Fragmentory Fragments

Today's Fragments

Re-reading Man's Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankel. It's amazing. Everyone should own this and read it.

When I first got this book I read it over a weekend. Just couldn't stop. It's one of the few books I can really say that about. Well, it's not very long, so it's not much of an accomplishment on my part.

Why do I seem to be getting more visitors each month? I am starting to doubt my tracker - I think it just randomly creates locations from around the world. Nepal? The middle of France? Is it just because I have more posts which means a post is more likely to be found in some random search? Are they bots looking to spread spam?  I am puzzled.

Teaching on Hinduism, I end up telling a quick synopsis of Job (yeah, kinda ironic). Is it not just really disconcerting that God starts the whole thing up on a DARE from Satan? I mean, even the end, he tells Job, "You're not going to know why all this happened- I'm God and you're just a human". As a reader, I'm thinking, okay that crazy shit that happened earlier in life - it better not be because of a dare from Satan. I want like a Lost-ian explanation of how it all fit into the larger picture of the universe.

Great movies I have seen the past few weeks: Slumdog Millionaire, The Sting, 500 Days of Summer.

The New York Times is going with digital subscription fee. I hate to say it but the genie's out of the bottle already...and if you're going to try to put the genie back in the bottle it's gotta to be cheaper than 35 bucks!

Sometimes you feel like a cog in the machine. Today was one of those days. (blah)

Time Traveling

A while back, I dug through some of my old journals. I wrote in these journals between the ages of 17-20. I doodled odd things, wrote notes, balanced my checkbook, but most of all, I wrote poems. They were always near my bedside and at my peak output, I wrote almost every day.

Although I haven't written poetry in years (all the poetry posts on this blog are at least six years old) I wanted to preserve these silly little love poems. Most of my poetry is already saved digitally, so I just typed up what I felt was the most interesting or worthy of saving. Most of the content in the journals is embarrassing. It's overly sentimental, self-centered and over flowing with teen angst. Of course, I was a teenager so it makes sense. My poetry aesthetic was very, well, American. It was anti-elitist, simple and passionate. I felt the purpose of a poem was to convey a singular idea, thought or emotion and to convey that idea as clearly as possible. Anything else was obstructing the art form. Thankfully, I have moved past that aesthetic, but admittedly, it still has a certain appeal for me.

One of the more enjoyable aspects of digging through the old journals was being able to see the birth process behind the poems. I loved reading the aborted poems, different phrasing, the lines scratched out, etc.

Two poems in particular make an interesting case study on my thought process at the time. I would guess both of these poems were written between 1996-1997 based upon its placement in the journal. The first untitled poem shows me struggling with the idea of change and the eventuality of personal failure.

Bad Poetry Disclaimer: I don't necessarily think these are good poems -- just that they are interesting as they reveal the creative process and my feelings at the time.

Version A:

for the moment
everything is perfect
for the moment
everything makes sense
for the moment
it seems i am happy
still i wonder
when and where
i'll slip up
and it will end.

Version B expands (and de-personalizes) on the theme of failure. Rather than pointing to my own failings as an individual, Version B recognizes that change and/or failure isn’t always someone’s fault. Rather it implies that change and failure are embedded in the nature of the universe.

Version B:

the universe rested for a moment and stopped expanding.
for a second, everything made sense
then the universe started to expand again
and all was in shambles.

Another poem, a few pages after the above poems foretells my love affair with spirituality and faith. I am almost positive this was written during a power outage as I always remember feeling it was romantic to be writing by candlelight (what can I say? - that's the type of guy I am). Both poems reflect a desire for embracing the unknown and the mystery of life. Both poems want to embrace a world of shadows rather than of science and “answers”.

Version A:

long ago when the world was young
magic ruled the dark night
shadows ruled
in the dim candlelight
the darkness enveloped the faces
they lived without...(abrupt end)

Version B:

and so it was by candlelight
after the inspiration of fluorescent lights went out
the flaw of technology brings us back
to a time of shadows
when the unknown was possible
and God was watching.


Version B seems to imply that God isn't watching anymore because we aren't embracing the "unknown" anymore. We don't need God anymore, because we have all the answers. For most of my college years I believed in a distant God, so this seems to fit right in with my theology at the time. I felt that God (if God existed at all) had to be too busy to care about the little things in the world - like me.

