SNAKES AND WILD TALES

I nearly stepped on a snake on my walk yesterday. 

 Don't you completely dig the camouflage?

It has gone from I-hate-you-and-every-other-living-being hot to fast-track-to-fall cool. Doesn't really matter if I like it or not, it is how it is.

Listening to Graham Nash's autobiography, Wild Tales. Graham is such a lovely person and it is excellent to listen to the audiobook as he sings and such. The disheartening part, which is no surprise, is the "consumption" of women detail. I know that it is all true and Graham is certainly reasonably respectful and appreciative even of the groupies. I suppose it hits a chord, and saddens me because it distanced me then and distances me now from the overall experience and enjoyment of rock and roll. The amount of female "consumption" and "observation" is creepy. 

This is not to say Graham is purposefully condescending or misogynistic, his respect and adoration of Joni Mitchell and her clear, overt genius precludes ANY gender bias there. But hearing over and over again about sampling delicious beauties and such just bums me out. Even groupies are humans, not "taste treats" ...

I listened to Wild Tales as I took my walk yesterday. I ran out of Graham before I got home, so I switched to another audiobook, Greil Marcus' The Doors. The contrast between Graham's personal, simple narrative and Greil's over-intellectual bombast was damn striking. So far, though, Greil has not said anything gender-bias egregious, so there is that.

Today, I came over to the North Salem Public Library to see if being in a slightly less hospitable environment, more formal, would increase my productivity. This place is fairly schmancy having even a coffee machine for the patrons. And it is quite noisy although there are not many people here; I guess the stricture against talking at a normal voice no longer obtains at the library. I imagine the kids getting out of school will be here in a bit, so the volume and activity will increase. Fortunately, I remember to bring headphones and music so that I can drown them out a bit.

















Had a fine talk with KH1 yesterday. I had not responded to many of her kind and frequent calls in quite a while, mostly due to depression. As I am feeling reasonably good, or at least stable, I called her to get caught up. There was something I wanted to share ... but something relative to listening to Graham.

Jay and I watched The Wolf of Wall Street on Saturday night. It's difficult to make an assessment of that experience. I can't just pretend that the callous and casual consumption of women doesn't disturb or affect me. It's not easy to watch that. And I can't say that I feel Scorsese's direction and mise-en-scène weren't purposely exploitative ... I know Scorsese is baroque and feminism wasn't part of his story, but it was still creepy and unsettling ... And I am going to assert that there were other, perhaps more compelling and interesting ways, to show the excess ... Ways that might have better enfranchised me in the watching.

Gosh, looking at that snake picture reminds me of a crazy, inappropriate conversation I was forced to have with these French businessmen I worked with. They were, well, one of them was, quoting some Doors snake reference and asking me about riding snakes. If I remember it more clearly, I will relate it. 


“If you were alone when you were born, alone when you were dying, really absolutely alone when you were dead, why "learn to be alone" in between? If you had forgotten, it would quickly come back to you. Aloneness was like riding a bike. At gunpoint. With the gun in your own hand. Aloneness was the air in your tires, the wind in your hair. You didn't have to go looking for it with open arms. With open arms, you fell off the bike: I was drinking my wine too quickly.” 

— Lorrie Moore, Bark

IN WHICH WE ASK SOME IMPORTANT QUESTIONS

Chappaqua Train Station.

I have a lot of burning questions, and the first one is worthy of scientific research: what is that men and domestic animals have in common that makes them so very vacuum and vacuum cleaner adverse? And given the avoidance behavior almost all men display in the presence of vacuum cleaners, why has this not been developed into an offensive weapon? No one is likely to die, but they will evacuate and retreat and possibly disappear. I just think it is worth looking into. 

As to denial and superficiality, I will share one response:

But isn't there such a thing as DEEP denial?  Frankly, I think it's the only way I really function.  Yes -- I'm far too dependent on it (though...walk a mile in my shoes....); but at least I more or less get through the day.  Also what about the REALLY DEEP denial that this (Western/American) culture seems to operate on?  Legally/administratively; politically; economically/financially; culturally (of course)...  Think about it.  Consider the simple reality of HUMAN CHARACTER (or LACK of it) -- wouldn't most of us just give up if we really thought about the evil pricks and morons (meaning the majority of humans) we have to slog through on any given day?  (I exaggerate -- but only slightly.)  And there's the rest of Nature -- which, however I may prefer it, is not termed 'red at tooth and claw' for nothing.  So just find me a nice corner with the dogs, cats and plants & I'll just go on trying to get through my day without thinking about the existence of Dick Cheney, Mitch O'Connell, any Bush, Vladimir Putin, ISIS, Bashar al-Assad, Hamas, etc. etc. etc.....  Don't worry -- it's not as if I've stopped reading the NYTimes. 

