The Color Theory

Before I begin, let me preface this with the disclaimer that this theory is complete and utter bull. I don't believe it, nor is there any actual evidence to support it. It's simply something I thought up years ago and like to play with from time to time.

How do we know that the colors we see actually correspond to anything in reality? Once the wavelengths of light hit our eye, the trigger a nervous response. The light doesn't actually go into our brains. So perhaps colors aren't actually what they look like to us. Maybe they don't actually exist at all. But regardless of that, if the light doesn't actually reach our brains, how do we know it is interpreted in the same way?

For example, I look at a banana and I see what I call yellow. But maybe to someone else, that's not the same color. In their mind, it could be what I call green. We both call it yellow, because that's what we've been taught it is. That wavelength of light, regardless of the object, has the same name. We would never know the difference, because we can't send the image in our head into someone else's head. Describing it, we use the same term for the same wavelength, and have no capability to convey our mental image beyond that same term. That could explain favorite colors. Maybe we all like the same color, but it corresponds to different wavelengths in reality.

Like I said, the theory is complete bull, and there is plenty of evidence to discount it. But it's an interesting concept, at least to me. Sounds like the start for a sci-fi book or something.

Jealousy

I did a post a while back about fear. In it, I concluded that fear is an overabundance of doubt. By this logic, a lack of doubt would be considered confidence. But a thought struck me. Jealousy and possessiveness are very similar to fear, but a cross with greed (for attention or control, I would imagine). Then I began wondering about what if you trust someone, but not the other people. Which leaves an implied doubt about their ability to take care of the situation. If you trust that they do, then you shouldn't worry about it and it shouldn't phase you.

Then I realized, I'm being entirely too cognitive about something that has little to do with rationality. It isn't hardly about doubt at all. Some of that may come into play. It isn't a lack of confidence in their ability to handle a given situation. It's about wanting to protect them, to help them, to do things for them so they don't have to deal with it at all. And, I'm sure, there is a bit of the territorial instinct thrown in, but I'm rather fond of that. It shows that someone is important to the one being possessive or jealous (overdoing it is bad, of course). It's a modern way of saying "This is my chosen mate (or friend/family member). Hands off or I'll break them off" that won't land you in as much trouble. It's also as much part of the caretaker instinct as anything else. Just when other people come involved, it's the protective side of the care-taking.

Logically, we may know that we can't be everything for those we care about. The closer we are, the more we wish to be everything he or she needs. But we can't. We have to force ourselves to step back, look at what we're feeling, and get it under control. But when someone gets like that, take it for what it (usually) is. A sign that they really care for you. And then you can either smile because they care, or tell them that they're pissing you off and to cut it out before you break their leg. I'm partial to the first one myself, but whatever works for you.

Bites

As I sat here trying to figure out how to start this blog, I got a text message from Sparky. Oddly enough, each of us have been bitten today. Him by his dog (he's ok, no worries) due to a hurt paw he didn't know about. Me, I was just standing out in the yard contemplating my pit and how to provide ventilation to it when something got my foot. I don't know what, but it had to be an insect or spider. Definitely not the spider shown here, but it seemed an appropriate picture. Which I just noticed only shows six legs... that's odd. Guess the other two are tucked underneath. Anyway, it's also ironic that my bite was somewhat more serious than Sparky's, despite his being by a much larger creature. It seems that I'm allergic to whatever got me (which makes the lack of an ID more frustrating) and I had to take medicine for it. That entire leg is still stiff and sore from it.

It's odd how things like that can happen. I've never had a bite quite like this, usually bug bites aren't memorable for me. Usually Sparky doesn't get bitten by his dog. But for both of us on the same day, it happens. Also, usually he isn't about to head out of town for a long weekend in a last minute kind of thing. And usually I don't have my living room stuck in transition between old carpet and new. And usually I haven't just worked with my cousin to free a gecko from a sticky roach trap (and succeeded!) only to have him suddenly die within an hour or two of being freed. We don't know if it was the oil we used to keep him from sticking back, my knife work of digging under the glue to get him loose, or the dish soap dabbed on to get the glue off once he was free, but he's dead now. At least he didn't starve in the garbage can.

Who knows, maybe it's just an odd week for me and my circle here. It really seems like there should be something to tie all of this together. Or a lesson to be learned from it. But sometimes, there just isn't. Sometimes, there are just a series of odd happenings with nothing to be gained from it, apart from the desire to stop wearing sandals outside and a regret about a small reptile's untimely demise.

Sweeping the Dirt Out From Under the Rug

It's amazing how much crap can get swept under the rug sometimes. Then someone lifts it up and is horrified by how much dirt there really is and can even start to choke on it. Even the one whose dirt it is can be horrified to realize how much has accumulated over the years.

For once, I'm not talking completely in metaphor. I really do mean dirt. And by rug I mean carpet.

Yes, today was the long awaited first step in the war to replace the carpet in this house! My living room now has new, low carpeting that looks great. It's not quite finished as we ran out of time, but the bulk of the work is done, and has paved way for the removal of more carpet at a later date on that end of the trailer.

Now, the business about the dirt. It was amazing how much dirt and sand and become trapped under that carpet. Not just embedded in it. That alone had turned what apparently used to be a blue carpet (my entire family had assumed it to be tan originally) to some brownish color. The carpet used to match the walls! Who knew. But under that, and the foamy stuff under the carpet, were copious amounts of sand and dirt. Enough that I had to step back from choking on it. Enough that the filter I had replaced just an hour before starting work on the carpet, looked due for changing. Seriously, my cousin thought that it was due to be changed again, rather than brand new. Let me tell you this. I like carpet, it's nice to walk on especially in the winter. But I'm sick of it. This new stuff is just about all that I want anymore. And if I meet the idiot who decided to put carpeting in the guest bathroom, I have a long list of complaints for that person. Not least of which is the difficulty in removing carpet laid down in the 80's in a bunch of little pieces stapled to hell an back from behind a toilet.

Now, I will go back and watch something short on netflix and enjoy my recently rearranged and recarpeted living room.

Phases of my Life

Prior to this point in my life, there have been two main phases of my life, chapters if you will. Perhaps "Books" would be more appropriate, recalling to older books such as the Lord of the Rings trilogy, in which main sections of a novel were separated into "books," although still bound in one cover with one title.

