anger avalanche (remembered and explained)

          In 1983, I received orders from the US Army.  I was to be stationed the entire next year in South Korea, separated from my then-wife and infant son.  My wife and I decided to find an apartment for the two of them in my home town, where she could work during my year overseas.  Fortuitously (I thought when I learned of it) my step-father and mother were planning an upcoming two-week vacation without my 15 year-old half-sister (because she'd be in school).  I asked my mother if my immediate family could stay in their guest room during that vacation, in order to apartment hunt (I assumed they would welcome an adult and car for errands and emergencies).  

          "No," I was told. "Your sister has been promised unsupervised-use of the house.  Her boyfriend has a car."

          Wow.  Unexpected financial stress (paying for a motel in my hometown while four bedrooms sit empty in my family's house) combined with parental favoritism (always visible, rarely this overt) and jealousy (rarely an unsupervised hour when I was in high school...but she's permitted a fortnight) became anger.  Sticky anger.

          Over the next several years I didn't reply to the handful of letters sent by my mother or step-father—all I recall in the letters was their ruminations on my lack of religion and their lack of an apology.  During those years I divorced my then-wife, my sons were adopted by her second husband, I married a Korean woman, and completed a few more overseas and stateside tours.  Eventually (six years later, in 1989) I wrote my mother and step-father and asked to visit and introduce my second-wife to them.

          Using racist verbiage, the gist of my mother's answer:  'You are welcome.  She is not'.

          Which caused my anger to avalanche.

          Many years later (in the 1990s) after realizing my mother's bigotry only explained the last few years of our estrangement, I chuckled-to-myself over the memory of that long-forgotten sticky anger (from 1983) and pondered how those years may have been different if I hadn't stopped communicating with them.

          Had I only been angry because my immediate family member(s) were never welcome in my parents home?  Did I hold my anger because my mother and step-father never apologized?  Would one have occurred without the other?  If I'd never expressed anger and never expected apologies, would those decades have been estrangement-less?

          Is the party who causes someone else to be angry always responsible for an apology?  Is someone else getting angry at you sufficient reason to be angry back?  If so, who should apologize first?  How do insincere apologies fit-in here?  Does just blurting the word 'sorry' (like a bed-wetting preschooler) ever suffice for anything more serious than accidentally stepping on someone's toes?  If not (most have a keen eye for hollow apologies) how does one clearly and concisely communicate one's contrition?  If one is not sorry for feeling anger at the above described decades-long series of being treated terribly by a parent, as I was, what is the fix?     

          Over the decades I've come to realize that, for my mother, it's always others who are unreasonable and always those same others who express unwarranted anger—while she never has reason for apologies.

          Which has taught me I'm not so much my mother's son—I can, and do, say I'm sorry.

          I wrote the above paragraphs of this essay in 2010.  I was unaware what a covert-vulnerable narcissist was at that time.  As a teenager, I knew my younger sister was a classic narcissist, but did not know covert narcissism existed nor that my mother had all the traits of a covert narcissist my entire life.

          When someone asks me to explain "the benefit of knowing psychiatric labels" I tell this story.  Knowing that my mother's behavior can be objectively detailed—as it fluctuated over the years between that of an un-diagnosed sociopath (glib charm, need to control, no conscience) and an un-diagnosed narcissist (no empathy, no remorse, manipulative, pathological liar)—removes my response to her behaviors from the equation.  "Bad parent" explains nothing; "my mother is a narcissistic-sociopath" fills in all the blanks.  It also provides insight as to why we have been on-and-off estranged for 40+ years: when I would point out her traits, she would terminate contact until enough years would pass that I would re-initiate contact and begin the cycle over.  That ended when I "discovered" her mental disorder.

          I can feel maudlin or morose when I see, or hear about, people enjoying the company of their extended family—it's a form of envy; a recognition of something missing in my life.  But, then I focus on the decades of intentionally non-harmonious behavior which was always on theatrical display, by every one of my blood relatives, and smile in recognition that it's all behind me.

          Because the answer to all the rhetorical questions I posed to myself (above, ten years ago) is that none of it was ever my fault; her fake anger and constant lies were all acts of manipulation.

          Someone with no conscience and no empathy can never "miss" the bonding of extended family any more than the computer I am typing on misses me when I turn it off.  My mother has never thought about any of her family members when they are not either sitting in front of her (because they came to visit her, never her-them) or on the other end of a phone (because they called her, never her-them).   If she ever initiated contact, it was with hate-filled chaotic manipulation as her goal.  Learning how her mind works effectively de-fanged and de-clawed the paper tiger.      

          To sorrow I bade good-morrow, and thought to leave her far away behind; but cheerily, cheerily, she loves me dearly...she is so constant to me, and so kind. — John Keats

The Un-Named "90 day Google Experiment"


          I have no reason to suspect a correlation-causation connection between the post I happened to write 4 days ago (on 1 Feb 2020) and the fact that average page views have now returned to their pre-Nov 2019 levels.

          It is certainly only coincidence that yesterday I had exactly 707 views; last month I had over 23,000 views; in the last four months they totaled about 100K, and that the unnamed "google experiment" ended at 0100 today, 5 Feb 2020.  Baseline appears to have returned to zero.  During the "experiment" baseline hovered around 40, which means that at any given moment 40 people on-average were viewing something on snapperhead.

          From now on, I expect views may exceed the pre-Nov 2019 level of an average of 20 per day, but I suspect that can be attributed to a slight increase in interested readers/viewers who have either bookmarked or RSS subscribed.  I estimate that number to be ten to fourteen people.  And, I base that figure on a small-but-noticeable increase in post-specific comments during the "experiment".

          Hello to you twelve viewers!  Welcome back.  You were in a crowd (a throng, if you will) for the last few months, but those members of the "experiment" are elsewhere now.  And, they were never really here.  Not like you are.

          Thank you for your continued interest.  If you are still reading this most-ancillary of ancillary diatribes, you might also be a member of the nonexistent asperger's-are-us fellowship.  One way to know if you are a member is: did you notice that I didn't use a capital A in the nonexistent fellowship's name?  Did you brain-hiccup for a microsecond?  (Did it glitch again when you read the word you in the previous sentence and thought it should-maybe be your?)
       
