Day 18: Write about environmentalism

This... isn't random. 

I just listened to a radio show about a man who's published a new book about the morality of fossil fuels. When I listened to his explanation, I was taken back to the traditional variance in all debates. The basis of all differences in our perception of the world around us is whether we think we are animals. So I'm going to write about both.

1. If we are animals, the environment is our peer. Ultimately the environment is our steward. We are subject to it's availability. We are subject to its actions. The catalyst of the actions is "important" but not in the effect of what is happening over why it's happening. So, basically whether God is doing these things, if Universal intelligence, or if, my least favorite option, chaos, is to blame, it doesn't matter. We are intellectual creatures, like dolphins or octopi, or pigs. We have relationships and we build things. We created a heirachy of intellectual function for goodness sake! We are the pinnacle of macro-organisms! (that was sarcasm) If we are animals then we are like the tiny boats we build out on stormy seas: we can only change our circumstances on a minute level. 

2. If we dominate animals, the environment is a tool. Ultimately we are the steward over a sickly and deteriorating globe. It is subject to our actions. We are the catalyst. In this instance, the catalyst may be the same forces acting on our "nature", but it's still the same: it doesn't matter. We are intellectual creatures and intellect is paramount. Intellect can overcome our action. In this view the world is falling apart and in need of saving. From this perspective it makes sense that we should use fossil fuels to take the contaminants out of the soil.

Problems:

If our actions come from our nature, and our intellect comes from our nature then our actions should implicate our intellect and in true biological form, provide sustainability for off-spring.

Earth is a closed system. It is like a glass filled with water. Assuming volume can't change, and we aren't rapidly seaping atmosphere into the vast universe, taking a toxin out of one form simply means that it takes a new form; ie, if you take toxic materials out of the soil, you put them in the air. If take toxins from water or air and put it in barrels in the ground, you are simply changing their state. We are playing chess against the computer. There's only so many times you can move into and out of the corner before you just give up and let the computer have you. 

Wasn't it Einstein who said “Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”...that wasn't a question. Yes, it was. How are we to know that ants aren't geniuses at volume movement, or that dolphins were the pinnacle of evolution, but then decided it wasn't worth all the hype? 

I realize that we are really a mix of options 1 and 2. I know this, but I still don't think it gives us the authority to do stupid things. That is my final complaint: Humans have specialty. I promise you that an electrician could school me on how to install wiring into a house, but all it takes is one news article or one book and suddenly Joe Shmoe is an expert and he thinks the electrician is a complete fool. Why can't we have experts? Why can't we have specialists anymore? 

In typical fashion, a little information is a scary thing.

 

Day 17: write about your dreams

I've always thought that dreams were significant. When I was a kid I dreamed all sorts of bizarre things. I dreamed I died so many times. I dreamed I felt myself die; I dreamed I had already died and what I did later. I dreamed I couldn't die. I have dreamed probably a hundred times that I was going to drown but I realized I could breath underwater.

As time goes on my dreams seem to get more and more mundane. 

That is until this past year. 

My grandmother died a year ago. From the day she died until 2 months later I had 4-5 dreams a week with her in them. The weird thing is that for a few of those dreams, they were continuations of dreams my little sister was having. She was wearing the same thing and everything. 

I dreamed that I was in her kitchen and she said I had to go bc I would be late for work. I was late for work. I dreamed she cooked food. I dreamed she had comfy socks. I often wonder if I've glanced into "her heaven". I hope so.

Day 16: He turned the key in the lock and opened the door. To his horror, he saw...

He turned the key in the lock and opened the door. To his horror, he saw himself sitting on the couch drinking a beer. The door swung from momentum, and thunked against the foyer wall. The him on the couch took a swig and placed the beer on a coaster on the coffee table. He sighed and said, "This is something we've been needing to talk about for a while now." The him who opened the door half dropped his grocery bags. He walked in and sat on the vintage arm chair. The him on the couch looked like a child about to confess to stealing cookies from the cookie jar. Rubbing his hands together, he hesitantly began with, "I don't know how to tell you this but you have been in a coma for 5 years. This is all a dream." The him in the arm chair began to pale.