Reading my journals was like time traveling. I can read those journals and understand how and why I am the way I am now. I see a young man dying to just feel something, anything. I was ready for life to begin and most of all ready for real love. When my first love flamed out, it seems I took sadistic pleasure in the pain that followed. The fact that I had loved at all was viewed as an accomplishment.

I see a young man trying to be different and authentic. I was restless and bored with living the day-to-day lifestyle. In many ways I'm not all that much different from that young man. My whole life has been a struggle to be an authentic individual. This characteristic still drives my life and the major decisions I've made in life.

I suppose one day in the future I might be reading this blog in the same way, exploring my past to understand where I am. On that note, goodbye and good night to all my anonymous readers and my future self.

Art Post #4: The Final Chapter

One of my favorite comic books growing up was from a Marvel Tales reprint of the ASM #33, "The Final Chapter".  The story revolved around Spider-Man needing a serum to save Aunt May. For some inexplicable reason, Dr. Octopus had it (to this day I have never read the preceding issue, so I don't know why this was the case).

The story begins in Dr. Octopus' underwater hideout (which, by the way, if you are super-villain is pretty cool).  Apparently, the two had battled and now Spider-Man is pinned down by a massive hunk of machinery as water slowly rises below him. Thankfully, Doc Ock is no where to be found but Spider-Man is still left in a desperate plight. Using sheer willpower (well, and super strength) Spider-Man lifts the machinery off.  Totally exhausted and injured, he nearly drowns, fight off dozens of henchman and barely make it back to hospital in time to save Aunt May's life all in 20 pages.

Maybe Spider-Man is what made me think it's normal to talk to yourself. This goes on for five pages. Looking back, it's a little overkill with the floating heads...but I still love it.

To my nine or ten-year old mind - the story inspired me. The willpower exhibited - the "never say die" approach appealed to my adolescent dreams of manhood. I read this one over and over again.  I love the art in this comic too - it was Ditko at his best.

Recently, I was re-reading some comics and re-organizing them and came across this comic. It seemed like a good idea to attempt to re-create. I am not great at drawing life-size heroes, but a hero surrounded by machinery and water....I could try. I think it turned out alright.

The Final Chapter - 2011

Detail

You'll notice I drew Spidey looking at the viewer, while the original has Spider-Man looking down, about to give up.  I didn't do this on purpose, but my rendering almost looks as if, this is the next moment after he determines, "I'm doing this."

Deafening Silence

So I went to the bathroom at work, stepped inside a stall and what do I find, written sideways on the wall?

"Deafening Silence"

 
My mind instantly ran through connections and possible meanings.

After all, this bathroom is situated in the hallway where our Philosophy classes take place. Maybe it's an existential statement of being. We find ourselves alone in a cold, god-less universe - where no one can hear our prayers. Maybe it's a comment on the apathy of today's college students. They are all too busy to take their ear buds out and care about politics or the environment.

Nah, I've come to the conclusion it's probably just another terrible name for some awful speed metal band that seem to spawn in terrific numbers here in San Antonio. By the way, I saw a bumper sticker for a band named "Upon a Burning Body" in the parking lot yesterday and I just started laughing.

Other Fragments:

Recently, all my jeans got holes in them except one pair. This means I am going to have to visit our Goodwill soon - the last time it took me an hour to find a pair that would fit. It's not something that's fun but seems to be the most moral option of them all.

Recently I opened up baseball card packs that were twenty years old. I tried the gum in one of the packs. It was bad idea --- but I did get a KEN GRIFFEY JR ROOKIE CARD (now worth all of a quarter).

Currently reading a synopsis of all four gospels (it's all paralleled for you on the same page) and just about finishing up. I tried to be open minded towards John...but it's just not my bag, baby.


Two events happened yesterday (one professionally, one personally) that made me recognize I am not in control of my own life and sometimes, well, life sucks. That evening I dreamed I was trapped on an elevator that started spinning sideways, stopped and then started flipping upside-down. I was walking like a hamster in one of those wheels so I wouldn't fall down. So my subconscious did pick up on that stress after all.

Yeah, it kinda was an out of control Wonkavator but not as cool.

  

That is all - may the force be with ya'll.

Thought of the Day

Life is too short to not nap.

