It is now a tradition of sorts to name our years in accordance with goals we hope to accomplish, or feelings we wish to cultivate. Boomcat Heather and I started this a few years back, partially in jest, with the Year of Whimsy – or The YOW. Despite its birth in humor, I took the charge of creating more whimsy quite seriously, all the way through the year.
It’s been a weird couple months for me, and as emotional times are wont to produce, a wellspring of emotions I thought were long ago come and gone have bubbled to the surface.
This morning I woke up in a good mood and thought, “I’ve a hankerin’ to doodle.” When I logged on to facebook, I was notified of a friend’s birthday. Opportunity! So I doodled. And I posted. Shortly after, I received a chat message: “Boo! Why didn’t I get a robot?” Followed by a winking smiley, as if to say, “Just kidding!” But not. Because I know you and I know you’re not winking and smiling and saying, “Just kidding!” I know you’re feeling petulant and legitimately questioning why you aren’t special enough to warrant a personal birthday doodle. So, even though I don’t owe you fuck-all of an explanation, I thought I’d clear some things up in regard to the rules of engagement with a pookie. Continue reading
I’m going through my very, very old email to purge some of the stuff I don’t need anymore, and I have the distinct feeling I’m looking in on someone else’s life. This particular post is just about past jobs. There’s so much more to the old email story, but I have to start with what doesn’t get me all emotional and fired up, because I ain’t got time for no existential crisis. Continue reading
I’d like to begin with a disclaimer: I’m really sick right now; feverish, chilled, nauseated, slightly confused and in general, feeling like hammered dog shit. Maybe that’s good, because the fever is destroying my filter. This post will contain a lot of profanity and complete honesty. I’m mad and fed up and delirious beyond the point of giving a shit. Consider yourself warned. Continue reading
I’ve been watching videos of the Boston Marathon explosions. I wasn’t on a morbid mission to watch destruction repeatedly; I was looking for reactions from the runners. At the end of such an arduous run (I have heard), a runner may have so internalized their pain and is so singularly focused on reaching the finish line that a great deal of external stimulus in that moment can simply fall away.
I wanted to know: Did the people who were inches from the finish line falter? Did they turn, startled, to see the event happening behind them?
Those who were on the threshold of finishing, finished. Most didn’t jump or startle, so intent were they on the task-at-hand.
The thing that struck me most, however, were the others, the ones nearest the blast, closing that small distance to the end, obviously deep in concentration, some clearly laboring, barely jogging, just making it in.
When the bomb erupted the world into chaos alongside them, these people ran. I mean, really picked it up, sprinting to safety.
We humans have a greater depth of heart and soul than we give ourselves credit for. These runners, for instance, have trained and trained and trained, and as they wearily headed into the finish line, giving it that last little bit, were suddenly confronted with mortal danger. That’s the moment the miracle happened, and they ran.
You can say this is a scientific process by which an adrenaline spike is released into the bloodstream to create phantom fumes where there was nothing. A preservation of life technique only utilized to ensure survival at a most critical, tiny moment in time.
What I see is resilience. I see wonders and miracles. It’s a testament to that secret wellspring of strength that allows us to accomplish acts of beauty and wonder. Because, within that same adrenaline spike moment that said, unconditionally and without thought, “RUN!” the people who scattered almost immediately reentered the smoking mess to help their fellows.
There is something beautiful in that which no act of terror can destroy. We, as humans, will always tend to be better than the few who would hurt us and attempt to turn us against each other. Not online, not on paper, maybe, but in real-life moments of humanity, we cannot be broken. Our love for one another, our sense of decency, our very humanity cannot be blown to pieces. It cannot be removed surgically, nor can it be tortured away.
We’ll prevail. We’ll get through this Very Bad Time like we always do when savage acts are perpetrated by a minority in a feeble attempt to break our spirit. We’ll do it with a mixture of empathy and, perhaps, anger, but we’ll do it together.
And that is Something.
We sat on the porch last night around one o’clock and looked at the stars. This isn’t something we usually do, simply because the twelve stars one can usually see in the Los Angeles night sky are underwhelming, at best. Last night was different. The sky was clear and the stars were sharp and cold and bright. Mars, sparkling and pink, perched above the chimney of the cottage next door, and we watched the moon go down as the stars spun low in the arc of the sky.
The stardust sifted down on us imperceptibly as we watched their slow dance. Continue reading