.
They are carapaces of jade hiding the madness bloated wreck of what should have been a heart.
They're words about love. About a play. About the pain and expense involved in survival.
I fell in love. As I usually do. Warm feeling slipping in the cracks in my armor. Someone who made me not just want to be but feel like a better person.
I wrote a poem for them. But I didn't show them. Not really. I threw it into the digital tide. I hurled it into the ether. Because I wanted them to see it, but I was too cowardly to show it. Something that should have been fake, was fake, had suddenly become terrifying, heart-wrenchingly real.
Love is easy. It's cheap and fast and overwhelms like the salt in those enlarged fries that you know you don't need but bought anyway. But you'll always come back. Cause you're hungry and love is food.
What's hard is everything else.
Logistics. Attraction. Relationship. Homemaking. Scheduling.
That's the rub. That's where it all falls apart. And the last one Compatibility.
That's the kick in the teeth. That's the severed hand of god.
They are earth and horse and flowers.
Whilst I am a hurricane of rusted metal and jagged bone crammed into a defective meatsuit.
I am ever so slowly exploding. I have little more to offer than madness and love. And that will never be enough.
And that's okay. It'll all be okay. Cause one way or another...
We're all just stardust in the end.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Crazy
We don't like crazy people. As a culture mental illness makes us very uncomfortable.
I'm watching Fringe, because I'm on the cutting edge of cult shows from the late 00s, and there's a point where the main character starts to think she's going crazy. (If the spoiler angers you then just never talk to me again.) She fights against and is profoundly offended by the idea that she needs a psych eval. Her offense stems from the thought that she will no longer be trustworthy to those around her.
The mere idea that you are talking to somebody about your psychology will so shake the foundations of people's faith in you.
And this is from a show from 2008.
When somebody kills themselves or kills somebody else, it's the first thing we go to look at. "Yes they did a horrible thing... But where they crazy cause that would explain it?" Now, I do not mean to say that we shouldn't look at mental illness in these cases, because well it does explain a lot. However fixating on it. Stigmatizing it. Demonizing it... These things make it so much more difficult to fight.
We are, as a culture, looking at mental illness as a monster are however unintentionally telling the mentally ill are monsters. And when you tell someone they're a monster, you give them permission to be monstrous.
I work with the kids that have the real potential to be monsters. Like a B-movie priest or a Fairy Tale Paladin my job is to help them fight demons. Using compassion, understanding, and structure I battle their madness and hopefully let them become something more than the monsters they think they are.
I can only do this because I know how to fight it. And I only know that because I've had to fight it my entire life. I know what NOT to say. I know when to say the right thing, because I've been on their side.
I know what it is like to feel like a monster. To think that it doesn't matter what it is that you do. That you aren't strong enough to fight that part of you. Though I've never attempted it and never will, I know what it's like to contemplate suicide. I've kept my parents up with worry about me harming myself. I know these pains.
And there are moments when I've looked at the story of my life, added up the equation of what I am, intuit the effects of my life, and come to the clear rational conclusion that the world would be better without me in it.
Now I need to state again that I'd never go through with it. There are too many variables to accommodate for when I'm in that mindset. And for me it's never a strong enough impulse that a simple hiccup won't kill the desire. That and I'm never sure if I've earned my place in Valhalla yet. Can only die in glorious battle if you survive long enough to see that battle. I can't leave until I've slain many more demons.
But that's just me. It's not the same for us all. Some have harder fights. My personal demon is so very small compared to some I have known or heard of. Like the sad clown who so recently passed. I loved his work, and I see his passing as I would that of a comrade in the war I fight.
I did not know him, so I cannot truly mourn him. But I can feel for a moment that we fought the same fight. He was a casualty in a holy war. The war I fight everyday. And with any luck, will continue to fight for a very long time.
Sleep well Mr. Williams.
I'm watching Fringe, because I'm on the cutting edge of cult shows from the late 00s, and there's a point where the main character starts to think she's going crazy. (If the spoiler angers you then just never talk to me again.) She fights against and is profoundly offended by the idea that she needs a psych eval. Her offense stems from the thought that she will no longer be trustworthy to those around her.
The mere idea that you are talking to somebody about your psychology will so shake the foundations of people's faith in you.
And this is from a show from 2008.
When somebody kills themselves or kills somebody else, it's the first thing we go to look at. "Yes they did a horrible thing... But where they crazy cause that would explain it?" Now, I do not mean to say that we shouldn't look at mental illness in these cases, because well it does explain a lot. However fixating on it. Stigmatizing it. Demonizing it... These things make it so much more difficult to fight.
We are, as a culture, looking at mental illness as a monster are however unintentionally telling the mentally ill are monsters. And when you tell someone they're a monster, you give them permission to be monstrous.
I work with the kids that have the real potential to be monsters. Like a B-movie priest or a Fairy Tale Paladin my job is to help them fight demons. Using compassion, understanding, and structure I battle their madness and hopefully let them become something more than the monsters they think they are.
I can only do this because I know how to fight it. And I only know that because I've had to fight it my entire life. I know what NOT to say. I know when to say the right thing, because I've been on their side.
I know what it is like to feel like a monster. To think that it doesn't matter what it is that you do. That you aren't strong enough to fight that part of you. Though I've never attempted it and never will, I know what it's like to contemplate suicide. I've kept my parents up with worry about me harming myself. I know these pains.
And there are moments when I've looked at the story of my life, added up the equation of what I am, intuit the effects of my life, and come to the clear rational conclusion that the world would be better without me in it.
Now I need to state again that I'd never go through with it. There are too many variables to accommodate for when I'm in that mindset. And for me it's never a strong enough impulse that a simple hiccup won't kill the desire. That and I'm never sure if I've earned my place in Valhalla yet. Can only die in glorious battle if you survive long enough to see that battle. I can't leave until I've slain many more demons.
But that's just me. It's not the same for us all. Some have harder fights. My personal demon is so very small compared to some I have known or heard of. Like the sad clown who so recently passed. I loved his work, and I see his passing as I would that of a comrade in the war I fight.
I did not know him, so I cannot truly mourn him. But I can feel for a moment that we fought the same fight. He was a casualty in a holy war. The war I fight everyday. And with any luck, will continue to fight for a very long time.
Sleep well Mr. Williams.
Monday, August 4, 2014
The Hero's Journey
Over this weekend I say a film. A film that I absolutely feel in love with. It's a Gonzo Space Opera called "Guardians of the Galaxy". I know you know what that is. It's the one with the Tree dude and the Raccoon with a machinegun.
After watching it twice and planning my third and fourth watchings (SPOILER ALERT: I liked it) I read a series of articles talking about the show. Like you do. And one really stood out to me. In an "Art and Entertainment" article in the LA Times Steven Zeitchik states that Guardians is an example "Post-plot cinema". He asserts that there is no plot. Just a bunch of confusing stuff that happens. There's so much going on that you could not explain it to somebody else.
Now, I don't agree. But I think he does have a point. If you're looking for a clear Aristotelian plot structure or to be beaten over the head with the Hero's Journey he's dead on. There isn't a clear hero who's journey the story revolves around. Because it's not about any one character.
It's about the group.
This is a story about a group of head strong individuals who collide and become more than they could singularly be. There's isn't one character who the story is about. It's about all of them. And that's not generally something that this format handles well. Multiple heroes aren't well handled when you're trying to follow this structure.
Which for me highlights one of the issues with the thought that "All stories are the Hero's Journey". What I took from my study of it was that most of the great stories fell into this same structure. However, I have never believed that just because you can ramrod and hamfist every story into the structure that they are all "Hero's Journeys".
Now, I realize that many of my writerly friends will disagree. There is a worship of the Journey in many writer's circles that I think misses the entire point and at its very worst creates some truly soulless stories. The movie "Pleasantville" was a movie I truly loved, but the insistence at the end that he return from the "Special world" in the TV back to his mother felt pointless, disingenuous, and like the writer was actively catering to the Journey. It sincerely ruined for me a film that I otherwise truly loved.
When these plots come up as a natural extension of a well crafted story it's amazing and really does work well. However... many times a "well-crafted" story is overworked for the artform it relies in. We think of all movies as Hero's Journey's and so they all are. And we say things like "Love is the Special Realm" to make it all happily fit into the preconceptions.
I think that it's a powerful tool that everybody should learn. But, by the same token we need to write our stories and then look for the themes and Monomythic elements.
And sometimes just sit back and enjoy the story.
In summation:
I am Groot.
After watching it twice and planning my third and fourth watchings (SPOILER ALERT: I liked it) I read a series of articles talking about the show. Like you do. And one really stood out to me. In an "Art and Entertainment" article in the LA Times Steven Zeitchik states that Guardians is an example "Post-plot cinema". He asserts that there is no plot. Just a bunch of confusing stuff that happens. There's so much going on that you could not explain it to somebody else.
Now, I don't agree. But I think he does have a point. If you're looking for a clear Aristotelian plot structure or to be beaten over the head with the Hero's Journey he's dead on. There isn't a clear hero who's journey the story revolves around. Because it's not about any one character.
It's about the group.
This is a story about a group of head strong individuals who collide and become more than they could singularly be. There's isn't one character who the story is about. It's about all of them. And that's not generally something that this format handles well. Multiple heroes aren't well handled when you're trying to follow this structure.
