Indy

A moment of lucidity ~ I’m enjoying the new Indiana Jones movie ~ but have to keep reminding myself what he’s after ~ crystal skulls ~ real-world entities that, according to legend, were made by the hands of other-world beings ~ beings who visited earth, before Columbus, and were worshipped as gods by the early Mayans ~ the skulls are said to have mystical properties that could put us in contact with their creators ~ I repeat this to stay grounded ~ and bring context and coherence to this high-speed adventure. It’s really spectacular. Afterwards, I ask my friend’s 10-year-old daughter if she caught the part where they reveal the meaning of the skulls ~ “uh, kinda” she says ~ “I like the part where they were flying through the jungle and sword fighting.” ~ You got it ..I tell her.

Language of squirrels

The Senate Intelligence Committee just released a report titled: ‘how the fuck did we get here’ or ‘what did Bush know and when did he know it.’ Most people think it’s a waste of time and I have to agree ..it’s like beating a dead horse. But, if you listen closely ..it reveals something about human nature ~ how susceptible we are to deceptive speech. It also supports my theory that the mind is a story-making device ..in the absence of substantial information ..it makes up shit (anyone interested in where this shit comes from ..click here ~~>theory). Although there was no Intelligence information to support it, President Bush continually implies a link between Hussein and 9/11.

“After September 11th, we’ve entered into a new era and a new war ..and Saddam Hussein is a man that we know has had connections with Al Qaeda.”

“Secretly, and without fingerprints, Hussein could provide his hidden weapons to terrorists, or help them develop their own.”

I have to give Bush credit ..although he implies these connections ..he never comes right out and makes them. He relies on his listeners to do that ..which they did ..a Washington Post survey found that over two-thirds (69%) of Americans believe they heard Bush say Saddam Hussein was behind the attacks of September 11. I also admire the way he squirreled out of it later by having Condoleezza Rice go on ABC’s Nightline and say: “We never claimed that Saddam Hussein had either direction or control of 9/11.”

More Victors

In my estimation, there are probably thousands more soldiers, like Victor, returning from Iraq with mental conditions that are too subtle to detect without long-term evaluation. I know that when the brain takes a hit ..the first thing to go is attention. The second is impulse-control. It looks to me like these two things are causing Victor’s problems. Much of the surface area of the brain is dedicated to reducing ‘out-of-scope’ activity ..allowing us to focus, and act, on what’s relevant. Anything that impairs this action can leave us open to signals that disrupt conscious experience. This may account for the way Victor misperceives his parents, cars and carbonation. Symptoms like these may not appear for months after a soldier returns home. What often brings them to the attention of health care providers are complaints from family and friends who say they are no longer following the ‘script’ of the wholesome teenager they once knew ..growing up in the sheltered community of Santa Barbara. Or, worse ..they’re not following the script of the ‘noble young man’ returning from war ..which is complete bullshit because there’s nothing in the background of a teenager growing up in Santa Barbara ..or Nebraska for that matter ..that will ever prepare them to counter the horrors of war and it’s aftermath. The long-term consequences of our policies in Iraq ..and the ‘stop-gap’ policy of recruitment ..will be felt by this generation of Americans for a long time to come.

Victor's war

Victor returned from Iraq last fall after suffering a ‘head trauma’. He was knocked unconscious by the shock of a roadside bomb while on patrol. At first he seemed OK ..just a ruptured eardrum and a little blurring in his left eye. His parents were relieved. He was an honors student in high school. However, after returning to college ..he couldn’t keep up with his studies. He claims he can’t remember a thing he reads. But tests found that he’s not having problems remembering ..he’s having problems concentrating. He can’t tune-in long enough to finish a sentence without being distracted ..either by noise from another room ..or conversations he had earlier that day. He’s acquired some form of adult ADD. He’s also having problems at home. He used to be a pretty easy-going guy ..but now he ‘flies off the handle’ easily. He can’t even tolerate his parents asking him how his day went ..sounds like an interrogation ..so he’s doesn’t answer anymore. He quit going to school ..and won’t go anywhere by car ..he says it looks like other drivers are trying to ram him. He also avoids beer and other carbonated beverages because the fizzy noise they make sounds like bullets whizzing by. He’s getting more heavily into drugs.

