Home Again

Seems like every time I fly these days I get stuck sitting next to the person that is coughing. This time was no exception and now I am feeling miserable myself. I had some good ideas for writing so maybe if this cough goes away soon I will feel like making it happen.

Traveling

I'm off to the airport (one place I really dislike) to make the flight across the country to visit some family (one place I do like). I'm sure it will be great fun and a joyful experience (once I get off the plane) and I am looking forward to being in the Texas warmth (as long as the air conditioner is working). Being in the rural environment will do me good (as long as I don't drink the water). So everyone talk amongst yourselves for a few days (or yourself if you prefer inner dialog) and I shall return on Saturday filled with inspiration (likely a few other things as well) and will write something that has somewhat of an entertainment value (or maybe another rant) when I return.

I Love Weekends

I love when the weekend finally gets here, especially after a week like the last couple I have had. Not that the last 2 weeks have been overly challenging, but I find myself ready to disengage the brain for a bit. I used to make big plans for all the things I wanted to get done on the weekends but I am accepting that it is a much better plan to see what I feel like doing before I commit to everything. This weekend I do have to prepare for some travel next week but I have left a large window of time open to see a movie or 3. Perhaps this will be my weekend to look for some updates to my wardrobe. I have already stopped by the auto dealer to see when the new model of hybrid will be available for me to drive (another month, makes me sad). Most importantly this weekend I will seek out a new place to eat.

When I worked as a musician, weekends were usually very busy with setting up for a gig, playing, tearing down after a show then trying to find a late night snack. I did really enjoy the opportunity to continuously meet new people and discuss some really random topics with people who had consumed a little more than they should have. On a good night, when all the musicians were in sync with each other the experience was like no other feeling. The satisfaction that comes from making contact with a room full of people is something that has no substitute. Most nights, however, there seemed to be a rift between at least 2 players and made the music project the frustration onto everyone leaving an uncomfortable feeling for me.

Having attempted several forms of creativity I have found that the immediate feedback that one gets with music is near impossible. I believe that most art is a language that is used to explain the feelings that words cannot. I find expressing myself with words to be a serious challenge these days, a challenge worth the effort. I learned how share my emotions through music and a few other ways but putting them into written form is something I must try to do. The difficulty for me with written communication is I am not sure how I am connecting with the reader most of the time. If I could see the readers faces while they read I would feel so much more comfortable with how I express myself.

When I write I try to form each sentence the same way I would a phrase of music in the past. I sometimes write a sentence as many ways as I can think of before deciding which version to use. Improvisation is not something I can do with writing as I could with music, there is much more permanence with writing. Sometimes I wish I had spent more time expanding my vocabulary so that I could have more options in trying to achieve the desired rhythm for a sentence. Choosing the right words and making the right phrases can really be a stretch for me sometimes. Someday's I wish I could substitute a few notes in place of words just because it would make more sense to me.

Setting the mood for the delivery of the communication is something I am spending a lot of time thinking about. It has been said that T-Bone Walker to turn any time of day into 3am with his music. I occasionally read something that draws me into it in this way and I am working on this ability more every time I write. How nice it would be if I could show you the world as seen through my eyes and to hear things as I do through the use of words. I am quite sure that this will plague me in the same way as trying to paint a picture with sounds has. The quest to be understood is one without end.

This weekend, I will do many of the things on my list of "have to get done" stuff but my mind will be working on how to better express my thoughts. I will also be spending a fair amount of time playing with Spike so maybe when I sit down to type he won't be so tempted to walk across my keyboard. It's time to get the weekend started.

Fear of Wet Feet

After a weekend of struggling to organize some thoughts, I arrive on Sunday evening gazing at the vast emptiness where my thoughts should be. I would like to say that I spent the weekend in self-reflection but that would be less than true. I have spent my weekend avoiding much of what I typically enjoy, my thoughts. My own selfishness to not expend the energy to follow the dashing rabbit has caused me to let slip by the opportunity to seek out the adventure that lies between my ears. In my own defense, however, it was a week which had knocked me from my center and everything appeared to be on the other side of the pane.

