Archive for the ‘blue’ Category

You are not Abandoned

Posted: August 23, 2012 in blue

Fear not, my seldom opened virtual notebook, I shant leave you forgotten on some empty faux velour bluish gray bus seat of cyberspace. What is it about that thing, publishing? I write a good deal more for no one than for everyone. Isn’t that the idea, though? You write everything you’re afraid for others to see somewhere hidden, and imagine after you die you will somehow increase in importance and then the world can finally be exposed to your untested brilliance?

Some failures of logic in there, for sure, but I’m also quite positive I’m not alone in my silent quest for posthumous glory.

It comes down to fear, then, and what is any fear other than some modification/transformation/manipulation of the fear of death? It’s my current quest to get over my fear of death, because I had a quite stoned revelation that my fear of death controls every decision I make. A silent grip around my chest squeezing the air out so my brain can’t think for itself.

The ego, the transcendental “I,” the ever-beating demand for validation. Because the ego is born from the knowledge that YOU ARE GOING TO DIE AND YOU DON’T KNOW WHEN OR HOW. A life is thrust upon your confused spirit, and your coming to adulthood is the desperation to define your life before it’s gone.

Do animals know they are going to die? They certainly have (gangster) egos:

They don’t seem too concerned about death, though. My last cat, Tango, died suddenly, but he came to me the night before and was noticeably more affectionate–almost aggressive in trying to pry my attention away from the computer in favor of intense cuddles. Maybe once you’re not afraid of it you can feel it approach, like the need to pee, and greet it as you would any natural part of life.

What I meant to get at, which may or may not have been accomplished, is that, in this day and age, if you’re going to write, you might as well write like you’re not afraid of death (since it’s coming anyway), and therefore the distinction between putting your thoughts on a privately owned piece of paper or out in the world for all to see should be a matter not between me and my ego but between me and whatever I hold sacred. Sacred things are private, and sanctity is one of the few things us humans can’t communicate effectively to each other (hence the clapping in church–if we all pretend we feel it, and it sounds like we all feel it, well, then, we all feel it!).

In short, my neat little piece of silicon property, You are not Abandoned.


After more than twenty-five years of intense clinical analysis, I have arrived at a careful diagnosis that my habitual behavior exhibits some symptoms of both Attention Deficit Disorder and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I’d like to discuss this, because I think we need to reign in all the negativity surrounding interesting psychological differences that each of us may have. “Disorder” just seems harsh. First, though, just because Freud would want it, I’m gonna justify my diagnosis.


I’m reading on my bed. My eyes drift away from the book to a small dustbunny of animal hair (that’s a funny word, dustbunny. Hang on, I gotta consult some OED…

Ok, after accessing the Oxford English Dictionary, then remembering I left my beer in the living room while in the process of moving my study materials there, then fetching the beer back to my room, and finally looking up dustbunny, which the OED tells me is actually dust bunny (which out of the hundred or so sub-entries of the word dust, only dust bunny, dust cover, and dust mite are not hyphenated [constant pattern recognition and fixation, there’s the OCD] as opposed to, say, dust-flow, a stream or landslide of volcanic ashes saturated with water), I find that dust bunny is mainly a North American term, and the OED’s aggregation of its uses dates it back to 1952, when the Newark (Ohio) Advocate and American Tribune published the sentence,

“He [a child] can be happy enough if there are occasional dust bunnies under the bed, but he will be miserable indeed if we neglect to safeguard his place in a free society.”

Oh, the fifties.)

So I see the dust bunny, put down my book to pick up the dust bunny, and then glance under my bed where a small forest of animal hair has grown rootless onto the wooden floor where my bedroom chi needs to flow freely (the Chinese chi, not the Greek letter, which is how the OED defines the word [disappointing] [never let me blog with the OED open]), I fetch my shop vacuum, which, by the way, is a great solution for vacuuming hardwood floors, and three hours later, after finding piece of dirt after piece of dirt everywhere in my household, the whole place smells like a dinosaur burped Lysol and my book has been comprehensively neglected.


Now, this may not be the best example of “disorders” producing productive results, but what the term actually means is a psychological condition that impedes healthy functioning. REALLY what it refers to is a way of thinking or seeing the world that impedes someone from being able to sit a desk 8 hours a day and do what they’re supposed to do, whether that may be doing good in school or chugging away at that 9-to-5. DISORDER has become such a powerful term that we tell 13 year olds to pop cocaine derivatives so that Mom and Dad can brag to little Jimmy’s mom about the 98% their son got on his history test.

Plato and Aristotle just walked around talking to people about things like beds and tables and ended up producing the basis for cosmological Western thought, but no one told them they had disorders. Next time you do something and that little Freud voice in your head criticizes it, just remember that 2nd grade self-esteem program the school’s counseling department made you do crafts about: I’m THUMBody! (Cuz your thumbprint is unique? Get it? Clever, I know.)