Foggy forest

A forest somewhere in the Pacific Northwest ~ sent by a friend

Cyber killer

Cyber killer .. q’est-ce que c’est ..? fa fa fa faaaa fa ..fa fa fa faaaa fa. An adult whose misconduct contributes to the death of a child has got to be guilty of something more than violating an Internet policy..! But apparently that’s all federal prosecutors can come up with in the case against Lori Drew, a 49 year old Missouri woman, whose malicious harassment on MySpace resulted in the death of a 13-year-old girl ..by suicide. I thought we already had laws on the books to protect children from this type of predatory behavior ..regardless of whether it’s done by direct contact ..telephone or computer. Now, I’m no legal expert ..but I know, from watching TV shows, that when somebody inadvertently dies during the commission of a crime ..it becomes a homicide. It’s no different than driving under the influence, or creating unsafe working conditions.

I realize that harassment isn’t always a crime. However ..what Lori Drew of Missouri was doing is considered particularly ‘predatory’ and definitely illegal. She posed as a 16-year-old boy named ‘Josh’ ..then proceeded to con ..pursue .. harass and torment 13-year-old Megan. This went on for several weeks. Now, I’m sure it wasn’t her intention to kill Megan ..but that’s not the intention of most drivers leaving the bar either. The amount of psychological trauma she inflicted was enough to drive the adolescent to hang herself in the bedroom. The last message she received from ‘Josh’ was: “the world would be a better place without you.”

Section HR 3402 of the “Violence against Women Act” is what makes this type of harassment a crime ..and which, in my opinion ..turns Megan’s suicide into a homicide. I don’t see this as a breach of ‘Internet protocol’ ..but an act of reckless endangerment by an adult contributing to the death of a child. Wouldn't detective Goran see it this way ..?

No pain

~raudulently creating a
~ySpace account and
~sing it to Cyber-bully ..

The letters at the beginning of each line are missing. I can’t get through the first paragraph with any comprehension. Takes so long to decipher the words that I lose my concentration ..get quickly distracted and forget what the article is about. I’ve looked back at the title for the third time now. I pull at the edges of the paper ..but there aren’t any creases in the way. Maybe the column got cropped during printing. I turn the paper upside down ..and letters pop up on the right-hand side ..but now the one’s on the new left-hand side are gone. I turn the paper right-side up ..and the letters fade ..disappear ..reappear ..disappear ..and the words ‘cataracts’ ‘torn retina’ ‘iconic amnesia’ ‘stroke’ and ‘tumor’ roll through my head. I sit back and shut my eyes ..when the real reason becomes apparent. There’s a lightening storm brewing behind my eyelids. I open my eyes and the lightening distorts whatever gets in front of it ..bending things upward ..around ..and out of sight. Twenty minutes later the storm passes and I continue reading ..greatly relieved. I’ve experienced this before and I actually feel pretty damn lucky because ..doctors have told me ..I’m experiencing a migraine ..only without the pain. If you can imagine that.

Cognitive impairment

Says here that people in National Security are accusing the Bush Administration of suffering from ‘cognitive impairment’ because of the way they handled ‘intelligence reports’ leading up to the Iraqi war. Now, I’m no expert on national security ..but I do know a little about cognitive impairment. In my opinion, the ‘cognitive impairment’ that led the Bush administration to believe Iraq was a threat ..is the same process that led the Roosevelt administration to believe Japan was not a threat ..and dismiss events leading up to the bombing of Pearl Harbor. I’m not so sure I would call this an ‘impairment’ however ..it’s more like a ‘cognitive strategy’: a strategy of selectively processing information that’s consistent with existing policies or pre-conceived ideas. We all do it to some extent ..it’s just that I expect our leaders to be less biased than the general population when it comes to interpreting world events. The Bush administration dismissed a whole heap of available evidence that did not support their policy of hostility toward Iraq. In the same fashion, the Roosevelt administration had plenty of intelligence reports indicating that Japan was planning to attack Pearl Harbor. They chose to ignore them because they did not support their policy of diplomacy with Japan.

