s n a p p e r h e a d

The Awake Inning

I decide to sleep in this location. It is a covered place and I am confident I can secure my person and my belongings from prying eyes and the covetous fingers who would take the few possessions I prefer to carry with me when I move because they are required and useful. I try to sleep. Maybe I slept.

When I get up I move thru the place with my inventory eyes, checking that everything that I left is still in the place that I left it. The items that I require to perform morning rituals, although I do not have a firm memory of placing them where they are found, are gathered and used for their intended purposes. I should have returned them to a central, collection point. Maybe a small kit or carrying case. That is a good idea. Today I will try to keep my observant eye out for one of those. Maybe I won't forget.

Add to reminders. Today is the day to pack-up all the items because this temporary place will be (must be) vacated by check-out. If check-out arrives and I have not yet packed, I will again be item-less. But first my bladder. I leave to locate a urinal or at least a secluded place where prying eyes and voices will permit me to release last nights wastewater without any repercussions. I try to blend in with those with obvious destinations. Maybe I have to set my face like they do.

There are landmarks which are not completely unfamiliar. This collection of structures, this sidewalk, this railing, none of these people, but that doorway is the correct direction; I pause. Wait a second. Where am I headed? Is that man looking at me with concern and discontent in the way he squints and purses his cheeks? Obviously this is not the right way for a toilet. I turn and retrace my steps. Maybe I came this way and it only looks odd because I was walking the opposite direction. Am I lost? I'm not lost. I try to not be lost. Maybe I am.

The flow of the crowd seems to indicate they know this gangway leads somewhere they want to go, which means it is not a dead-end. I should keep a lookout for a sign for a toilet. This causeway must have been obscured when I was walking past here a few minutes ago. What was I supposed to?..oh right...a backpack to put-in my face-wash and nose spray and vitamin bottles and such. I need to get back before check-out. And I need to leave enough time to pack up before. No rush. But stick to the reminders: piss and get back to pack. I try to prioritize. Maybe it's less important than I think it is.

This antique store sounds empty of employees and customers. Hello? My muffled voice is a hollow echo-less thing of the past. Squeezing past nothing I want and nobody to sell it to me, I see a sign for a bathroom. This tiny cramped hallway is jammed with an overstock of junk that Nana and Papa probably left on the curb when they bought one that worked better, or forgot in their attic when they moved to a better house. Either way, could this crooked door in a damaged door-frame be the door to the restroom? I try to open the door quietly. Maybe that was unnecessary.

Pulling hard to un-stick the door jamb from the... Hello-sorry! (There are three women sitting almost on top of each other in this closet.) I stammer that thought this was the restroom and offer my apologies. Can you tell me where the restroom is? (The tallest one stands and I get a quick flash of thigh, leg, and wind of passing scent which draws me along in her wake.) There is a washroom down and back there. I'll show you how to get there. I try to not stare at her back side. Maybe she didn't mind.

The corridor gives way to a walkway, which becomes a pedestrian shopping area. We discuss comfortable words and move in-sync. Her face seems always to be content with her hair either mussed by the wind or covering her freshly washed face. I try not to want to kiss her. Maybe she was trying to not want to kiss me.

She says we need to use this elevator-type of thing. The bank of massive doors are closed but the smallest one on the end is just closing and I see a tiny key on a minuscule key-fob above the door frame. I take it out of the little key-hole and show it to her. She relays that the larger doors are always crammed to overflowing with hordes of people and that we should take the small one when it returns. I try to listen to her wonderful voice. Maybe she is not bothered by mine.

I drop the key and it lands on the pitted concrete floor near her hand. (We are sitting on the floor waiting on this strange elevator which could lead to different floor, a gas chamber, or a quick crush.) I touch her hand with my searching-for-the-key fingers. I try not to jerk my hand away from hers. Maybe that stare thru her unkempt bangs is as welcoming as it feels.

This is us. We compliment each other's failures. Our flaws are incredibly huge to the collective strange faces whom we pass on the way to our daily rituals. A year ago, at an uncomfortable ritual we forced ourselves to attend for no clear rational reason, another couple asked the simplest describe-how-we-met question. I try to formulate an accurate reply. Maybe she struggles too.

From both of our perspectives, her (cramped in a vintage store closet with women she had imprinted on for no obvious or apparent reason) and me (following her faulty decision-making process because mine had been broken and I had no idea) we find it difficult to explain in sentences that make sense to common partygoers. I try not to understand the futility of wanting to not be mentally disordered. Maybe we are doing fine.