The first phase could be considered my Iron age. What started off normally ended up tarnished, cold, and unyielding. I have long had use for the concept of the totem animal. By the end of these years, the Jaguar had become dominant as my totem. This is represented in my arm band tattoo, featuring a feral cat (it was supposed to be a jaguar, but the ears are that of a panther). While I had friends during this time, few became close to me, and I was overly aggressive towards "outsiders." I wasn't a happy person. This phase ended by the time I hit 18, but had been drawing to a close over the previous few years as the next phase took hold.

This next phase, with the fitting totem of the Phoenix (featured in two tattoos), is the age of Fire. During this time, my life was consumed repeatedly by chaos. My best friend stabbed me in the back, I came out of the closet, I moved to college halfway across the state, my major changed 4 times, transferred schools, I discovered a relative that I didn't know existed (or rather was discovered by one), ended two long term relationships, went through a private hell, and finally moved three states away. Not only is the chaos of fire appropriate, as well as the Phoenix symbolism, but fire can temper metal. Like they say, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Now that I have finally had a chance to cool down, if you will, I am starting to stretch out and see just how true it is.

In my gut, I know that this phase of my life, mercifully short, has come to a close. My third (and currently final) totem is finally coming to play, the Gecko. After the anger and the chaos, I more than welcome peace and stability in my life. Hopefully this will be a golden age for me, or a green age where I can continue to grow in peace.

Sweet Relief

After three months, I am finally able to throw again. Due to my studio floor being taken up by rolls of carpet, however, I am limited in the quantity that I am able to throw at one time, but it's enough. Even throwing that first simple bowl was enough to give me sweet, sweet relief.

Since being able to throw again, so much of my tension has bled out of me, and I am more easily able to find my inner balance. Apart from the literal aspects of centering the clay, and the necessity for maintaining at least some radial balance (which I rather enjoy defying, but that's not the point), there is something about the act of using a potter's wheel, even a simple kick wheel such as this, that relaxes me.

Perhaps it is the harmonious control of the process. While I shape the clay, I have to work with it as well. I cannot defy it's properties, nor can I simply force it to do as I wish. I must work with it, and through that it is possible to stretch the clay's potential to the breaking point. But only by working with it. Perhaps it is the act of creation itself. Taking a shapeless, formless mass and imposing my will upon it to create something out of nothing. Bringing something new into the world rather than destroying it. Perhaps it is simply the metaphors and symbolism that are rather abundant with pottery.

Perhaps none of that. I simply enjoy the medium, I enjoy the process, and I can focus in on the clay and force myself to take a step back from over-thinking everything, letting myself relax. It is no different than, I would imagine, an athlete enjoying his/her favorite sport. Or a pilot getting to fly. Or whatever it is that you're passionate about and can lose yourself in. It's something that speaks to us and lets us take a step back, or a step forward into something deeper, or whatever shift in mental focus that such an activity can produce. Some of us think too much. Some of us don't get to think enough. Some of us simply need to let go of inhibitions. So whatever it is that you're passionate about, art, dance, science, sports, or whatever, just let yourself indulge from time to time. It does a world of good. Oh, and support your local potters! We're dirt poor.

MMM News Update

I will most likely not be posting much for the next few days, because I now have a working potter's wheel to play with. Due to this, I will likely be spending a good bit of time out there playing with the wheel and completely ignoring most other things. It's been since April, and I am completely addicted to it, and I do not apologize for my indulgence into my new wheel.

Emotional Overloads

We humans are complicated creatures, with such overlapping and intermingling emotions that sometimes I'm astounded that we're at all able to accomplish anything as a society. Even two emotions at once are complicated, but adding more just makes things a jumble that is hard to quell.

Right now I am proud of Sparky, as he was given a great honor. He deserves it, and I'm happy for him. But at the same time, I'm frustrated with my art and what not, namely the lack of a wheel even though that should be remedied soon (THANK GOD!). And at the same time, I have my normal insecurities about various things. And on top of all that I'm feeling a bit down. Throw in a bit of anxiety, worry, and stress, plus the fact that I have not actually spoken to a human being today, possibly yesterday either.

Right now, typing all that out, two more things are being felt. One is bad that I'm complaining or whatever you'd call this. The other is surprised at just how much is bouncing around in my head. And today was actually a somewhat productive day, getting things done out in the yard. Thinking back on that, add in a bit of exhaustion and too much sun I suspect. That doesn't bode well for my sleeping, but what ever does?

How is it that humans are capable of such diverse, mostly independent feelings simultaneously? It almost seems like our minds should just crack open from all of that sensation at once. It's not, don't worry. I'm still perfectly rational, although rationalizing on this blog is actually helping quell the riot for me. Maybe that all just goes to show how social we actually are as creatures. Surely if we were not meant for interaction our minds would be much more, to be a bit repetitious with the word, single-minded. But only a brain designed for coping with the complex interactions between many individuals would be capable of storing and expressing this many emotions. It's rather exhausting but an interesting concept.

It makes me wonder though, about people with mental disorders, namely those with anti-social tendencies and compulsions towards crime. Is it possible that something in the wiring of some brains is off, and such interactions simply overwhelm their minds, or simply don't take place? It could be that they have a goal, and then the emotional aspects simply don't take hold. This is no excuse, but it would be treatable (eventually, if the theory is correct), although such situations would likely be very rare.

I wonder about other social animals. Primates are all well and good, but what about creatures like dogs? They evolved in packs and are very social. But from all appearances their emotions (And yes, they do have emotions. Ask any pet owner.) seem to be rather simple and one-track. Maybe we just don't understand them, or maybe they just don't let things get to them. Hell, maybe my dog has the right idea again tonight, he's back asleep with his head on the pillow I don't use. I guess we're all creatures of habit. I come in here to type so he follows and takes a nap like a good, faithful little shadow. Thankfully he doesn't have much hair to shed on my bed.