Roosevelt later defends his blunder by denying that he received any warning about Japanese intentions ..claiming that none of the reports specifically mentioned Hawaii. Bush, on the other hand, makes his case by ‘hedging’ ..using ‘implication and innuendo’ to misrepresent the facts. It’s the same strategy used by attorneys when they want to avoid being charged with perjury once the truth be known. How admirable when politicians stoop to these tactics..! Although Bush implies the possibility of a link between Hussein and September 11 ..he never actually makes one. What he says is: “ ..Saddam Hussein has had connections with Al Qaeda.” Not “ ..Saddam Hussein is connected with September 11.” Even Condoleezza Rice had to go on ABC’s Nightline in their defense saying: “We never claimed that Saddam Hussein ..had either direction or control of 9/11.” Now, I find these statements comforting ..! You can rest assured there’s no evidence of ‘cognitive impairment’ affecting this administration ..just the usual signs of deception ..betrayal ..and greed.

Politics of fear

I predict that McCain will beat Obama in the general election this November. Why do I say this ..? Even though I consider myself an independent ..history shows that military leadership trumps intelligence. I mean, look at what happened to Adlai Stephenson when he ran against Dwight Eisenhower in the 1950’s ..or Eugene McCarthy when he ran against the Vietnam War in the 60’s.

Although Obama is more popular with the general population, a poll taken by the independent Pew Research Center found that white working-class Americans identify more with McCain. The majority of these Americans think Obama is too ‘intellectual’ or not ‘sufficiently mainstream’ (for some, ‘Obama’ is simply a funny-sounding name). Last week, a Bloomberg poll found that the majority of white middle-class voters prefer McCain over Obama 45% to 41%.

How do I explain these findings ..? Although Americans are more educated than before ..census shows that middle-class Americans are still largely under-educated ..at most, only 15% finish college (which is higher than 10% back in my day). What does this mean ..? (Besides the fact that I’m a poll-freak) It means that ‘critical thinking’ is not a value shared by many middle-class Americans. We resist new ideas ..rely on old-fashion ideology ..and prefer a leader who’ll protect us from the ‘unknown’. So, while the ‘unknown’ is a territory we all share ..it definitely covers more ground for the segment of the population that lacks a higher education. As a result, mainstream America is susceptible to the politics of fear and ignorance ..which definitely favors the party in power.

(I realize that this post is chock-full of over-generalizations and bias ~ a heap full of apologies to anyone I offended)

John Fogerty

Tonight I caught part of the John Fogerty concert that I missed last week while I was at the KT Tunstall concert. He’s on KCET soundstage ~ which I will put down whatever I’m doing to go and watch whenever it comes on. I never saw a ‘Credence’ concert when I was a kid ~ but friends of mine who did always came back and told me they were hot. “Wish someone had told me before the show” I remember Gil say “..they blew me away.” This was before the era of readily available information ~ so, we all thought they were a bunch of Arkansas hillbilly kids who went to the big city and became successful playing the kind of music they grew up with ~ songs like ‘Born on the Bayou’ or ‘Proud Mary’ ~ that is until I started reading Rolling Stone magazine and found out that they were a group of California kids raised in San Francisco. Didn’t matter ..it just went to show me how easy it is to believe my own bullshit ..especially when a couple more people agree.

KT Tunstall

Wonderful day ..especially if you’re into music the way I am. There’s the Stagecoach Festival in Indio ..John Fogerty at the County Bowl ..and KT Tunstall at the Marjorie Luke Theater. I chose to see KT Tunstall ..which is way-cool because, to my surprise ..it’s all-acoustic ..! Kind of like watching MTV unplugged ..which is a real treat for me ..being the folkie that I am. And it’s so intimate in here ..it's like watching her perform inside a junior high auditorium ..oh wait, this is a junior high auditorium. Her latest CD, which I really like, is mainly rock ..but, those same songs sound almost country when you hear them played on an upright bass and slide guitar. Reminds me of the time I saw the Flying Burrito Brothers at the Fox Theater ..which still ranks as one of my top-five favorite concert experiences .. they showed Laurel and Hardy clips between sets ..which launched me into hysterical fits of laughter.

