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!

The Little Things

I have mentioned before, namely on the post about the meaning of life ("On Life," three posts ago), how some objects become charged with meaning for us. Often, these objects are gifts from someone we care about. Well, today I received a pair of gifts. One was a movie that Sparky thought I might particularly like. He told me that someone had leant it to him, and then bought a new copy anyway. But it's something we can watch together. I love it, and much appreciate the thoughtfulness of the gesture.

The other gift, however, is something I downright cherish now. It is a small thing, and he made no secret of it's price, which was nothing outrageous. But, because it was from Sparky, and from a place very special to him, it meant a lot to him. But he knew I could use it (and he was very right in that regard), and because it was special, he wanted me to have it. I treasure the gift, beyond the movie, and beyond most things. Because it's special and has much meaning to me.

This reinforces that aspect of my meaning of life post, in the meaning of human connections, and... other parts of that post.

However, this also lends more credence to one of my other theories about how the little things matter far more than the big things in any kind of relationship. Take this gift. It's from someone I care about quite a lot. It is not worth much, in the financial sense. I couldn't pawn it for anything worth noting (I assume). It's from somewhere that, while I would love to go, has no special meaning to me by myself. But it does to him, which means that it does to me as well, now. Because it was special to him, it means a lot to me. Such a simple gift, or such a thing as simply helping do the dishes after dinner, or any of these little meaningless things... they all add up, surprisingly quickly. You can know someone that does something big and meaningful every now and then... but if they don't take time for the little things, don't do something to show you "hey, I was thinking about you" or simply lend a hand when you could use it on something mundane... without any of that, you can't be very close. Someone like that could be a somewhat distant friend who's still important, but not an every day thing. I think that we as a people simply need a relatively frequent reminder of the caring connection with someone, be it a close friend, a lover, a partner, or what have you. If you choose to interact with someone in a social way on a regular basis, these small symbols take on so much more importance than the once or twice a year required present or comment. While birthdays are supposed to be fun or great or whatever, if I'm going to be with someone, I would rather them not do anything for it on accident and have him give me a small personal gift from time to time, or help out with chores on a regular basis than I would have someone who might do something very sweet for a birthday but never help out, never offer me something simple and small that he thought I might like or remind me of him.

Well, I've started rambling again. And it's getting late, and I'm oddly dizzy, which happens when i focus in on my typing too much and talk directly from the heart. Not sure what that's about or why I'm mentioning it... but oh well. It's out here now (or will be in a few minutes when I hit "Publish Post"), and I don't feel like taking it back. The point was, it's the little things in life and in relationships that matter. Don't forget that, especially if any married guys read this!

And Sparky... Thanks :)

Story Time

Just a crappy short story. Playing with a theme.

There once was a boy. Like most boys, he was curious about the future, and how things would go. Who he would meet, whether his current "relationships" would last, and so on. He was curious about the path his life would ultimately take.

Of course, the boy was smart. He knew things could change and would change. But he wanted to know the most likely route, if he made no big changes from the path he was already on.

We should mention right about now, that the boy was unusual. He could feel some things, sense things about other people. Sometimes he could hear things before they happened. Sometimes he could "feel" when something was about to happen. So he focused and focused, and centered himself, on the inside and on the out.

He felt something.

He could see a gray bar, stretching from side to side. On this bar, there were many things. Wondrous things. But he could not focus on this bar. He could, however, see blocks of yellow overlaying the bar. He knew, somehow, that these were connections with specific people. Relationships. There were three big ones. The other details were all indistinct and he could not focus on them.

There was a large block of yellow, followed by gray. Then there was what looked like one very big block of yellow. But as he looked closer, he saw it was not one block. It was two. One, followed by a short gray expanse, with a thin orange line, followed by a second block. The orange, he knew, was a mistake.

This third block, he knew, was different. How, he did not know. Who, he did not know. When, he did not know. He knew that before the block ended, this view ran out of focus. He did not know what this meant. Nor did he know when or if the block ended. He pulled back away from the gray line, which he seemed to have come closer to. He tried to see the other details of the line. He saw, and he knew. And then, the forces that govern such things decreed that enough is enough. And he no longer saw, and he no longer knew. And he was ejected from the Prophetic Realm in his mind.

He knew that he would, as befit the pattern of his life, have a trinity of loves. Two to be false, one to be true. The rest disappeared, departing fog-like, much like a dream leaving a freshly awoken mind.

He knew he was the dreamer, and the dream was true, and settled in for a long wait, anticipating the day, and dreading the first two failures. For who know when nor what the first two blocks would be. And praying the golden years of the third would not be lost by being aware of its very existence. For such is the folly of the prophecy. To know the future allows it to be changed. For good and for ill.

