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I feel like I should be talking about France.

I honestly don’t know what to say about that situation. I could say that I feel numb, but the feeling is different than that. I feel like terrorism has become far more prevalent in our world and I am far less emotional about it. I won’t go so far as saying that the mass murder of people feels normal, but it does feel expected. We are built up for this from the media, from the government, from the military. We are reminded all the time that safety exists only as an illusion to me maintained with vigilance.

It isn’t that I don’t feel safe. I don’t consider safety much at all. I avoid, for the most part, any mental travels down the road of ‘will we be attacked by terrorists?’ I think we all have that ability to close out thoughts and to not approach certain ideas because to do so would suck up all of our attention and energy.

I think the situation in France shatters that much in the way 9/11 did. I think that people are going to be a little more scared. By people I mean authorities and those who are paid to worry and now are worried that something might happen to us on football Sunday.

Lets hope their vigilance keeps things on the up and up.

 

Some Thoughts:

1. I haven’t posted scores in a while.
2. Here’s a score: Holly Holm KO’s Rousey. Who knew?
3. And then this happened. I have an 11 yr old. He isn’t doing that…

My present level of exhaustion is criminal. In six and a half hours I need to be out the door dragging my exhausted (and sick) kids to a tackle football playoff game that two of them are playing in. I know I’m tired because in the back of my mind I’m rationalizing how the new Bond Spectre movie might’ve actually been good. It wasn’t. No amount of sleep deprivation can change that. No, seriously, Spectre was bad. It was spoof bad.

The problems with Spectre started after the introductory fight scene/mission. The movie launches with a beautiful look at Day of the Dead, and moves into and through a well choreographed and violent chase scene, which we later discover is integral to what passes for a plot in this particular film. So I am still happy at this point. Next thing you know Sam Smith is belting out his brand of excellence and the usual credits graphics start to hint at the best parts of the film to come.

Ten minutes later the whole thing falls apart.

Soon Bond is practically raping a woman (in his mock defense she slapped him before he could woo her, so I suppose he figured he had to do it). This is followed by one of the most disjointed and unbelievable spy films in known history. You shouldn’t be able to get this drivel past the guys who made Sharknado, but someone here we are.

By the end Bond has an apparently crucial bit of his personal history revealed, has faced of with a surprisingly stupid and inane villain, and ridden off into the sunset for what looks to be the last time. This wasn’t a send off in the traditional sense. I mean, I didn’t know it was meant to be a send off. It felt more like a send up. It felt like an homage to Bond films of the past. In truth, the SPECTRE storyline has been a part of multiple Bond films as far back as ’63, including the iconic Blofield and his cat, a version of which appear here in the new film. A version of everything appears in the new film. Too bad it isn’t a good version.

 

Some Thoughts:

1. This is supposedly going to be a 5 billion dollar election–twice what was spent on the 2012 election. I think a lot of that money has to do with the fact that nobody knows who is going to be the frontrunner and that sort of limited time to develop a candidate requires a lot of media saturation. I literally expect to see political ads in the Super Bowl.
2. I’ve been experiencing a great deal of muscle and joint pain that is commonly referred to as middle age, or the ‘fat period’. It doesn’t help that I haven’t bothered to take good care of myself. I can say that with me giving up on fast food (despite a recent nugget relapse) and soda and adding vitamins to my lifestyle, I’m saying there’s a chance I get past this.
3. There is a Writer/Producer who goes by the name Speed Weed. WTF??? I mean he does good stuff, but come on, man!

I recently discovered that a corporate official (we shall name him Bob) was accused of beating his wife so severely that her jaw was broken in two places. Of course all there is to show for the situation are the photos of the damage and the police report where the aforementioned wife claims to have suffered these injuries during a fall and refused to press charges against her wealthy husband. This is fairly typical beyond the mossy walls of corporate life. Incidents such as this are handled in house and left out of the public eye. Journalists do not sniff around the incident and start conversations about how the corp man should immediately lose his job. He is not a public figure, so why would they care?