This show, however, is even better ..!

Roberto

I’ve been working-out at the high school football stadium these days ..using the track and climbing the stairs. It’s a pretty cool-looking place ..bowl-shaped with lots of old stone work and giant trees .. I can even walk to it. This evening I could hear someone singing “I LOVE ROCK ‘N ROLL ..” so loud it echoed. When I get there, I see him sitting way up on the top row .. stomping his feet and pounding his fist to the music ..he looks kinda’ big and menacing, so I decide to walk around and go up another set of stairs ..when I stop and go ..nah, I can’t let people scare me like this ..so, I go up the stairs that go right by him. When he sees me coming .. he smiles real bright, through his goatee, and shouts: “These iPods are great ..I love music, man ..any kinda’ music ..it doesn’t matter ..!” I go: “Sounds like you’re listening to Joan Jett” He presses the button .. squints into the display .. then looks back at me and shouts: “You’re right ..man! You know, I’m mainly into the songs .. I don’t always pay attention to who does ‘em”. “What else you got there ..?” I ask. “OK, wait ..lemme see ..I got songs by Metallica ..Guns ‘n Roses ..Billy Idol ..Blondie ..” “Anything by Melissa Etheridge ..?” “Uh, no ..who’s that ..?” “Doesn’t matter ..got any rap?” “Yeah, I got Snoop Dog ..Beastie Boys ..and ..Hey man ..whatchu’ like lissin’n’ to ..?” “Ummm, different stuff ..lemme see ..uh, alot of Bob Dylan lately.” “I heard of him ..what’s he like ..?” “He’s folk rock ..” I say. He looks puzzled, so I go: “You know, it’s almost like rap” and I do my goofy impression of Dylan singing ‘Subterranean Homesick Blues’: “Johnny’s in the basement ~ mixin’ up the medicine ~ I’m on the pavement ~ thinkin’ ‘bout the government ..” His eyes get real big ..his face lightens up ..and he throws his head back and laughs, going: “Whooah, that’s awesome dude ..” and I go: “Yeah, he was like one of the first street-poets ..ever see the movie 8-mile with Eminem ..?” and he’s like “Yeah Yeah ..so he’s one of those guys who can just open their mouth and the words roll right out ..” He gestures with his hand like someone vomiting. “Exactly ..!” I say ..and I’m about to continue stair-climbin’ when he goes: “Hey man, I got some h e r b ..wouldcha’ like to join me ..?”

Now, I’m sitting on top of the stairs ..watching the sunset ..feeling a warm Santa Ana wind on my face ..and listening to Roberto tell me stories about his high school days: “Man, I used to play football right down there ..” he gestures wildly down at the field below ..then he looks around and points to a group of trees “..and we used to get high over there .. between periods ..man, history class never sounded more i n t e r e s t i n g ..” I go: “Yeah, it can open your eyes to a lot of different stuff ..(?)” He goes on to tell me about his own family history. His father is from Durango Mexico ..where he married his mom ..and moved to Juarez ..by the Texas border. They just happened to be visiting friends in El Paso when Roberto was born ..making him an honorary US citizen. Clever ol’man I say to myself ..and I can see that Roberto is proud. I go: “That’s soo cool ..it’s like you know your story man” (or something lame like that ..when you know you’re getting too stoned to understand yourself). Roberto goes on to tell me that he used to be a gang-banger ..a ‘nubber’ he calls it. “What’s that ..?” I ask “A skull cracker ..” he says ..and I’m thinking ..hmmm, probably served him well on the football field down there. He tells me about an event that occurred when he was thirty that changed his life. He got a job working security at the Bowl. Before one of the shows, he was stopping traffic to let the concert-goers pass by ..when he sees this lunatic cross the street .. stumbling ..limping on a bad knee ..leaning on his girlfriend for support ..yelling obscenities ..picking fights ..shouting at his girlfriend ..and not making much sense ..except to Roberto ..who saw himself a few years down the road if he kept doing what he was doing. So, he stopped hanging with the gang .. and cut his alcohol consumption waaaayyy back (now he waits till he gets to the bar before drinking). Says he lost a lot of friends ..but doesn’t mind. “I like it where I’m at right now” he says ..and I tell him: “It sounds like a good place, my friend”