Hal the Mal

I have just come to the conclusion that computers are not going to take over the world after all. Robots such as Hal (if you don't get this reference, I just don't know what to tell you other than "I can't let you do that, Dave") are not going to decide to kill us all off. They are not going to conquer us to use as batteries. And they will not be oddly happy servants that some guy in overalls comes to repair (think the Jetsons). Rather, it will be like any cheap source of labor, whether it be immigrants who understand far better than the spoiled natives the value of "crap" jobs and the value of a free society, or jobs overseas, which have a very similar story. They'll do the jobs and tasks the rest of us just don't want to do. As technology slowly advances, these are the tasks we will build robots and AI computers to do. Garbage collection, sewer repair, factory work, tax auditor, all those jobs which involve inhuman conditions or sorting through human refuse. Of course, this will create new jobs, many of which simply do not exist yet. If you don't believe me, how would you explain the job of computer programer or network security to someone from, for example, the twenties? It's simply a job that had no meaning then. I don't know what the jobs will be, and I can't predict them. I'm lucky I'm able to figure out how to manage this blog thing, and that's simply because it's dummed down enough that a drunk monkey on anabolic steroids could do it. Okay, maybe not the steroids, but my base point stands. I may be intelligent. I may be able to figure things out, and put things together in certain ways, but technology is simply beyond my ken. Give me a potter's wheel any day. That I get.

Now, one may be wondering what brought all this on. Well... I went to a small town today for an Independence day parade with someone we shall call Sparky. Sparky's great, by the way, great guy. But while we were there (ironically, we missed the parade, but it was a great trip anyway) we were walking around town and passed a vintage book store. I had no real intention of going in, but there was a pile of one dollar books for sale outside the store, and one caught my eye, which Sparky was rather excited about as well. It is Arthur C. Clarke's July 20, 2019. A book of "historical speculation" published in 1986, the year I was born (so if you want to know my age, just do the math). While incorrect on a few things thus far (and seemingly not on the way over the next 9 years based on current trends), he was surprisingly accurate on a number of things, often enough on the time frame as well. Money estimates are of course off, but inflation and the economy are hard to predict over the short term, much less 33 years in the future. While we mostly just skimmed through the book rather than in depth reading as of yet, it was quite impressive, and very amusing. Most of the social advances he mentioned, though, have not come to pass, and are hard to conceive of such radical changes over the next decade. But, seemingly, rather good ideas nonetheless.

Anyhow, that has no real bearing on the subject at hand other than inspiration, and (I admit) a desire to talk about Sparky a bit. And, I will finally address the title of this post. If you're curious and don't get it, "mal" is from the romantic languages.

On Life

Humans have an obsession with trying to riddle out the meaning of life. Being human, I have my share of curiosity. I do not claim to have the answer. I do not know that there is any single answer. I simply wish to philosophize and ramble, and you are my audience. Lucky you.

Possessions and material objects, while indeed sought after and desired as is understandable, are unlikely to be the ultimate meaning of life. It seems a bit too crass and temporary. Besides, like the old saying goes, money can't buy happiness. Individual objects though can hold much meaning for us, mostly as symbols. I have a ring I treasure, not because of it's form or materials, but because of it's origin. Likewise, I am usually to be found wearing a necklace with a shard of pottery, which was from my first attempted firing here. In both cases, it's more of a symbol, which is why it means something to me. Many people are the same way with gifts, especially from their special someone. So, by that token, could it be those connections that are the meaning? Stories and history and caring? It's possible.

What about art? It's meaningful (usually), it has a story, and it's a personally crafted object that is (usually) one of a kind. In this way it is more than simply a commercial object. It is often enough a symbol itself. Despite loving art and being an artist, I would be lying if I felt this could be the meaning of life. Important, yes. Offering insight into people, yes. A tool, yes, but the end meaning? No.

So, leaving behind the physical, let us go to the less tangible side of things. Knowledge is great and useful, and I love increasing it, but knowledge is, fittingly, neither good nor bad. It simply is. Wisdom, however, is a different story. It could, in theory, be possible to become so wise as to apply the wisdom beyond this life into whatever lies beyond. This would be acceptable as a meaning of life, in that regard.

Humor and good times? While thoroughly enjoyable and highly desired (especially by such as me), it simply improves the quality of life. However, we grow far more during turbulent times than we do during good times. So is the purpose to grow? This seems to be a good answer. To grow and evolve, and change for the better. This would go hand-in-hand with the wisdom idea.

Then there is love. The ultimate human connection, and possibly the least understood emotion. And one of the most varied emotions. Worthy of well more than it's own separate posting. So suffice to say, let us just lump all of the varied incarnations of love and talk about it in a general way. Or rather, let us jump to the highest point on it's spectrum, and the rarest: Unconditional love. A connection which cannot be broken by mortal means, and ties us closer than anything else in the realm of human existence. Such a connection, especially when you consider that symbols of connection seem to mean far more to us than most things, is something to strongly consider as the meaning of life.