It's a Dog's Life

I envy my dog some days. After my last post, I went to the bed and cuddled him as I said I would. He rolled over, got belly rubs, then licked me and went back to sleep. Then he got tucked under the covers (accident, honestly) and laid there giving more kisses, then crawled under the sheets and was as happy as could be just sprawled out under there. This morning, he got to go outside, check the fence for his friend the deer, and go chase off whatever squirrels he could find. While I'm sifting through job openings, 75% of which are for medical people, and 20% for "2-5 years experience required, he was on the back of the couch looking out the window. Then he gets to cuddle while I drink coffee and watch a tv show to finish waking up. Then he gets to charge back outside, happy as can be, to sniff around while I, the human, get to pull up big weeds/small trees, whichever term you choose to apply to the damn things, all of which are connected by the roots. Even now, as I take a break from the heat, he is crashed out on my bed, legs out and completely unaware. His food is given to him to eat whenever he wants, there's always plenty of water, and the biggest annoyances he has are being picked for fleas, and the deer always being on the other side of the fence where he can't go see them up close.

The phrase "It's a dog's life" is so twisted around it's not even funny. At least with my spoiled mutt. Ah well, back to fixing up the yard.

Lonesome Nights

Most evenings when I'm here by myself, I feel somewhat lonely. It usually doesn't get to me too badly, and it's nothing I can't push out of my head. I am not ready to live with someone again yet, and I rather like having the place to myself for the most part. Things are how I want them, and where I want them. Nobody minds if I don't get dressed for half the day when I'm not busy, or if I stay up till four in the morning, or if I practice the guitar which I just did for the first time since before my pets were born (so starting from nil, basically).

But some nights... I just sit there and feel the world passing me by. Texting helps some. Emailing helps some. Talking would have helped some. But then it got to be late, and nobody is here other than me. The cat took over the couch, which was sweet at first but it's just too warm to cuddle a overly furry critter right now. So I sat there watching this movie and constantly waiting for it to get to be good. Then the credits started rolling and I was surprised at the lack of closure of the movie and the lack of impact from the movie.

I like being alone, and I like the quiet. I like my woods. But there are times when you want to know that if you needed someone, you could just call out and have them there. Or be able to look in and see them sleeping. Or look over your shoulder and see someone holding you, sound asleep. Or to sit up late and drink coffee talking about stupid stuff that happened years ago. You get the point.

It's possible that it would be best to simply delete this post before I even publish it. But I don't think that I will. It isn't aimed at anyone, and isn't meant to bring anyone down. It might, I know. But maybe reading that other people are lonely too might help in some weird way. That even when you have someone special, you can still glance over at your bed and find only a puppy on it, using the other pillow like he was a human... which is rather cute I admit, but oddly makes me a bit sad. I think he feels alone too. He has no other dog to play with, and his human keeps picking him for fleas. Plus it's just too hot to cuddle very much.

Leaving it on that bittersweet note, I think I will go cuddle my puppy and wish that he was somebody else with a bit of spark to him.

Stereotypical

I have watched two movies in the last few days which have a gay couple as supporting cast for the main actor. Both movies had one of the pair -- the younger "hot" one-- as a bisexual slut, and the other an older, overly sensitive, effeminate one. This irritates me. While I don't mind (usually) seeing gays as background cast or what have you, there are a few things that I find uncalled for with almost all of these. First and foremost, most gay men are not bisexual. Most gay guys are just that. Gay. Not into women, and not going to be seduced by some bimbo girl who comes along with a failing relationship with someone else and takes her bra off in front of them. Believe me, far more would run away from that than go "ooh, boobies" and go for it. Secondly, not every relationship is younger-older. I'm not much of one to talk with my personal history, but not all relationships are like that. Nor was I a slut, and I have never been with a woman. Could have done it, but I couldn't do it. And next, the relationships are not (or not always) founded on sex. There are those that care about each other far beyond that. Or that don't hop into bed the first night that they go on a date or what have you. Even if they do end up in bed, they might just kiss and what not. I've been there, and we both restrained ourselves and nothing more serious happened. So yes, I know for a fact that that does happen.

What frustrates me most, though, is there is a reason that so many of these stereotypes exist. I have known one couple that fits it perfectly. The young one will sleep with anything that moves for any reason, but usually to piss off his boyfriend or to get drugs of various kinds, lives off of the other one, and is a useless prissy prick. The older one, by about 15 years give or take, is so afraid of being alone because he's over 40 (and won't admit it, despite looking older than he is), also cheats but not nearly as badly, looks the other way on almost everything, and will put up with anything because he's "old." Plus he's a wishy washy, passive aggressive (they both are), know-it all, sensitive douche. Put them together and they're a walking stereotype. Plus there are many who give in to the pressure on fashion, mannerisms, romantic tendencies, and so on and so forth. I just don't understand why.

I act the way that comes natural to me. I don't know where these other gays get the energy to act how they do. I would love to have access to that, so I could get some more work done around here, and not just waste it flipping out because George's dog at Bill's ring while Bill was cheating on Mark with George. I just don't care about any of those three, and the dog I just want to know if it is healthy or if it choked to death on the ring. Beyond that I'd rather get outside and finish digging a pit that needs to be a good two feet deeper. I have little fashion sense, and what I do have comes from applying the elements and principles of design to clothing. My mannerisms are just what comes naturally to me. They don't come across as gay. I don't hide that I am by any means, nor do I lie about it. But I don't think it's anyone else's business, and I don't find a need to broadcast that to the world. Gay is a background factoid about me. Like I'm a white mutt, I'm twenty some odd years old, I'm gay, and I have a buzz cut. What does it really matter? I'd rather talk about being an artist than being gay. Yes, I've chosen Sparky to be with, but I didn't chose to be with guys. Art I picked. That says more about me than that I like boys. The specific choice, well... that does say something, but that's also more personal.

But all this ties in closely to the post "The Colony Theory" from June on here. The café gay and bar gay theory. So feel free to glance back at that if you want to think about more about this stuff. I think I've spent ample energy on this and should get back to being productive. Oh, and if you're not Alisha don't worry about that "elements and principles of design" font change, it won't mean anything to you.

The Junk Food Diet

Since I left college, I have been making an effort (caving in from time to time of course) to eat healthier food, drink less soda, and so on and so forth. For the most part, I've been enjoying it and seem to be benefiting from it. But waking up this morning (okay, at almost noon since I couldn't sleep till after 4 this morning), I felt horrible. I was congested and weak. Nothing overwhelming in and of itself, but it combined enough to leave me useless. The allergy pill did nothing. Resting did nothing. I pulled some stuff out to organize, and those boxes are still sitting there, which is what I did for half an hour.

