Can't Read Chekhov At Night

Introspection and reflection require a measurable investment of thought, so, when you call me out for stargazing and aloofitity keep in mind that I am likely 5 - 7 years behind real time. Can't read Chekhov at night because then you write 3 or 4 blog posts in your head while lying in bed that just get erased after a night of semi-sleeping. Can't read Chekhov at night because all the enlightenment you gain gets immediately challenged by the gods of negation and confrontation when they find old, semi-forgotten wounds and force you to look at them. Old wounds. The internal ego always plays the Hollywood hero and says "look at me, look how suave and distinguished I can be in the face of surgically-targeted adversity," but really the success-bet is 50/50 at best. Can't read Chekhov at night because after a week of illness you understand that illness, while at least no fun for some and much more profound for others, is a gift because illness fosters empathy. And while the market value for introspection races indignantly towards zero, at least with empathy, it's something you can't be faulted for, for possessing.

Reticence

Reticence.

It's a tough word. Does it symbolize weakness or does it the reflect the ambitions of someone who doesn't want to add a clank to the din? It's also within the realm of possibility that the dog gets kicked and shocked enough that it sits in a pool of its own piss in a far-enough away corner, avoiding whatever surely comes next. In aggregate, the dog becomes weird to us and we shower it with blame for its piss sitting cowering weakness. Sometimes reticence is just better; the spirit, stripped of words, learns to excel in the abstract. Hesse said it best, "The tree does not die. It waits." Sometimes reticence is just the long arc of healing.

Fourteen Year Detour, Half Brilliant Reslience, Mostly WTF?

Gotta start somewhere, going to start with prose, gotta post fast before the marketing department vetoes. My blog essentially stopped in 2005. At first I could conveniently explain everything away by citing the usual stuff: writer's block, time constraints, job, creative differences (nope, that was the band), etc. But really -- really! -- it was darkness. Bleak darkness. And really -- really! -- the initial blog was an attempt to temper the darkness and for the most part, it worked. There were some good moments. I wrote crazy stuff as fast as I could and it resonated here and there, enough for personal cosmic ballast. But temper is temper and darkness just wins... unless -- unless! you are just stupid enough to fight back, to pull the ignorance masquerading as courage out of your pocket and tack the mental boat to a new course. I can transcribe the details in future posts. For now it's worth mentioning allies: if you're an active ally, keep jamming that ally path because you are the world, none of this works without you. Darkness pulls allies from the allied but there are true saints in this world, saints who ask nothing and give everything, it's remarkable how they can go unrecognized -- perhaps it's just part of their creed?

So, this was my last post, a piece of prose, written on January 22, 2010, two days after my daughter's 4th birthday. Prose sucks, yadda yadda, I know -- but it's personal and it contextualizes things for me. We can roll with that for now:

Bag Full of Helium

Watcha gonna do with a funny voice?
You laugh

Like you've never laughed before.

Reach for the aliens

Way up high

The last place you remember

Before sense stopped making

Everything feel so far away.

The balloons for birthday 4,

And zep rides that never burn.

Do you breathe when you float away?

Do they even see you when

You never move a little bit?

See the fire never burns

Just catatonia tales and

A funny voice that never laughs.

Way up high

Reach for the aliens

In the air above the sky.

A few side notes:

• I've stopped using an extra space after sentences and don't really miss them.
• I've embraced the exclamation point (my high school teacher will not be proud, but things evolve, man!)
• I'm inclined not to swear anymore in posts, perhaps if I am drunk I will let them slide and then you will know.
• I probably won't address anything political, I mean, I will, but it will be obliquely; I'll set the literary table and you come in and dine, maybe it will resonate, maybe it won't, either way you'll probably smile.
• I kept the original blog title, y'all can't all be wrong, because for me, it's forevermore perfect, and, it's also hopeful because y'all really can't all be wrong! How great is that?
• Life still sucks without an editor.
• I often write listening to music, or, music sets the emotional stage for what I write. I'll probably cite a few pieces on each post, at the end, "letter-Z, number-7, Sesame Street style"
• This post made possible by The B52-s' Girl from Ipanema Goes to Greenland
• Rock on y'all, TQB, Sunday, April 14th 2019, "writing instead of zzzing!"