Which for me highlights one of the issues with the thought that "All stories are the Hero's Journey". What I took from my study of it was that most of the great stories fell into this same structure. However, I have never believed that just because you can ramrod and hamfist every story into the structure that they are all "Hero's Journeys".
Now, I realize that many of my writerly friends will disagree. There is a worship of the Journey in many writer's circles that I think misses the entire point and at its very worst creates some truly soulless stories. The movie "Pleasantville" was a movie I truly loved, but the insistence at the end that he return from the "Special world" in the TV back to his mother felt pointless, disingenuous, and like the writer was actively catering to the Journey. It sincerely ruined for me a film that I otherwise truly loved.
When these plots come up as a natural extension of a well crafted story it's amazing and really does work well. However... many times a "well-crafted" story is overworked for the artform it relies in. We think of all movies as Hero's Journey's and so they all are. And we say things like "Love is the Special Realm" to make it all happily fit into the preconceptions.
I think that it's a powerful tool that everybody should learn. But, by the same token we need to write our stories and then look for the themes and Monomythic elements.
And sometimes just sit back and enjoy the story.
In summation:
I am Groot.
Sunday, June 22, 2014
Sing Your Song Louder my Sisters
I'm not a woman.
I'll wait while you overcome the shock.
I'm also flamingly heterosexual and quite Non-Mormon. So my interest in the Ordain Women movement and subsequent ripples are somewhat... odd. If not outright bizarre. But, as an outsider both within and outside of the church I feel a kinship with these women that I cannot deny. They sing a song that speaks to me. Their pain and desire to be more a part of the decisions in their lives makes me wish to stand with them.
But this is not my fight. I'm a straight cisgendered male and generally some kind of pagan. But I have something I'd like to say to those who are in this fight. The women wanting to stand as proper equals, or the rejected men and women just wanting to be accepted for what they are.
One thing that he said was that "The Ancestors are hard of hearing." He then explained that that's why we have to sing louder and play the drums with more passion. We need to let them know that we are here and that we need their strength and guidance.
I'm mentioning this to you, my sisters of another Path, because you are doing the right thing. You are singing the song of your soul. If the ancestors are hard of hearing than perhaps God is too.
Scream out my friends!
Sing out your beautiful bittersweet melody, and know that though I'm not on the front lines with you, I'd fight with you if I my path lead me there.
You truly inspire me.
The church may not hear the notes. Your communities may not hear the truth of your psalm. But they are not for whom you are singing. Sing out my Sisters! Sing out my Brothers!
Because God is hard of hearing.
Friday, March 28, 2014
Babble
I want to say something. I really do. I want to talk about love and life and all those beautiful things that neee more words.
I want to talk about words and all the wondrous ways they combine and make the world a better place.
I want to talk about the growing darkness that weighs on my soul. The bitter sticky goo that chokes me and makes me cry over small the small omens that fill our days.
I want to cry. To let my tears flow from their secret reserve and spread across the rough patches of this life like a balm.
But right now there's too much to be done. I don't have the time to be broken. There are novels to write and preteen sociopaths to combat the destinies of.
And even if there was the time, I can find nothing to sooth myself with. There's nothing to loose myself in. Nothing to ease the gnawing voices in the back of my skull.
I have to find a place that it's safe to let my guard down. I need to find something to loose myself in. Something to let me relax and unclench, and something that I don't feel guilty about after. Or worse... feel nothing about.
I'm just babbling. Loosing the bile in my heart in a "healthy" way. I realize this. I'm also realizing that this isn't helping as much as I had secretly hoped it would. I feel like I have nowhere to turn currently.
I have a great many people that love me dearly. I know this, and without them I would be even worse off.
But I'm trapped in a cage of my own creation. Locked in by my own feelings and desires, and the profound contradictions existant in them. I want to fight against it... but I don't know how anymore.
Anyway. To end this on a light note, I have a good life. I have amazing friends and a family that support me endlessly. I have more love in my life than I know what to do with. And I have a job where I'm wanted and that I love.
So there's that.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Good Person
I've been doing a great deal of thinking lately. I know, I know, big surprise. But I've come to some conclusions. Though I don't think I'll be able to explain why it is that they make me uncomfortable.
But I'm a good person. Perhaps even a great one.
In a quantifiable way. I've been devoting my life to the special educational needs of the children most in need. I actively seek to alleviate pain where I can. I go out of my way to see the best in people. To look to their virtues instead of writing them off for their flaws. And when I am able, I offer as much as I can to help those that need of it.
A friend of mine called me a "Paladin" the other night.
I wanted to argue. I wanted to say "No. Fuck that. I'm a creature of Chaos." But even as I said it, I knew he was right. If ever there was anyone who understood Chaos... it was this friend. I see the purest beauty of the chaotic universe. I have traveled with Kali and stared into the depth of the Void. I know and appreciate chaos in a way that very few others do... but at the end of the day. I'm good.
Everything I do is divided between betterment of my myself, the people around me, and society as a whole. Under the strictest definition of good... yeah. I'm pretty damn good. But I think the thing that makes me hesitate is the assumption that if I'm "good" then I have to do things like follow the rules and be polite.
And well... I'm not okay with that. I mean, I'm personable. I have tact. I'm moderately unlikely to start eating the faces of the dinner guests. But polite is not a game I'm willing to play. If I don't see the value in something, or simply just don't want to do it... I won't. I'll say I'm sorry and many times will actually mean it, but at the end of the day I don't like that game.
It's why I profoundly bristle when I'm called "Nice". It's why in a majority of contexts I think nice is a dirty word. Far more offense to me than something as innocuous as the fuck word.
And another thing is that I pride myself with the pursuit of strength. I find it one of the more important things to consider when I make any decision. "Will this make me stronger?" But I have the hardest time doing so if it preys on other people. Or... if it preys on the weak pointlessly. That's a better way to put it. I think that may be the crux of the issue that makes me a good person.
I cannot stand pointless suffering. I hate to look at it, deal with it, and be around it. It offends some deep and angry part within me. I have suffered in my life and I have always tried to use that suffering as a form of transformational energy. I don't suffer to suffer and I don't inflict pain for no purpose.
There are many days when I look around and see that existence is fundamentally without meaning.
But because it means nothing, it means we have to work that much harder to create our own. Which I guess...
Makes me a good person.
But I'm a good person. Perhaps even a great one.
In a quantifiable way. I've been devoting my life to the special educational needs of the children most in need. I actively seek to alleviate pain where I can. I go out of my way to see the best in people. To look to their virtues instead of writing them off for their flaws. And when I am able, I offer as much as I can to help those that need of it.
A friend of mine called me a "Paladin" the other night.
I wanted to argue. I wanted to say "No. Fuck that. I'm a creature of Chaos." But even as I said it, I knew he was right. If ever there was anyone who understood Chaos... it was this friend. I see the purest beauty of the chaotic universe. I have traveled with Kali and stared into the depth of the Void. I know and appreciate chaos in a way that very few others do... but at the end of the day. I'm good.
Everything I do is divided between betterment of my myself, the people around me, and society as a whole. Under the strictest definition of good... yeah. I'm pretty damn good. But I think the thing that makes me hesitate is the assumption that if I'm "good" then I have to do things like follow the rules and be polite.
And well... I'm not okay with that. I mean, I'm personable. I have tact. I'm moderately unlikely to start eating the faces of the dinner guests. But polite is not a game I'm willing to play. If I don't see the value in something, or simply just don't want to do it... I won't. I'll say I'm sorry and many times will actually mean it, but at the end of the day I don't like that game.
It's why I profoundly bristle when I'm called "Nice". It's why in a majority of contexts I think nice is a dirty word. Far more offense to me than something as innocuous as the fuck word.
And another thing is that I pride myself with the pursuit of strength. I find it one of the more important things to consider when I make any decision. "Will this make me stronger?" But I have the hardest time doing so if it preys on other people. Or... if it preys on the weak pointlessly. That's a better way to put it. I think that may be the crux of the issue that makes me a good person.
I cannot stand pointless suffering. I hate to look at it, deal with it, and be around it. It offends some deep and angry part within me. I have suffered in my life and I have always tried to use that suffering as a form of transformational energy. I don't suffer to suffer and I don't inflict pain for no purpose.
There are many days when I look around and see that existence is fundamentally without meaning.
But because it means nothing, it means we have to work that much harder to create our own. Which I guess...
Makes me a good person.
Friday, July 26, 2013
Parasite
I am a parasite.
I don't say this in some analysis of the relationship between mankind and the world, or as a means of dredging counterarguments from those that read this. I say it because as I look at the evidence with an open mind, I find it to be undeniable. I am a parasitic organism.
How can I say this? Well I can't live on my own. I've lived on my own or mostly on my own before and it's weeks or at the very most months before it all falls apart.
I'm riddled with physical and mental issues. Many of which without medication my capacity to function within modern society would boil down to nothing. I have ADD, trace amounts of OCD, Seasonal affectation disorder, diabetes, gout, allergies, and what is effectively arthritis. At 29 that's quite the laundry list of disfunction. If it weren't for my parents putting up with me as long as they have I don't know where I would be and if honestly I would be alive. I owe them a greater debt than I think I will ever be able to repay. I love them dearly and wish that I could do more. And I try to do more though it doesn't always look like it.