I try memory recall-to-future forecast, but still end up with frostbitten feet from when I was trying to become an eagle. Maybe she is as superior as I am inferior, and vice versa in all the yin-yang ways imaginable.

(mandatory annual cat pic) Pearl, 1 year old

Concrete grey on raw-pine brown

Pearl they say with never a frown

Fixed jade gaze near-silent clown

Cecil unfazed, by new kit in town

|| a poem for the common cat ||

eventually the phenomenons your senses

combine to assume it is experiencing

catapult you toward choosing between

flotsam or jetsam—but before you do

smile at the opportunity this affords that

whom once assumed antagonists loved

to antagonize and wonder now about

how amazing—never another frustration

actually exists in those who seize their

recalled memories and cease planning for

every eventuality and realize how as if

this were but a daydream—time is figment

Angry Amazon Tale (but it works great)

For those who enjoy Amazon Tales, this episode is an unusual. One year ago, I purchased a cheap space heater and gave it this two-star review:

Impossible to assemble (but works great)
Reviewed in the United States 🇺🇸 on January 26, 2022
Verified Purchase

Impossible to attach screw-in plastic legs because the guide-pins and hook-slots absolutely can not line-up with the metal housing (and removing the guide-pins causes the brittle plastic to shatter). The plastic handle, which requires complete disassembly of the metal housing to attach, is either designed to rattle and not fit tightly on purpose - or - these issues are systemic throughout the heater and it will soon stop working. Please note: This space heater works wonderfully without legs and without a handle (as long as you always place it on a surface that will not catch on fire because the reason for the legs is to help keep the heat from melting your carpet and don't pick it up until it has had ample time to cool down because the reason for the plastic handle is to prevent you from burning yourself).

I assumed they sent me legs/handle from a different model; and decided not to go thru the hassle of returning when this $25 heater worked fine propped on a metal cookie tin. I received the following message today:

The order and review are accurate, albeit I did not follow the link because maybe this was a new way to spread a virus.

Is this the absolute best way to drive an Amazon competitor out of business? Or, maybe, this was written by a disgruntled ex-employee? The actual company would never (or would they).

more Amazon Tales:

An Amazon God Has Spoken

Wading In The Amazon

Amazon Feedback

Agatha 'Aggie' 2002 - 2022

Her last exhale—after twenty years of them—seemed the easiest one, for her

Assuaging her, until the last; I'm now in need of some of that assuaging, for me

My awareness of her absence echoes like a silent alarm from an unexpected vacancy just within earshot (and, paradoxically, known-about for years)

I'm curiously-glad the ground is frozen; postponing digging the grave is a whole huge, tiny grey blessing (for next year)

also featuring:

2019 Xmas pic

One Year Ago (featurette)

Goodbye to the last - Hello to the next one

Happy New Year Mr Glines! I'm a long time reader, first time caller...erm...commenter who's hoping to get some long term broad-stroke life advice.

I have yet to decide what to do after I graduate. Everyone I don't hate has told me to 'find something I enjoy' but they've not made suggestions. It may seem like they want me to decide for myself, but I've already seen what most've done to others (or said about them) when they were trying to find things out for themselves and then failed. I can't promise I'll follow your advice, but I definitely will consider it.

Seriously,

Andrea

Andrea,

Let me begin by explaining everyone-you-don't-hate's rationale. E-y-d-h is only familiar with the meandering route their path took them to get where they are today. If they dislike where they are (or how they got there) they may be unwilling to offer advice—even of the broad-stroke kind—in fear that you might repeat their mistakes. Just because e-y-d-h appears to be (or says they are) happy, does not mean they are or were. Accomplishing a steady-state of being happy should be everyone's ultimate goal. Most of e-y-d-h never mention it because they either think it "goes without saying" or they survived their entire lives without experiencing it in sufficient quality or quantity and think it "doesn't actually exist".

My first recommendation (no matter your age, personality, or life situation) is: Teach yourself how to love and be loved by a pet of your choosing. The last phrase—of your choosing—is the most important. Devote quality hours out of your day (every day, without exception) to playing, cuddling, grooming, training, pampering, and just spending time with your chosen pet. If you think you love your pet, and they love you, but you might allow a situation, person, or circumstance to come between or separate you? You still have much to learn about basic friendship. You can't really love until you are best of friends; and true friendship trusts nothing could come between them. Once comfortably devoted to a pet, try platonic adult friendship with a human(⁰).

