The thing I think I love most about blogging is that I have immediate
platform free access to any and all of my previous blogged thoughts.
I was just going to write tonight about the fact that it is probably
abnormal that while most people are relieved and feel comforted to go
INTO the warmth of a seventy degree house (I kept having to strip
layers, not really knowing why, until I saw that Jaime, warming herself
by the heating vent, had turned the thermostat "up a notch" from 60
degrees to 70 degrees) FROM a brisk 38 (31 with windchill) outside, I
had the opposite exuberance, stepping outside the door to eyeball her
to her car (eyeball, as in watch, under a huge pea coat and gloves and
a thrift store hat, not ogle) and feeling as if I was at last stepping
past the threshold, into my hospitable world. When I talk to my friends
about normative behavior, versus their expectations, regarding
communication, I should recognize that my own autism, my own
Aspberger's manifest, is my inability to understand why people react so
strongly to cold. Cold wakes me up. Lets me breathe. Not all the time,
the same way people who like heat are sometimes just plain hot.
Although heat doesn't bother me, unless the heat is stifling, like
blankets over two already warm bodies. I hope I can convince any future
women, whether for a night or a life, that they need to trust my body
to keep us both warm, throw off the blankets, turn down the heat, and
let me wake up early enough, as I did with my family home when I had my
morning paper route, to turn the heat up before she awakes.
THAT statement itself is worthy of analysis, as if my body responds to
the time I felt most comfortable and comforted, those years in eighth
grade through highschool, when I was out early in the cold, alone,
thinking my thoughts, dropping papers behind every door, swimming
myself to exhaustian, making up my own logarithms and theorems, writing
myself until pen nubs numbed.
Which touches on the thing that Bill touched on today, the thing,
the zinger I've been waiting my therapist to throw me this whole time,
the unanswerable, one of the cores I don't really have an answer to -
which is how I feel about my brother. Which is hard to answer, except
some displaced, projected anger for ruining what I saw as an idyllic
world of inattentiveness, building my own safe little world for me
while folks were otherwise focused, until the troubles really began
with him, and I realized how much I truly hungered for that nod, that
bit of parental recognition, that maybe I got in some ways before and
missed, more than I cared admit. In the big picture, and this is
probably an Odeipal/Electra complex, I blame him somehow ultimately for
some of the neediness I still find in me, not connected to him
directly, but in the absence of what I feel, in my own mythology, which
is both fictitious truth and truthful fiction, I needed from my parents
somehow to form me as a full and complete adult human being. That all
the feelings of want and longing and inadequacy, through various
indirect channels, all point ultimately to him. So I guess I'm pretty
pissed. Generally.
And I'll be able to recall this stream of conciousness, probably even
just using a few choice, specific terms in Google, to see if I've
written of this before, if this is a documented path and process I can
reference later, like a well documented production or general
contracting schedule, of which good software and Web development is a
combination of each - engineered creativity, as I like to say, unsure
anyone really, really knows what I mean, even though they nod anyway,
each and every one, whenever I say the phrase.
As I can with the idea that the entire idea of heat and cold and
controlled environments weakens humans, makes us more beholden to an
artificial environment, more beholden to exploitation and concentration
of resources, for our creature comforts. Dan Fiorentino, who works at
the restaurant, every morning pours a bucked of ice water over his
head, which immediately and temporarily raises his body temperature so
that he ends up killing off unfriendlies and bolstering his ongoing
circulation. Saunas and ice cold baths. The strangely consistent
documented phenomenon of feral humans delighting in running outside in
the snow, rolling naked, no sense of discomfort, monks meditating in
extremes of chill. This entire cycle of air conditioning and heat
deprives us of our body's natural ability to protect itself on so many
levels, opening up expanding ripples of fortitudinal dependencies, from
the colds that require medications, to the food that gives us comfort,
to the displacement of community, to the fossil fuels we consume to
enable our every expanding consumption, to the cycle of damage to the
atmosphere resulting in future further dependence on an artificial
atmosphere.
This is probably scientific fiction already written but what if we were
simply some advance virus sent in by superior beings to essentially
terraform a planet to their desirable habitat. I don't quite know what
that would be. These beings live millions and millions of years, but
deplete the planets they live on so completely that they must rehabitat
in systems that orbit a sun every million years or so, giving them
enough time to enjoy a planet before the sun itself burns out. And send
their little viruses, knowing that our population will eventually
overtake, overrun the beautiful oxygen rich world and turn it into, I
don't know what - methane, with a protective thin ozone layer and
atmosphere. And if every thousand years or so a prophet would come
among them, having gained some insight into the real "picture" and
tried to frame it to the rest of the world, in ways that they could
understand. Only to once again be subsumed by the dominant culture of
consumption, until the situation was too late. Again. And the viruses,
again having evolved to that level of conciousness that at least
allowed them interstellar travel, identified a future potential
habitable planet, for themselves, and ultimately the "aliens," again.
Which may explain a lot about religion, including the idea of
reincarnation, that we are really simply repeating a past, our destiny,
as spun by the Norns, determined through some Calvinist tautology, or
karmic, as if we are forever, as a species, repaying some past crime.
I was watching Jans try to feed Fiona root beer today to try to calm
her, and another man in the restaurant volunteered pouring sugar in
some water (in a styrofoam cup, with a plastic straw) and stirring it
and then drinking it as a way of distracting (read teaching) her for a
few minutes and realized how deeply the most unhealthy and damaging
things we do to our bodies routinely are related to oppression
(products harvested or produced by poorly paid people), exploitation
(of resources, of governments, of those things held in trust by all,
controlled by few), and, ultimately, unsustainable economic practices
(profiting the few mounumentally in the short term, whose heirs to that
bad karma, end up making videos, ala Paris Hilton (wondering if this
will get me any hits?), or otherwise living lives of some vapid search
for meaning. Sugar. Beef. Meat in general, anymore. Wheat. Corn.
Anything mass produced, as if mass production, the ability to feed more
and more people crap and treat them with pharmaceuticals when they feel
like crap, further strangling all of us with the yoke of profit over
people, that ultimately leads to our flight, or doom. Or salvation.
From that endless interstellar cycle of misery.
This makes me very interested to see the small leap it takes to see how L. Ron Hubbard formed his own religion.
11:52:04 PM
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