I am at my most fundamental a broken thing. Flawed is perhaps the better word, but I prefer the images the broken conjures. It lets me pretend that may someday be something with the power to fix me. But that's really just hopeful jibberish. The only way forward is to continue forward. One awkward and painful step at a time.
Now, for those of you positive thinkers who merely think that it's a matter of thinking the right way, "happiness is a choice" and all that bollocks. Please remember that I know this. It's not some mystical secret that will open my heart to the universe. I remember the secrets I'm told. And as secrets go, this is a bit of rubbish.
You haven't been inside my mind.
Imagine standing at the center of a storm. One large enough to have an eye. The kind of huge angry storm that casts princes to their destinies and tears away at mountains like onion paper. Great clouds lashed into a frenzy by the lightning lash of an angry god.
That's what it's like at it's worst. It's a storm to be endured. When it's gentle I can find means of tricking it. Of directing it. But it's not easy, and it's not always worth the cost to command it. But it's this aspect of my mind that makes me a parasite. I need others to help me sort it through. To fight it and live my life.
A parasite by it's fundamental nature is incomplete. They lack something. A potential to protect themselves. The ability to gather their own energy. A great bleeding hole in their heart that forever bleeds but refuses to let you die. These are what make a parasite. A lacking.
So they latch onto something else. Some other creature that can fulfill that lack. If they're kind and considerate they find a way to give something back. They achieve symbiosis. The mitochondria in our cells. The bacteria in our guts. They're mooches. They're leaching off the things that we have that they don't. But they help us out along the way.
Don't take me wrong. This writing is done with a full understanding of my positive traits. I'm painfully aware of them. I'm not fishing for people to tell me what a "Great Guy" I am or shower me with hugs and well wishes. In all reality that would further aggravate the problem. Because there are far too many times when it really doesn't matter what's good about me. That gaping hole filled with illness and madness...
It's always still there.
Tripping me.
Tearing at me.
Defining me.
And letting me drink of the truth in the bitter cup.
I am a parasite. And I'm sorry for that.
I don't say this in some analysis of the relationship between mankind and the world, or as a means of dredging counterarguments from those that read this. I say it because as I look at the evidence with an open mind, I find it to be undeniable. I am a parasitic organism.
How can I say this? Well I can't live on my own. I've lived on my own or mostly on my own before and it's weeks or at the very most months before it all falls apart.
I'm riddled with physical and mental issues. Many of which without medication my capacity to function within modern society would boil down to nothing. I have ADD, trace amounts of OCD, Seasonal affectation disorder, diabetes, gout, allergies, and what is effectively arthritis. At 29 that's quite the laundry list of disfunction. If it weren't for my parents putting up with me as long as they have I don't know where I would be and if honestly I would be alive. I owe them a greater debt than I think I will ever be able to repay. I love them dearly and wish that I could do more. And I try to do more though it doesn't always look like it.
I am at my most fundamental a broken thing. Flawed is perhaps the better word, but I prefer the images the broken conjures. It lets me pretend that may someday be something with the power to fix me. But that's really just hopeful jibberish. The only way forward is to continue forward. One awkward and painful step at a time.
Now, for those of you positive thinkers who merely think that it's a matter of thinking the right way, "happiness is a choice" and all that bollocks. Please remember that I know this. It's not some mystical secret that will open my heart to the universe. I remember the secrets I'm told. And as secrets go, this is a bit of rubbish.
You haven't been inside my mind.
Imagine standing at the center of a storm. One large enough to have an eye. The kind of huge angry storm that casts princes to their destinies and tears away at mountains like onion paper. Great clouds lashed into a frenzy by the lightning lash of an angry god.
That's what it's like at it's worst. It's a storm to be endured. When it's gentle I can find means of tricking it. Of directing it. But it's not easy, and it's not always worth the cost to command it. But it's this aspect of my mind that makes me a parasite. I need others to help me sort it through. To fight it and live my life.
A parasite by it's fundamental nature is incomplete. They lack something. A potential to protect themselves. The ability to gather their own energy. A great bleeding hole in their heart that forever bleeds but refuses to let you die. These are what make a parasite. A lacking.
So they latch onto something else. Some other creature that can fulfill that lack. If they're kind and considerate they find a way to give something back. They achieve symbiosis. The mitochondria in our cells. The bacteria in our guts. They're mooches. They're leaching off the things that we have that they don't. But they help us out along the way.
Don't take me wrong. This writing is done with a full understanding of my positive traits. I'm painfully aware of them. I'm not fishing for people to tell me what a "Great Guy" I am or shower me with hugs and well wishes. In all reality that would further aggravate the problem. Because there are far too many times when it really doesn't matter what's good about me. That gaping hole filled with illness and madness...
It's always still there.
Tripping me.
Tearing at me.
Defining me.
And letting me drink of the truth in the bitter cup.
I am a parasite. And I'm sorry for that.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Passivity
I spend a great deal of time watching people. And more than just watching and judging I devote a lot of time to trying to understand. Understanding is the thing I value the most in myself. I say this because I on occasion realize that some trait of humanity infuriates me to the point of grumbling psychosis.
Now before I begin I will say that I consider my actions carefully. I plan things out in exhausting detail. Which given that fact the subject of this post may seem odd. Because I personally find "Passive" to be one of the most unforgivable character traits a person can have. There are few faster ways for me to think ill of you. Now this wasn't always the case and honestly it's really only come to the surface recently. And I'll be the first to say that there I have been times when I was as guilty of this sin as anyone.
Did you catch that? I called it a sin. Because that's what it is. For those of you who ascribe to such thing, it's even one of the big ones.
Sloth.
It's sloth. Not one of the "oh you touched yourself say some Hail Marys sins" but the proper will stab you in a back alley monoliths of ill behavior they craft circles of Hell in service of. It's one of the two sins that so completely plague the righteous. The one that you embrace so completely in your attempts to avoid the others. There are oh so many sayings about the dangers of being passive. "All it takes for evil to succeed is for good men to do nothing." When faced with adversity, when placed before what you want you don't stand idly by and "hope for the best". Or worse expect your knight in shining armor to rush forth and save you from the harsh world.
Come here my friend. Sit next to me for this bit. Because it's an ugly ugly truth I need to tell you.
There are no shining knights, and those that pretend to be... aren't doing you any favors. Because they're robbing you of the chance to help yourself. Now, I'm not saying that there's shame in asking for help when you need it. Because there is none. And there is a lot of suffering in the world that pours from the grim temple of absolute self-reliance. Accepting help can take more courage than facing the problem alone. But the problem with the passive, is that they expect the help. And many times, they even demand it.
And this expectation leads us into the other sin that conquers the pious. This expectation becomes a breeding ground for entitlement. Because you have lived your life assuming you deserve it, you demand it from the world. And so it is that Sloth opens the doors to Pride.
Now if you sit there without ever looking into your own worth. In your passivity you assume it. I'm as guilty of this as anyone. It's easy to look from the inside and say "hey I'm awesome, everybody should jump to help me out. I deserve your love because I want it." But that's not how this world works. It's a thousand times better to try and fail than to never have attempted.
Now, everyone who's reading this likely has a system of beliefs where a sacrifice was made. Prometheus tied to the stone with his liver being torn out day after day. Jesus nailed to the cross for the sins of the masses. The heart of the star where your innumerable particles were forged in ages before time as we knew it. These are the costs of your life, your salvation, and knowledge. When you passively wait instead of grasping the reins of your own life, you dishonor the memory of those sacrifices.
Maybe it doesn't bother you. And maybe there's no shame in it.
But for me? I want to live with a fire in my belly and the wind in my lungs. I want to tear into the mountains and strive for the stars. I want to guide the broken and create new ways for people to see the world. I want to LIVE.
And I can't do that and stay passive.
Now before I begin I will say that I consider my actions carefully. I plan things out in exhausting detail. Which given that fact the subject of this post may seem odd. Because I personally find "Passive" to be one of the most unforgivable character traits a person can have. There are few faster ways for me to think ill of you. Now this wasn't always the case and honestly it's really only come to the surface recently. And I'll be the first to say that there I have been times when I was as guilty of this sin as anyone.
Did you catch that? I called it a sin. Because that's what it is. For those of you who ascribe to such thing, it's even one of the big ones.
Sloth.
It's sloth. Not one of the "oh you touched yourself say some Hail Marys sins" but the proper will stab you in a back alley monoliths of ill behavior they craft circles of Hell in service of. It's one of the two sins that so completely plague the righteous. The one that you embrace so completely in your attempts to avoid the others. There are oh so many sayings about the dangers of being passive. "All it takes for evil to succeed is for good men to do nothing." When faced with adversity, when placed before what you want you don't stand idly by and "hope for the best". Or worse expect your knight in shining armor to rush forth and save you from the harsh world.
Come here my friend. Sit next to me for this bit. Because it's an ugly ugly truth I need to tell you.
There are no shining knights, and those that pretend to be... aren't doing you any favors. Because they're robbing you of the chance to help yourself. Now, I'm not saying that there's shame in asking for help when you need it. Because there is none. And there is a lot of suffering in the world that pours from the grim temple of absolute self-reliance. Accepting help can take more courage than facing the problem alone. But the problem with the passive, is that they expect the help. And many times, they even demand it.
