Random Idea

 

something like…while i’m doing a bit of this

you can just hit “random post” up under “manoftheword”

and visit stuff i can’t remember

something new will (hopefully) arise

in my journeys

and hopefully

you will find it interesting

but for now…

you guys keep working

so i stay inspired

upon return

Sneak Post

Hey everyone – this is basically what i’m looking at for the next 8 days (and climbing). ย Happened in to town for groceries and water…and a cafe-created coffee (which happened to host wi-fi) – thanks for reading, for your comments and i’m sure your posts – i’ll get to as many of them as i can when i return next week for two days of Kansas’ hell-hot heat and then we’re off for another week until BOOM school/work/etc. starts!

I can tell you that thusfar feeling high-altitude breezes, looking at deer, marmots, chipmunks, rabbits, and an amazing variety of birds and flora – my mind is cruising into a calmly-breathing state I haven’t known in a very long time. ย Hopefully much will soothe and settle and i’ll notice something interesting or beautiful to share upon my return. ย For now, I’m resting, climbing, loving, and exploring these mountains ๐Ÿ™‚

Thanks and happiness to all

Why I Write (?)

What Occurs : What Prompts : Whatever

ย 

Iโ€™m prepared to admit that I am moodyโ€ฆ(significant others would readily attest this).ย  My range of expression is evolving.ย  Formerly I drank vodka so as to physically present a Zen-like kindness and placidity.ย  My family didnโ€™t fall for it.ย  Many other medications have been recommended me wherewith to alter my individual chemistry and be a finer, better human.ย  Different.ย  Okay.ย  Itโ€™s almost two years now since Iโ€™ve drank with regularity for balance.ย  (Imbalance).ย  Almost two months since Iโ€™ve managed on a braid of nicotine and tar.ย  Iโ€™m at the mercy of the winds.ย  In me.

Iโ€™m moving, frighteningly, toward โ€œwhat you see is what you getโ€ โ€“ some reckless combination of a voracious and highly informed neurotic intellect, strange aesthetically, theory-laden embodiment, and a high-voltage bundle of emotional attachment needsโ€ฆa kind of human specimen to myselfโ€ฆand whatever literature I imbibe and an incredibly courageous family that somehow stays around me, thusfar regardless ofโ€ฆ

 

If pressed, I would say I survive by language.ย  By art.ย  Whether visual, musical, or literary, I always feel (believe?) that thereโ€™s some place for me, some haven to inhabit, in the tremendous world of frivolous human invention/concoction/creation.ย  Though there is overwhelming evidence from my spouse, children and immediate/extended family and friends that Iโ€™m safe and accepted as the crazy creature I am, thatโ€™s a slow-growth root for relative paranoia (or shame).

All that, to highlight a miniscule moment that accentuated an obvious stimulant to my own commitments to compositions in whatever media or form.

A mood obtains.ย  Like clothing, I often feel surrounded and represented by my emotional states.ย  When this occurs, I look for โ€œmatches.โ€ย  Things in the world to mirror or affirm me โ€“ that I might maintain some sense of individuality and worth โ€“ i.e., โ€œself.โ€

Something happens that I donโ€™t pretend to understand, shifting my contextual fabric of existence into a new whereabouts/whatabouts/howabouts, and I look at the literatures that I saturate my living spaces with, the sounds I ensure are in queue, and images / persons / environments (etc.) arranged so as to secure or anchor me, and I ask for resonance, reflection, validation.

That isnโ€™t fair.

I see that.

Thus I relate, to whatโ€™s around me.

 

Not so subtly (as my whomabouts can attest) I seek what mates with my singular in-sperience.

Not fair.

I see that.

Itโ€™s what I do.

 

Often there is very little in my surround โ€œfeeling WITH me.โ€ย  I.e. identical to myself.ย  Therefore, bigotedly, I feel alone.ย  And seek.