As the defense rest, the self-prosecution stands up to address the jury by pointing out there is an extremely high probability that I did not want to swim in the swamp for fear of finding those things I choose to ignore. This suggestion is one for which I have no defense, I can only accept that yes there are some things I choose not to look at for now and concede that these things will most likely still exist upon my return for them. Granted they will have morphed into variations of their current state but that means that they will appear more defined and easier to translate to the non-resident thinkers.

Being the emperor of an Impirical empire brings a heavy burden. The cranial universe without limits might be too wide to swim. Standing at the edge staring at my reflection, I pause....

For Friends of Felines

I happened across this bit of information earlier and found it to be interesting that I am not the only person to name a cat Spike. If my Spike lives as long he might out live me by a bit.

From Dr. Jon email (he is a vet that writes a newsletter):

Who was the oldest living cat and how old was he?

According to the Guinness Book of Records, the oldest cat on record was a domestic longhair by the name of Spike. Until 2001 when he passed away at the ripe old age of 31 (that's 140 in human years, but who's counting?), Spike was still happily chasing spiders and enjoying life. Spike lived in Dorset, England with his owner, an aromatherapist named Mo Elkington. (Another British cat was recorded to be 34 years old when it died in 1957, but it was not documented by Guinness.)

Starting the Week

Spike is my wonderfully huge cat that keeps me amused more than not. We had a little excitement in the middle of the night by way of a flying visitor making a route between the living room and the bedroom. I'm really not sure how the tiny little bat managed to get in but it put both of us on high alert status for a bit. I got an opportunity to revive the well honed skills I acquired as a youth in the area of stick ball and managed to knock the bat silly with a broom handle. The little rodent of wing was almost 2 inches head to tail but had a wing span of 7 or 8 inches. After his mid-air collision with the handle of my broom the bat lay curled up in a fetal position making a clicking noise I would assume to be like a policeman under fire calling for backup. I found something to be able to pick up the disoriented pilot and to escort him to a location outside of my domain.

After about an hour I managed to calm myself enough to resume my much needed slumber. Spike on the hand spent the rest of the night with the terror alert level being a deep, dark red. When I got up to do my normal morning routine, he did not immediately join me in the kitchen. I think he decided to sleep in a bit. He eventually stumbled into the kitchen looking extremely groggy and sat down and looked up at me. He then decided to perform one of my favorite songs from the cat opera Tommy Cat.

Feed me. Pet me. Touch me. Feed me-e-ee-ee.
Feed me. Pet me-e-ee. Touch me. Feed me.

How can you have a bad week when you get something like that first thing on a Monday morning. I hope everyone has a great day.

Sunday Nights

Sunday nights present a challenge to me. After having had some time over the weekend to allow my mind to shift into self directed, free flowing mode I find Sunday nights difficult to turn it off so I can start out a week feeling prepared. It's not quite to the level of mourning but I do resist having to shift my thinking processes back to the typical problem solving, logical, and professional grove for a few days. Don't get me wrong, I really enjoy the type of work I do but hoping from right brain to left brain to right brain at the frequency I have been trying to maintain is exhausting. So much so that I have decided to give the mosh pit of metaphors a bit of a break.

I am really enjoying the book by David Foster Wallace that I am reading A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again. His writing has helped me recognize when I am being abusive to my reader and even when I attempt to high jack the readers sensibility by creating an environment that delivers the reader to a place of self-confliction. I have also found that recognizing when these events are taking place puts the writer into the odd position of deciding whether to exploit the opportunity to molest the synapses of the reader without consent or to handle the situation with flowers and a box of chocolates.

Now for some fun ideas.

Wouldn't it be great if your pet could talk? Your best friend could express their unconditional love and admiration for you. The dog or cat could tell you when there is something wrong instead of you having to deduce through odd behaviors that it is time for a trip to the vet. Let us also look at another possibility that arises with the thought of a talking pet. Let's just think for a minute if your pet was the hit of the party you are having at your house. Everyone is amazed with the pet that talks and your pet begins doing its stand up routine and enjoying all of the attention. In the heat of the moment, you pet decides it would really be funny to tell something about you that it finds funny. This will require some reflecting on what kinds of activities your pet might be witness to. Just a suggestion that your pet knows things you wouldn't tell another person under any conditions. Maybe it's best they don't talk.