And this expectation leads us into the other sin that conquers the pious. This expectation becomes a breeding ground for entitlement. Because you have lived your life assuming you deserve it, you demand it from the world. And so it is that Sloth opens the doors to Pride.
Now if you sit there without ever looking into your own worth. In your passivity you assume it. I'm as guilty of this as anyone. It's easy to look from the inside and say "hey I'm awesome, everybody should jump to help me out. I deserve your love because I want it." But that's not how this world works. It's a thousand times better to try and fail than to never have attempted.
Now, everyone who's reading this likely has a system of beliefs where a sacrifice was made. Prometheus tied to the stone with his liver being torn out day after day. Jesus nailed to the cross for the sins of the masses. The heart of the star where your innumerable particles were forged in ages before time as we knew it. These are the costs of your life, your salvation, and knowledge. When you passively wait instead of grasping the reins of your own life, you dishonor the memory of those sacrifices.
Maybe it doesn't bother you. And maybe there's no shame in it.
But for me? I want to live with a fire in my belly and the wind in my lungs. I want to tear into the mountains and strive for the stars. I want to guide the broken and create new ways for people to see the world. I want to LIVE.
And I can't do that and stay passive.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
A Poem
I want to write you a poem.
One that's full of magic.
One that takes your breath away.
One that steals a few joyous tears from
your eyes.
I want to conjure words.
Beautiful words that you will hold in
your heart forever.
Words that will twist and wrap you in a
net of emotion.
The word that say how I feel about you.
Your smile forever seared into the
twitching meat at my core.
Your hair like ivy kissed with autumn's
gold
Eyes like fresh turned soil that
glitter with the most impish of innocence.
The honeyed liquor that is your scent.
Because it's always you.
Since the moment I met you.
When I knew that I would love you.
Fiercely. Painfully. And without end.
And so we do this little dance.
A dance of poems and stories.
Of furtive glances and lingering hugs.
Two steps forward and one step back.
Secrets and mistakes nothing more than
movements.
As we stumble
Laugh.
And cry to music that we can't hear.
My Mermaid.
My Princess.
My Lovelorn Paladin.
My private hope that fairy tales can
come true.
I wanted to write you a poem.
But all that came out were words.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Marriage
So something happened. The Supreme Court struck down the Defense of Marriage Act, and sent Proposition 8 back to the lower courts to be struck down. Many people look at these as amazingly good things.
I'm generally inclined to agree but honestly I have a bit of mixed feelings about all of this. They're mixed not because I'm opposed because there is not a single argument I've heard against it that holds much water. Though at the same time, from the other side aside from the "fairness under the law" line of reasoning there's nothing much on that side either.
Now before you start burning me alive in rainbow fire allow me to explain. Your feelings don't dictate the logic of an argument. You're in the right. It's a simple matter of equality under the law. There's no compelling reasons to prevent it. But the amount of "victory for love" that's being claimed is not quite what has been actually achieved. But it's not my place to dictate to you your feelings.
When I started writing this I was potentially going to go through the reasons why marriage is an outdated institution, why I don't see the point, and so on and so forth. In fact just a few years ago I would have opened up a can of highly processed arguments about the lack of purpose it serves in the modern world. That was the plan. But as I started writing and thinking about marriage... well there's something there. Some thing in the midst of all the emotional leftovers from a hundred years and the promises made by cartoon princesses.
It's a powerful thing. This idea. Two people mystically and legally bound together. I can understand the appeal. For a very long time it was something that I desperately wanted. Still do if I'm entirely honest. I mean I'm not holding out much hope for it because of my habit of infuriating horror movie style gypsy women, but there's a part of me that still wants it. A part of me that buys into the illusion.
And it is. An illusion. There's a lot of folk here in Utah, particularly the younger set, who believe that getting married will magically fix the relationship. And they think that because they've been told in so many different ways. In the movies, from their friends, from their churches. They believe in the illusion so much that when it doesn't live up to it, they feel betrayed. And they get divorced. Because the illusion is so much better than the reality.
But there are some, some noble few who look at it not as the goal or the reward, but as the beginning of the game itself. The Golden Standard of our true love idealic marriage is not the way it is, it's the way it can be. Two souls working towards building a life together. That's something that I can support. Now with more that that I could see some complications but more power to them for trying.
I'm not as opposed to the concept I was even a few years ago.
And that sort of surprised me. Because in some ways I feel much farther from it.
I'm generally inclined to agree but honestly I have a bit of mixed feelings about all of this. They're mixed not because I'm opposed because there is not a single argument I've heard against it that holds much water. Though at the same time, from the other side aside from the "fairness under the law" line of reasoning there's nothing much on that side either.
Now before you start burning me alive in rainbow fire allow me to explain. Your feelings don't dictate the logic of an argument. You're in the right. It's a simple matter of equality under the law. There's no compelling reasons to prevent it. But the amount of "victory for love" that's being claimed is not quite what has been actually achieved. But it's not my place to dictate to you your feelings.
When I started writing this I was potentially going to go through the reasons why marriage is an outdated institution, why I don't see the point, and so on and so forth. In fact just a few years ago I would have opened up a can of highly processed arguments about the lack of purpose it serves in the modern world. That was the plan. But as I started writing and thinking about marriage... well there's something there. Some thing in the midst of all the emotional leftovers from a hundred years and the promises made by cartoon princesses.
It's a powerful thing. This idea. Two people mystically and legally bound together. I can understand the appeal. For a very long time it was something that I desperately wanted. Still do if I'm entirely honest. I mean I'm not holding out much hope for it because of my habit of infuriating horror movie style gypsy women, but there's a part of me that still wants it. A part of me that buys into the illusion.
And it is. An illusion. There's a lot of folk here in Utah, particularly the younger set, who believe that getting married will magically fix the relationship. And they think that because they've been told in so many different ways. In the movies, from their friends, from their churches. They believe in the illusion so much that when it doesn't live up to it, they feel betrayed. And they get divorced. Because the illusion is so much better than the reality.
But there are some, some noble few who look at it not as the goal or the reward, but as the beginning of the game itself. The Golden Standard of our true love idealic marriage is not the way it is, it's the way it can be. Two souls working towards building a life together. That's something that I can support. Now with more that that I could see some complications but more power to them for trying.
I'm not as opposed to the concept I was even a few years ago.
And that sort of surprised me. Because in some ways I feel much farther from it.
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Creation
When I was little I would sometimes think, "What if I was God?"
I grew up in a mormon household and given the nature of the doctrine it was something that crossed my mind a fair bit. What would I do if I have divine powers? How much would I change? Would there be magic? Would there be weasels running about in watermelon yachts? (I was a weird little kid)
It was one of the reasons I stayed mormon for as long as I did. The idea that someday I would get access to that manner of power was deeply enticing and many days was the only reason I got through Sunday school. In fact I remember doing a great deal of my writing and reading during the various meetings we would go to. I was not a very good mormon. Which in retrospect made me about on par with everybody else there.
But that idea of creating my own world. Of having the power to shape and manipulate it's growth and look, always always stuck with me. It's the one real pang of regret that I feel about leaving the faith. Well that and being effectively shunted out of the dating pool. But another day on that topic.
I wanted to be God. So I started writing. And I keep writing. Always less then I feel I should but more than some of my other friends who call themselves writers. I write and I seek to understand. The fastest way to understand the world is to try and recreate it. In creating you find all of the reasons and underlying logic of why things are the way they are. If you write for long enough you'll start to see the patterns. Though the best part for me is changing the rules then seeing what happens from there.
And so that's what I did. I've created a fantasy world. I've been working on it for years and years. I've had many friends come in and help with it. So many talented people have been working to make my little world it's own thing. I appreciate them more than I can say because in many ways the world of Desylinn is what I would create if I was God. I mean the king of the Gods is even loosely based off of me.
It gives me some small comfort. To wield the power of creation and destruction. It's one of the high points of my life.
It was one of the reasons I stayed mormon for as long as I did. The idea that someday I would get access to that manner of power was deeply enticing and many days was the only reason I got through Sunday school. In fact I remember doing a great deal of my writing and reading during the various meetings we would go to. I was not a very good mormon. Which in retrospect made me about on par with everybody else there.
But that idea of creating my own world. Of having the power to shape and manipulate it's growth and look, always always stuck with me. It's the one real pang of regret that I feel about leaving the faith. Well that and being effectively shunted out of the dating pool. But another day on that topic.
I wanted to be God. So I started writing. And I keep writing. Always less then I feel I should but more than some of my other friends who call themselves writers. I write and I seek to understand. The fastest way to understand the world is to try and recreate it. In creating you find all of the reasons and underlying logic of why things are the way they are. If you write for long enough you'll start to see the patterns. Though the best part for me is changing the rules then seeing what happens from there.
And so that's what I did. I've created a fantasy world. I've been working on it for years and years. I've had many friends come in and help with it. So many talented people have been working to make my little world it's own thing. I appreciate them more than I can say because in many ways the world of Desylinn is what I would create if I was God. I mean the king of the Gods is even loosely based off of me.
It gives me some small comfort. To wield the power of creation and destruction. It's one of the high points of my life.
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Endings
Look up to the sky. And look to the stars.