Poem Post: Downtown '98

In the summers of 1997, 1998 and 2000 I worked downtown. These were seminal years for me and I spent a lot of time alone -- thinking and writing.  Most days, I would walk to lunch from Hemisfair Park to the heart of downtown, often near the Alamo. I love urban areas - they seem so much more alive than our sterile suburban environments.  It seems like anything can happen.  I wrote this in 2005, looking back on a particular lunch-hour.  Yes, it actually happened.

Downtown '98
i see the puppeteer
with his dog puppet 
making strange comments
as the tourists pass
so i walk to the other side of alamo street
there's a preacher with the bible in hand
preaching in shade of alamo square
the annual dog show's at henry b again
i eat fast-food in the mall alone
and think of poems to write when i'm home.

February 12th: Time, Loss and Memory

12 years ago on the February 12th I was watching the Spurs v. Sixers in a bar in College Station, TX. It was a Friday and I was out having fun. It had been a long, hard week (as much as a typical spoiled college student's life could be called "hard").

After my roommate and I had finished our weekly radio show, we grabbed some food, cleaned up at our apartment and joined some friends to bar-hop. I somehow managed (with a lot of help of my friends) to become plastered. It was the drunkest I have ever been, before or since.

I remember lots of beer, shots and laughing a lot. We went to regular bars, shot bars, and at least two different dance clubs. At the second dance club I began to find the whole scene really pathetic (this often happened around 2:00 AM for me). In my inebriated state I couldn't find my friends at the club so I decided to walk home.

This might have been a good idea if I wasn't all of the below:

A) Drunk, really, really drunk

B) In cold weather with no jacket

C) about 2-3 miles away from home

D) 2-3 miles from home and having to cross major thoroughfares

Nonetheless, I left. I wasn't mad, I just wanted to leave and I was ready to sleep. So I began my journey and I kept repeating to myself, "don't get hit by a car", "don't look drunk" -- over and over again. Finally, I arrived home.

I had a message on our answering machine. I pushed the button and there it was.

The worst message of my life.

I called my friend back as she didn't say exactly what had happened. I thought she was stuck somewhere drunk without a designated driver.  I soon found out that one of my close friends had died in a car wreck earlier that day....probably sometime during our radio show.

I told her she was wrong or that she didn't know for sure. It was a classic denial stage setting in. However, the initial shock and disbelief was quickly fomenting into anger. I was seething with life, everything, God -- I kicked and punched the walls. In my drunken stupor I squirmed on the floor like a child writhing in rage. How could God take my beautiful friend? How could he take my best friend’s little sister? I screamed and repeated obscenities over and over. I expected to somehow black out so it could all to go away. As I recall these flashbacks so vividly - it’s like a tiny glimpse of hell itself.

It was so hard to understand. It's still hard to remember but as I write I feel just a shadow, a ghost feeling that still lingers just a little while as I write about it.

Mikey was special. Not in the "great person" special - she was special because she was different. She was moody, funny, fun-loving, jig-saw puzzle and old movie loving, quick to anger but most of all, my friend. She had a way of making you do just about anything for her. Maybe she was manipulative but more than that I think she was magnetic. When we weren't fighting or annoyed with one another she could make me feel special. She did this to everyone, because at her memorial service, she had just about everyone convinced. Everyone thought they were Mikey's best friend because she made everyone feel part of her world.

So, why rehash all this?. Is it some kind of therapeutic thing? A need to story-tell as to feel better about it? No, I got over Mikey's passing a long time ago.

I'm writing because I feel guilty.

I feel guilty because every year, Mikey fades away a little more. I think about her a little less than the year before. I had a little photo of Mikey next to my bed for years that I finally put away about five years ago. Assuredly, I probably forget more every year; the way she would smile or how she would say a certain word. I feel guilty because I have moved on.

This isn't to say I have forgotten her or that I don't think about her. She still sneaks into my dreams every so often. The last time I was a time traveler trying to warn her not to get into the car. But, cruelly and inevitably, time keeps moving. Mikey's still 19 and now I'm 33. She's staying in college and now I'm a father of two (with another on the way). She's still young and vibrant and now I'm older, mature and settled.

God willing, I'll keep getting older. I'm sure some details will continue to fade and there's nothing I can do about that.

However, blurry memories, are still memories. And its true, I have moved on, but I won't ever truly forget. I'm sure Mikey would want it that way.

So I'm writing today because I want to feel sad again.

I want to remember that the world lost something 12 years ago this month. It lost a true individual who was loved by many. We still miss you, Mikey.

yeah, she was crazy, but ya know, a good crazy.