Albert Hofmann

Ironically enough, three days after my post on the topic of mind-altering substances (Sunday, April 27) ..Albert Hofmann, a Swiss Pharmacologist and foremost expert in the field ..passed-away. He was 102. On April 16, 1943 ~ Albert accidentally ingested the first batch of LSD ever made. He was looking for medication to help improve blood circulation. The event altered the course of his life. He became an expert on psychoactive ingredients in plants all around the world ..including the psilocybin mushroom used in South American Indian ceremonies. He took more than 50 ‘acid trips’ himself ..claiming: “Before then, I had always believed there was only one reality ..under LSD, however, I discovered other realities that were just as real ..if not more real ..than the one I’d been living.” I pay homage to Dr. Hofmann ..a true modern-day pioneer. Although we usually think of ‘pioneers’ as people who discover new frontiers on land or in space ..I think it applies just as much to those who explore the uncharted territories of the mind.

Further investigation

Continued from [link]

That fall, I returned to school with a topic for my ‘senior thesis’ ..I wanted to find a ‘neuro-scientific’ basis for hallucinatory experience. My academic advisors were pleased ..it seemed like I was doing something ‘grounded’ for a change. However, I had another purpose in mind ..I wanted to describe the benefits of the ‘peyote ceremony’ that is practiced in South American Indian cultures ..and suggest how it might be a useful way to understand the behaviour of people like Charlie. I was also beginning to detect a cycle in my own life. It fluctuated between a need for order and stability ..followed by fits of rebellion against order and stability. I think this cycle is universal ..and I thought that the Indian cultures had found a less destructive way to deal with it.

Humans crave information and novel experience. Our senses are receptive to an infinite number of possibilities. However, the higher brain centers are designed to narrow-down these options in order to give us a stable state of consciousness. The peyote ceremony is, in a sense, a ‘guided’ exploration into alternate states of consciousness. The active ingredient in Peyote disables the filters of the brain and allows more sensory information to pass through ..which results in an experience of extra-ordinary reality. The peyote ceremony ends with a period of guided ‘re-entry’ that allows participants to integrate these extra-ordinary experiences with the reality of everyday life. I wanted to show how these guided peyote sessions could serve as a model for treating mental illness (without the peyote of course) .. and how they could also prevent the ‘crash-landings’ ..and reduce the havoc that characterizes recreational use of hallucinogens in the US.

In the end, my instructors liked the ‘neurological-model’ I described ..however, they didn’t think much of the case I made for the virtue of peyote ceremonies. One of them did ask how much of it was based on personal experience.

See for yourself ~>[Senior Thesis].

Crazy Charlie

While other members of my peer-group were spending summers at the mall ..I was hanging out with my college buds in Laguna Beach ..it had a cool point-break and was ‘the place’ for mind-altering recreation. So, while followers of fashion were racking up credit card debt .. I was sitting on the beach soaking up the elements. One evening ..after a day in the surf ..we were sitting around a fire. I remember watching Charlie ..standing in about two feet of water .. calling to somebody out there ..like waayyy out there .. yelling: “Can you hear me ..?” “Can you hear me ..?” “Yeah ..I thought so”. Then he fell to his knees and hollered “Caam uhrn” (which I later learned meant ‘thank you’ in Vietnamese). I asked my Compañeros what Charlie was on. They said ‘nothing’ ..because they knew better than letting him near anything that might contribute to his condition. But, at that moment, I would have given anything to see what he was seeing ..because he looked so tuned-in. He was living with something I didn’t have ..calm in the face of the unknown. After that, my own ‘training’ ..dealing with theories of ‘rational behaviour’ ..seemed like a web of vague ideas .. real life passed through it like water ..the only thing keeping it together was .. vanity. Here we were trying to help people overcome their delusions ..when I couldn’t even tell what kept me from accepting my own delusions as real. I’m not so sure there’s that much difference between ‘delusions’ and my own ‘simulated’ view of reality.