Each one is a beautiful bright point in a sky otherwise appearing black and lifeless. Each one is like our sun. Trapped forever in the battle between nuclear flame pushing outwards and the unimaginable intense gravity of the core. It is a conflict that we can only understand through metaphor and story because the sheer scope of these forces are things we could never hope to effect.
But despite the fact that these forces are so grand and intense they could make the gods themselves quake in fear there is a point we tiny mortals have in common with them.
They end.
The nuclear fire will die out and the gravity will tear the star apart. The star will die. Its corpse will be torn to innumerable pieces and scattered to the void...
Endings are always hard on some level. It's a shift from things we know to things we don't. Some deal with it well. Even crave the shifting nature of the world. Change is the only unchanging thing. And despite my chaotic nature I'm not one that tends to deal well with change. And recently I've had a lot of it hit me.
I've left a place I loved. The first job that I ever looked forward to going to. One where I felt like I had a true (if hesitant) place. But funding is tight and as a diabetic with mental health challenges, I need full time resources and insurance. Sad as it is I've had to depart from that place.
The other thing ending was the marvelous play I was a part of. That one was expected. It is the nature of the thing. Like beautiful drawings left to the sand, such is the way of theater. At it's best it is a profound thing and the only living art, because it exists solely in the moment it is happening. It is never like it was before or will be again. Theater exists within the unique magic of a moment. And it is remembered not replayed.
So that second end is perhaps a prettier thing.
But it doesn't make it any easier to let it go. So I look to the stars for guidance. Because it is in the crucible of a dying sun that the manifold particles of our creation come into being. All of life exists because of the end of a stars life cycle.
When everything feels like it's exploding, ending, and dying around you; remember that once it cools you'll have the stardust required to fashion your new world. Create something new.
It's all just stardust anyway.
But despite the fact that these forces are so grand and intense they could make the gods themselves quake in fear there is a point we tiny mortals have in common with them.
They end.
The nuclear fire will die out and the gravity will tear the star apart. The star will die. Its corpse will be torn to innumerable pieces and scattered to the void...
Endings are always hard on some level. It's a shift from things we know to things we don't. Some deal with it well. Even crave the shifting nature of the world. Change is the only unchanging thing. And despite my chaotic nature I'm not one that tends to deal well with change. And recently I've had a lot of it hit me.
I've left a place I loved. The first job that I ever looked forward to going to. One where I felt like I had a true (if hesitant) place. But funding is tight and as a diabetic with mental health challenges, I need full time resources and insurance. Sad as it is I've had to depart from that place.
The other thing ending was the marvelous play I was a part of. That one was expected. It is the nature of the thing. Like beautiful drawings left to the sand, such is the way of theater. At it's best it is a profound thing and the only living art, because it exists solely in the moment it is happening. It is never like it was before or will be again. Theater exists within the unique magic of a moment. And it is remembered not replayed.
So that second end is perhaps a prettier thing.
But it doesn't make it any easier to let it go. So I look to the stars for guidance. Because it is in the crucible of a dying sun that the manifold particles of our creation come into being. All of life exists because of the end of a stars life cycle.
When everything feels like it's exploding, ending, and dying around you; remember that once it cools you'll have the stardust required to fashion your new world. Create something new.
It's all just stardust anyway.
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Outside
I've been in a play recently. It is far and away the the best comedic piece I've been in, and arguably one of the most rewarding theatre experiences I've yet had. I can't understate that. It has been amazing and I wouldn't change it for the world. However, I can't really say it's been entirely easy. The Director expects the best out of us and is unwilling to let us look bad. It's been a rough but I walked out the other side far better for the experience. And frankly it's not that point that I want to talk about.
I have only rarely felt like more of an outsider than I had with this group. It's not that I've been made to feel unwelcome, and in fact a few genuine efforts to include me have been made. They just haven't bridged that gap. I've tried as well, and through a few points of resonance have been found I remain looking in more than being a part.
It's nobody's fault really. I would work with any of these people again without any hesitation at all. And given the opportunity I would gladly break bread or drink wine with them all. They're fantastic and interesting people. Which is perhaps why my feelings are so mixed. I don't belong there. But would like to.
When I first got cast in this production, I felt that it was going to be something special. Like the first scent of rain on the wind I could feel it's importance in an almost palpable manner. In the days before our first rehearsal I even had a significant and intense dream regarding one of my cast mates, a person I had seen but had never met. For me, meeting this group had a strange electricity in the air. An electricity that at times became a wall. Less magnetic and more the balance created by gravitational events.
I'm used to feeling like an outsider. It's pretty much my natural state. So much so that when I find a group that accepts me without hesitation my first reactions are confusion followed by suspicion. It's not because of a lack of confidence. It simply stems from a full awareness of who I am. I'm a strange guy. I give odd impressions. I'm personable, but that's in spite of my persona not because of it. At least not initially. I'm an outsider.
It is the price of being a shaman. And also the price of being an artist. You stand outside of the world because it gives us the best view of how things really are. It's the lot of chosen. It's the price I've paid.
Sometimes it just takes you by surprise, when you get what you pay for.
I have only rarely felt like more of an outsider than I had with this group. It's not that I've been made to feel unwelcome, and in fact a few genuine efforts to include me have been made. They just haven't bridged that gap. I've tried as well, and through a few points of resonance have been found I remain looking in more than being a part.
It's nobody's fault really. I would work with any of these people again without any hesitation at all. And given the opportunity I would gladly break bread or drink wine with them all. They're fantastic and interesting people. Which is perhaps why my feelings are so mixed. I don't belong there. But would like to.
When I first got cast in this production, I felt that it was going to be something special. Like the first scent of rain on the wind I could feel it's importance in an almost palpable manner. In the days before our first rehearsal I even had a significant and intense dream regarding one of my cast mates, a person I had seen but had never met. For me, meeting this group had a strange electricity in the air. An electricity that at times became a wall. Less magnetic and more the balance created by gravitational events.
I'm used to feeling like an outsider. It's pretty much my natural state. So much so that when I find a group that accepts me without hesitation my first reactions are confusion followed by suspicion. It's not because of a lack of confidence. It simply stems from a full awareness of who I am. I'm a strange guy. I give odd impressions. I'm personable, but that's in spite of my persona not because of it. At least not initially. I'm an outsider.
It is the price of being a shaman. And also the price of being an artist. You stand outside of the world because it gives us the best view of how things really are. It's the lot of chosen. It's the price I've paid.
Sometimes it just takes you by surprise, when you get what you pay for.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Perceptions
As much as this is a blog, as you gentle reader are in fact reading it, this is much more a journal. Not of the various details of my day to day life, as that would be quite boring and make me sound even more self-absorbed than I fear this blog already makes me, but of my thoughts, and sometimes even my feelings. Feelings which despite my best efforts, I still have. Ones that sincerely seem to cause more problems than they solve in my life. But this isn't about my one man war against my own capacity to feel things. No. This is about perception. And how it can vary so wildly from reality.
I have, it has been argued, an over concern with romantic entanglement. I am coming to terms with that. But in that coming to terms with it, it has lead me to a point of interest. Depending on which side of thing you are seeing, your belief in what it is will wildly vary.
There's an old story. The one about four (or three or five depending on the telling) blind men and an elephant. Each man comes at the creature from a different angle and finds different things. The one touching the leg declares it a tree. The one touching the side declares it an albeit fleshy wall. The tail is a rope and the truck is a snake. It's a really good little story to illustrate how our perspectives can shape perceptions and therefore our assumptions.
Now I strive to understand. As I talked about in my post on Entireties. I strive to understand everything and that includes myself. So when somebody tells me something about me that I hadn't considered, or looks at my actions through a lens I hadn't I take it all the more seriously. Because to know yourself and your own limitations and perspectives is to be able to make yourself the best person you can possibly be.
This whole line of reasoning came up when somebody told me that I came off as desperate. Linking back to the over concern with romantic entanglement. That I was showing "interest" in so many people that it never allowed any of them to feel special. And so saying it out loud was cheapening it, and making me seem to want it enough that it was creepy.
I can't deny it. One of the things that I want more than anything else is a good match with a romantic partner. And someday, I can't emphasize this enough, Someday, to be a father. And there's a certain amount of hunger associated with the idea. But at least in my mind this talk of desperation doesn't fill mesh with the reality.
On paper it must be right. By the standards of the community I should be desperate. I should be shaking down trees trying to find a "bride" and "mother for my childrens". I'm a white male living in his parents basement who plays Dungeons and Dragons regularly and watches cartoons. I've not travelled out side of the country except once for about an hour going into Mexico. I'm prone to powerful (sometimes nonsensical) attractions and gains a beautifully bittersweet joy around children. These could all add up to a compelling argument for desperation.
But I don't think of myself or in fact feel desperate. My seeing everyone as special is in fact an honest and sincere attempt at trying to see the good and unique datapoints within everyone I met. I want to get to know everyone (or at least most people) well enough to say that I truly know them. Well enough that I could not be surprised by their actions. Having a basic understanding of the fundamentals of character. If you couple this with my current inability to be anything but awkward around persons I find attractive and yes... I can see where the perception comes from.
And eventually I hope to change it. But that's probably going to take counseling and a serious rebuilding of my confidence. Because there's just enough truth in these perceptions that means it's something I need to work on.