I decided the hell with it, I was craving crap food so why not. I wasn't up to cooking anyway. So what did I do for a late lunch? A toaster waffle with vanilla fudge twirl ice cream on it. Weird, but really good actually. Dinner was a frozen personal pizza (one of those french bread ones) and chips with a soda. Completely unhealthy.

But now, I feel just about back to normal. I don't know if it was time, junk food, or more hours than I'd care to count of watching netflicks, but I'm feeling ok again. Still a bit iffy, and annoyed with my wireless not quite reaching the tv at times, and the cell phone not wanting to text because it can't find the signal for five minutes... but I'm ok. And I'm just hoping that I can fall asleep before 4 tonight.

Now, back to watching Lois and Clark and trying to resist the temptation of another waffle and ice cream snack.

Moments in Time

Every so often in a life, not rare but not often, I have a moment that things come into focus with a bit more clarity than usual. These moments condense events and emotions and ideas into a single clear picture. More than a picture, a complete, concise hologram. Where everything is full in the round and whole. I have come to, usually, treasure these moments. Some moments are not so pleasant. Fortunately for me, tonight was one of those good ones.

How to describe one of these moments in time though, that is a difficult task. Words, while dynamic, are still clumsy. So rather than encompass the entire moment at a go, I shall break it down. Compare it to taking photographs of a sculpture from different angles. While it is not nearly the same as experiencing the sculpture in the round, it is an apt description.

My job situation. While it is true that I am still seeking employment... I will find it, when the time is right. Things are tough right now... but wheels are in motion and through persistence I'll eventually find one. I have a good feeling about a few applications lately, so hopefully one will turn up as a go, but if not... I'm a good employee. I'll find something. My pets... are wonderful. They have fleas, but with a few moves I can reduce that greatly, and the flea comb is helping slowly. Distressing them, but they'll adapt, they always do. My family here is a great support to me and will be there when I need them. They understand me, and will be there for me.

My art is on hold at the moment because my life has been changing, but it is about to take off again in, for the moment, two directions. And then the pottery again once I can get a new wheel. But one of the directions is combining the various media I enjoy. I do not know where it will go, but I know it will be good. And the other direction is... as yet to be determined by media. My past has haunted me for over two years now. It defeated me for a long time. Now, I am on the threshold of completely overcoming it. By pushing it, I will. And at that time, I will no longer need to be so vague. While I probably won't bring it up often, I feel it is important to push my art into that direction, and meld it. Both for myself and for others.

Then there is Sparky. Sparky has, true to the name, given some spark back into my life and my heart. He has managed to remind me of things I have long forgotten, about myself, about my beliefs, about my capabilities. Between school and everything else, I had become crushed down and compressed. Sparky, with the advantage of a lessening of my burdens to be fair, has shown me that I can be myself, and all that entails. I want to do more than I've been doing. While I know what some of these things are, not everything should be shared to as broad of an audience as this blog has the potential to reach. I have no clue how many people read this nor who they are with some few exceptions. But those close to me know or can guess some of what I've said and can feel free to ask me if they wish.

Sparky knows me as Michael. That is the name I go by here. It is my name, although not the same that others may know me by. I like going by that name. As I press out with my artistic endeavors I will use this other name... but I want to have Michael as my private name. This blog contains my private thoughts and ideas that I decide to share with whomever wishes to read. But when more sensitive matters come up in my art, I will not be sharing them on this blog. I may send out emails to advise people about things, but I will be starting to segregate parts of my art life out of this blog. I hope that those who read this understand what I mean, or respect my right to separate things out.

This is an awkward way to go about this, I know. But some people I do not talk to as often as I should, and I may forget to discuss certain things with them... but I know that sooner or later they will catch up on this blog and hopefully read this one in particular.

So, despite seeming to have gone off on some tangent, that part was actually part of that moment as well. There was a bit more to it, but that is for a more private conversation with a special someone... and it's nothing we haven't already discussed.

Sparky did make a comment tonight that struck a chord with me. He commented on me being, by nature, a giver. This is true... and I suppose that by pressing myself outward while dividing my life, it is my way of both embracing that nature and protecting myself from it. At least as far as the outside world is concerned.

The Past

The past is... interesting. On the one hand, some things that people do they may come to be ashamed of for a wide variety of reasons. On the other hand, that is what led them to where they are now, and if not for that they wouldn't be where they are or with who they are. This can be good or bad. On the third hand, on this odd metaphorical three handed creature, there may have been events in play of which they were not aware at the time which shaped events. While the ultimate responsibility does not change, these occasional events should be taken into account.

Before anyone starts thinking anything, let me clear the air. I did not do something recently of which I am ashamed. This is in no way inspired by actual events beyond a conversation, which was not harsh or critical, but merely objective and curiosity-driven.. and I am suddenly aware that there is a cat next to my foot, which I did not know about until he pushed a cord down on my foot. Rather startling.

I should also mention that I have no main point on this post. I have no moral of the story, I have no theory to hold forth for consideration, I have nothing even somewhat humorous other than the bit about the cat. But just something I'm thinking about.

I should also point out that I was not truly aware until this very moment that I no longer indent paragraphs, but rather skip a line. There, another semi-humorous bit. Yay.

But I've strayed from my point for a good three paragraphs now. Or train of thought rather. The past shapes us, it creates the present being we each call "me." If, for instance, we had not taken one path in life, we would not have a new family, even if there were horrible consequences. But then we would not have learned what we have. Or if you had taken another path, made a mistake... mistake it may well have been, but it led you to something worthwhile. Or, to sate my need for three examples, you might have strayed from a path but rejoined it, but if you hadn't you wouldn't be exactly who you are now, not as strong, or understanding of what lies off of the path.

Take this photograph. Yes, amazingly, I am actually going to discuss the attached photo on a post. You can look at this photo three ways. One, you can say it is such a shame that that post blocked the snow from being a perfect blanket. Secondly, you could say it's a shame it snowed at all, covering the area in a thin layer of snow that then just melted and became an ugly mess (it did, and it was taken in Louisiana which freaks out any time it snows). Or, third, you can say that if it had not snowed, and the wind had not stayed steady, and if that pole had not been there... then this rather beautiful photo (especially when printed) would have never been possible.