Continued ~>[link]

Crazy Charlie (continued from below)

He beat the rap ..the cops just wanted to know if he was OK ..or if they were dealing with a homicide or something. The driver had no idea who Charlie was ..he’d picked him up hitchhiking. Now, I’ve known Charlie since I was in college ..when he was a Vietnam vet going to school on the GI bill ..and I was a kid fresh out of high school without a clue. Charlie was studying psychology because he wanted to understand some of the things the army had put in his case file before he was discharged. I told him I’d like to see some of those things too. So, one day he brought it to school for me to read. It said things like: “..subject suffers from unresolved Oedipal complex and separation anxiety ..which accounts for distrust of authority.” I thought; man, this sounds medieval ..it has no relevance to modern-day psychology ..and makes no mention of ‘post-traumatic-stress’ ..which, I suspected, was a lot more relevant to Charlie’s case. I may not have known much back then ..but I could clearly see that Charlie was still fighting a war.

Crazy Charlie

Charlie was in a car crash yesterday. Now the police are looking for him so they can charge him with leaving the scene of an accident. He was hurt ..broke his arm in fact ..but he still managed to walk away. I asked him why he didn’t just sit there and wait for the ambulance like anybody else ..he wasn’t driving ..so, it didn’t matter what condition he was in. He tells me he went to Macy’s ..put on a new pair of Calvin Klein underwear ..then took a cab to the hospital. What the fuck ..?! He goes: “Shit man, my shorts were all ripped up ..my mother told me always make sure I’m wearing decent underwear just in case something like this happens ..there were holes in my underwear, man ..I couldn’t let nurses see me with holes in my underwear.” “Gotcha ..now look, I’m not contradicting your mother or anything, but I do believe a broken arm beats holy underwear in this situation.” He goes on and on ..and I go uh huh ..uh huh ..uh huh ..you were holding ..uh huh ..I see ..uh huh ..by the way, what kinda’ medz they give you ..? He shows me a bottle of codeine and a bottle of valium. Apparently he was pretty shook when they saw him ..he’s still pretty shook. I took the bottle of valium .. shook a couple into my hand ..then put them in my pocket and gave it back ..boy did he howl. Look, I said ..we’re going downtown ..I’ll vouch for your mental condition ..tell them that you’re guilty of nothing more than following your mother’s advice ..they only want to get a statement ..I guarantee you that they’ll drop the charges and stop the chase; otherwise, I’ll give you these back ..deal ..? Deal. OK, wow ~ there is nothing worse for a paranoiac than to be pursued in real life ..it confirms their suspicion about all those other times.

The return

I double-check the figures ..sign ..make an envelope for the state return ..and dash off to the post office expecting to see after-hour carriers waiting outside. But there’s nobody. Shit, they usually have canvas bins sitting out till midnight ..I used to just toss my returns out the car window without having to break much. I park and go inside where there’s a line wrapped around the place. I discretely approach the counter from the side so I can ask what happened to the bins ..but, before I utter a sound, she takes the bundle out of my hand ..stamps each one ..tosses them somewhere behind her and says ‘all done’.

I go to Java Jones, sit outside and listen to a narrator inside my head explaining what just happened. I’ve been out-of-touch with reality for so long now that I have to rely on second-hand information. It also feels like there’s a ‘panel of judges’ listening and giving me scores for good or bad performance. I receive pretty good marks for finishing my returns on time ..mediocre marks for arriving at the post office late ..and dismal marks from the German judge who took points off for all the things I neglected to do while preparing my taxes ..(!?) I mount a forcible argument ..but people are beginning to stare ..so I get up and head for a tavern to settle this. On the way, I pass through a farmers market ..buy a flat of strawberries ..haggle over the price of avocados .. replenish my supply of fruit and vegetables ..then just sort of meander around stupidly for a while. My arms hurt from all the stuff I’m carrying .. but I haven’t heard a peep from any of the judges.