Yes, of course, there is deep denial, and perhaps that is the worst kind? I know that denial is a survival adaptation (I would cite something here but I am on the train and have no internet), but a life of denial, and I put myself high on this list, is a compromised life. And I have no illusions (no denial) about life being about compromise, but it all gets to feeling like a house of cards.

I haven’t really come up with much more … but one thing that sparked this line of inquiry is how superficially I read or skim or peruse many of the articles I send along. I know of things, but not about them. 

Maybe part of my thought is superficiality is practiced on ourselves, too, and that is a form of denial.

Okay, I’ll set this topic aside for now.

The weather has been both ridiculous and brutual, UN.TENABLE. Or insupportable as the French say it. Part of yesterday was clement enough for a morning walk, finally, and today it is at least drier, but it is still uncomfortably hot.

Almost at my stop, Chappaqua, where M and I are going to a luncheon meeting, and thence I will get back on the train to head to Brooklyn where it is Melinda’s birthday. It’s actually her birthday all over the world, but I am not sure where all the celebrations are … Cincinnati and Daytona Beach … and … 

Abandoned shoes.

The next day. Well, that was an unusual evening. Mel and I ended up in a the local bar here in Brooklyn, hanging out with a handsome young French wine salesperson, and the bartender who closed the bar and played Mel's favorite music (Tears for Fears, New Order, etc.). I drank more gin thaN I have had in a long time, but fortunately had the presence of mind to keep at the water, so, although I slept quite late, I am quite functional.

The Lorrie Moore book, Bark, is recommended. Here's another quote and then goodbye for today.

"Once her son had only wanted a distracting pain, but then soon he had wanted to tear a hole in himself and flee through it. Life was full of spies and preoccupying espionage. Yet the spies sometimes would flee as well and someone might have to go after them in order, paradoxically, to escape them altogether, over the rolling fields of living dream, in the early morning mountains of dawning signification."

ELECTRICITY OF THE REAL

Last night seemed like August to me, so I was surprised to see it was my first post in September. After a bit, I was able to go back to sleep and get some better rest.

Now, after having spent some time working on Monsterwood with Jason, I continue to curse the humid weather and sit as still as I can. But there is laundry in the basement that needs attending. I did try to attack my car which is still full of stuff, but it is just too hot to move anything but your mind or your hand to your mouth, when there is a cold drink in it.

As I was falling asleep again this morning, I mused upon the relationship between superficiality and denial. Is there one? I certainly had a case for it then. Isn’t denial superficial? Is not superficiality the refusal to acknowledge or be interested in the depth and detail? The gist of my rumination was just that there is a lot of this going around these days, and I do not except myself, exempt myself from the sin or crime or misbehavior of partaking.

I particularly like her shedding on herself.

The next (damn hot) day ...

"Surrealism could not be made up. It was the very electricity of the real."
— Laurie Moore, Bark


Superficial 

a (1) :  of, relating to, or located near a surface (2) :  lying on, not penetrating below, or affecting only the surface<superficial wounds>

b British of a unit of measure :  square <superficial foot>

2

a :  concerned only with the obvious or apparent :  shallow

b :  seen on the surface :  external

c :  presenting only an appearance without substance or significance

Denial 

:  refusal to satisfy a request or desire

2

a (1) :  refusal to admit the truth or reality (as of a statement or charge) (2) :  assertion that an allegation is false

b :  refusal to acknowledge a person or a thing :  disavowal

3

:  the opposing by the defendant of an allegation of the opposite party in a lawsuit

4

:  self-denial

5

:  negation in logic

6

:  a psychological defense mechanism in which confrontation with a personal problem or with reality is avoided by denying the existence of the problem or reality

— in denial

:  refusing to admit the truth or reality of something unpleasant <a patient in denial about his health problems>

Okay, so I am continuing to muse on superficial and denial. Superficiality is a sort of disavowal; it's a disavowal of a whole being, a refusal to get the whole picture, a refusal to penetrate and get deep. Now, perhaps this is not particularly revelatory, but it did occur to me.  Further reflections and insights are welcome. 

Meanwhile, hiding out in the cold room where we have some A.C. I have a desire to sleep, but that overall logeyness might be due to heat more than other things. For the record, although I slept too late, I had a productive day getting geared up on Sociative again, and pushing forward on Monsterwood. For any interested parties, you can download the first version of the prologue for free here.