Saturday, August 20, 2016


Let us begin with a moment of thanks that our friends Debee and John are back in Wrightwood after having been evacuated because of fires. 

International Black Cat Appreciation Day contestant, Mr. Merle Black.

Although I rail and jeer at bliss ninnies, I subscribe to some amount of alternative/positive thinking practices. At the right time and in proper doses, some of this advice does help, does help me change directions, get more positive, and all that kind of stuff that it promises it will do. I subscribe to a couple of mailing lists and FB feeds that pique my interest. I do read them, think about them, and sometimes even act on parts of them. For instance, one suggestion was to write down the good things or experiences as you go through the year, and put that paper in the jar. At the end of the year, you can review and perhaps jog your memory about the good things and not spend all of your time remembering that it was just another fucked year in the series called your life. 

Facile, superficial, ungrounded, unfounded, irresponsible. That's what this article is. There is no practicality, no helpful suggestions for how to do this. This kind of wishful thinking bullshit is what gives bliss ninnyism the bad name it so richly deserves. This kind of advice is dangerous fantasy, probably no less than the malignant and insidious than the kind of message the Tea Party/extreme capitalists / Trump followers propound. Simple click bait that is the same as it ever was so why do I get exercised.

I guess there is some anger and frustration there at the way it has all turned out.

Later that week

I went to bed in a sad way, not wanting to wake up. My dreams were weird (but included a Japanese sex toy that made you come in about 30 seconds. Sorry. No more details, so I won't be taking it to market.). The weirder part was about Cooder. For part of the dream, she was alive but ailing. I heard her purring, she comforted me, I got to run my hands through her thick fur. Then, whilst I was off somewhere with Miyako and some of her friends in a city, Cooder died. No one wanted to tell me. I tried to get her body back to hold her one last time. I miss her.

And still later.

A bit of a ride, these last few days, some of it quite rough. Although I know it can be dangerous, I think the changes in brain chemistry might be shaking me out of some mental habits and perspectives. I have a bit more energy or initiative to change something anything some things. 

No, it is not at all comfortable. Yes, there have been quite a few torrents of tears. But this does not seem, on the whole, a negative thing. I have not touched down in the "we gotta get out of this place" place as much as the "jeebus this hurts let's get out of here now" place. 

And let me take a shout-out moment to the stalwart pals who listened to my tears with tenderness, compassion, kindness, and no advice or palliatives.

There are lots of corners of denial and/or set thinking that needed an airing and a change of perspective. I cried again about the events, some of with a big and unconscious assist from me, that led me to lose my job, my home, any sense of purpose or really any joy in most anything (save for books, cats, tv, and music ... and some of you, of course). 

Gonna get into it, babe
Down where it's tangled and dark
Way on into it, baby
Down where your fears are parked
Gonna tell the truth about it, babe

Honey, that's the hardest part
Bonnie Raitt, Tangled and Dark

(The whole song is rather about getting into a new relationship, but I guess that could apply to a new relationship with yourself?)


We expect rain
to animate this
creek: these rocks
to harbor gurgles,
these pebbles to
creep downstream
a little, those leaves
to circle in the
eddy, the stains
of gloss and wet.
The bed is ready
but no rain yet.

— Kay Ryan, The Best of It: New and Selected Poems, Grove Press, 2010

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