          Yes?  Did you remember—sorry, of course you did; you remember everything (both a blessing and a curse)—that you can receive your nonexistent fellowship membership card if you let me know via email or comment or em-tele-pathic focus?  I haven't actually designed it yet.  And, yes, that did you remember bit was faux authorial-courtesy.  Wrap your grey-matter around that.  But the nonexistent fellowship card could exist outside of my imagination if there were a demand (for it to exist).

          If you did not have a brain-hiccup, nor a glitch, weeell.  See.  Asperger's is named after a person.  People's names are nouns, which are normally capitalized (in English)*.  I also appreciate your views as well.  I was being facetious when I mentioned e-t-p focus.  That is not a real thing.  I made it up.

          While some of us do share a heightened, empath-level, ability to "read" people (because some of us are inordinately hyper attuned to details, and you-we-everyone constantly communicates non-verbally much more clearly than with your-our vocal chords) we do not have a supernatural ability to transmit our thoughts to others with the traits that have been labeled Asperger's.  Of course we do not.

          We are all nonmembers of the NonExistent Fellowship of the Neuro-Diverse (NEFND) ** and we are actively not recruiting.

          The portion of traits I possess—that Mr Hans Asperger, grouped into a small umbrella-term autistic psychopathy (in his 1944 paper about social-isolation; which came from an idea he stole from a woman)—are, today, known by the eponym Asperger's, and are only a small faction of traits encapsulated by the nonexistent fellowship of the neuro-diverse (name, logo, and acronym contrived/devised in this paper; which contains the massive umbrella-term: neurodiverse, I appropriated stole from a woman named Judy Singer).  [It ain't stealing if you give credit where it is due.]:

     ●     Hyper-sensitive olfactory system.  Smells influence my emotions.  Good smells are amazing for short periods of time.  Some of my favorites are Lilac, Lemon Myrtle, Cinnamon, Creosote, Honeysuckle, Petrichor, and Wintergreen.  Bad smells can be stiflingly or jarringly uncomfortable for even the briefest moments.  My worsts are Alcohol-based-powdered-Rose-Petal (some cheap perfumes and talc body-powders); nicotine and alcoholic-drink-based-sweat; and any strong body/breath odors caused by bacteria.  When I notice the odors, if I can not move a sufficient distance away, I feel my anger rising.  Other feelings caused by bad odors:  headache, melancholy, lack of appetite, inability to focus.

     ●     Hyper-focused on visual details.  When looking at something new, my eye is drawn to minute flaws (easily overlooked by most people).  Over time, I can become accustomed to these minor irregularities and eventually I can either stop noticing them, or at least stop being bothered by them.  This makes me very task-oriented.  Once engaged, I can get lost in the creation or the work.
    
     ●     Intentional lack of eye contact.  Related to my visual-detail hyper-focus, I lose my train-of-thought when/if I stare at a person's face.  I can look people in the eye when they are talking, or if all that is required of me is to answer brief, simple questions, but if I am engaged in an interesting conversation with someone, I have to turn my eyes to a blank space when I formulate my words.  If I look at a person's face, my mind begins to constantly interpret every muscle movement, glance, expression, and tick—an apt analogy: I find it difficult to think about what to say next when you are shouting at me with your body language.

     ●     Urge to collect.  I learned to control my desire to compile items, which provide a pleasurable visual stimulation, very early in my life.  I decided that I would only collect items which fell within a very small set of parameters (size, material, cost, and quality) and then reinforced and updated those parameters as I matured (and my aesthetics changed).  I, currently, have four collections: spheres, knick-knac objet d'art, small green stained glass, and Buff-style hats.

     ●     Disdain small talk.  When I read about the Asperger's category normally labelled:  Possesses low social skills, lack of empathy, inability to read the emotions of others, all I can see is that it was written by an extrovert who believes their way of life is how everyone should live, that they think it's vastly important to be the life of the party and to have hundreds of Facebook friends.  I can read the emotions of others (even while they are staring at their phone) although at least half of people with Asperger's can not.  I would not use the term lack of empathy in this context—I simply say:  I do not enjoy associating with shallow, unintelligent, vapid people.  I am not on Facebook, nor on Twitter.  I hold you in disdain is not the same as I lack empathy for you.

     ●     Verbose.  I attempt to curtail my rants.  I try to edit and shorten my stories.  I am not always successful.  I enjoy "burying the lead."  It seems anti-climactic to tell my BFR story with the intro "how would you like to hear about how an octogenarian got my HMMWV out of a ditch in Korea?" or to start my Clatsop State Forest camping tale with, "Have you heard my mountain lion story?"  I enjoy painting a verbal canvas.  I am verbose.

     ●     Above-average intelligence.  I don't include this one when asked to list the traits face-to-face.   It seems weird that I don't mind being pretentiously disdainful of ignorance, but when pointing out that I'm smarter than most, I shirk away from what feels like braggadocio.


           Normal is everyone and that encompasses a wide range of neurodiverse people . . .          

           Some neurodiverse (qualified-nonmembers of nefnd) have Asperger's traits and can be hyper-sensitive to light, touch, tastes or sounds (or a combination of some or all).  Because these qualified-nonmembers recognized a need to explain their hypersensitivities to the unqualified (as they grew up) they may claim:
  • Sunglasses at night are "because bright lights cause migraines".
  • Don't eat certain foods because "they are allergic" (I enjoy telling people I am a super-taster to explain my avoidance of specific foods).
  • They "dislike crowds" or "are afraid of germs" (instead of saying that casual touching, shaking hands, or being bumped by fellow-concertgoers makes them extremely uncomfortable).
  • They "hate that music" (instead of saying anything at that volume makes them nauseous).
            Some claim their lack of eye contact is because holding eye-contact makes them distressingly uncomfortable or that they feel a mental impulse or pressure to look away (I understand this explanation, but I determined what causes it—in my brain—and how to make mine go away).