Secondly, you need to teach yourself how to set achievable goals for yourself. The key word in that sentence is achievable. Anyone and everyone can set unrealistic goals; others do it every year when making New Year resolutions(¹). Set a small goal. Something like: run a mile without stopping; or join a local group; or learn to play an instrument (et cetera). The only way to determine if your goal was an achievable one? When you are able to set another one, which expands on the first. Like: run two nonstop miles; or fully participate in an activity decided by that group; or play an entire song of your choosing (et cetera).

Determine what level of importance you desire to place on your long-term financial wealth. It takes a specific mindset to value the accumulation of wealth for its own sake(²). If you determine that you desire wealth more than other qualities, a college education in a money-making field should become your immediate short-term goal.

Measure your future life in twenty-year potentialities. Your second twenty years(³) is when you refine yourself and make yourself better at what you've begun. Your third twenty years is when you either rebuild yourself from your mistakes, continue to make bigger mistakes, or strive to teach yourself how to set, and efficiently accomplish, harder goals. Your last twenty years is for teaching others what you learned and preparing your happy-content self for the inevitable aging and death.

Learn how to determine when you are satisfied with what you've attained. No one strives to be unhappy. No one who is absolutely happy is constantly stressed. Constantly striving, without being aware what constitutes a sufficient amount to be comfortable(⁴), will always result in an ever-escalating amount of stress. That "treadmill loop" is the saddest way to kill yourself.

Respectfully,

Veach

(⁴) This "sufficiency" can-and-should-be adjusted as your life circumstances expand and contract. It's important to be aware of your comfort in a studio apartment, but essential to know when a two-bedroom becomes the new "sufficient amount." And, most of all, it is crucial to remain alert to when returning to the studio will reduce stress (and make you more comfortable).

(³) Your second twenty years will begin once you are adulting full-time, independent of the calendar, living conditions, or family relationships. Some "old people" learn (decades too late) that they are still not able to refine themselves on their own terms; while some "teenagers" discover they have been refining themselves on their own terms for years.

(²) "For its own sake" is a red-flag phrase. It is equivalent to "for no reason." You should do everything (which takes some significant amount of time and effort to accomplish) for clearly identifiable-to-you and clearly important-to-you reasons. Getting more money for money's sake is hording. Gaining knowledge for knowledge's sake is time wasting. The only exception is being happy for happiness's sake.

(¹) Never "play with" making goals. Your subconscious remembers every time you fail-to-achieve and it uses guilt and shame to try to encourage you to succeed; even if you thought you were only half-heartily joking when you said, "I'm, finally, going to write that novel this year!"—your subconscious heard you planning a goal and now it (you) will make you feel bad when you don't do it.

(⁰) Another adult human who also loves pets. This advice is my first, because it is the most important. People who don't like pets should only become friends with others of their ilk.

for other Andrea's:

talking about others 'behind their back'

Military Police story (99% true)

a month of songs that make you think

Shelf Elfing

Most personality traits, self-values, and character flaws, exist on a spectrum. Picture a teeter-totter between two extremes—embracing one extreme, automatically-requires rejecting its opposite.

Imagine that at one end of this teeter-totter is an elf who thinks of itself as the only playable character in the game, and it believes-with-every-thought that everything's a game. This elf assumes every other elf thinks of themselves in exactly the same manner ("no matter what those other foolish elves may claim to profess"). This extremely ego-maniacal elf is absolutely un-apologetically self-absorbed (and, as such, is incapable of imagining thinking in any other way).

The elf at this end of the teeter-totter spectrum has an animalistic blind spot (also referred-to as a predatory blind-spot) which prevents them from conceptualizing a non-competitive existence. It's inconceivable, to the egoist, that any elf would give away a benefit unless doing-so provides some benefit to themself. In this elf's mind, giving away something they-themself value would be the equivalent of intentionally losing. The egoist-elf considers everything a competition; anyone not winning is losing.

Opposite the egoist-elf (also referred-to as a taking elf) is a benevolent giving-elf. Fully aware it is but one single individual in an entire generation of other individuals, this elf has no difficulty realizing that there were an uncountable number of generations before it, and that there will be an unknowable quantity of generations to follow it. With that awareness, this elf helps others and is as altruistic and conscientious as possible; always providing kind elf-words of encouragement or praise.

The giving-elf (also referred-to as a self-effacing elf) understands the rationality of this logic:

Everything (including a shelf elf) has a shelf life.
Ubiquitous expiry dates means there are no winners.
No winners equals (is equivalent to) no losers.
Winners and losers are the result of competition.

Conclusion: Elf existence can not be an actual competition.