I can't imagine what my life would be like sans a furry companion. Pets are able to communicate with their owner in an empathetic way that is rare to achieve with another person. Cats are wonderfully affectionate especially if there is a potential for a treat. Dogs have a distinct advantage because it is extremely rare for your dog to judge your actions. Dogs are typically content just to see that look of approval in your eyes. I suppose a gold fish might not develop a bond with its owner but they can still provide a calming effect for the person that spends 20 minutes watching them swim. What a relationship we have developed with our companion species.

My good night wish is for all who read this to have a fabulous week. Thanks for stopping by.

Hostage Negotiations

I make frequent jest on the topic of being held hostage by my feline companion but this is usually a metaphor for the reality that I am the hostage of my own taking. My self-imposed restraints stem from the burdens of conformity, conformity to a society that does a little for me as I do for it. I have never been one to feel the need to be part of the masses who blindly follow the person ahead of them, believing the whole time that there is an experienced guide at the front of the pack that is leading everyone to a place of comfort. I lean toward questioning everything that is presented as fact and considering that which is not. The path to freedom, the greater personal freedom, has yet to be taken. My prison is my thoughts and feelings of obligation to participate in the social structure by which I am surrounded. My freedom is in knowing that I do not have to participate in that which I do not to enhance my life.

For a large part of my life, I assumed that I needed to pattern my life in much the same way as those around me had chosen to do. Having been trained as an observer from an early age, I am usually never the first person to dive into the waters of undetermined depth. This has been well suited for me as I have had the opportunity to assist a few other who have found themselves stuck, head first, in the mud that dwells just below the surface. I was under the spell of the force applied by assuming I was surrounded by peers and after assisting one to pull their head out of the mud, I would then join them in the shallow pool all in the guise of feeling like part of a community. As our galactic real estate has made numerous completions of it's route, I find that I am less inclined to join in the mud bath with my fellow swine.

I have successfully negotiated my release from the prisons of my past and have chosen a path which allows me to be my own guide through the uncharted region that lies ahead. I no longer feel the obligation to join an activity for the soul purpose of not holding myself in solitary confinement. I am now able to move along at my own pace and investigate all available options before deciding which way to progress. It has been such a liberating experience to ignore the Sheppard and move away from the flock. The opportunities for learning through discovery pays dividends exponential in comparison to the lessons repeated by another that might not have first person reference either.

My freedom to discover all which surrounds me has lead me out of the bondage of the desire to belong. It has also lead me to the realization that I have only made it from the cell block to the yard of the incarceration of my mind. I have discovered that I am still restrained by the limitations imposed by my analytical nature and the inability to take a path on a whim or by faith in possibility that I could find my way through a random algorithms. I find my current confinement to be binding by the same freedoms I had negotiated for when I released myself from the feelings of fitting in. I now find that this dog is just on a longer leash when all he wants is to sit on the porch at this stage in his life.

Extreme Until I Scream

The absurd appetite people have for various forms of stimulus is growing beyond the ability of a single form of media to produce enough adrenalin to satisfy these cravings. At the point that a 3rd generation of beings that have been raised by the bi-sensual babysitter we know as a television, even the allures of the internet are waning in the ability to provide the fix for mindless stimuli. Everything is now extreme as a mandate from the endorphin junkies that spend endless hour looking for additional ways to overload their ability to process information collected through every nerve receptor in their bodies. All industries are gravitating in the direction to acquire a piece of this market that is so overwhelmingly lucrative these days.

Desensitization is the process of increasing a persons tolerance for accepting various forms of stimuli. Like the professional wrestler that gets hit in the forehead with a steel chair, they already know what it is going to feel like so they do not have the initial shock associated with this impact as a person who has not. Even a roller coaster loses it's attraction after 50 or so times of testing ones ability to contain their lunch while trying to achieve the feeling of near demise. The entertainment industry has accepted the quest to push the media that produces higher levels of sensory input many years ago exploiting the likes of Hitchcock and the series of Bond movies. As a result of the profitability of continual testing the audience for incontinence was acknowledged, the refreshment providers decided they needed a piece of this action.

Soft drink moguls began to invest heavily into various forms of entertainment from movies to amusement parks. If it will raise your heart rate, Coca Cola and Pepsi will definitely be making an investment of some kind if legally possible. The suggestion to those seeking excitement that caffeine will enhance the overall experience by stimulating the users neural receptors so they can absorb even more of the stimulating signals being fed into the cranial head quarters for the central nervous system. Mixing in a large amount of purified carbohydrates in the form of candy and combining that with an intense flavoring propels the addict into a physical and mental state nearing ecstasy and euphoria. Continually increasing the quantities of the pungent and sweetness contained in each morsel of artificial gratification has caused the refreshment industries to invest heavily into new ways chemically shock your system into a mild panic.