Regardless of my (or Charles Barkley’s) feelings on the issue, public figures are seen primarily as role models or societal exemplars that we herald and heckle in the same manner of British aristocracy. These individuals are, for some reason, expected to be held to a higher standard of behavior. I’m not saying they are supposed to always act better than you and I. I am saying that when they do something socially reprehensible they are held to a higher level of responsibility than if they were private individuals. In other words, these public figures serves as a cultural barometer of our feelings about specific forms of deviance.

That brings me to Greg Hardy. He is the latest FB player to be exposed as a crazy wife beater, and as a result call into question the sanity of anyone who would hire him. What sucks is that he is a very good athlete and, unfortunately, this other stuff might stand in the way of him being able to make a living in what is likely the only way he knows how. On the other hand, given the rules laid out in the previous paragraph, I get it. I am not only supposed to care about what he does when his helmet is on. I am expected to care about what he does when he takes it off.

I don’t really.

Some Thoughts:

1. Sitting at Village Inn listening to a lady openly self-aggrandize her role in her job. Its an interesting listen, because she is claiming to do some pretty illegal stuff at work, but at the same time is talking about how her actions are saving the salary of two people, but the job would never acknowledge it or her, because then they’d have to take action against her. That is some twisted stuff. It will live in a story one day.
2. It doesn’t help that this women is a fairly terrible human being, based on her behaviors towards her waiter and companion. Now she’s carrying on a tirade about the quality and texture of the oatmeal she waited so long to get (long being less than 5 minutes). Now the manager is involved and I am no longer willing to listen.

This is another night when I nearly didn’t write the ten minutes I’ve promised myself I would. At this point I feel like quitting on this small thing, this tiny piece of my day and my life would be a tacit admission on giving up on so much more. Tonight I was caught up in other ideas and emotions. I spent veterans day riding the soul roller coaster, thinking and feeling my way through the past and present.

I was fortunate enough to connect with an old friend and roommate today. It has been 15 years since we last sat face to face and seeing him after the debris of a decade and a half has piled up on the shores of my psyche was akin to watching the tide come in… Yes, I recognize the corny poetics at play here, but there is truth in the imagery. He and I spent time together all those years ago, before marriage, still in the womb of college, so really before we went out and faced life. Now, fifteen years removed we a essentially grown up versions of those people we were with the scars and the bark to prove it. I am not entirely happy with who I have become. I am in someways a better version of that younger me, yet in other ways I am not.

The message in all of that is keep working and growing and changing and evolving and becoming. The belief that a persons state of self is static feels false. We change and we twist ourselves into versions of ourselves to suit the needs of a time, a place, even people. I twisted all the time and continue to do so.

So the mission then is to recognize this ideal self and have the courage to build structures and persevere through the handwork of growing ever closer to the all important self-actualization…

Or some such drek.

Last month not a whole lot of people knew who Jonathan Butler was. Now he is the man who led a football team to not play and a university system to its knees. I am of course, talking about the Missouri situation. When I think about the term discrimination I see it as a form of bullying. It is one group deciding to tell another smaller group what they can and can’t do and where they can and can’t do it.

Externally, we don’t deal with discrimination and bullying all too well. The moment Americans ‘don’t feel safe’ that is a signifier that bad times are ahead for the place where we don’t feel safe. It is quickly followed by that foreign population telling us to go away. However, if someone tells America to go somewhere else, we will invade your country, take your oil, and then build you a bunch of new stuff so our corporations actually do feel comfortable staying right where they are. Of course there’s money involved there, so we are fundamentally invested in the financial outcome as a capitalist society.

I feel like the tide has fundamentally shifted internally. Nowadays when someone says, ‘I don’t feel safe’ we tell them to go somewhere else. It is as if we suddenly believe that if you don’t feel safe in one place or one section of our vast nation then instead of confronting the problem you should get up and move somewhere you do feel safe. The situation in Missouri was (and continues to be) that black students faced a great deal of discrimination and the authorities refused to do anything significant about it. The situation was treated simply as ‘how things are’ in Mizzou. That is, until the largely black football team decided to stop playing. This became such a big deal that even Fox News had to tell the tale–though the bold faced headline they led with touted the protestors as the problem.