I think that's what the past is... whatever the path you choose... I really do believe there is something, be it an instant or an entire portion of your life, when everything is truly worth it. If you had not done something you regret, you might well not have been there for that moment, or that chance meeting, or the child you created, or the family you gained, or that moment stolen in time that gives you peace in a whirl-wind paced life. If you had not made your mistakes, everything would be different. And while sometimes it might be nice... when you get where you're going, would you trade your friends or your loved one or your family, on a chance that things might be better? They might be, but you wouldn't be who you are or with the people you're with.

So regret? It's understandable.. but it got you where you are now. I for one, despite everything I've been through, hell and all... I wouldn't change it.

What do you know? I guess I did have a point after all.

Withdrawal

Last night I renewed my experience with the thing called withdrawal. Before you get any ideas,no, I am not addicted to drugs or alcohol. I have never used drugs (apart from pain killers prescribed when I got my wisdom teeth out), and don't drink all that often. All that said, you're probably wondering what the hell I'm talking about. It's simple... pottery.

Odd thing to be addicted to, I know, but if I go too long without throwing (the process of using a potter's wheel to make pottery), it starts building up and I start having a need to throw. I haven't thrown since April. Working with other mediums helps some, but I imagine that's something like giving an alcoholic a non-alcoholic beer. It might sooth the nerves slightly by the familiar taste (I imagine, I've never had one to know if it's the same kind of taste), but it's not really fixing the desire.

I have tried sculpture, drawing, painting, new mediums and new styles and new techniques. And the new boyfriend, who is actually the best of the distractions so far. If I was still within driving range of my friend Alisha, I would have gone over and just hung out, maybe had margaritas. Those were always fun nights. But as it was, there was nothing I could do. So what did I do? I paced. I was pacing from one end of my trailer to the other. I tried to meditate, and couldn't. I tried watching netflicks, and couldn't. So I ended up taking three sleeping pills to knock myself out... bad idea. One pill gives me a short temper. Two make me all fuzzy and somewhat helps me to sleep if I'm not wound up. Three gives me low-grade hallucinations it would seem. Nothing noteworthy other than I really shouldn't take more than two again. I also seem to have a hangover today, which I have only once gotten from drinking, but that involved a mentally handicapped kid playing the drums the next morning. Odd story for another time... for a select audience.

So... that leaves me the question about what addiction is. Chemically I understand. Drugs and alcohol creating dependency. But wheel-throwing? That has to be different... or does it? It could be possible that by mentally becoming dependent on throwing (which I did) for relaxation, self-centering, and sheer enjoyment, a peace of mind that I find difficult to recreate in other ways, it could be possible that this does two things. First, it could re-wire a mind to need that for proper functioning, much like a person becoming dependent on someone else for help. The second possibility is that hormones are released in my body when I throw which relax me. I'm imagining this as something akin to exercise releasing epinephrine. Which reminds me that I should be exercising... but if throwing does release a hormone, it could simply be that lack which I am experiencing. Which would make the withdrawal understandable.

Whatever the cause is, I have learned one thing. When I do not have access to a working wheel and clay, I should NEVER watch Ghost.

The Dull Boy Rambles On

I was just on the phone with someone I am perfectly comfortable with. It was one of those kind of easy, lazy conversations about nothing important where it's just nice to just chat for a while. Then all of a sudden she gets off the phone, rather than the normal "I'll let go" then more talking and so on and so forth. Nothing was going on, and I know her well enough to know if there was.

I'm pretty sure I was just boring her. She's not dull herself, but not exactly exciting either. At least not the face she presents to me, what her friends or cousins might say I'm not so sure, but that's irrelevant. We've always had an easy calm relationship.

Which makes me wonder... How dull must I be to be boring her? Sure we didn't have anything special to talk about, but we don't usually when we talk. I know I should probably just let it go, but I feel... well... so very very boring. Ironically, I then decide to write one of the dullest blogs that I've had on here so far. I suppose I should at least try to make it more interesting.

On that note, this has made me wonder just how much of the personality we present to people is subconscious, and at what point we become so comfortable that we don't even notice when we're being boring. While I admit, I could be a bit more long winded than usual, living here alone and not seeing people all that often. Based on a PBS documentary I'm watching off and on, socialization is a biological need, as important as anything else we require for our health. It could be that in reaching out for it, I'm going a bit overboard on mundane conversation.

On the other side of it, could I just be so comfortable with this person that I just chat about the little things and don't focus on it being a good conversation? Or maybe it's just that with people we've known for a long time, we develop different personas, and that the more comfortable we are the more boring we become, between knowing each other well and not striving to impress them? Who knows, I don't.

Oh well, this dull boy needs to go figure out what the hell he's going to do for dinner. Probably chicken... nice, bland, mundane chicken. Seems fitting.

Random Portrait Concept

I randomly decided to take a photo of myself just now. Not my normal style which leaves it difficult to tell that it's me, but a relatively normal one, done with the webcam on this computer. Touched up in photoshop a bit, and cropped, but nothing drastic.

I think this photo actually is a good representation of me. Which is frustrating because I didn't think any of it out at all. To briefly go into what I'm talking about here... The symmetry in the background is something I like, it's stable, it's calm, it's traditional. But breaking up that symmetry is the overlaid "S" curve, which is traditional in classical sculpture. I'm not comparing myself to one, just my pose despite the crossed arms. The head has a line going through it (figuratively) which both stops the eye there and just fits my sense of humor. The face is in dark, which keeps in with my tendency to not let people in too much (despite the blog). The light from the window (an artistic no-no, as it distracts from the intended focus: the figure), I absolutely love because it distracts from me a bit. Again, privacy. I could go on a bit more but I'm getting rather tired of talking about myself.

What I was thinking, though, would be the idea of taking a portrait of someone with all of these subtle symbolic points, and seeing what the subject and the subject's friends/family think about it. I'm wondering if it's subconsciously noticeable enough to make people think it's a very good likeness of the subject. Just based on small things about the subject that are incorporated in a less than obvious way. Of course, that's only part of it and my art mine is going off on other tangents along the lines of an instillation, but that's getting to be carried away.

Well, it's just food for thought, especially for you art people.

Applying for Jobs

I am applying to a position at the moment, and one of their more unusual requirements was this: Customer service is very important at (Company Name). Please write two paragraphs on what you believe is excellent customer service. You may include examples of where you provided or received excellent service. I've never had to fill out such a thing before, but I think my reply was rather good, and somewhat amusing. So I thought I'd share it while I relax my brain a bit from the strain of answering the same questions 50 times.