"I jest, I jest." He offered. "This is a dream, but you aren't in a coma. It just the regular kind. Plenty of people have out of body experiences (ish) in their sleep; they see themselves with their greatest desires, or they see themselves in danger. I don't know how normal it is to dream about grocery shopping, but at least I am normal."

The him on the chair relaxed. He opened his mouth to say something like, "Oh man, you had me on that one!" But soon realized he didn't have a mouth.

"Curious right? Why don't you have a mouth? This is your dream. Somewhere in there you have all the answers. Maybe you're just meant to listen through all this. Yep, there've been other times. And you don't seem to remember me, but I definitely remember you; my mute twin. I get to live in this dank house a few times a month, and I get to interact with you. I think this is the first time you have realized you don't have a mouth. The rules state I'm not allowed to tell you anything you don't come to on your own first.  Don't try to move your jaw. Last time you got pissed and tried to rip it open. I don't think it's worth it. You're just along for the ride. Let's talk about your wife. We haven't talked about her yet. Yeah, you don't really remember conversations from before."

The him on the chair glanced down at his hand and saw a wedding band. He didn't remember being married. He definitely wasn't married.

"Yes. You are. Her name is Debra."

The name made his ears ring. Like when you have been in the dark forever, and you are exposed to direct sunlight. The sound of your eyes adjusting and your skin contracting, like your whole being is clinching down on itself; like the only thing to do is ball up on the ground and wait for your body to catch up; like the opposite of brain freeze. 

When the pain stopped, the room came back into focus slowly. He had tears in his eyes: not emotional tears, but survival tears: the tears that come when you are concentrating with your eyes squinched shut. He looked to the him on the couch. He was lighting a cigarette, and offered one to him. Asshole. What was he going to smoke it out of? His ears?

"You could try your nose. Might hurt though. I don't know. So, Debra, breathe deep buddy. You'll be fine. Debra is your wife. She's the one who decorated this monstrosity. Mother of your children? You're business partner? Your financial guru? Anyway, she was here. She said she'd be back later. Judging by  your little show just now I don't know that it's a good idea for you to be her when she gets back."

Hyperventalating through your nose is difficult. His lungs wanted to exert themselves, but his nostrils regulated too well. He didn't know he was married, but the name made him so violently upset that it paralyzed him (at least his dream body).  

Part I.

 

Day 15: Use the phrase "Growing like a weed"

I stepped through the fence of fire, and found the witches there

I craned my neck along the pyre, and saw the little's hair.

I two stepped stairs steep to summit, but finally  I ARRIVE!

Just to see the blanket plummet, and the worst I could surmise.

The little not so little now, was growing like a weed

The little swaddled moments ago, wow, with such great speed

Has no more ribbons in her hair, no goofiness to lose

She has burdens broad to bear, where once she stood aloof.

My heart begins to ache for her, as the witch calls out my name

She says my job is to lure, her out--the time we've left's no game

"Because all young girls long to live bigger than they are 

But they need a heart to give, with out it they won't go far"

I wondered where I might start, and how to give her wings

the little grabbed my juicy heart, and gave it one tight squeeze.

I thought about what I would do, If I went at it again

I would go and act and view, as much as I possibly can.

I wouldn't let fear hold me back, or shame glue me down

My heart would love, throb and thwack, I'd never touch the ground

So what could I give the little that I couldn't give myself?

I'd give every ounce of courage and support I could. 

Nothing is something if you compare yourself to that brood.

 

Something is something if it matters to you

but nothing is nothing if its something you can't do.

And sometimes cant's and dont-want-to's aren't that far apart

and in moments like that when the panic sets in, I'd say listen to your heart.

'Success is counted sweetest by those who ne'er succeed'*

but success is measured in your own heart's content, no one else's- indeed.

* single line from Emily Dickenson's "Success is counted sweetest"

  

Day 14: 10 reasons to break off an engagement

(It's random I promise)

1. You expect your betrothed to change.

    A ring will make her happy. The yes will fill his heart. As with most gifts in life, we often lose focus on those things and their significance as time goes on. The ring will not make her more submissive. The yes wont remove all need for him to hear WHY you said yes. You should expect the bad to stay bad, and to good to stay good. If you find yourself engaged to someone because you thought the commitment would change behavior, its probably a good sign to let them go.