Or at the very lest something to consider in my next character rebuild.
I have, it has been argued, an over concern with romantic entanglement. I am coming to terms with that. But in that coming to terms with it, it has lead me to a point of interest. Depending on which side of thing you are seeing, your belief in what it is will wildly vary.
There's an old story. The one about four (or three or five depending on the telling) blind men and an elephant. Each man comes at the creature from a different angle and finds different things. The one touching the leg declares it a tree. The one touching the side declares it an albeit fleshy wall. The tail is a rope and the truck is a snake. It's a really good little story to illustrate how our perspectives can shape perceptions and therefore our assumptions.
Now I strive to understand. As I talked about in my post on Entireties. I strive to understand everything and that includes myself. So when somebody tells me something about me that I hadn't considered, or looks at my actions through a lens I hadn't I take it all the more seriously. Because to know yourself and your own limitations and perspectives is to be able to make yourself the best person you can possibly be.
This whole line of reasoning came up when somebody told me that I came off as desperate. Linking back to the over concern with romantic entanglement. That I was showing "interest" in so many people that it never allowed any of them to feel special. And so saying it out loud was cheapening it, and making me seem to want it enough that it was creepy.
I can't deny it. One of the things that I want more than anything else is a good match with a romantic partner. And someday, I can't emphasize this enough, Someday, to be a father. And there's a certain amount of hunger associated with the idea. But at least in my mind this talk of desperation doesn't fill mesh with the reality.
On paper it must be right. By the standards of the community I should be desperate. I should be shaking down trees trying to find a "bride" and "mother for my childrens". I'm a white male living in his parents basement who plays Dungeons and Dragons regularly and watches cartoons. I've not travelled out side of the country except once for about an hour going into Mexico. I'm prone to powerful (sometimes nonsensical) attractions and gains a beautifully bittersweet joy around children. These could all add up to a compelling argument for desperation.
But I don't think of myself or in fact feel desperate. My seeing everyone as special is in fact an honest and sincere attempt at trying to see the good and unique datapoints within everyone I met. I want to get to know everyone (or at least most people) well enough to say that I truly know them. Well enough that I could not be surprised by their actions. Having a basic understanding of the fundamentals of character. If you couple this with my current inability to be anything but awkward around persons I find attractive and yes... I can see where the perception comes from.
And eventually I hope to change it. But that's probably going to take counseling and a serious rebuilding of my confidence. Because there's just enough truth in these perceptions that means it's something I need to work on.
Or at the very lest something to consider in my next character rebuild.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Attraction
This is something that should always be simple, but never really is. At least in my experience. I've always had difficultly when dealing with attraction. When I was younger I had a severe phobia of girls. I was socially awkward and possessed of a really powerful desire for romantic entanglement. For some reason as a child I put a great deal of emotional and psychological importance with the idea of romantic entanglement.
I went over my thoughts (and various pains) regarding Love months ago, but attraction is something different. To put it in it's most primal phrasing this is a matter of lust. The quick and powerful magnetic draw to another person.
It's something that is so much more then just visual aesthetics. A pretty face or shapely form can draw the eye but attraction taps into something chemical, something profound and sometimes nonsensical. They creep into your thoughts without rhyme or reason and despite your most valiant efforts they build a little home there. Their scent burns itself into your mind and because a new and exciting mode of thought. There is a potential for anything to happen with that kind of strong attraction.
Usually anyway. If that magnetism is mutual, it becomes something profound and magical. It's those first amazing steps towards something truly special. Or sometimes it will remain a delicate and delightful fantasy. Something to play the what if game too.
Now I'm fully aware that this next bit is going to self-indulgent. But it's a personal blog. So what the hell else were you expecting?
I meet people sometimes. Lady people. And when I'm near them I feel an electricity that I can't fully describe. They tiptoe across my thoughts enough that I feel the need to fight against it. Because I'm aware of how it can look. I've spent much of my life being a little off, a little weird. And that puts people on edge. Unless there is a significant reason to overlook that or somebody they trust to vouch for me, I seem to give off the "lock you in the basement vibe". I don't mean to or try to, but there it is.
I've always said that I have a fungal charm. It takes time for my worth and charms to come out. But in our microwave, youtube world that's not really enough. We dont' trust people and the only ones who are generally willing to trust that sort of primal attraction are those that are a little off, or a little scary.
Which leaves me waving my "freak flag" as it were. Though I'd rather is just have a little bit of reciprocation. I just want to be comfortable with myself and that seems to me that I'm not freaky enough for the freaks but so far from the passable that I'm pretty well blown off by both sides. Leaves me in the horrible postion of striving for or pining after folk that have no interest, or being pursued by those that I don't really feel anything significant for.
It's not a pleasant place, I wish I could change it. But to tie it back to my earlier ramblings it's a chemical process. A point of biology that can't really be easily modified. But such is the way of life is it not? Magnets and chemicals... and trying to fill in the blanks with whatever psychological fixes we can find.
Puppets of Meat and Bone chasing forever after the scents of our desires.
I went over my thoughts (and various pains) regarding Love months ago, but attraction is something different. To put it in it's most primal phrasing this is a matter of lust. The quick and powerful magnetic draw to another person.
It's something that is so much more then just visual aesthetics. A pretty face or shapely form can draw the eye but attraction taps into something chemical, something profound and sometimes nonsensical. They creep into your thoughts without rhyme or reason and despite your most valiant efforts they build a little home there. Their scent burns itself into your mind and because a new and exciting mode of thought. There is a potential for anything to happen with that kind of strong attraction.
Usually anyway. If that magnetism is mutual, it becomes something profound and magical. It's those first amazing steps towards something truly special. Or sometimes it will remain a delicate and delightful fantasy. Something to play the what if game too.
Now I'm fully aware that this next bit is going to self-indulgent. But it's a personal blog. So what the hell else were you expecting?
I meet people sometimes. Lady people. And when I'm near them I feel an electricity that I can't fully describe. They tiptoe across my thoughts enough that I feel the need to fight against it. Because I'm aware of how it can look. I've spent much of my life being a little off, a little weird. And that puts people on edge. Unless there is a significant reason to overlook that or somebody they trust to vouch for me, I seem to give off the "lock you in the basement vibe". I don't mean to or try to, but there it is.
I've always said that I have a fungal charm. It takes time for my worth and charms to come out. But in our microwave, youtube world that's not really enough. We dont' trust people and the only ones who are generally willing to trust that sort of primal attraction are those that are a little off, or a little scary.
Which leaves me waving my "freak flag" as it were. Though I'd rather is just have a little bit of reciprocation. I just want to be comfortable with myself and that seems to me that I'm not freaky enough for the freaks but so far from the passable that I'm pretty well blown off by both sides. Leaves me in the horrible postion of striving for or pining after folk that have no interest, or being pursued by those that I don't really feel anything significant for.
It's not a pleasant place, I wish I could change it. But to tie it back to my earlier ramblings it's a chemical process. A point of biology that can't really be easily modified. But such is the way of life is it not? Magnets and chemicals... and trying to fill in the blanks with whatever psychological fixes we can find.
Puppets of Meat and Bone chasing forever after the scents of our desires.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Grace
There is a concept in Christianity, "being saved by grace". It's one of the more important tenets of the worship of Christ, and as such I find it odd that it seems to be a point of such division amongst the various sects. Some believe that grace and grace alone will save you. Others that it's a combination of good works and grace.
Those two ideas seem to be at rather constant odds with each other. I'll admit I don't fully understand why. Doing good works seems like a generally benevolent thing to do. But I have on many occasions heard proclaimed Christians damn near arguing against them. Once good works are mentioned they start in with a lecture about Ephesians 2:8-9 "For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God. Not of works, lest any man should boast." It even sounds sort of straightforward (in this translation at the very least). God has saved you so you give him the credit. There is no "be a good person" loophole into paradise. Now that being said you'll hear a lot from Christians saying that this doesn't mean you shouldn't do good works. It just means that you should give God all the credit for it.
To look at a different model, I remember the metaphor I was told to explain this to me when I was young Mormon. Good works are the ladder that will get you closer to God. But in the end it doesn't matter how high you get on the ladder, only that you try to get as high as you can, because Christ's sacrifice will take up all the slack. I honestly see it as a good compromise between the idea of buying your way into Heaven by not being a dick whilst still throwing all the credit to the Homie on High.
The real problem I have, is not how it's explained or justified, but with the very idea of Grace itself. Or at the very least the current understanding of the concept. I'll be the first to admit, it's a concept that has been brewing and mutating for thousands of years at this point. I'm certain it meant something completely different when it was first conceived then what it is now.
Now, I understand its appeal. I really do. No matter what you do, or how horrible you are, there is hope. You can bath in the blood of the Lamb and be made clean again. You will be rewarded for your belief in him and the glory that you direct towards Him. There's a clean comfort in this. Particularly for those that assume that the natural state of mankind is abomination.
The base assumption of Grace is that only a God could care about helping others without trolling for glory. And even then, that's sort of the point, to give the glory to God and not hog it for yourself.
And that's something that always bothered me. I mean I understand how dangerous unchecked Pride can be, and that seems to be what this is trying to stop, but what you're doing in reaction is something that passively encourages the worst kind of spiritual, ethical, and philosophic laziness. It leaves your entire fate in somebody else's hands. There's a freedom in that I have to admit. The freedom from responsibility.