Excellent customer service involves talking to a customer, figuring out what they really want or need, and doing what is both best for the company and best for the customer in a way that does not offend, anger, or otherwise upset the customer. While customers are generally intelligent, often people will complain about one thing or ask for something, when what they really want or need is something different. It is the employee's responsibility to figure out what the customer actually requires.

The other side of the issue is what the company needs. The employee should always keep the needs of the company in mind and, of course, do nothing which is against the company's interest. Balanced into these calculations are the need to retain customers, which includes being courteous and respectful to customers rather than being rude which can drive customers off. So, basically, excellent customer service is a juggling act of the company, the customer's needs or desires, and the customer's ego.

Fear

Well, as promised, I did go and think about fear. For something that is not alien to me, it is oddly hard to get a read on fear. Apparently, I'm not the only one who's not at home with the topic. This is www.merriam-webster.com's definition.

Main Entry: ¹fear

Pronunciation: \ˈfir\

Function: verb

Etymology: Middle English feren, from Old English fǣran, from fǣr

Date: before 12th century

transitive verb

1 archaic : frighten
2 archaic : to feel fear in (oneself)
3 : to have a reverential awe of
4 : to be afraid of : expect with alarm I looked it up just now, not to supplement my own ideas, but rather to get a second perspective on it. Based on their lack of one, or inability to have a decent definition without using the word, I feel better about my own ideas.Fear evolved as a tool. The rabbit fears the fox. This is good and healthy and normal, because the rabbit is rather screwed if he thinks he can stand up to a fox. A bunch of rabbits, or rabbit Rambo maybe could, but you catch my drift.But what about excessive fear? Unreasonable fear that takes a grip and doesn't let go? That, it would seem, is an excess of doubt. Think about it, it actually does make sense. Why does that rabbit fear the fox? It doubts, with very good reason, it can survive the encounter. Let's leave phobias out of this for now, as I have an idea that they're rather separate from ordinary fear, but we'll work our way up to that. Now, if you have too much doubt about something, you can come to fear it as those doubt take a grip on some primordial part of our brain that evolved to keep us alive. Fear, for intelligent beings who can fully grasp the situation, is a tool, a warning that their is a potential danger. From there, it should either be heeded or ignored, but always taken note of when it's reasonable.But what about when it gets out of control? When it's not a reasonable fear, or the levels of fear are not reasonable? Take for instance that common college student grip of panic when you suddenly find that you did horribly on something you thought you did excellent on. (Memories of papers and test come flooding back now.) The buildup of doubts about that class, your college career, your ultimate future career, your intelligence, your academic ability, all of that can build up, combine with stress and anxiety, and at the drop of a hat be released in an anxiety attack. But all it is is doubt. Now, what a good friend who has sufficiently thought things through might be able to do is key in on this, and find proof that the doubts are unfounded. Easier said than done, I know. But more to the point, what the stressed individual might do is take time out on a regular basis to re-affirm him- or herself. Having someone to remind you wouldn't be a bad idea either, but only if you can actually believe the person deep down. It's more important to come from yourself. If you don't doubt your own abilities, you should be much less prone to a buildup of fear.Which leaves two big types of fear. Trauma-induced fear and phobias. Not quite the same thing, although they can be very similar. And very difficult and case specific to discuss. As I'm not quite sure what I want to say about phobia fear yet, I'll go to trauma first.Trauma induced fear is, while completely understandable, almost completely unreasonable. I do not mean that there is no reason for it, but it is hard to reason with it. Underneath the fear though, there are issues which the individual may have come to believe is true. This could be "I WILL drown if I go in the water again" or "Someone WILL hurt me again" or "I will crash and die if I EVER drive again," or any of a thousand variations depending on the situation, and surely many different ones in each different situation, the more issues the more catastrophic the event was for the person. With time and counseling, both professional and from friends and loved ones, it is possible to overcome it. But those core doubts are what need to be addressed and fixed in the person's mind. Until he or she believes that they can handle a similar situation should it arise again (or it is not meant to happen again, or they did not deserve it, or they are not being followed everywhere, or what have you), fear will always take a huge grip on their life.Which brings us to phobias. Unlike the trauma-induced fear, it has no rational basis. A fear of spiders despite having never been bitten, or a fear of crowds, or, like me, a fear of small spaces. I still can't go under my damn trailer, and I could barely stick my head under there if I had to. There is absolutely no reasoning with this fear. Nor is there a root cause to address. I do not believe in exposure therapy. I made myself go under this trailer when I was much younger, trying to get a cat out. That just made it much worse afterwards. Of course, watching Kill Bill (2, maybe?) when she gets buried alive, that gives me the creeps, and would be my worst nightmare just about. That didn't help either. But I do not believe that that can be reasoned out of existence, nor that it is based on doubt. I do not doubt that the trailer is not going to suddenly collapse on me if I go under, I'm confident in it's ability to stay standing. Likewise I do not think there is some animal under there that will kill me because I can't get away in time. I'm completely confident in that. But I still can't go under there. I would guess that it is something in the wiring of people's minds that is the root cause of a phobia. And I do not believe that force could do something positive about it.But, on the off chance that anyone this applies to actually will read this, if you have a serious problem with fear, DO NOT TAKE MY WORD FOR ANY OF THIS! I am not a doctor, I have not done more than cursory study of psychology. I'm simply relatively smart, and fairly good with theories, and these are my rambling ideas. Psychologists and psychiatrists can help, and given time, can give you your life back, or just make it better. No, it's not all completely accurate, and it can't be measured. But at least some of what they're doing is right, and talking it out does help. I've been there, I know.And lastly, to the college students that read this... there are two of you I have in mind right now who I know will read this. You are both very smart people, and I have complete confidence in both of you. To the teacher to be: You're great at what you do, every last bit of it. Despite what Napoleon might do or say. You're almost to the finish line, and you'll do great, I have no doubts. To the poli-sci: You're extremely bright, and you have a better handle on just about everything than I could have hoped for when I was your age. A good bit of it you already have a better grip than I do now. I have no worries about your ability to get through everything whatsoever.