2. Your betrothed DOES change.

     I recently talked to a girl who's husband was completely normal until the wedding, and then he became increasingly possessive. It got to the point that he called her 15 times in one day bc she was in a 3 hour lab. Ain't no body got time for that. Betrothed means promised, but it doesn't mean enslaved. If you see behaviors that are frightening or vastly different, try to talk it out, but if its bad, get out. 

3. Cheating.

    My knee jerk reaction is that cheating is never ok. However, as an adult I can see if a person is neglected for months or years, and someone else comes along and gives them the affection they want, it makes sense that a human would migrate to what they want. That being said, you aren't married. Most likely kids aren't in the picture yet. The stresses of life are relatively low for you. If you aren't providing the love and support that he/she needs now, then it will only be more difficult when you have a family or buy a house, or changing jobs, or losing jobs, or any plethora of life circumstances. That being said, if your needs aren't being met, give the other person the opportunity to change. Break it off before you cheat.

4-10. Follow your gut

    Frankly, this prompt is annoying to me. I just got engaged, and I'd rather not focus on reasons to break it off, but for the sake of keeping it random, I wrote. Lastly, and this is my greatest weakness, follow your gut. If it doesn't feel right, don't do it. 

    Everyone I've ever talked to about divorce said that they had reservations during their engagement. I don't mean to be negative, but it seems like sometimes marriage means just not leaving. Hopefully your marriage will be filled with more; like love and happiness and consult and companionship. We all dream that our marriage will be the first ship to exclusively sail on fair weathered seas, but I think at somepoint you should consider what life would be like if you had to live every day with your significant other at their worst. And once your mouth is filled with acid and you could shoot darts with your eyes, consider what it would be like for your mate if they had to live every day with you at your worst. Statistically, its not likely that those scenarios would be average, but being with someone during sickness doesn't mean cleaning up barf and making chicken soup. Sometimes it means the mood swings that accompany weaning off of prescription strength pain killers, or the emotional roller coaster and pains of pregnancy and birth. 

     My worst is not caring. My brain has this auto prioritizing feature. My emotions, and the emotions of the ones I care about are usually the first or second thing to fall aside. So, I think about what life would be like for my significant other if I completely ignored his feelings for years. He's a pretty emotional guy. He's a talker and a sharer (yes, a dream by most women's standards). I am not. At best I can listen. I rarely make it above comprehension. If pushed I can sympathize, and maybe even emote a little myself, but ultimately, its just not in my nature. By suggesting that you consider living with your significant other at their worst, I am immediately reminded of what that would mean if I was specifically speaking to him. What a reminder! 

     

Day 13: What does the phrase, "A string of laughter" make you think of?

Often times my dreams look like the Harry Potter movies. 

When I think of a string of laughter I think of a 1920's laundry line; strung up high in a New York apartment building. 

I think of a chubby sweaty woman jerking thick cotton rope along a pulley system and a mix pot of lips and laughter coming out of a deep wooden basket and out on the line. I imagine thick red lips, gapped front teeth and a loud husky laugh. I imagine thin lips and a moustache with a high pitched soft chuckle. I imagine wide mouths with gasping laughter, half smiles and giggles. The line is hung amongst underwear and petticoats, but the laughing is constant. I wonder who would be willing to give up their laugh for a good laundering? I wonder if an occasional washing keeps the laugh fresh. Once the laughs are all out on the line the rope makes an abrupt stop, and the laughs begin to swing which creates a wave of laughs; the laughs and their echoes travel from one apartment wall to another. The wind picks up and the laughs become more like wind chimes, the laughter settles into a gentle lull, more than a roaring chaos. When the wind hits a group of smiles, the laugh picks up. Clean clothes drip on the smiles , and white sheets stick to some of the mouths; that makes them laugh harder. 

At the end of the day the chubby woman comes back to the window, sweatier than before, and begins jerking on the pulley system again, and the smiles start rolling back in. The movement excites them and the laughter picks back up to a ruckus. One by one the plump laughs fall into a clean basket. One of the evil laughs tries to bite her hand as she removes the clothes pin. She smacks it into the basket, and continues. She arrives to the last smile and pauses to look at it with great affection. She holds it with caution and her eyes light up. She opens her mouth and puts the smile on like dentures, and laughs until she has to brace herself on the window sil.l