The giving elf realizes that anything which hurts more than it helps is obviously detrimental and should be avoided when possible. Which leads them to conclude that all instances of negativity must only be temporary aberrations in an overall positive absolute.

Determining sElf Location:

Vicarious embarrassment (also referred-to as empathic embarrassment) occurs when one sElf feels embarrassed for some other sElf. The sElf "being felt embarrassed-for" doesn't need to be aware of their predicament (or why another sElf might perceive that they are in a predicament) nor feel any embarrassment themselves.

This way of conceptualizing insures not (confusing yoursElf by) utilizing "wishful thinking" (and then questioning your sElf-reasoning) which feels like rationalizing-away the inability to be objective about your sElf. Because—just like it's impossible to feel fake sexual attraction—it's not possible to feel fake vicarious embarrassment.

At the risk of redundancy, I will re-phrase the last paragraph: While it is possible to falsely perform the outward appearances of sexual attraction or embarrassment (vicarious or not) the sElf who chooses to pretend fake emotions still knows what, if any, emotions they feel. One may deny any and all emotions, but—normally—they are always somewhere on a spectrum:

The sexual attraction spectrum: feminine - to both - to neither - to both - to masculine.

The embarrass—proud spectrum: pride - to both - to neither - to both - to embarrassment.

If one were feeling the opposite of embarrassment for an sElf, one would feel pride for them.

Placement on the teeter-totter depends on answering the following:

For which—the giving-elf or the egoist-elf—do you feel any vicarious embarrassment for?

How strongly?

For which—the giving-elf or the egoist-elf—do you feel any vicarious pride for?

If cognizant that you never feel vicarious embarrassment nor vicarious pride you may have a reduced ability to empathize, the pathological dis-function of none, or you may be emotionally immature.

Your answers have placed you somewhere between the giving-elf and the egoist-elf on the emotional spectrum. Movement on the spectrum depends on all your present moments (from-now-on) and (in every subsequent moment) where you desire to move: Toward where you feel pride-for . . . or toward where you feel embarrassed-for.

Use this advice in any way you desire.

My elf is thinking of yours, respectfully, at this moment in time (no matter who or where you are).

more help-elf:

art poem

Noel E F

Ringmaster-in-training (Before the Circus)

When the ringmaster began to teach itself to learn to pay attention it was too small to move very far or at all. And never quickly. At that time, the ringmaster witnessed sounds of happy cheerfulness, calm relaxation, and a variation of positive tones or even some irritating wavelength vibrations. It witnessed a range of focused, kind, expressions. Smiles big and small; soft touches; a range of environmental and garment changes, which were sweaty or shivery; and the ringmaster heard too many to remember unknowable noises. Once in a while, it heard a shockingly loud sound which would cause it to wake up.

The ringmaster soon realized, all of these sounds, touches, tastes, and sights were caused by the big people. Some sounds happened because the big people had to make that noise in order to help the ringmaster move, eat, clean, and not be sweaty or shivery. It decided that it liked many of the sounds and smells and tastes provided by big people. It felt especially content, at times, when a big person not-only erased some discomfort but provided an unexpected feeling of pleasure.

However, some of the big people's sounds or smells or temperatures were exceedingly uncomfortable and the ringmaster realized it needed to some-how inform the big people they were not doing their job correctly.

Consequently, the ringmaster taught itself to make a sound of its own. When a discomfort did not go away (or actually got worse and increased) the ringmaster could contort the muscles surrounding its feeding orifice and force its breathing mechanism to create a unique notification noise.

While practicing their notification noise, the ringmaster discovered it was possible to muffle or not hear the loudness of the noise they were making, at least not at its full volume, if they fully stretched open their feeding orifice. Wide.

Their notification noise had successfully resulted in big people reducing their discomforts for as long as the ringmaster could recall. And. Over time. The ringmaster came to identify a small number of big people were better at increasing their comfort-pleasure and reducing their discomfort-pain than others. It differentiated the big people mostly by their smells and sounds.

That changed in the recent last before. When it was easy to see because the space was blurry-bright. That was when the ringleader recognized an odd disconnect. A few of the big people, who had previously been better at their job than others, seemed—for no discernible reason—to choose not to reduce discomfort when it notified them with the notification noise. Instead, one of the big people arrived and intentionally increased its discomfort-pain. The ringleader did not understand. This lack of understanding was new. Uncomfortably new.