A Sparky Question

Today, meaning yesterday, Sparky asked me a question. It was rather simple, really. He asked what goes through my mind when I can't sleep. My insufficient answer was "a lot of times the stuff that ends up in my blogs." This is true, although not as true as it once was now that I stop to think about it. When I stop to ask myself why it's not as true, I realized it's because I live alone. And living alone, I feel free to turn on the light and do something, such as read, in order to make my eyes more tired and, hopefully, fall asleep easier. I no longer lie there for hours, trying to sleep, but not wanting to disturb anyone else in the household by having too much light or making too much noise. As a result, my mind doesn't wander as far.

So what does go through my mind, when not otherwise focused on a book, a blog, or some other idle distraction? I think that 3 in the morning is a good time to answer that. Usually, it starts off simply "rewinding" through the day. After that, it wanders around from topics of the day or things that have been pestering my mind lately. Often enough after that, I simply grow restless. But if I stay there, still completely awake, I usually manage to latch on to something or another and analyze it to death. This part of the process is often enough duplicated when I'm posting one of my random theory blog posts.

My goal now, though, is to start forcing myself to take this time to meditate, which should both relax me, help my mind center itself, and probably help my mental control and possibly memory by exercising my mind more. In theory, I should begin to sleep better, although I'll wait for results on that one to say more than "in theory."

But, I admit, as I did to Sparky, there is the down side of thinking too much at night. People, especially those who are sensitive to the weather, changing of the seasons, and a lack of sunlight, tend to be more depressive at night. I am very much one of those people. If something bothers me, it is always much worse after the sun goes down. Doubts and fears run amok if they're not carefully contained.

Fear... now that's an interesting topic for a post. Perhaps I'll go turn the air down a touch as it's way too warm in here, then go lay down, focus on fear, and write about it sometime later. Who knows, maybe I'll get three posts done in one day. Wouldn't that be.. pathetic.

From Little Invading B*st*rds to Bright Lights

Today has been... interesting. One of those few days where it's actually enough that I'll describe it rather than go off on some random tangent. At least I'm not intending to, but we'll see what happens. By the way, the picture has nothing to do with anything, I just liked it and always have a photo. Would hate to disappoint.

I woke up this (yesterday, as it's about 2:00a.m.) morning to find my kitchen had been invaded. A failed invasion, but very disturbing nonetheless. There were piles of dead ants at my kitchen window and down around my sink. Oddly enough, the uncooked noodles that had rolled under the damn toaster oven I haven't found a place for yet were untouched. The can of oil/grease was untouched. The shelves of food were untouched. My drying paintbrush? Home to a few dead and dying ants. My strainer? Covering the biggest collection of maybe two dozen life ants. My sink, home to a few dead ants, but nothing much. I know a good bit about insects, and I have no clue what the hell was going on with these unwelcome invaders. The window has not been sprayed or treated for pests, to my knowledge, in quite some time. It's on my to do list, but I haven't gotten there yet. I did discover, however, that in the absence of bug spray, lysol kitchen cleaner will kill ants. A slow death, but hey, they invaded my home. That's an act of war.

After that incident, I spent time with Sparky, including my first ever double date and my first ever (televised) soccer game, the World Cup. Ironically, one of those games which nobody scores in until the last few minutes of overtime (yay for Spain! But if they'd waited any longer I wouldn't have cared who won as long as someone finally scored). All in all, it was interesting.

Well after that (I never said I would describe all of my day) was grocery shopping, where I finally got a new light bulb for my reading lamp. Low and behold the old bulb had become so opaque I'm amazed it still worked and that light was able to get through it at all. Now, it's bright enough to read even by the light reflected off the ceiling when it's facing upwards (I like indirect lighting so much better.

And now, as I'm typing this (right as I was starting the previous paragraph) the stupid cat decides to act up. A noise drew me to my guest room, where I find the box fan unplugged and halfway across the room (I have no clue how he managed that), the platter displayed in the room (the work of a friend) fallen down, fortunately for the cat it wasn't broken, a random literature book knocked clean out of the bookcase on the floor by the fan, and the cat's food scattered across the entire room.

And here I was feeling content after a long day. The cat's just lucky I'm a sucker.

Beyond the Animal

Two posts ago, I mentioned something about John Cleese. Although I did not, as I said I might, post something about it the very next post, I will settle for still being the very next day.

The documentary was entitled the Human Face, which was a four part mini series narrated and hosted by the comedic Brit. After all, how would we take them seriously if they didn't have a British narrator?

While several years old, it is a very enlightening and insightful look at human behavior, biology, evolution, and psychology/sociology. A bit redundant on that statement I admit. And before I forget to mention, it is available on this wonderful thing called Netflicks, and their instant play feature which is quite amazing to have actually.

Now, if you're expecting me to give you a run-down on what all I learned from watching this, don't. I'm not going to. That isn't how I work on this thing. Rather, for whatever reason I chose to do it this way, this is the place where I spew out whatever random thoughts come into my head, or various theories I am working on. Often enough, my theories are held up, looked at, played with, then tossed aside like so much day old coffee. Hopefully few of these theories will find their way onto here, but it's more than likely to happen. Assuming I can ever stop rambling long enough to hold up a theory in the first place.

It is true that humans are advanced creatures. However, it's possible that we are not nearly as advanced at it may seem. Much of our behavior can be explained through terms of evolution and biological comparisons. This is sad, and depressing, but true enough when you make yourself look at it. But we are not able to be completely explained away through these theories. Despite my harsh view on many things about our culture, namely pop-culture and fashion trends, there are some things that cannot be waved away about us.

I'm obligated to bring up art first and foremost. Art has no purpose in the strict role of survival, nor is it required for a social network. Popularity and tools, yes, these are direct analogs, but art has no role. Nowhere in the animal kingdom (that I am aware of) are objects created solely for their own sake. Some primates use tools. Many diverse animals have complicated social structures. But no art. This transcends the simple mundane call of biology into something more etherial.

Compassion is another. Not just for the weak and wounded among our close network, but humans are capable of compassion for things beyond even our own species. While this is not unheard of, dolphins come to mind quickly as an example of creatures who are not close to us but can be extremely helpful to humans, it is extremely rare, especially among the "lower" animals.

And to have a third example, science. While science is based upon the basic need for tools, much science goes beyond any practical purpose to the search for knowledge and understanding. Many surprising benefits may arise from such research, but these benefits are not why the scientists set out in their research. They wanted to understand more than themselves. Like the artist, they looked up at the sky and asked "why." Science and art can be seen as two sides of the same search for greater understanding. Religion is a third way (although more prone to corruption than art or even most science), and is closely tied in with the ideas of compassion in most cases. So maybe, through some combination of the three, we'll eventually get somewhere.