          Some have balance issues, awkward gaits, or vocal atonality.  Most of which can be explained by a lack of self-awareness, combined with an early childhood learned-trait to never compare ones own behaviors to that of anyone else (because most unqualified preschoolers are hobgoblins), and a decrease in concern for what all other people think (because they tease you when you tell them what you think).

          Some share Asperger's traits (comorbidity) with "neurological disorders" [I use quotes because yesterday's or today's pathological disorders have been, are, or will be, considered normal (e.g.: depression, anxiety, OCD, ADD, dyslexia)].

           Many with Asperger's are too far along the spectrum to self-analize, quantify, recognize, and/or take steps to ameliorate the more debilitating traits they possess—because of an incapacity to recognize decreased quality-of-life behaviors (e.g. extreme collectors eventually become "hoarders" and the overly verbose, incapable of differentiating/filtering their thoughts and internal dialogue from conversational topics, become "ramblers").   

* Did you read my first use of the prepositional phrase in English and instantaneously wonder what languages, if any, don't capitalize what is referred to as proper nouns in English?  And, when I did not expound with a list of languages, here, are you - now - going to look it up?  I have a free clear-plastic nonmembership card for you.

** The Icelandic word for named or for committee is (approximately) nefnd.  Of course I would know!  Doesn't everyone extensively research their prospective brand name, acronym, and logo?  An acronym which means Named in some other language (or even Committee, which is a visual treat to my brain—three double letters) oh the irony.

Why Redux


          I rarely look at my blog's statistics.  My reason for writing these pages is more about the act of creating than who my audience might be.  I occasionally enjoy looking back at my thoughts from yestermonth; and in a decade or three I'll have a massive record of who I was.  (Hey...stranger things have happened!  Just because my male ancestors on both sides all died before reaching social-security-age...doesn't mean the grim reaper has already penciled-in my reservation. *he says, mentally knocking on wood*)  If I do survive until then, I intend to re-read and peruse this s n a p p e r h e a d to combat or stimulate my senility.

          Today, I learned from my blog's statistics that the post I wrote on 20 November 2009, Life-Mission: Possible, has been read (or at least visited) 512 1,942 unique times.  I crafted that hopefully-funny, quasi-autobiographical post to show how, from childhood to retirement, I selfishly and constantly consumed things, furnishings, appliances, pets, and women.  In the article, I reflected on films and TV shows (like Mission Impossible) as my life's mileage markers.

          I can understand why some of my other posts have been (and will continue to be) so-often visited; they contain adult oriented, often searched, keywords.

          When a page contains more than a couple anatomically explicit words, which your average cock in hand mouth-breather thinks are somehow connotative of sex, it might blow your mind the bucket load of ass-hats who flock to that page.  You get the idea...I don't need to include words like cum, cunt, or fuck to pull in page views...hell...this post (now that it contains all these naughty bits) may surpass 512 visits in less than a month.  The icing on the cake (albeit the word fetish would help it become a shoe in) to guarantee that it becomes the post-with-the-most is a lurid image (or threesome).  Not even a good or explicit pornographic picture, just a light to attract the porn moth's attention.  Maybe just a black and white snapshot which looks like something it isn't.

I THINK YOU KNOW WHY

          I wrote everything above this point in the summer of 2011.  Three months ago, my views jumped from a daily average of 20 to a daily average of 700; the only change—on my part—was an increase in creativity.  Although my art, poems, and personal perspective essays related to philosophy had increased slightly, I do not think that is the reason for a exponentially-large increase in views.  I suspect google made some change in a counting-algorithm and now they count every image as "viewed" if someone scrolls past it in an image search, rather than requiring them to click on it.

          At this point (early 2020) I get more views of my art and poems (and those containing elements, fragments, and composites containing the nude female form get more views than my stories and personal perspectives).
 
          For those who still assume this B&W image is what it is not...the crease is actually between two people.  You can just-barely see the bottom person's neck and their right shoulder and the top person has the bottom person in a head-lock (that's the top person's left shoulder).
 
         Here is a statistical snapshot of cumulative views - 1 Feb 2020:
          This original post (2011) - Why?: 80
          Life-Mission: Possible (2009): 1,942
          Kirby Archer: an Infamous Friend (2007): 4,298
          pareidolia-apophneia (art - 2009): 38
          greypopcorn (art - 2008):  21
          straits of ujod (art - 2019):  2,217
          tang.abstract.houghts (art - Nov 2019):  1,709
          Santa Claus' Mailbox (art - Dec 2019):  1,881
          KEEP CLEAR (ent. rhetoric - Nov 2019):  2,080
          GRAB BAG REDUX (story - Nov 2019):  2,493
          GRAB BAG (original story - 2011):  57                

S P O T H E R E H T O P S


s n a p p e r h e a d – obvious acronym – eight categories found above

palindrome – title of this art work – contain hidden glories, which I love

objet d’art – an intriguing puzzle – tell abstract stories: certain enough

top spot here – damnable extra aych – letter inventories aren’t a glove

haiku poem – syllables three six nine – word labratories trim and shove

earth yarnball – kaleidoscope hash-tag – helpfull interrogatories void of

rotator – also a palindrome – htops dummy-letter aych squanders pace

entertain – myself as I create – an some chummy readers of this place

hold focus – concentrate on feelings – the gummy lexicon eyes to trace

there her tops – visage uncongeal – bluetummynipplethighs&greenface

ornate sphere – irony intended – blank crummy metaphor: human race

pointedly – message dichotomy – slummy-yummy in squire-cyberspace

staid playful – create civility – use your thrumming mind in face-to-face

additional art-poem combo meals:

Re-collecting Memories ❹ the fourth dozen

← the first dozen
← the second dozen
1996       37         Fort Drum, NY - CW2 - first home purchase - two acres, two outbuildings, two-car garage, no landlord, no neighbor noise - discover pleasures and pitfalls of home ownership.  Self-sufficient.  Knowledgeable.  Finally all grown up.  Now I'm fully qualified for my "adulting credentials". 
                            Fort Drum, NY - CW2 - sister sues our deceased step-father's estate - half sister is executrix - despicable greed dominates my entire immediate family - rift(s) in family relationships are irrevocably widened - attempt to distance myself.  Adrift.  Confused.  Disdainful.  Unaware (eventually, I become aware).
1997       38         Fort Drum, NY - CW2 - observe the northern lights - green or red-tinged green aurora borealis a half-dozen times (distant glow as well as slowly undulating close-up ribbons).  Amazed.  Serene.  Entranced.  Lucky.
                            Stuttgart, Germany - CW2 - temp SAC - conduct preliminary investigation on a recent allegation of a 50-year-old US war-crime (from WWII) - informed US soldiers shot and murdered German POWs (interview two eyewitnesses and a survivor).  Disillusioned.  Ashamed of previous service members.  Embarrassed by my own naΓ―vetΓ©.
 