I don’t pretend to know all of the details in the Missouri situation, but I know that we are a nation literally founded on civil disobedience. I find it ironic that the same people who tout the Boston Tea Party as a core moment in the birth of our nation look so disparagingly upon a group of ball players saying they won’t play until conditions are right. I guess when it affects something that matters to you, the way you perceive things change dramatically.

 

 

 

 

I’m writing this post sans internet, so it won’t be up till the morning when I’m sitting at my regular booth at Village Inn writing the next one. At some point I became the guy that has a regular booth, waiter, time of arrival, and meal at a breakfast spot. In a way it’s the guy I always wanted to be—the guy you see at the front of those old small town mysteries who stumbles on to something nefarious and tugs at the threads until it unravels, revealing itself as a great plot.

That, or I’m just a guy who goes to the same spot to write every Tuesday and Thursday morning and gets a thrill just knowing he’s living the writer’s life. Slowly I’m getting a great deal better at that construct, moving away from the nonsense of slow dying and moving inexorably towards a life of real happiness—not just from the three bright stars in my life, but in love and work and the deep practice of writing and reading.

And video games too. Lets not forget that, despite the hours of senseless button mashing, there is a wealth of creative storytelling to be found in games. I wish I had more time to access that—maybe the summer. Maybe I’ll design a summer research project around embedding popular gaming into the classroom (How I learned Math through Warcraft?). It comes down to finding the time and love to do the things in life that are good for your heart and soul. It comes down to finding the people to do it with.

 

Some Thoughts:

1. I haven’t seen my dudes since I skyped with them Saturday morning. I feel like I’m impeding on their special time with their mom when I interrupt to call or to let them know that I’m still out here in the world missing them and loving them. I haven’t been with them since Thursday, which is the longest I’ve been without my kids in as long as I can remember. It isn’t a happy feeling to be away from them for that long. I’m crazy about those boys. I’ll be seeing them in the afternoon!

I like my women machine sculpted. It is easier to look at a girl when you know exactly how she was put together—no surprises in the bedroom, y’know. Mostly I go for the ones that keep it under wraps. I like to peel back the layers of cloth and coyness over a series of dates, careful not to rush the job less I sour myself on the close. In the end, mind you, it is the form that matters. She has to look a certain way. I am not much for the Barbie or the big girl. There is a type in between that titillates. A model of beauty, sexuality, and easy death.

Stephanie told me she was from Portland. She had gray eyes and large full lips. We met over dinner at a rooftop restaurant in Chandler, Arizona. I found her on one of those dating apps and instantly became enchanted by her smile. It wasn’t innocent by any means. Instead she smiled like a woman who knew what she wanted. I knew it would make what I do so much sweeter, to watch that smile freeze on her lips and then fade as the true work began.

 

Some Thoughts:

1. okay that was a short creepy start to something Stephen King inspired. I read the entry to his latest creation and thought about how much I would love to know how to capture the essence of fear. I’m not good or practiced at it, but I enjoy the effort—the work of learning. So, I’ll return to this freewrite again.
2. I’m on a plane ripping through the clouds en route to Phoenix. I’m not homesick, but I miss the people I love.

Some writers drink or use drugs in order to tap into that ‘litmosphere’ but I seem to get there on raw emotion. I’m a feeler and not a very intelligent one, mind you. I can sniff out quite a bit about how others are feeling, but articulating my own emotions face to face and making decisions absent of those emotions is as hard for me as speaking mandarin. Maybe that is what makes me a decent writer. I tend to bleed on the page. I have a better grasp of what and how I am feeling when I am doing so through the lens of another character. Its kind of screwed up, but there it is.

So, when I write characters there is always an emotional piece of me lurking right there below the surface. It can be wants and needs or fears or strange emotions I haven’t quite sorted out. In a way that is what keeps me writing. I’m not just figuring out the world I live in, I’m figuring out myself. I’m finding the things that make me happy and keep me strong and help me to feel like I have a place and a role in this world.