Space wanderer

The same forces that bind the atomic particles of my eyes also hold together the planets and stars in outer space. A slight shift in balance would turn those forces into photo-energy ~ and the universe would dissolve into light. Now, as awesome as that might sound ~ you can bet that any extraterrestrials, who are watching, will be knocking on the door the instant they see us tipping that scale. I look out my backdoor ~ there’s a creek and a small wooded area ~ and so many waves of energy bombarding me; I can’t catch them all ~ only the ones that my senses are programmed to receive ~ and even those get filtered ~ sent to neuro-clusters ~ and filtered some more ~ discarding what I haven’t got sense enough to understand ~ and preserving the rest as ‘conscious experience’. Scientists tell me that space is not a vacuum ~ it’s a fabric ~ when I step outside and walk down the street ~ it clings to me and starts to build up ~ like mud on my boots after a rainy day. I explain this to my friends and they get me a pair of goggles. But even those don't help much when I'm trying to see through the debris that, psychologists say, builds up on the lenses of my mind everyday.

Weekend update

I am a news junkie ~ I get my fix over coffee and breakfast ~ which is probably why I'm no longer married ~ after a night disconnected from the world at large; I wake up feeling like a vigilante ~ I need to see what’s coming over the horizon ~ like a drop in the price of a dollar ~ causing a jump in the price of gasoline ~ or an act of lunacy by the federal government ~ holding up my medz in Canada ~ once I’ve scanned the event-horizon; I settle down and become conscious of local conditions ~ like the surf report ~ or my neighbor's cat prowling the creek right now ~ I kneel down and feed the little guy ~ showing gratitude for keeping the rodent population down ~ it's a self-sustaining ecology around here ~ which is why I gave up trying to intervene years ago ~ after the deer ate whatever I tried to grow ~ causing my former neighbor ~ an ex-navy seal ~ to shoot them with a shotgun full of dimes ~ he told me not to be alarmed ~ it only hurts like hell ~ he was a heavy-drinking fucking hard-ass kind of guy ~ he'd greet me in the morning drinking vodka ~ put it down ~ climb a tree carrying a chain-saw ~ and we’d have wood for the next couple of weeks ~ last I heard, he was in South Carolina ~ running a security company or something ~ I guess I feel safe enough now to be looking back on these things ~ I take a drink from my water bottle ~ and spill most of it on my shirt ~ I try to wipe it off with the back of my hand ~ looking around to see if anyone's watching ~ when I see a dove strolling across the deck ~ oblivious to my presence ~ so I keep as still as I can wondering if it lost the ability to fly ~ when a blue jay swoops down and attacks ~ and they disappear in a furious ball of flying feathers ~ so I return to the paper ~ trying to figure out where I left off ~ when the blue jay returns and stares at me menacingly ~ as though I'm next.

Music theory

Roger used to lie under the flight path at LAX and mimic the sound of jet planes on his electric guitar ~ trying to be like Woody Guthrie who captured the sound of railroad cars on his folk guitar. Although he couldn’t jump a plane and ride it the way Woody could a freight train ~ he must have dialed into something receptive in the social psyche ~ Roger went on to become a major force in the world of music with tunes like ‘Eight Miles High’ and ‘Mr. Spaceman’ ~ I love the guy. He’s also a major contributor to my ‘theory of music’ ~ It is my belief that popular music, like other forms of art, comes about by mimicking advances in the field of transportation and technology. Sound absurd ..? Not when you consider that Art Deco ~ a popular style of architecture and design in the 1920's and 30's ~ was influenced primarily by the look of an ocean liner. I don't think it's a coincidence that 60's rock music arrived on the heels of airline and space travel ~ I can hear it in the sounds of Roger McGuinn and Jimi Hendrix ~ or that advances in data processing and satellite communications preceded New Wave music ~ I can hear it in the sounds of Devo and Pet Shop Boys.