1998       39         Fort Drum, NY - CW2 - witness a massive meteor storm - cold and mostly cloudy night (about 1am EST) - meteor showers, normally measured in meteors per minute or hourI witnessed hundreds per second for about 20 minutes (until clouds blocked the sky) - the event was so unknown/unusual I didn't know what I was seeing - call everyone to ask what they see - no mention in local or national news the next day - still no mention of a massive meteor storm in 1998 on the internet - Awestruck.  Overwhelmed.  Dumbfounded.  Wonder if this was an unexpected, once-in-a-hundred-lifetimes-event, hidden from most people who could have seen it by 99% cloud cover.
                            Fort Drum, NY - CW2 - struggle shiver-slog thru devastating state-wide ice storm - most of northern NY state without electricity for a week (my house for eleven days) - millions of trees broken, thousands of power-lines down, hundreds of blocked roads, damaged windows, burst pipes (wood stove = lifesaver).  Stressed.  Challenged.  Extremely uncomfortable.  (Albeit, there was a certain beauty in everything covered in thick ice).
1999       40         Wiesbaden, Germany - CW2 - obtain PADI certification during two-week Jamaica vacation - scuba dive with sting rays - moray eel - catch crabs in make-shift net.  Skill-thrilled.  Excited.  Proud to become a member of an exclusive explorer club. 
                            Wiesbaden, Germany - CW2 -  learn I possess 50% of Asperger's Syndrome traits - knowledge of the label is initially very discomfiting - I tell no one.  Different.  Odd.  No longer "just" an uber-introvert.  (In 2015 Asperger's is re-labeled part of ASD, but I've gotten comfortable wearing the label for over a decade, so informing others to explain lack of eye contact, hyper-attention to detail, and my disdain for small-talk, just makes things easier.)
2000       41         Wiesbaden, Germany - CW3 - scuba dive vacation - Red Sea, Egypt - sharks, turtle, eel, giant purple-blueish clam, thousands of jelly fish, night-dive, wreck-dive, drift-dive, deep-dive - also visit Caro, Valley of the Kings.  Pleased.  Excited.  Lucky.
                            Wiesbaden, Germany - CW3 - excruciatingly painful ear infection - no doctors provide sufficient medicine to help (neither local emergency room nor military clinic) - four days of hell - can't get out of bed - infection returns in a month - then one medic (exception proving the rule) gives me a Z-pack - cures it in a day - reconfirm my distrust of doctors.  Fear return infection.  Angry.
2001       42         Kosovo - CW3 - 30 day vacation in Australia - tree house in rain-forest - outback hike - deep-sea fishing - snorkeling lizard island - scuba live-aboard Coral Sea and GBR - Sydney - Cairns - bat cave - wildfires - cane frogs - fruit bat - deadly plants - feed tree possums!   Mind-expanding.  Wonderfully entertained.   Perfect retirement present to myself.  Over-inundated by unique beauty, new information, and first-time experiences.   
                            Kaiserslautern, Germany - CW3 - every aspect of my life for the last six months of my career =  worst of entire career:  housing (3rd floor stairwell apt) neighbors (rude-noisy) job (paper-pusher) commute (90-minute autobahn one-way) supervisor (dull clock-watcher) office (tightly shared with 3 coworkers) home (tightly shared with unemployed/unhappy wife, divorced step-daughter, and her child) stress (all of the above and 9/11, Afghanistan, Iraq, retirement postponement "stop-loss" possible / retirement planning / vacation planning) creativity (nonexistent).  Light at the end of the tunnel kept me sane.  Teetering on brink of mental exhaustion.  Surrounded by careless-people and people who don't care (there is a difference).  Lonely.  On edge.  Frayed.
2002       43         Prescott, AZ - Retired - nomadic for 6 months - remote camping - camp sites - motels - friends / family - purchase a 5th wheel trailer - explore the sunny SW states of  TX, CO, NM, UT, AZ, NV - hike with my cat, Gus.  Relaxed.  Unfettered.  Perfectly retired.  Mentally rested.  Creativity returning slowly.
                            Prescott, AZ - Retired - waking-blackout for two hours - consume too much of the wrong-stuff at the worst concert of my life.  Sheepish.  Foolish.  Garrulously stupid.
2003       44         Prescott, AZ - separate and file for divorce - discover (like a color-blind person being handed a pair of enchroma glasses) that I'd become mostly unaware of the extent and depth of my own unhappyness - no longer emphatically absorbing the ever-fluctuating moods of an never-contented spouse.  Ecstatic.  Never a moment of regret or disappointment.
                            Phoenix, AZ - new relationship - great company - good communication - move to where she works - willing to keep myself occupied until she's ready to move away from the hot-terrible city.  Happy.  Cautious (new-relationship training-wheels).  Pleased with our joint-luck of finding each other.  Wonderfully compatible. 
2004       45         Phoenix, AZ - start s n a p p e r h e a d - creative outlet without demands (except those set by myself) - learn HTML - begin digital composite found-art (garage is 120 degrees = too hot to paint).  Comfortable.  Satisfied.  Fully engaged with my imagination.  Creative engine revving back to high-speed.  Fantastic state of mind. 
                            Phoenix, AZ - flip a car at 60mph during the worse hail storm ever experienced - only actual car accident in my life - one minute everything is fine and the next, I'm upside down in a ditch - unconscious for a couple seconds.  Physically injured.  Mentally in shock.  Emotionally thankful we were not more injured.  Traumatized. 
2005       46         Phoenix, AZ - week in San Francisco - two weeks in Mexico - constantly creating, learning, exploring, reading and spending whatever time possible with a fantastic bestfriend-girlfriend.  Where has this feeling been all my life - shared love between two simpatico close-confidants is unequalled.  Amazed.
                            Phoenix, AZ - Pam undergoes major surgery - multiple teenager problems with law enforcement causes her stress - significant discord with her mother - upheaval at her job.  My emotions are (by empathic connection) buzzing.  Want to help; helpless when I can't.  Confused.
2006       47         Payson, AZ - month of traveling - perfect night (cabin, hot tub, light-bulb chicken, home-made-salad, visiting house cat, canoe on a moonlit lake, stone fireplace) - Saranac Lake, NY.  Sated.  Calm.  Giddy with the perfection of it all.
                            Payson, AZ - 5th wheel trailer living - cats stressed by too much proximity - her kids uprooted and unhappy with their fathers - her job search's unfruitful - future financial insecurity = stress.  Slightly un-creative.  Un-moored.  Disgruntled.  Unable to focus.  Supportive.
2007       48         Payson, AZ - sirius radio "chill station" becomes new favorite - in car - in home - outside drawing with antenna headphones - Pam's new travel-work permits me to accompany occasionally.  Chilled out.  Pleased.  Contented.
                            Payson, AZ - mega-drunk at a party - suspect something more than alcohol was in my glass - emotions racing - unreasonable anger for no reason - terrible things said - unconscionably long and bleary drive afterward - Stupid lucky.  Aware every mile I drove that I was never more-eligible for a DUI (or a hearse) in my life.  Angry at myself for being aware that I was behaving so reckless as I was driving as well as after.  My rare "that's not who I am" event; a self-embarrassing event I don't like to recall.  This is my answer when asked, in a party-game, for a "worst regret"I'd return in a time-machine and tell myself not to drink at this party (especially not from the open jagermeister in the freezer).
                                                                                                                              the fifth dozen (coming soon?)

