Like Holy Shit
It comes from the earth
natural processes like
the earth working
on the earth
or a still
cooking dead life
to a new drug
(num num)
petroleum
A junkie surrounded
detritus floating
an oily flotilla
ridiculous ludicrous
malleable colorful
in and out of focus
a pendulum
travesty/convenience
but there
always there everywhere
plastic/petroleum
petroleum/plastic
micro
plastics
everywhere
like holy shit
I noticed I am suddenly offered a pink heart along with the red heart in the initial emoji showing for texts. I’ll bet they’re trying to make us better distinguish between love and LOVE! You know? Temper us; make us less over the top with either love or hate; make us get along better. They can do that, you know. And they do. It’s crazy.
Reason number 454 to get your ass off “X”.
There’s a lot of fighting going on. A lot of anger and hatred. A lot of putting down and hurting other groups of people. It’s weird. We’re tribal, most definitely. We have this ability to see a forest but not a tree and then hate on the forest, of course.
It’s weird but it’s not new. We hear more about it thanks to 24-hour access to the Internet. Which not only shows it but feeds it. That being said, I just relish watching people on Instagram videos go all dumbass hateful right into someone else’s camera and I’m right there to watch it. So there’s also a fascination, like with Trump. He absolutely fascinates. His baldfaced lies, incredible, and very vocal hatred, meanness and malice, obvious mental instability and then the fact that so many people like him, and because of these same traits. That’s fascinating! And especially if he were an evil character in a movie.
But he’s real. I wonder what will happen to his fans when he dies and that of course is not far off. He’s almost 80 now. The world shall weep as one. Just kidding.
We hate people for their hobbies. We hate people for their clothing. We hate people for their accent. We hate people for their skin tone. We hate people for their features. We hate people for their food. We hate people for their children. We hate people for their vehicles. We hate people for their difference. We hate people for the noise they make. We hate people for their worship. We hate people for their language. We hate people for their names. We hate people for their art. We hate people for their birthplace. We hate people for their current residence. We hate people for their beliefs. We hate people for their family. We hate people for their prayers. We hate people for their books. We hate people for their sexuality. We hate people for their gender. We hate people for their hatred.
I read a review of a book by Brad Stulberg called “Master of Change: How to Excel When Everything is Changing – Including You.” It talked about the concept of allostasis, or the idea that “rather than being rigid, our healthy baseline is a moving target.” The idea of impermanence or that everything is always changing and we need to go with the flow – rather than try to push the river. The concept was developed by a neuroscientist and a biologist.
It’s a very old concept, actually, but the two doctors no doubt look much deeper. The only constant is change. We are different people from on second to the next, and on a cellular level, completely different human beings every seven years through cell regeneration. Plus, everything is essentially alive, and changing, through the energy that courses through it and holds it together. We don’t need to move mountains because they are already moving.
But we naturally fight change – it goes back to when everything could be dangerous and so we tended toward the status quo, hoping to be around those we know and what we know. Change, back then, was a tiger wandering into camp.
So, it’s really hard to accept change, for many of us. And the older we get, the more set in our ways we become, and so acceptance can be even more of a challenge. Similar to how the more time we spend alone, the more set in our ways we become. We are used to the same people (very few in this case) and our own stuff and we just don’t want the world to evolve or progress. We like it just how it is. But the reality is there’s ultimately nothing we can do about it. It’s going to change and we can either keep fighting it or work with it.
He goes on: “Adopting an allostatic outlook acknowledges that the goal of mature adulthood is not to avoid, fight or try to control change, but rather to skillfully engage with it. … you come to view change and disorder not as something that happens to you but as something that you are working with.”
I remember a friend who knew some Kung Fu introduced me to the concept of using your opponents aggression against them. So, if you attack me, rather than push back, I move with you in the direction you’re going, gain control, and Kung Fu your butt. That’s the same concept in a way – going with the flow.
Mr. Stulberg writes: “To be flexible is to consciously respond to altered circumstances or conditions, to adapt and bend easily without breaking, to evolve grow and even change your mind.” Ain’t that the truth?
The first trans person I ever met was in about 1976 at Thomas Beach on Lake Calhoun in Minneapolis. This was all very new to me at 13. I was sitting on the curb waiting for my friend, Ben, to come back from wherever the hell he was. Up walked this very tall woman in a bikini but covered with a beach jacket of sorts. She sat down on a picnic table and looked out over the lake. Then she looked over at me, staring right back at her. She smiled.
Lovely day, she said.
It’s hot.
One day you’ll grow up into something hot, son.
I’m sure I blushed, but it was summer in 1976 and I spent every waking hour outside, sans sunscreen, but soaked in Coppertone oil, so I was already some dark shade of reddish brown that probably hid said blushing. Someone shouted and she stood up and waved. Enjoy the beach, she said and ran toward the person. I’d heard about “cross dressing” and some talk of people transitioning through surgery and hormones. I believe they had to go to The Netherlands or somewhere to get it done. But now I saw one and talked to one. That blew my mind.
Somewhat related, I was reading an article yesterday about Eddie Izzard and remembering when Ms. Izzard was in the news for coming out as transgender way back in the mid-eighties. She’s been busy, real busy over the last 40+ years as a comedian, stage and screen actor, pilot, very active in LGBTQ issues, and is now again running for Parliament in the UK. She’s also a crack athlete and has run hundreds of marathons (more than a hundred for charities). Here’s what really blew me away:
“It’s not just the sheer number of marathons that Izzard has run that’s impressive: it’s that she runs them one after another. In 2009, she ran 43 marathons in 51 days. In 2016, she ran 27 in 27 days. And in 2021, she ran 32 in 31 days.”