And that's the crux of the matter for me. Being saved by grace implies a lack of responsibility for your actions. That is the whole point of Christ's sacrifice isn't it? That we can be terrible people and still find glory through him, through repentance or truly taking him into our hearts. Now with repentance there's less issue for me. Because at the very least you're doing something. There's an aspect of admitting you have done wrong, and trying to make amends.
But that's not what I see as much from the diehard "saved by Grace" adherents. Jesus (Joshua) took on their sins with his great gift. And now that they have taken Him into their heart, or been baptize in His name they are somehow no longer burdened by their actions. They can punt off the guilt over what they did onto someone else.
I mean no offense as I go over this. I'm just trying to understand why it just smells so deeply wrong to me, and it always has. I was taught to only do that which I could be proud of, and to try and make amends where I could. But regardless it was for me to take responsibility for my own actions. Be they good, evil, neutral, nonsensical, they are MY actions.
And if I wasn't going to fully accept the consequences, why in the seven hells did I do them?
Those two ideas seem to be at rather constant odds with each other. I'll admit I don't fully understand why. Doing good works seems like a generally benevolent thing to do. But I have on many occasions heard proclaimed Christians damn near arguing against them. Once good works are mentioned they start in with a lecture about Ephesians 2:8-9 "For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God. Not of works, lest any man should boast." It even sounds sort of straightforward (in this translation at the very least). God has saved you so you give him the credit. There is no "be a good person" loophole into paradise. Now that being said you'll hear a lot from Christians saying that this doesn't mean you shouldn't do good works. It just means that you should give God all the credit for it.
To look at a different model, I remember the metaphor I was told to explain this to me when I was young Mormon. Good works are the ladder that will get you closer to God. But in the end it doesn't matter how high you get on the ladder, only that you try to get as high as you can, because Christ's sacrifice will take up all the slack. I honestly see it as a good compromise between the idea of buying your way into Heaven by not being a dick whilst still throwing all the credit to the Homie on High.
The real problem I have, is not how it's explained or justified, but with the very idea of Grace itself. Or at the very least the current understanding of the concept. I'll be the first to admit, it's a concept that has been brewing and mutating for thousands of years at this point. I'm certain it meant something completely different when it was first conceived then what it is now.
Now, I understand its appeal. I really do. No matter what you do, or how horrible you are, there is hope. You can bath in the blood of the Lamb and be made clean again. You will be rewarded for your belief in him and the glory that you direct towards Him. There's a clean comfort in this. Particularly for those that assume that the natural state of mankind is abomination.
The base assumption of Grace is that only a God could care about helping others without trolling for glory. And even then, that's sort of the point, to give the glory to God and not hog it for yourself.
And that's something that always bothered me. I mean I understand how dangerous unchecked Pride can be, and that seems to be what this is trying to stop, but what you're doing in reaction is something that passively encourages the worst kind of spiritual, ethical, and philosophic laziness. It leaves your entire fate in somebody else's hands. There's a freedom in that I have to admit. The freedom from responsibility.
And that's the crux of the matter for me. Being saved by grace implies a lack of responsibility for your actions. That is the whole point of Christ's sacrifice isn't it? That we can be terrible people and still find glory through him, through repentance or truly taking him into our hearts. Now with repentance there's less issue for me. Because at the very least you're doing something. There's an aspect of admitting you have done wrong, and trying to make amends.
But that's not what I see as much from the diehard "saved by Grace" adherents. Jesus (Joshua) took on their sins with his great gift. And now that they have taken Him into their heart, or been baptize in His name they are somehow no longer burdened by their actions. They can punt off the guilt over what they did onto someone else.
I mean no offense as I go over this. I'm just trying to understand why it just smells so deeply wrong to me, and it always has. I was taught to only do that which I could be proud of, and to try and make amends where I could. But regardless it was for me to take responsibility for my own actions. Be they good, evil, neutral, nonsensical, they are MY actions.
And if I wasn't going to fully accept the consequences, why in the seven hells did I do them?
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Practice
I'm writing to keep in practice, not because I have anything of worth to say. It's something to do. It's something that's hard to do, keeping in practice. Particularly when I find myself running around so often. Between my work with Clockwork Chaos Publishing my play with Meat and Potato Theatre I'm really quite exhausted and busy. Add to that my complicated emotional state and the loss of my job and well... I'm surprised I honestly get anything done at all.
But you sort of half too. Writers write. It's sort of inherent to the nature of the word itself. So I'm trying to keep it up. Throw a few hundred words onto the internet when I can find a few moments. Because it's something to do. Keeps the machinery of authorship moving. So that hopefully when I actually have something worth saying that I'll be able to slide it quickly instead of hammering on the inside of my skull till the broken bits falls out.
That is apparently what's happening today.
The shards of thoughts and feelings spilling out because I'm hammering away. I find myself being overly honest lately. It seems to be causing more problems than I currently am able to deal with. Though I avoid dishonesty in all but the most necessary of circumstances there comes a point when you're too honest. When you're honest to the point of straining or outright destroying important relationships. Regardless of wether they should be that important.
But I'm stumbling far too close to things I'm not ready to talk about. Things better left unsaid.
So there it is for the day.
But you sort of half too. Writers write. It's sort of inherent to the nature of the word itself. So I'm trying to keep it up. Throw a few hundred words onto the internet when I can find a few moments. Because it's something to do. Keeps the machinery of authorship moving. So that hopefully when I actually have something worth saying that I'll be able to slide it quickly instead of hammering on the inside of my skull till the broken bits falls out.
That is apparently what's happening today.
The shards of thoughts and feelings spilling out because I'm hammering away. I find myself being overly honest lately. It seems to be causing more problems than I currently am able to deal with. Though I avoid dishonesty in all but the most necessary of circumstances there comes a point when you're too honest. When you're honest to the point of straining or outright destroying important relationships. Regardless of wether they should be that important.
But I'm stumbling far too close to things I'm not ready to talk about. Things better left unsaid.
So there it is for the day.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Entirety
I don't tend to see things the way most people do. I don't mean to say this as a way of pointing out that I'm a special snowflake. It's simply a matter of observation. I sincerely don't see things the same way as others do. I think perhaps it has to do with the way I think and the amount of data I absorb.
Every word spoken to me. Every detail of everything around me. Every fact is absorbed, catalogued, and sorted in some bizarre alchemical process within the confines of my skull. It's as exhausting a process as it sounds. If I don't make time alone, time where I just sit and think, I start to get sick. But this isn't about that. It's about the way I see things, and perhaps a little bit about the way I think.
I think in entireties. I don't break things into components. Everything I learn is taken into consideration. Nothing is discarded. Everything is connected to everything is. There is no such thing as extraneous information to me. It may not be immediately relevant but information is always important.
When I look at something, anything really, all that it is crosses my mind. I look at a person, any person, and I see vibrations beyond number forming particles forming atoms forming chemicals forming proteins forming cells forming tissue forming organs forming a creature with roots tracing back through millions of years of history to a wad of amino acids in the time before there was time. And from there it stretches back to the death of a thousand thousand stars whose blood and bone dance in the subtle dance of the cosmos.
And when I look at that person at that moment I can see the echoes of who they are, what choices they have made. I can smell the touch of all those they've loved and hated, every bit of pain, or significant pleasure. And more than that I can see the hundredfold paths that stretch before them.
It's not seeing the future. In the same way that looking at a seed and imagining the tree it will become is not seeing the future. It's more about extrapolating. It's an act of studied imagination not divination. Though sometimes I can look into the eyes of a person I have known and see who they can become. I can see the hundred different potentials that they carry within them. The different people that they can become. Sometimes I can even watch as their choices strip away some of those potentials. Things beyond their control. Different points of data that they didn't assume were important.
But all data is important.
I know this, I understand it in my bones. I understand it to the point that it looks and feels like madness. Everything interconnects. We are all unique manifestations of particles and circumstances. We are snowflakes both by our nature and our place in space and time. But we are all connected to each other. In more ways then our minds will ever be able to fully comprehend.
Not that it's ever stopped me from trying.
Every word spoken to me. Every detail of everything around me. Every fact is absorbed, catalogued, and sorted in some bizarre alchemical process within the confines of my skull. It's as exhausting a process as it sounds. If I don't make time alone, time where I just sit and think, I start to get sick. But this isn't about that. It's about the way I see things, and perhaps a little bit about the way I think.
I think in entireties. I don't break things into components. Everything I learn is taken into consideration. Nothing is discarded. Everything is connected to everything is. There is no such thing as extraneous information to me. It may not be immediately relevant but information is always important.
When I look at something, anything really, all that it is crosses my mind. I look at a person, any person, and I see vibrations beyond number forming particles forming atoms forming chemicals forming proteins forming cells forming tissue forming organs forming a creature with roots tracing back through millions of years of history to a wad of amino acids in the time before there was time. And from there it stretches back to the death of a thousand thousand stars whose blood and bone dance in the subtle dance of the cosmos.
And when I look at that person at that moment I can see the echoes of who they are, what choices they have made. I can smell the touch of all those they've loved and hated, every bit of pain, or significant pleasure. And more than that I can see the hundredfold paths that stretch before them.