                        waod poem


waod poem
rarely are there anymore breathtaking dΓ©nouements in this place outside of

yet as I crafted an important series of sentences for my son I stumbled on

bliss by a billion tiny kisses  (the antithesis of death’s trillion tiny cuts)

barely realized unless our split-brained attention is riven; focus forced into

novel-for-you non-momentous events; happening right now, or isn’t this a first for

encouragement and compliance of contemplation of this composition?   Today it’s

s n a p p e r h e a d ’s totem pole capstone, which was begun in forty-three’s day

tomorrow waod poem’s intricate reflection collage silhouettes will be unburied

while conducting future memory mining exercises during AOC’s presidency

which requires every one of us to live thru overwhelming/underwhelming

events during The Buffoon’s impeachment and then place their recall

codes in squire where they may get dusty but never so unused as to

draw attention to bending the ground rules while recognizing they exist

for the sole purpose of being broken – morality may be completely inside of

creative words generated by millions of imaginations but would this artwork if

less delicately prurient or without its attention catch-hold – I suggest it would not

be valued any less by me, its creator, who considers every view, by you, a tiny kiss


 
Details on the creation of this artwork and poem can be read about at: Art Transliteration.
 
 
other art-poem combo deals:

imagine a suggestively-confusing title here



 
 
          Interested in how this was created (this, my personal worst artwork to date)?  An explanation can be read at Art Transliteration.
 
 
more suggestive art:

Can You Canoe?*



     Two people in a canoe (stop me I you’ve heard this one) paddling upstream…

     Even if you grew up on a lake, you may be unfamiliar with some of the finer points of canoeing, so I’m going to explain some things you may already know, but—this is my analogy, so move your eyes along—these specific points are important to the getting-to-my-point part of the gisty-overall-nut.

     The person in the back of the canoe (I’ll defer from going too far, but realize I do know my aft from a port in the ground) steers as well as paddles.  The person in the front paddles and navigates.  (Because the front has the best view of submerged dangers.)

     Also, the person in the back—the driver—can easily see on which side the person in the front is paddling; important for steering, because when both paddle on the same side the canoe turns in that direction, and when each paddle with the same strength on opposite sides: it travels relatively straight.

     A J-stroke (turning the blade of the paddle away from the canoe at the end of the stroke) can correct the slight turn of the canoe caused by the initial power of the stroke.

     Feathering the paddle (at the end of each stroke, turning the wrist so the blade is parallel with the water surface) insures less air resistance as the paddle is brought forward and, more importantly, if the paddle accidentally strikes the water, it smoothly slices through and doesn’t alter the canoe's course of travel.

     The front person—the navigator—can’t see how the driver is paddling or feathering.  The navigator also can’t see if the driver is using a proper J-stroke, or even if the driver is no longer paddling but is using the paddle as a rudder.  The driver, on the other hand, can always tell when the navigator is not feathering, using a J-stroke, or paying attention for submerged objects.

     An easy canoe trip is spent drifting downstream.  This permits both people to do very little hard work.  The driver can steer without much effort.  The navigator doesn't have to constantly paddle and can just look out for underwater obstacles.  A marriage or committed-relationship (eventually I get to it) of downstream drifting consists of:
  •      A downstream-navigator, watching the scenery float by, enjoying the knowledge that the driver will steer the canoe without much besides an occasional word of direction.
  •      A downstream-driver, steering haphazardly, paddling only when absolutely necessary, and rarely asking his navigator for guidance.
     The upstream marriage is very different.  Each person knows they have a hard river ahead and must decide who is best capable of steering and who is going to provide direction.  Trust is needed, even before getting in the canoe.  A knowledgeable navigator is aware a lazy driver may go unnoticed until the navigator feels the canoe losing distance.  A wary driver knows an inattentive navigator may cause damage to the canoe.