BB in a boxcar

My head is pleasantly empty ..no mixed messages or quarreling narratives ..just a cool breeze passing through ..I can even hear myself breath. I know there’s a lot of stuff I should be thinking about ..planning a trip to Mexico ..helping Laura ..watching Karla ..paying taxes ..making house repairs ..and a thousand and one things that I can’t remember ..and I’m not sure I want to. I’m going to try to just sit here and enjoy the ‘wonder’ of uncertainty ..instead of dreading it like I usually do. I realize that goes against my nature ..but I’m not so sure that ‘worry’ is one of nature’s better qualities. I look around and notice how my eyes magnify the debris nearest me ..cracker crumbs ..chipped paint ..smudged tabletop ..and a bunch of other crap I forgot about ..makes me feel like a walking contaminator ..like ‘Pig Pen’ from the Peanuts comic strip. I go outside and immediately feel better ..for some reason when I'm out here the debris doesn't bother me.

Well blended

I bought a blender that was designed by engineers at NASA. It was kind of expensive ..but I watched a demonstration at Costco ..and since my favorite drink is lunch, I figured it might be worth it. Last year I went through two cuisinarts and an osterizer. So, I took this miracle of modern technology home and, without reading the instructions .. loaded it with juice, bananas, yogurt, tofu, egg whites, frozen mangoes, strawberries and ice cubes ..figuring it could handle that ..and I could eyeball it the way I always do. I turned it on full-speed ..heard a loud crushing sound ..watched the concoction change color ..then stop moving. Prior experience taught me to wait until it was a swirling liquid ..so, I waited. It took about the same amount of time as before. I thought I’d been gypped. When I took a sip .. it was more like drinking a pudding than a smoothie. I thought maybe I hadn’t waited long enough ..so, next time I gave it a couple extra minutes. Now it was definitely a liquid ..but not very cold. For the next couple days I tried different things ..and got about the same results. So, I read the instructions. They said smoothies only take a couple of milliseconds .. and what I was doing was watching it turn solid ..then heat up and turn into a liquid again. If I had waited another couple minutes ..it would a’ been soup.

Reading theory

Some stories can only be understood in the context of the ‘era’ when they were written.

I’m re-reading a book I read when I was in college. It’s making about as much sense to me now as it did then. It’s about a young Englishman who graduates from Oxford ..takes a teaching post at a boarding school on a remote Greek island ..then finds himself being lured into the unknown by a Mystic ..and a pair of twin sisters ..in a nearby Mediterranean villa. I go back and look at the date it was originally written ..1965 ..and I think ..that was over a generation ago. I start to wonder what sort of image an Englishman would have had back then. A picture of Sean Connery pops into my head ..playing the role of James Bond. I Google it and, sure enough ..it had a big influence on social behaviour. Everyone wanted to look like a secret agent .. zipping around in an Aston Martin from one exotic location to another ..acting in command of every situation. When I go back and hear myself read it in that ‘voice’ ..imagining Connery’s Scottish accent ..the story starts making sense. The dialogue clears up and reveals how easily ..and cleverly ..he’s being led into a trap.

Conspiracy theory

Some people have a threshold for mental activity that is so low ~ an ordinary event can trigger a chain reaction.

I’m driving through downtown LA at night ~ yellow lights flash and I slam on the breaks ~ jackhammers are pounding ~ my teeth are chattering ~ and scenes from Tom and Jerry are flickering across the windshield ~ they’re taking turns hitting each other over the head with sledgehammers ~ the sound turns into machine gun fire ~ and my heart beats faster. I see flares and warning signs pop up everywhere ~ redirecting traffic down side streets and alleyways ~ following orders from the DA ~ not me ~ I get out of the car and walk across four lanes of bumper-to-bumper traffic ~ that looks like the starting gate at a horse race. A group of street performers are rapping ~ police sirens are wailing ~ Tony Bennett sings ‘can’t take my eyes off of you’ ~ and shots go off like firecrackers. I run around the corner ~ duck into a bar door ~ order a beer with Jack Daniels ~ and tell the bartender about the shit going down outside ~ he tells me there's nothing to worry about ~ he's an undercover cop with with twenty years on the force.