Got that? She ran 32 marathons in 31 days. Damn.
#eddieizzard
From the NYT.
I didn’t respect them.
But I did respect respect others. I respected many others that said the election was rigged.
My instincts are a big part of it.
That’s been the thing that’s gotten me to where I am, my instincts. But I also listen to people.
There are many lawyers. I could give you many books.
It was my decision. But I listened to some people.
Two fascinating articles from the New York Times yesterday, both of which stopped me in my tracks. The first is about the protests in Israel and how one woman – a particle physicist – has become the “face” of the protests. This paragraph is what surprised me:
“Dr. Bressler sealed her status as a symbol of the protest movement last month when she led a miles-long column of demonstrators on a multiday march to the hills of Jerusalem from coastal Tel Aviv. It evoked a biblical pilgrimage, and they picked up tens of thousands of supporters during the journey.”
If you look at the accompanying image (below), you cannot not be struck by how that is exactly what it looks like – a pilgrimage (with lots of flags), and what Jewish communities have been doing for millennia – walking, marching, traveling, in this case, to the capital city, to stand up to those intent on suppressing them and their freedoms.
The next story is two babies accidentally switched at birth. One baby was born of a French Canadian father and a mother who was Cree and French Canadian, a Métis. He was given the name Richard Beauvais. The other’s parents were the children of Ukrainian immigrants. They were prosperous farmers and also had a general store and post office in a town. That baby was named Eddie Ambrose.
So, the kid with Ukrainian ancestry was taken home with the Cree and French Canadian mother, and ended up on the reservation after the death of the other baby’s father. The child of the Metis mother ended up with the well-off Ukranian parents. They both came to figure this out recently after family members convinced them to do DNA testing while researching their respective family’s history.
It’s an amazing story all-around and destined for a movie, I would think, but I found it absolutely fascinating what the Ukrainian boy endured along with his family as a child and at the hands of the Canadian government. The article states:
Then, when he was 8 or 9, came what he called “the worst day” of his life. Government workers swooped into the log house to take custody of the children, who had been left by themselves.
Mr. Beauvais remembers hitting and kicking a worker who had slapped a sister, who was crying, then being thrown off a low roof. The children were eventually taken to a room with pink walls where, he said, they were picked “like puppies” by foster parents and he “was the last one to go.”
“There was no compassion,” Mr. Beauvais said. “If you were Native, the government workers didn’t care.”
But he was not Native, right? Or is he, for all intents, purposes and a lifetime of living, and being treated, as a Native? Fascinating! I won’t comment any more and allow you to read the stories, if you’re interested.
Allow me to flip that on its head.
Reduced information-seeking behavior linked to depression and anxiety symptoms.
I was finally diagnosed with adult ADHD at 54 years of age. It explained so fucking much. I always jumped into everything head-first. I never wanted to learn anything officially. So I generally always sucked at things. I’m a drummer! Drum lessons? Nope. … Sell the drums. I’m a bass player, I’m a playwright, I’m a business owner, I’m an accountant, I’m a writer, I’m a social media guy… I was none of those things because I had no patience to really learn them. I just wanted to do them. And I got bored almost immediately. That is classic ADHD behavior.
As an adult I had awful depression and anxiety. From college on, I struggled with both and felt weak and pathetic for having them. I had no right. My life was fine. But the reason I did is because I never prepared for or really learned anything. So I just faked it and that led to serious anxiety; and as I failed, depression.
I never slept very well and so my doc thought I might be bipolar so I met with a psychiatrist. He asked me a bunch of questions and said, “You’re not bipolar, you’ve got classic ADHD.”
After a couple of days of testing, it was confirmed. I treated the ADHD, and the anxiety and depression went away. I was suddenly able to pay attention more, focus better, slow down, know my limitations and what is needed to succeed.
Poof – I’ve still had some anxiety but no depression for over a year. The lack of learning ( information seeking) led to the depression and anxiety. Now I’ve learned how to learn to be happier.
It’s ten below outside heading toward 20 below. If you’ve not felt that kind of cold, it’s dry; it’s really really dry. Body lotion vanishes like mist in Phoenix. Static electricity loves this kind of dry!
I have to roll up the trash bins so I put on my green puffy down jacket and a wool hat, making sure my headphone cord is on the inside so it doesn’t get caught on anything like the trash bin handles. It’s ten below and that generally means crystal clear. Not a drop of water in that air. There’s a delicate moon, just a sliver, running from 2 to 8 on a clock tip to tip. “You could hang a bucket on that moon,” my grandma Lucia once said about a similar moon at a different time.
It’s beautiful, but it’s also stupid-cold out there so I head back inside. I stop in the entryway and close to door behind me to keep the cold out. I pull off my puffy down jacket. The cord sticks to it and then peels off.
A pack of tiny firecrackers goes off in each ear. Electricity dances between the ear buds and ears. Each feels like one of those electricity balls that makes kids’ hair stand on end when they put their hand on it, but without the glass ball. It hurts! My shirt billows toward the jacket and hangs there for a second . I’m pregnant with static electricity; Marylin Monroe on the sidewalk grate. I shake the sparks from my shirt and throw my crackling hat on the jacket, watching as all around me the energy slowly snaps itself out.
I’ve had more painful shocks from static electricity, but this went on like a fireworks grand finale. I wonder if it’s going to give me any superpowers.
Truth is paramount
Luke Soiseth 