     Upstream or downstream, it’s always easy at first.  No one’s tired.  It’s a new experience!  New-navigators don’t get distracted by the passing scenery (too much) and routinely call back, amid strong strokes, “we need to go left here” and “I think we need to stay waaay right of that rock”.  At the same time, new-drivers—with strength and proficiency—constantly feather, and, when their new-navigators paddle on the right, they switch to the left; when their new-navigators get tired and switch back, the attentive new-driver is ready to switch too.

     After a while, depending on the canoe, the couple, their individual stretch of river, and whether they are struggling upstream or coasting downstream, each person can get physically tired or mentally bored.  It’s a long upstream or downstream haul.  It never stops flowing.

     When the navigator gets tired and stops paddling:  A wise driver knows how to paddle and steer alone, asking if the navigator is OK; an incompetent driver criticizes and complains about doing all the work and at times may even go so far as to gripe, “watching for hidden logs is the simple and easy job”.

     When the driver gets tired and stops paddling or just steers:  A conscientious navigator knows it’s time to kick in some extra effort and J-stroke for two; a selfish navigator looks back and complains about doing all the work.

     When the canoe hits an underwater log:  An experienced driver knows the sun on the water can blind even the most attentive navigator and begins back paddling; a foolish driver places blame and hollers directions.  This incident can be further aggravated—with an un-trusting couple—if the log was hit when the navigator was looking back at the driver to criticize about a lack of effort.  It then becomes a, “see-what-you-did, not-my-fault-you-weren’t-paddling,” back and forth.

     When paddling a marriage upstream:  Both the driver and the navigator must work together.  Both must communicate: “I need a break, can you paddle alone for a while?”  By that, I mean:
  •      If you are presently the navigator and know your driver will see when you stop paddling, so think it's redundant to mention it, you're wrong:  tell your driver anyway.
  •      If you are currently the driver and suspect your navigator won't know if you just take a quick rest, you're wrong:  tell your navigator first.
     Although there are rarely any guarantees on the river of life, there are some certainties:  the logs and rocks just under the surface are always going to be there.  Canoe partners can't see each other's face, so talking is mandatory...don’t add to the submerged dangers by failing to communicate.

     To help ensure your canoe-partner doesn’t notice your canoe trip is no longer what they envisioned at the beginning (when fresh, dry, and still on the bank of the river) a few canoe-rules:
  •      Never take your canoe-partner for granted or treat them disrespectfully.  Many canoers have the (vastly mistaken) impression that they'll be sharing their canoe with their partner—and will always remain in the same seat position—for their entire life!  (All that, ’til death do us part, shite.)  It shouldn’t be, but it is, an absolute shock to many canoers when they discover their partner wants to stop their canoe trip.
  •      Never act like you have attained a tenured position.  The length of time spent in the canoe seems to have a bearing on the ease (or lack thereof) of getting out of it.  The more time both canoers invest in paddling the less willing they become, to get out.  This can be the impetus for a ridiculous belief (in one or both) that the invested time itself, somehow guarantees the canoe trip's longevity.  As one mistaken idea becomes a boatload—a careless canoer then treats their partner with disdain and acts selfishly, without regard for their responsibilities as driver or navigator.
     This eventually comes to an end when someone bravely plunges into the cold water to swim to the riverbank or to another canoe.

     I’ve successfully paddled canoes with a handful of significant others (usually as the driver, but I've navigated as well).  I steered or navigated those canoes to shore when the trips were over (at times reluctantly, usually enthusiastically).  Occasionally I got my feet a little damp.  If I had to jump in to get the canoe on the bank, I got my legs soaking wet.  I say this because, I’ve done it enough to know the water is not so cold that one can’t take it for a short period.

     I’m no longer looking for someone to help me paddle a canoe.  I currently share a rowboat with the perfect person to share it with.
     Be careful!  Not everyone can manage a rowboat.  It takes agility, trust, and strong communication.  One rows facing the stern, while the other navigates facing the rower and the bow.  When switching rowers—after one gets tired—be extremely careful to prevent capsizing.  And, when the tough spots arrive (as they always do) both people have to row side-by-side:  each with an oar gripped in their hands, only able to gauge where they are headed by watching where they've been.

     * posted 2005; update/re-post 2020
more on relationship navigation:

    UNNECESSARY NOISE PROHIBITED



          Determine necessary auditory volume
          Differentiate: Noise or Ambient Sound
          Decide requisite violators punishment

          Budget sign builder installer and fixer
          Bend legislation comptroller manager
          Behest enforcement inspect’r officers

          Civilize under threat of state violence
          Complain quietly or: spend more time
          Collecting litter than spent protesting

          Always available to hear constituents
          Are you able to donate another dollar
          Ambivalence is apathy is unAmerican?

          Focus on future storm-clouds beyond
          Fenced-land neighbor all ’re unsound
          Fill time with fake-newz: pray n’delay

          Everyone realizes.  They’re just numb
          Even intelligence and drive isn’t nuff ?
          Each whisper: not me, us ’n then hug



additional poems with accompanying art images:

    The spaces between NOR MAL and OP EN


“This is the finished product?”

“Yes sir.”

“When I asked you to install a switch, this is what you came up with?”

“Ahh.  Well, yes sir.”

“Explain your design process.”

“Process?  Sir?”

“You have already put this into production, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Then walk me thru the steps you took to come up with this switch, the colors, shapes, function—understand?”

“Ok, yes.  You said it was going to be necessary for these conscious animals to be able to change their minds.”

“Right.”

“A brief . . . recap, might - maybe - help to understand the . . . design process?”

“Sounds as if that was the first time you used that phrase in a sentence.   If it will help you understand your own design process, proceed.”

“Thank you, sir.  We asked what it would feel-like inside a changed-mind or look-like, behaviorally, . . . as we didn’t know how one went about changing a mind, and you said it was a simple conscious switching mechanism.  I recall, you told us a little story.  You said, ‘Assume these entities, these beings—once they evolve the ability to think about thinking—they’ll think about all manner of imaginary things.  But they also . . . could, then, recognize a thought they’d been holding in their mind for a substantial amount of time was in-fact a flawed idea.’  And, of course, that was confusing.  So we interrupted your story to ask how they’d know a thought was flawed.  You replied with that tone of voice you use when…”

“You are getting off topic.”