It's not seeing the future. In the same way that looking at a seed and imagining the tree it will become is not seeing the future. It's more about extrapolating. It's an act of studied imagination not divination. Though sometimes I can look into the eyes of a person I have known and see who they can become. I can see the hundred different potentials that they carry within them. The different people that they can become. Sometimes I can even watch as their choices strip away some of those potentials. Things beyond their control. Different points of data that they didn't assume were important.
But all data is important.
I know this, I understand it in my bones. I understand it to the point that it looks and feels like madness. Everything interconnects. We are all unique manifestations of particles and circumstances. We are snowflakes both by our nature and our place in space and time. But we are all connected to each other. In more ways then our minds will ever be able to fully comprehend.
Not that it's ever stopped me from trying.
Friday, May 10, 2013
Teaching
(Or: Why I'm not sure I want to be a teacher)
For years now I've wanted to work with children. The first job I got with an elementary school, I couldn't wait to make it to work. It was an amazing, life changing experience. I worked with people who truly cared about the well being of the children under their care. What amazing people.
Then I got a different job. And I started to see things. Things mandated by the state and the district. Things that people who have never been the leader in the classroom thought were really good ideas. Easily qualifiable measures of effectiveness.
The only problem being, in the land of learning there are no easily qualifiable measures. What works for one child will not work for another. Each person is unique with unique learning needs, and despite what some seem to think children are the same in that regard. Each one has it's own needs, interests, and desires and the trick of educating them is to use those as the template to create a way for them to learn.
That's not what we're doing though.
We're hammering test after test to see where they are and then punishing the teachers and the school for not doing well enough. Never thinking that stripping the resources from a place that's doing poorly isn't the way to make it do better. We're treating our schools like factories that we can keep track of the "quality standards". But it's not like they're human beings...
I'm going to say something that I probably shouldn't. America (and Utah in particular) really doesn't give two shits about children.
We don't.
Because as soon as they're born we think it's somebody else's problem. We refuse to treat teachers like they're trained professionals. They may as well be teenage babysitters for all the respect they're given. We treat education like it's a poorly run factory that's supposed to churn out citizens, and then we are completely surprised when that doesn't work.
I mean this is America right? The corporate model and treating everything as a for profit is the way of things right? It's the best way because of the grim "Invisible Hand" of the all powerful market.
But children are not a profitable industry. Not in the way that we think of things being profitable. And they really shouldn't be. There should be no profit in education aside from the growth in a society that comes from an educated populace. We all benefit from education, just nobody can make a clear dollar out of that. Long term strategies are always destroyed by short term thinking.
A lot of people across the state and even across the country are right in the middle of High Stake Testing. Tests that are meant to show a students progress according to the "common curriculum". These test will determine if some people lose their jobs.
That's why all of these cheating scandals come to light. Because this situation has completely incentivized cheating. If I'm going to be treated as a lying cheater who lies and cheats why the hell shouldn't I just actually commit the crime I'm assumed of?
I don't condone the behavior, far from it in fact, but I can completely understand why. In what other profession is it okay for you to lose your job over something you have very little control over? It seems that folks tend to get up in arms over stuff like that. But not in education. Here we're already a bunch of "lazy lying cheaters", who need to clearly told every possible way we can cheat so we don't do it. Because our jobs are on the line, and so help you if that student wasn't paying attention or had a bad day, or you couldn't get through to them due to deep seated personal conflicts, or you had a rough year... YOU are responsible and should have taught HARDER. And don't you dare think of cheating to save your job, insurance, and the funding to your school... because "cheating is wrong".
Why is education different? Why don't they rise up and try to make a change? Become more than glorified test dispensing babysitters? The answer is actually really simple. For the really good teachers, the higher ups have leverage.
Really good teachers care about children.
They want what's best for the children that they've grown to love and care for. They want to see them succeed and so they put up with all the rough parts of the job. They love their students with the kind of transformational love that seeks to make them better people. To make them stronger, smarter, healthier citizens not just of their city but of the world.
Yes, we get to teach, and teaching can be the most rewarding job there ever will be... But everything has it's limits. The poor pay, the disrespect, those could be overlooked by the truly dedicated to helping students. But now... they're starting to strip us of the power to teacher.
The world is changing, and the way we educate has to change with it. The future isn't more tests. It's more critical thinking. In the united states almost everyone has easy (or easyish) access to the internet. And through the internet you have access to the entirely of accumulated human knowledge. Memorizing the facts of which President died when is irrelevant when you can google it from your smartphone faster than you can remember it.
This means we need to change the focus. We need to step away from the easily testable bullshit that clogs up our time to ACTUALLY learn things. Important things like critical thinking, logic, compromise, and skills that will be useful in the outside world.
I want to be a teacher, perhaps more then I want almost anything. I want to help guide the most at risk, flawed, and broken little creatures in the world so that they can reach their fullest potential. I think it's the greatest gift that I can give to the world outside of arguably my writing. But even I, with a true passion for the profession and deep desire to teach and help children, am starting to seriously reconsider my options. There's got to be a better way...
I just wish I could see it.
For years now I've wanted to work with children. The first job I got with an elementary school, I couldn't wait to make it to work. It was an amazing, life changing experience. I worked with people who truly cared about the well being of the children under their care. What amazing people.
Then I got a different job. And I started to see things. Things mandated by the state and the district. Things that people who have never been the leader in the classroom thought were really good ideas. Easily qualifiable measures of effectiveness.
The only problem being, in the land of learning there are no easily qualifiable measures. What works for one child will not work for another. Each person is unique with unique learning needs, and despite what some seem to think children are the same in that regard. Each one has it's own needs, interests, and desires and the trick of educating them is to use those as the template to create a way for them to learn.
That's not what we're doing though.
We're hammering test after test to see where they are and then punishing the teachers and the school for not doing well enough. Never thinking that stripping the resources from a place that's doing poorly isn't the way to make it do better. We're treating our schools like factories that we can keep track of the "quality standards". But it's not like they're human beings...
I'm going to say something that I probably shouldn't. America (and Utah in particular) really doesn't give two shits about children.
We don't.
Because as soon as they're born we think it's somebody else's problem. We refuse to treat teachers like they're trained professionals. They may as well be teenage babysitters for all the respect they're given. We treat education like it's a poorly run factory that's supposed to churn out citizens, and then we are completely surprised when that doesn't work.
I mean this is America right? The corporate model and treating everything as a for profit is the way of things right? It's the best way because of the grim "Invisible Hand" of the all powerful market.
But children are not a profitable industry. Not in the way that we think of things being profitable. And they really shouldn't be. There should be no profit in education aside from the growth in a society that comes from an educated populace. We all benefit from education, just nobody can make a clear dollar out of that. Long term strategies are always destroyed by short term thinking.
A lot of people across the state and even across the country are right in the middle of High Stake Testing. Tests that are meant to show a students progress according to the "common curriculum". These test will determine if some people lose their jobs.
That's why all of these cheating scandals come to light. Because this situation has completely incentivized cheating. If I'm going to be treated as a lying cheater who lies and cheats why the hell shouldn't I just actually commit the crime I'm assumed of?
I don't condone the behavior, far from it in fact, but I can completely understand why. In what other profession is it okay for you to lose your job over something you have very little control over? It seems that folks tend to get up in arms over stuff like that. But not in education. Here we're already a bunch of "lazy lying cheaters", who need to clearly told every possible way we can cheat so we don't do it. Because our jobs are on the line, and so help you if that student wasn't paying attention or had a bad day, or you couldn't get through to them due to deep seated personal conflicts, or you had a rough year... YOU are responsible and should have taught HARDER. And don't you dare think of cheating to save your job, insurance, and the funding to your school... because "cheating is wrong".
Why is education different? Why don't they rise up and try to make a change? Become more than glorified test dispensing babysitters? The answer is actually really simple. For the really good teachers, the higher ups have leverage.
Really good teachers care about children.
They want what's best for the children that they've grown to love and care for. They want to see them succeed and so they put up with all the rough parts of the job. They love their students with the kind of transformational love that seeks to make them better people. To make them stronger, smarter, healthier citizens not just of their city but of the world.
Yes, we get to teach, and teaching can be the most rewarding job there ever will be... But everything has it's limits. The poor pay, the disrespect, those could be overlooked by the truly dedicated to helping students. But now... they're starting to strip us of the power to teacher.
The world is changing, and the way we educate has to change with it. The future isn't more tests. It's more critical thinking. In the united states almost everyone has easy (or easyish) access to the internet. And through the internet you have access to the entirely of accumulated human knowledge. Memorizing the facts of which President died when is irrelevant when you can google it from your smartphone faster than you can remember it.
This means we need to change the focus. We need to step away from the easily testable bullshit that clogs up our time to ACTUALLY learn things. Important things like critical thinking, logic, compromise, and skills that will be useful in the outside world.
I want to be a teacher, perhaps more then I want almost anything. I want to help guide the most at risk, flawed, and broken little creatures in the world so that they can reach their fullest potential. I think it's the greatest gift that I can give to the world outside of arguably my writing. But even I, with a true passion for the profession and deep desire to teach and help children, am starting to seriously reconsider my options. There's got to be a better way...
I just wish I could see it.
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