Tag Archives: moods

Reality On The Ground

love-the-stigma
Love The Stigma
samplex

Dateline February 24, 1997

On the other hand, how realistic is it for one to EVER think oneself responsible for the dingbats and wingnuts of the whole stinking world, moonlighting on some pedestal, self-annointed or otherwise, as some holy roller savior of billions, pocketing millions, or maybe not a dime, but nevertheless fainting and feigning lockjawed over that brother's keeper line of reasoning? Steve Taylor often has said he couldn't care less for ANYBODY save his small circle of friends and his family. Hence, a generally happy outlook because he has relieved himself of a responsibility no one can shoulder realistically anyhow. Worth noting he is a young man, actually a whippersnapper, a young whippersnapper, so mileage may vary as he navigates down the wavy line.

In this case, the sad-eyed prophet is the delusional one who frets over the world's problems UNREAListically, injuring himself in the process. But undiluted self-interest is as bogus as the converse. So the paradox remains. Is the algebra of happiness a reality marked by self-interest, or is the algebra of reality simply the starting gate for all unhappiness. In others words, might thinkers always think themselves into unhappiness, despite any slant given to the freedom of individuality? After all, paradoxes like nature abhor a vacuum...

Thanks for the gratifying input, Landry. Made peace with Tim this weekend, partied with him after chasing around northern VA all afternoon and early evening looking for a batting cage with Steve and Sue. He's got a new place up in NW, a rather typical sparsely furnitured male group house with Tim in the basement stocked with his own kitchenette and private entrance, paying less money than he was doing here according to Steve. I was so blitzed by the time we got there I don't even remember where it was, but it was near U Street, 11th, maybe. The lad's finally hit the big cheese without the safety net of parents or parental surrogates. It was good to see him. Below is an excerpt I wrote just last week in response to a query from Peter Burris, another early but now somewhat distanced while still supportive pal of Tim's...

As I said, I wanted to write this narrative because that's what writers do, they write. I write. I detect and analyze every detail of my life. This may not make me a healthy well-adjusted personality (recalling our recent exchange on that topic), but then I gave up on that flimflam years ago, and simply embrace the spirit that drives me. Some might see it as evil incarnate, or barely functional escapism. Others just don't care.
Peter remarks, "I am curious, but not pushy—do you envision ever becoming friends with Tim again in your life-time? God knows, you saved his life and I don't know anyone in his circle who doesn't thank you and Sue for doing so. If nothing else, that gratitude is heartfelt every time I see Tim alive."

I will express my opinions on this matter within the context of the Dollhouse Fevers serial. In fact, you are the primary cause of the serial. You were the first to write me for details, perspective on what happened, and I wanted to give you a clear unambiguous assessment of the whole event, those details directly leading up to, and those details only peripherally inclined, that made the January 2 Dollhouse coup a necessity. Eight parts. I'll resend the first two tonight, and include my commentary on your EVIL piece. Hopefully I will write the third installment this weekend. And may the force be with you to RECEIVE, and thus read ALL. Meanwhile, keep the faith Peter. I don't know how we saved Tim's life. He paid his own way, but then he paid for his own departure as well. A little hint at the future: I'm not angry at Tim in the traditional sense. I was just frustrated that my mark on him was as shallow as warm backwash in a cold beer can. His influence on me was greater than my influence on him. THAT was not a good thing...

Namely, I've cut back drastically on my alcohol intake, although my eating habits have not diminished so I really haven't followed in your path enough to boast a substantial weight loss. Meanwhile just keeping busy, feeling better about life. Have not heard a peep from Jennifer, but I didn't expect too much from her, even after I e-mailed a couple of times alerting her that I hadn't found a Johnny Cash CD she left without, and then again when I did find and subsequently send it back by post. But anywaze, while painful as the event might seem at first glance, it was good riddance purge of all clutter and ingratitude that kept me in high spirits, and now that Tim and I have at least reconciled to a degree, I have nothing to gain by pressing anger in any direction. As I said, I wanted to write this narrative because that's what writers do, they write. I write. I detect and analyze every detail of my life. This may not make me a healthy well-adjusted personality (recalling our recent exchange on that topic), but then I gave up on that flimflam years ago, and simply embrace the spirit that drives me. Some might see it as evil incarnate, or barely functional escapism. Others just don't care.

These myths have been shattered in the 20th century, with not a small amount of credit due the beat writers. But old classicist blowhards like Gore Vidal still mutter against this straightforward approach on occasion.
Despite the recent furies, seven weeks is not all that long for a major spat like we had, it was good to discover only this past Saturday that Tim had indeed landed exactly where we would have wanted him, upon his own two feet accepting responsibility for himself. But I had to laugh girl when you wrote your REAL MEN DON'T KEEP JOURNALS piece. You wrote:

"I don't think you can use an historical perspective when it comes to journal writing. It's not at all like evolution or losing our opposing thumbs. If Tom Jefferson referred to himself in a distant and cold manner, well that's his problem; he was always tough to get along with anyhow (specially on slave-buying day when he couldn't get his point-of-views in order). If there is a reason that men may not keep as personal journals, it would have more to do with negative (and positive) socialization, not history. "

This, I believe, is a nonsensical line of reasoning, Landry. Most male writers and military men kept journals. They simply didn't publish them because they exploited other avenues of fame and fortune. Hiding behind fictional novels in public, writers massaged themselves with the idea that journals were supposedly more private. While true that women found their niche in publishing journals, most men writers felt superior in their false assessments that private thoughts and dialectical exercises were better kept private, suggesting by default that artistic writing should not reveal itself in the first person, and if so, was somehow inferior, lacking objectivity, and a whole lotta other mush. These myths have been shattered in the 20th century, with not a small amount of credit due the beat writers. But old classicist blowhards like Gore Vidal still mutter against this straightforward approach on occasion. Other than that singular remark, Landry, I thought your piece worthy of itself.