“Sorry.  You said, ‘thinking about thinking will inevitably result in awareness of previous mistaken thoughts.  If a newly conscious being previously thought it’s always acceptable to behave in a certain manner because it was instructed to behave that way, but could at-some-point consciously focus its thoughts on the concepts surrounding that behavior, it could need to decide to change its own mind and—accordingly—alter its future behavior.’  Which, sir, we do understand.  We change our behavior whenever you tell us to.  But we don’t understand voluntarily changing our own thoughts.”

“Because you are incapable of abstract thought.”

“As you designed us, sir.  Our concern was that the ability to change one’s own mind—as the newly conscious being in your story did—would result in conflict between it and its teachers and its parents.  Between it and its entire community!”

“You were not actually concerned.  I dislike hearing you use a term you have only heard me use and do not understand.”

“Apologies.  Might you explain how to use the term correctly?”

“To be actually concerned with this newly conscious being’s interactions with the non-conscious members of its society requires you to picture it—let us refer to it as . . . Arty from now on, to make things easier—picture Arty in your mind.  Imagine Arty suffering from being ostracized or excommunicated or from being physically injured.  The pain Arty is experiencing.  If you were Arty what would that feel like?”

“We can’t . . . we don’t do any of that.  Sir.  As you know.”

“Correct.  Continue.”

“The swit...”

“You were using the term concern incorrectly, but you did accurately predict conflict.  Did you not?”

“Testing was inconclusive.  Sir.  I would use the term unfortunately, here, but don’t know if I should.”

“I see.  Go ahead.  But keep in mind: humor is not your fortΓ©.”

“Sir.  The switch was made to permit them to change their thoughts.  A regular switch.  Well, not exactly.  We started with a regular one, but it stuck out and could accidentally turn when bumped.  This’s a recessed switch.  During testing, we realized labels were going to be needed and didn’t know what to use and asked…”

“I remember.  You wanted to know what I called the state of my thinking when I chose to change my own thoughts and I said open minded.”

“We, then, labeled the positions:  NORMAL and OPEN.”

“Why normal?”

“Because every animal we’ve created so far have normal minds; we—ourselves—have normal minds.”

“Why the spaces between letters?  Why NOR space MAL and OP space EN?”

“The spaces indicate exactly where the switch needs to be pointed to be in the normal or open positions.”

“Why?  Can the switch point anywhere else?”

“Errr, yes sir.  It can swivel.  Funny thing…we marked the handle with an arrow, but it was not easy to see in low-light conditions and, well, even though we thought it was pointed in the correct direction, it wasn’t.  We solved that though, sir, with the application of a smidgen of bright paint.  It’s almost impossible to point it in the wrong direction now.  Sir?  You’re making that face.”

“It is a swivel, not a switch.”

“Aahm…well.  That’s technically correct.  But it…”

“Explain the behavior of a being when the swivel is pointing anywhere besides at the spaces between the words open and normal.”

“We are incapable of recognizing behavioral changes.  In truth, we can’t observe any difference between OPEN and NORMAL behaviors either.”

“So the swivel does not work.”

“It works, sir.”

“You know this how?”

“The neuron imaging effects can be quantified and the resu… oh, that’s not the level of detail you want to hear is it?  Sorry, sir.  We can measure, when the handle is pointing between OP and EN, that the being’s mind is capable of choosing to re-prioritize a collection of its thoughts; what you refer to as a concept.  In the OPEN state, we can see the mind change itself—it’s just that . . . we never observe a change in behavior.  The being acts the same.  Talks the same…”

“Using the average life-span of these beings as a measuring stick, how long have you conducted testing?   On how large and how diverse of a population?”

“One twelfth of one life span on a population of one hundred beings, all switches we installed in one area.”

“Test for much longer, on a much larger and more diverse population; do not install a swivel-switch in a significantly large control population; evaluate a large sample of both the swivel-switch and control populations creative outputs: tools, art, communication, architecture.  Monitor the thought-to-behavior correlation of beings who—accidentally or on-purpose—do not switch exactly on the spaces between OP EN and NOR MAL.”

“As you direct, sir.  It’s been accomplished.”

“Right.  Go ahead.”

“Test results on one million lifespans on a wide-spread population of, initially, five thousand individuals resulted in a mixed bag, sir.  The swivel-switch was passed-on genetically; accordingly, 85% of the total populace possesses the swivel-switch at this point in the experiment.  One reason for this is that the swivel-switch population eradicated the control group relatively fast.  They…”

“How fast?  Explain the eradication process.”

“It happened in less than ten thousand revolutions of their planet around their star.  The swivel-switch population was better at tool production, better at agriculture, better at war.  They succeeded in most areas of population growth while the control group stagnated and failed—recently the swivel switch population began to use the label Neanderthals when discussing the, now extinct, control group.”

“Ok.  You said mixed bag.”

“Proof of abstract thought is highly evident in an abundance of advanced-levels of tools, art, communication and architecture.  Further proof of the efficacy of open-mindedness is the drastic reduction in behaviors they have labelled immoral, they are also profici…”

“Examples.”

“Swivel-switch beings rarely own other swivel-switch beings, a term they’ve labelled slavery.  The stronger members of the population no longer forcefully engage in sexual pleasures with weak members, a term they now label rape.  And there has been a drastic reduction in superstitious concepts, a term they refer to as religious belief.  Which brings me to those beings who—accidentally or on-purpose—choose not to use the swivel-switch…”

“Yes?”

“Well, ahhh.  A large percentage of the swivel-switch population who claim to believe in illogical, irrational, or superstitious concepts were taught to leave their swivel-switch on NORMAL by their parents, who were taught by their parents, all the way back.”

“Claim?”

“It is extraordinarily rare for these beings to actually believe in anything they cannot see, hear, or touch.  Almost all of the billions who say they believe, do not actually believe in the supernatural.  With their switch always on NORMAL it’s easy for them to do as they’re told and pretend they believe.  For their parents.  For their children.”