This has spawned a new level of intensity in products available to the consumer to enhance the sensations and stimulations. Candy makes began sneaking caffeine into some items that have enough flavor to mask the bitterness of the drug. Beverage manufacturers began to experiment with alternative medicine additives or herbal supplements as the peddlers of drugs yet to be outlawed refer to them to enrich the level or arousal delivered from the consumption of their products. Even the natural products like coffee are being altered to include some type of booster with the example provided by Revv. How much can a persons body stand to be stimulated before their health and well being come into question?

The rise in obesity related diseases is overwhelming. Diabetes is going to impact you, if not directly, or the person next to you within the next few years. High cholesterol is also the result of consuming products that provide that immediate reward for you having slid through another day of work with minimal effort. The barrage of advertising that is geared to inflate your declining self-perception while suggesting that if you consume more of a specific product that you will achieve and unnatural degree of fabulousness that you could never reach without it. The visual evidence they provide would suggest that you could be the singular perpetuator of your species elevating you to the status of a minor deity in the very least. In truth, these suggestions will lead to morbid levels of reclusiveness and reduce ones capacity to reproduce additional consumers for the corporations which control your desires to exchange a portion of your wealth and health to sustain their profit margins.

The pharmaceutical companies have pitched their hats in to this arena as well. They have produced an overwhelming amount of pills and treatments to counteract the results of introducing all of the legally available narcotic like substances sold to those seeking the extreme experience. They have invented pills to artistically compensate for and modify your moods and behaviors so that you can continue to participate in the consumption all these indulgences. They have even resorted to producing medicines to restore ones desires and abilities to perform the acts of procreation because of the damage done by the "Whitman's Sampler" of chemicals that are introduced into your system with every gram consumed. This is a never ending cycle of wealth generation potential with the mere cost of the lives of a few who do not have the ability to resist the power of suggestion and the temptation to feel superior to the rest for only a brief period before crashing into a depressive fetal position.

The music has grown louder, faster, increasingly dissonant and increasingly syncopated to keep pace with the other forms of media to be indulged without regard to consequences. Extremities in expression have ebbed into all forms of art and have infiltrated nearly every form of sport that is of any interest to the living. Those who deliver these forms of spectacle have been force into utilizing substances that have been banned to the level of a felony in order to provide the highest level of performance and creativity. This leads into a topic that is best left for a later release of embittered sentiment about the disadvantages of being human. These are unparalleled attempts at achieving a deityship for reasons that transcend any form of intellectual reasoning ability from this dimension.

The moving picture market has been on a revival to retain it's lead in delivering edge of the seat experiences for the viewers. Through the evolution of the action flick the use of stunt crews has given way to animation and trickery to make the view believe they are seeing something that no normal creature in our universe could possibly do. The simulation of destruction of major cities, methods of transportation and even to the extreme of exploding bodies of what appears to be a person. The aural experience has also been enhance to make the spectator feel immersed in the sounds of the action simulating an additional dimension of stimulus into the presentation. With the need to continue the expansion of dimensions the mystical trickery of the visual cortex is injected by increase the rate at which the pictures are projected into your viewing zone eventually evolving into the ocular miracle of simulating the dimension of depth into the picture through stereography.

There are limits involved in these interactions between the pusher and user. These limits are not on the part of the provider but the thrill seeking purveyor of higher levels of stimulation. How much can a person absorb before they reach a condition of unrepairability likened to and egg of infamy and legend? This is the question that all of us who take every opportunity to indulge should ask ourselves. We cannot count on the parental supervision of those who make their livelihood from providing for us. My personal suggestion is to rush to determining your personal limits so that you can be prepared to dive in to the deep end so that you do not require a report from yours truly on how the experience was. To quote the master of extreme, Hunter S. Thompson, "Buy the ticket, ride the ride". I would like to add, make it extreme until I scream then do it again so I will be ready for a bigger portion of intensity before the next dose is delivered. Enjoy life while you have it.