In the end it all comes down to having that all important sense of self. I have a friend, who i’ve mentioned before, who is basically a modern ronin. He lives by the principles and ideas of that set and has found his place and purpose and happiness in the world. I can’t point to any particular pre-built and say, ‘yep, thats me’. I also cannot say that I have ever found or built a character that is entirely reflective of me and my wants and needs. Maybe I’ll find that mirror in the words or one day come to better recognize it in real life.

Perhaps that is what it means to be the best possible version of yourself. Perhaps that version is crafted out of experience and desire and the core skills and abilities you’ve taken from your travels in the world. Maybe there is no externalization of that and the only way to be that and see that is to be and see it on your own and in yourself. The waiting and searching never seems to come to anything more than just more waiting.

So here I am walking the streets of Portland and assessing my own life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness. Strangely, the first thing that occurred to me about the place was how accurate it was that, in the Shadowrun vernacular, the elves took over this place. I mean I don’t want to sound mean, but I am at the point where stores are even telling me where they source their tea leaves. This place travels past common sense holistic values and moves full on into the realm of mean green. I even saw a sticker calling for less bikes and more skateboards. No, it wasn’t ironic.

Portland feels like New Brooklyn. It also makes me feel like I would do better in life if I enjoyed an urban area. Phoenix, at least the parts I frequent, doesn’t count. The truth of the matter is, I am a city boy and extended removal from one’s natural habitat results in a fundamental ‘wackening’ of that individual. I am not yet wack, but its coming on fast.

I’m super wack at fantasy football. Even as I sit by the hotel fire hammering out ten minutes of pure dope, I am reminded how not dope my individual fantasy season has been. According to the espn numbers, Johnny Manziel was predicted to be my best player this week… The aforementioned team, which I joke is the New Madden Curse lost 3+ qb’s and 2 top RB’s to injury. I traded a top WR who hadn’t done crap all year for two back up QB’s and the week of the trade he blows up and outscores, well, my whole damn team. Sebastian Janikowski has been carrying me. So, yeah, bad luck…

 

You have to recognize that writing chose you.

This is a big deal. Not everyone in our universe has access to story. Even amongst those who do, only a few are talented and dedicated enough to turn story into art. It’s a gift. I know I go overboard about that stuff sometimes, but I do believe that writing is a gift the way that speed is a gift to runners or good aim is a gift to basketballers. They were born with something that set them apart from the rest of known humanity in the same way that you were born special. Often writers tell me the opposite of this. Anyone can learn how to be a good writer? Not true. I teach writing and I think I’m pretty darn good at it. Still, there are some people I just can’t reach. They will always be awful, no matter how many classes they take. On the other hand, those who have be chosen will be great so long as they allow themselves the time and dedication to be such.

 

So, you accept that this is meant to be, and then you get to work. You find time in your busy schedule every day to put words on the page. You stop making all the excuses about not having a moment to yourself. You realize the lies you tell yourself; the misconceptions that float up out of you and hang over your life like a dull haze are seen for what they truly are. Often the failure to capitalize on real talent is a function of fear and of lack of motivation. I am not afraid to be great, but I admit to struggling with motivation. I know that I’ve pulled the ‘not enough time’ card multiple times. I also know that I have four gaming systems in my house and each tracks time of usage. I pretend that I have to play them so they don’t feel unused; so I can justify their purchase. This is how I procrastinate and like to myself about how much time I really have in my life. This is also how I decompress after a tough day or even a tough bit of writing. See, the line between taking time to yourself in order to stay sane and stay the best version of you and taking time to yourself simply because it is easier than doing anything else is very thin. It takes a great deal of self-awareness to recognize which is which.

 

Finally, think about writing as a part of you. It isn’t just about being chosen. It is about following through. Its about deciding that this is actually important to you and, despite the moments of difficulty, this is something that is truly meaningful and impactful to your life. I mean that last part: your life. When we write for other people, we are writing in order to please some external force. However, writing is a deeply internal process. It is about looking into yourself and seeing the connection you have with the universe and putting that connection down on paper for posterity. You have to want to do it for you, because ultimately you are the one who needs to do the hard work of writing and you are the most important critic you will ever face.