Now-now it was difficult to see because the space was dimly lit. The ringmaster considered maybe it had previously done something out of sequence. I am a captive who can not move on my own and when I am uncomfortable I use the notification noise. Like this (and the ringmaster forced its breathing mechanism to expel its breath as its eating orifice opened to squeeze down on its hearing mechanisms). And, now, big people should arrive and make me comfortable. Not this time. Again, I'll do it again. Still nothing. I can normally hear the big person make its arrival noises. I hear no arrival noises. This is illogical.

The illogical happened with more and more regularity. Some dimly lit times and brightly lit times would be back to normal. Other times it would be illogical. They could no longer expect the big person's arrival was a guarantee that "things were going to soon get better." Instead, the ringleader was put in a position to feel a constant level of uncertain about the arrival of the big person. This uncertainty carried with it a constant awareness which became a vague disconcerted feeling in the background of the ringleader's awareness.

Should I do something to not encourage the big person to arrive? I will test that theory. If I do not make the notification noise, even if I am very uncomfortable (and I am uncomfortable right now) maybe they will arrive and it will be normal. No matter how uncomfortable I currently feel, is it possible that I could be making "things be worse" when I use my notification noise?

Accordingly, the ringmaster began to pay close attention to any detail which might help it to pre-identify what every big person intended before they arrived in the place where the ringleader was imprisoned. Was there a different sound, smell, or subtle sequence of visual images which accompanied or preceded the big person's arrival? Something which might indicate if their arrival was going to reduce discomfort or increase discomfort?

Becoming hyper-alert for the possible increase in discomfort-pain, resulted in the blooming of fear to begin to exist and never leave. Never leave ever again. Normal times were never again. Forgotten. The illogical times were now happening too often to not expect them to be expected as the new constant. Use or not use of the notification noise was not connected to receiving pleasure or receiving pain. Nonetheless, the ringmaster decided to no longer use the notification noise except in an absolute pain emergency of the ultimate measure.

One of the times it considered an emergency was when it continued to over force and extra-exert its breathing mechanism so that its sensory organs could eventually become more and more fuzzy and many of its discomforts could drift away and become a distantly-diminished forgotten thing and it could cause itself to go to sleep, even if it had been fully rested.

Now, it would only exert its breathing mechanism to that extent when it was already lying down. Because it had one-previous-time been fully issuing its notification noise while standing holding the bars and, after it got fuzzy, the ringmaster fell and banged painfully-hard against the edge of the cage.

When any big person actually arrived and provided comfort-pleasure, now a fantastic feeling of relief rushed in to wash away the ever-present discomfort as well as the accompanying fear (that the discomfort was never going to go away ever again). That fear never actually disappeared, however. Even when the pleasure was sublime. "The pleasure is always only temporary." (Was what the ringmaster understood the fear communicated as it waited patiently for the pleasure to be replaced with discomfort).

Because of that fear, the ringleader was now always cautious when their hypocrite of a warden arrived. No longer did the ringleader express any eagerness or any pleased demeanor when the warden came to their cage. This confused the warden.

The warden thought the ringleader was defective. The warden took it to a health official.

"...cries day and night...always fussy...don't know what could be wrong..."

"...significantly underweight for twelve months...what are you feeding?..."

"...bottle of formula...three times a day...breakfast, lunch, dinner...why?.."

"...just hungry...should've fed cereal at 2 months...and any food by now..."

My Self began to be aware it was (uncomfortably) forming when I was constantly hungry, shitting only liquid, growing a world-record diaper rash (inflamed by cotton diapers trapped under rubber pants) and left, untouched, in a cold, drafty, attic crib (in Maine) between my second month and twelve-months of age. Thanks to a doctor's office scheduling my "annual checkup" this torture only lasted for about 300 days.

want some more torture based on real events?:

death ripples in dreams

sanitized family drama

Three Monks Addendum

First and most importantly, read the Allegory of the Three Monks to understand this five panel cartoon strip.

This is a test. You are the only person who will ever grade your test results. It is always pass-fail. If you have not already read The Three Monks (by scrolling down six essays to the 27 Oct 22 article) and you decide, at this point, to continue to read the below five panel comic strip: you have chosen to fail the first Go On test. That is only OK if you think it is acceptable because you are the only person who will ever judge your self.

There is a specific comfort/discomfort abstract concept emotional impulse (which is felt as a feeling behind your eyebrows) that carries the label self-satisfaction. You feel it only if you did choose to stop, read the parable, and now have decided to pass the first Go On test. Allow me to repeat myself, at the risk of being crude, there must be fifty ways to leave ... (slip out the back, Jack; make a new plan Stan...).