Would you like Karma-l syrup on that?

I've been up all night, thinking. Nothing ground shaking or monumental. Nothing very profound even. Just thinking. About the past, mostly. How it shapes us, the people we grow into. About karma. About the future.

This picture is me, or at least a face I presented the photographer. It's not my favorite, but it seems... honest to me this morning. Nothing is hidden, but not everything is revealed. Shadowy, but true. And largely, the personality presented was a good deal of who I was, or had been in high school. That's when I got that tattoo you see. I was... hostile, a bit overbearing and rigid. Always alone even when I wasn't. Scared. Scared and cornered and lashing out without knowing why.

This picture isn't me anymore. I still present that face from time to time, but... it's not so honest anymore. Not to my present self. I looked into the mirror this morning, maybe around five or so, when things are still blurry and you haven't started to reawaken yet. I barely recognized myself. I looked tired and old and worn, and in desperate need of a shave. This picture is a four years old now. It's been a long four years.

Sometimes we let the past take over. We forget the past before it some things, and the past after some things, and thus forget who we are. We are the sum of our parts, and more. We are not a single event. I've been forgetting this since I woke up about twenty hours ago. But, if karma exists, then it can be a mixed blessing. The traditional (at least western) view of karma is this. You do good works, and good things happen. You do bad works, you get bad stuff back. But what about when the universe hands you a bucket of bad crap out of nowhere? That does not justify bad actions. But, I think, it does count for some good fortune later in life. Does it balance out in the end? Maybe. I would like to think so. I would like to think that maybe you could even be lucky and have a good life, traded in for that bucket. Time will tell.

I don't know if this makes any sense at all. I'll read this back to myself later, whether I sleep or not until tonight. I might tell myself "Michael, you shouldn't have wasted the electrons to send this out on the net, or whatever it is that gets wasted." I might not. Hell, I might forget to read this back for a few days and then just figure it's too late and leave it up. For now, I'm going to go let myself relax, read a book or play a game, or just sit here and watch the sun rise, and do my best to stop thinking for once and let myself be.

John Cleese and the Hairy Cat

While sitting on the couch earlier watching a rather fascinating documentary that has left my mental voice with a British accent for the time being (I blame John Cleese for this), something completely unrelated dawned on me thanks to my cat. I understand that that's a rather odd statement from most people, although anyone who knows me (or has read this blog fairly regularly) shouldn't' be surprised by this, so let me back up.

Within the last, let's call it a month and a half, my life has undergone several major alterations. First, I graduated college. If you don't already know, I have a Bachelor of Fine Arts. Secondly, I moved three states away from the one I had lived in for the last 22 years or so. Thirdly, a long term relationship ended. And fourthly and most recently, there is he who is called Sparky. Sparky has become a very close friend, and slowly (or not so slowly, but going slowly from there) something more. So, there we have four big changes, plus another, later one which acts as something of a stabilizing force in my life. A counter-weight of sorts.

At the moment, I am looking for a job, trying to fully settle in to my new place of residence, trying to pick up an art career (which will rely on the job to take off, as I need a new wheel to get going), trying to figure out what the hell the state of Florida wants me to bring/do to get a driver's license, trying to settle into a budding romance (which is actually the easiest out of all of these), trying to open myself up with this blog, and trying to teach myself Spanish. (Que sueno como un mono con retraso cuando hablo español, pero estoy aprendiendo poco a poco.) In the process of all this lovely change, I have slowly started to find balance in my life again. Partly this is from having moved out of a city back to rural life, which I am much better suited for, so I can relax again, plus fond memories and yadda yadda yadda.

So, despite the large picture of my cat swatting at a flame, I have not mentioned him at all since the first paragraph of this post. I've always thought my personality mirrored the cat more, and my dog less. I realized, as he was coming over to get attention for the umpteenth time in the last few hours, that this isn't quite true. While I outwardly present more of the cat's traits (namely being somewhat grumpy, grudge holding--although not against my mother as he does--and anti-social), the dog has qualities in common with me as well. The need to check in with the ones I care about, loyal, possessive of my property here, and friendly and concerned about those I accept within my circle (not everyone like he does thought). As I looked at this puffy creature sitting on my lap, backlit by John Cleese talking about facial expressions, it dawned on me that he is much more social of late than he has been in a very long time. The dog is more or less the same personality, although a bit more territorial of "his" yard. He is much happier here though, with room to run and plenty of grass to eat. But I realized that they both portray my personality, but rather than the mean personality I would expect, they convey the "extreme" ends of the spectrum that is me. By extreme in this case, I mean the grumpiest I'll normally get and the happiest I'll normally get. Surely there are spikes that could get past that, but they are extremely rare, and hopefully will not happen to be displayed.

So, what can I learn from watching my cat be more friendly? I've gotten rather significantly less... less what? constrained? grumpy? bitchy? They all rather fit in their own ways... And I'm not sure I'm qualified to answer my own question here. It takes a rather strong mind to analyze itself. While I can do the beginnings of this, I am unable to properly focus without my calibrator. In short, Alisha, I should be texting you within a few days of posting this. Been a while since I have anyway, but I need a read on myself. This is your forewarning.

Perhaps I should take a trip back to where I came from in a month or two, just to check in wit people, and see how I've changed based on those interactions, which is my only reliable means of measuring myself. It would be nice. And I think that Sparky and I might want to go on a road trip sometime soonish, go visit, maybe hit the highlights of the state. Who knows. The only thing I know for certain right now is, thanks to my cat and Mr. Cleese, I won't be getting to sleep any time soon.

Oh, and maybe next post I'll expand upon the Cleese comments. And get this British voice back stuck in my head.

Insomnia Wars

I am currently trying to fight excessive insomnia. It would seem that for whatever reason, no matter what I've tried, I remain unable to get to sleep at a reasonable time, and lately I've been unable to wake up properly. So I'm going to take a sleep aid (which I hate doing, but oh well) and go to bed early, and hope that ten hours or so of sleep will get me back on track. It might, it might not, who knows. But I would like to actually wake up and get things done for once. Especially yard work, as it's too hot to start by the time I've been waking up.

If anyone has any suggestions of what else to try, let me know!