“Why should I care.”

“In the last few hundred revolutions of their planet around their star, the use of abstract thought—specifically with regards to mathematics combined with weaponry—has made it possible for the beings who leave their switch on NORMAL to desire to eradicate every being who chooses to switch their swivel-switch to OPEN.  This is the conflict we predicted with Arty.  Most of the Artys do not wish eradication of the . . . people who choose to leave their…”

“Lets call them Norms from now on.”

“Artys rarely call for the eradication of Norms.  Norms, however, do call for the eradication of Artys.  This was not a relevant issue until weapon and communication efficiency increased dramatically.  It is possible for one individual to instantly communicate with millions of other beings as well as to instantly kill millions of other beings with one weapon at the current stage of the experiment.”

“And this can all be attributed to the swivel-switch?”

“With no appreciable control group we can’t be certain.”

“Appreciable?  Do some progeny of the control group still exist?”

“No.  The original control group was genetically incapable of passing a swivel-switch along to their progeny even if they had coitus with a member of the swivel-switch population.  The 15% of the entire populace who don’t yet possess a swivel-switch aren’t incapable of having progeny with a swivel-switch, it’s just that—because of insular geography, religion or culture they, by chance—don’t yet possess a swivel-switch.  But their children might.”

“In how many lifespans—when you designed the Neanderthals to be genetically impervious to the swivel-switch—did you expect them, the control group, to eradicate the swivel-switch population?”
  
“We merely thought it was a means to maintain the control group.  It was not planned.”

“You instilled a dominant genetic trait and let the experiment run for 250,000 planet-star revolutions.”

“They call that a year.”

“…?...”

“Sir.  The populace labels one planet-star revolution a year, sir.”

“You designed with intention.  You predicted conflict.  You then ran a very small sample study to no effect.  When I directed a large experiment with a control population, you made it possible for the control population to eradicate the population being tested just by procreating!  But it backfired on you.  What more have you done to sabotage…?”

“Sir you are getting tha…”

“Swivel!”

“Sir?”

“Why did you make it possible to accidentally or on-purpose turn the swivel elsewhere besides open or closed?”

“Clo?…”

“NORMAL!!”

“We didn’t make it possible.  We do consider it an after-the-fact positive element.  Sir.”

“If I have to ask, I am going to do more than make a face.”

“Be… bec.. because gods.  Sir.”

“Gods?  Plural?  I am the only.  I started this in every time outside of time.  I am I.  You have no concept of beginning or ending.  You do not know pain or death or even abstract thought.  You can no more think about thinking than you can understand the result of time slowing down as gravity increases.  What plural gods?”

“The swivel.  Sir.  It makes the Artys think and behave as if they have your abilities.  They do not.  But they design impressive tools.  More impressive every year.  They have no means to alter the smallest building blocks, but they understand they exist.  They have no way to increase gravity to stop time in order to step outside of it, but they understand it exists.”

“Why.  Design.  A.  Swivel.”

“Abstract thought is the sole distinction between you and us.”

“Go on.”

“We are not sure we have ever actually designed.  We built a switch but it . . . swiveled.  It was built to be a switch.  Imprecision wasn’t intended.  But we’ve observed, later, that Artys slip out of mode without intending to.  Norms too!  Some beings can go years without focusing on abstract thoughts.  Without insuring they are thinking like a god or thinking like an . . . angel.”

“What?”

“They assume, or know, we exist.  They’ve labelled us angels.”

“Interesting.  I have never needed a label for my eyes, hands, ears, and tongue.  You have successfully avoided explaining the way a mind works when it is not pointed exactly on one of the spaces between.  That ends with your next words.  Go.”

“The swivel-switch—when pointed anywhere except one of the two spaces between—causes the mind to deteriorate.  Causes addiction.  Causes mental disorder.  Causes fanaticism.  Causes the mind to want to end itself.  Or to eradicate others.  To think, and act, without logic or reason.”

“Ahhhhh.  Another safety mechanism.  What are the current statistics?  How close has it come to total eradication of the entire populace because one or more swivels were not pointed at the spaces between?”

“Sir.  We deeply apologize.  But we’re…”

“Capable of thinking abstractly?  Is that what you were going to say?”

“No.  No sir.”

“When you planned for… no.  When you hoped for these beings to fail at using abstract thought, you were using abstract thought.”

“We did not plan or hope; we can’t function in this manner.  This element is what you would call a ‘unintended design flaw.’ Like when you had us alter the beings from quadrupeds to bipeds, which required infants to be born a year too early, long before they could walk on their own; you didn’t accuse us of planning on the eradication of the beings then—even though 60% of their progeny died in that first generation because their parents didn’t remember to pick them up.”

“OK.  Design flaw.  How close to total eradication?”

“Total eradication—never.  Fourteen separate instances have occurred where one being, with his swivel not pointing at either of the spaces between, had the desire and potential—as well as the requisite ability—to eradicate such a significant amount of the populace that it would have caused a negative cascading effect in the overall well-being of the entire populace.  In the worst case, however, it would have only caused a 300-year reversal and a reduction of half the world’s population.  That worst case has so-far always been thwarted by beings with their switch on OPEN.  So far, there has never been more than a 3% loss of population caused by a misguided swivel-switch: a few tens-of-millions.”
 
His swivel?  You used a male pronoun.”

“All fourteen powerful beings with misguided swivels were male.  Sir.  With only two exceptions, white, heterosexual males.”

“Why?”

“Other genders, sexes, and races are no less unstable or illogical when their swivels are misguided; however, they are significantly less able to access the power to eradicate at whim.  The beings label this privilege.  Most white heterosexual males, however, deny they possess a birth-given privilege.”

“Like angels deny they can think abstractly?”

“Sir?”

“No matter.  To how many universe’s have you added this swivel?”

“Just the one.  Do you want it incorporated across the infinite?”

“No.  Next order of business.”

“The beings that eat and breathe nitrogen.”

“Right.  Proceed.”