Now, there are many, many things which I have either forgotten, neglected to mention, or have simply not even considered yet. I also hate to leave such a post without at least a half-answer. However, I don't have one. These are simply some musings which may or may not get you to thinking. To appease myself, I will leave this question as a potential answer.

Could the meaning of life be to seek out the meaning of life?

Watching the World

Do you ever wonder what all we're not seeing just because we're not looking closely? So many little things that if we just stopped and took the time to really look at what we're seeing. It's not even necessarily hidden usually, we're just too busy to stop and take note of it. One glance is all we give most things. Like this photograph. You probably just looked, registered it as trees and water and moved on. Look again, there's a bit more to it. Nothing much or spectacular, but it's there, just not glaringly obvious at first glance.

It's things like that that make me wonder some days just how many of these little things we miss. This morning I stopped and took a few minutes to watch a spider laying out its web. It's not important, but interesting to watch for a bit. Ok, it helps that I took some sleep aid medicine last night and I'm still a bit fuzzy from it, but I'd find it interesting even without this. However, I might not have taken the time to stop and notice it otherwise. I was simply standing there, trying to figure out what to do once my plans changed, and noticed a small sun spider moving around. A small bit of activity that I wouldn't have normally been at all aware of.

Last night, I got the opportunity to watch a few people interacting as a group (I was part of the group, not some creepy guy staring at strangers). That can illustrate so much more than one-on-one interaction, giving depth to what you can learn otherwise. But, once again, it's something you have to stop and actually observe.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that we should all take some time every now and then, and just really look at things. Think about them. Actually take stock of and attune ourselves with the world around us. The observations might not be mind blowing or of lasting importance, but learning to do so could. Besides, you never know where inspiration might come from.

The Pictures we Paint as Ourselves: The Iceberg Theory

Let's talk about our pushed images. Those things we paint as ourselves and present to the world, commonly called fronts. We paint up this pretty image which, generally and relatively, roughly correspond to ourselves. This isn't to say we're lying by any means. We're just presenting parts of ourselves, possibly enhancing certain attributes, in order to (usually) fit more seamlessly into the world around us. Even to the point where we're not sure where this picture ends and we begin. Perhaps this is how we evolve, by changing our pushed image and allowing the us underneath to grow into the mold. I myself find my picture changing, not against my will but not by it either, and I am changing to fit it. The artist growing to fit his portrait, I suppose.

But, to get on with things as I am prone to ramble at 3:30 or so in the morning. It seems that with most everyone, as I know I am very apt about doing, does not simply have a static two dimensional picture which we present. It's far more complex. Each person we encounter comes at us from a slightly different "angle" which includes background, situation, attractiveness (shallow but true), mood, and so on. In response, we subconsciously offer different views of ourself up to this new person. This observation led to my iceberg theory on human psychology. We see only that part of the iceberg which is above water, yes, we all know that. We all saw Titanic, even me, despite my protestations of "I know what happens! The boat hits the iceberg and sinks!" The theory is such that we offer these various different three dimensional views of ourselves as our pushed image. But we also have a pushed image for what lies below the surface and may be hinted at in even relatively simple social interactions. These are typically more accurate to our inner personality, but may be somewhat distorted and view dependent. The VAST majority of who each of us is is safely tucked away under the surface, behind that pushed picture, under the outer skin of ice. So even if every single person you knew casually or semi-casually got together and analyzed you, they would at best have a good idea about your personality. But it would still be slightly off because of the distortion. Now, once you let someone truly inside, only then could they begin to understand you. I believe that this is only possible with a large amount of time, and a great deal of caring. Most people don't care about most other people to even try to understand. It's not being mean, most of us just simply don't have the capacity to psycho-analyze everyone and see how they tick and why they tick. A few people do. They're nice to have around, but then it gets creepy when they start digging in on you. Because despite our nice pushed images, everyone has gaps in the ice, holes in the paint where if you work at it, you can get in to the inner levels and begin to look around. It's a small view, and a lot of work, but even if you're not letting someone in, they could still do it with enough time and insight. I have completely wandered from my point. The point was going to be that despite all this, once you let someone in, it is much easier, but still time consuming to learn to understand them. I used to believe that most people find this and spend their lives learning to understand one person. I now believe that is depressingly rare these days... but I hope to be one of those few. And there's my inner, die-hard optimist rearing his naive head again. But try as I might, the pessimist in me just can't kill it off. I guess I'm just a hopeless romantic.

Eh, forget all this, it's the ramblings of (now) 3:50ish in the morning. Go back to the top and look at the pretty picture.