Today โ€“ in some combination of emptiness (moving away from four children and โ€˜homeโ€™ to be with two other children and beautiful mountains) and rich anticipation (my beloved ONLY flying back to me from another country โ€“ my spouse, my dearest deepest friend, my survivor); grief (two years of self-directed study and creation drawing to a close); irritation (growing consecutivity of 3-digit temperatures and a scalded environment โ€“ these Midwestern plains); an only partially confirmed/verified confidence (in mental avarice and aptitude, linguistic and theoretical comprehensions and abilities); excitement (of movement, vacation, escape, in-drawal with significant others); terror (maturing independence of children, un-necessity as parent, annoyance, superfluity, archaism); erotic desire (days spent apart from spouse + discipline + commitment + theory + desire); hope (renewed relationships, devotion to integrity, celebration of fidelities); melancholy (death is always the next thing); pride (Iโ€™ve managed thusfar); luck and sorrow (the ridiculous imperilments of tragedies)โ€ฆ

Iโ€™m realizing as I write that this list is a quick abyss of connections and trajectories.ย  Life is endlessly sourced and indiscriminately smearedโ€ฆ

 

In this molten, cumulative state I perused my essential companions โ€“ literary, musical, and visualโ€ฆandโ€ฆNO MATCHES!!!ย  All so far beyond me in each of their strengths โ€“ stretching, compelling, inductiveโ€ฆ but not โ€œmatingโ€/โ€conflatingโ€/โ€reflectingโ€ to my own present presenceโ€ฆ

and soโ€ฆ

โ€ฆI writeโ€ฆ

โ€ฆseeking what I needโ€ฆ

โ€ฆto create itโ€ฆ

 

And one day?

To find?

Scribbling. Toward purpose.

Summer is quickly departing. ย In the next few weeks – school supplies, a trip to the Rockies to a rustic cabin, a trip to Branson with little children and wizened parents, work, deadlines, textbooks, and BAM! the “Fall” begins. ย I don’t know if I’m easily overwhelmed, perhaps so, I can say I am overwhelmed. ย I think I’m good at surviving things, at persistence, but in a rather melancholic way, steeled and a little removed.

I am not certain what will become of this blog as two years of a most incredible opportunity that cost us so much is coming to an end – the ability for Holly and myself to devote ourselves to our personal passions, our internal vocations: our families, our art. ย Enormous changes are afoot. ย I will be back to work and a full-time graduate student, Holly will practice more therapy and a little less creating artifacts, two high schoolers ever increasing their busyness, fullness; and two young ones growing ever so fast. ย Our older children are fairly self-sufficient, but also ever growing and expanding, and keeping up with all requires our hearts.

In a recent interview, my interviewer looked at me and addressed the cliche “Change is difficult.” ย Pause. ย I agreed all over my body. ย She resumed: “change is NOT difficult, it is always occurring, ALWAYS. ย What we experience as “difficult” during the endless changing isย perspective.”

She was right. ย My mind and body were not. ย I create the difficulties by my approaches and interpretations. ย The difficulties themselves often becoming creative catalysts of change. ย “I am proud to be melancholic.” (see following quote). ย It is empowering to gradually claim responsibility for one’s self and one’s constant choices of outlook, intake, response, action. ย Thus I enter the ensuing flow.

This morning has been spent reflecting the feelings I’m having of loss in relation to this blog, more open time for reading/writing/composing, family-time, couple-time. ย The feeling that perspectival anticipation re: these ensuing shifts has slumped me, lessened my determination, devotion. ย I countered it with Lynne Tillman (as I often do), and read the following, fromย Madame Realism Lies Here (everything is intentional in her writings :)):

“In her waking life, as in her dreams, she concocted art that confronted ideas about art. ย 

So life wasn’t easy; few people want to be challenged…

…Madame Realism’s work wasn’t her child. ย But, inevitably, it was related to her, often unflatteringly…

…what if art can’t tell the truth? ย What if it lies?…

Art was a golem. ย It had taken over. ย It had a life of its own, and now she feared it was assessing her. ย What did it say about her?…

What I make is not entirely in my power, as conscious as I try to be. ย It’s always in my hands and out of my hands, too. ย I like to look at things, because they make me feel good, even when they make me feel bad. ย I’m proud to be melancholic. ย I like to make things, because they usually make me feel good. ย I am not satisfied with the world, so I add to it. ย My desires are on display. ย What I make I love and hate…

…She made a spectacle of herself from time to time, mostly in her work, trying to tell the truth and finding there’s no truth like an untruth. ย She kept pushing herself to greater and greater joys and deprivations, which were invariably linked. ย And like any interesting artist, who can’t help herself and is in thrall to her own discoveries, Madame Realism shocked herself most, over and over again.”

(from Lynne Tillman,ย This is Not It)

It’s like this. ย So onward I go. ย Be assured I will try to stay up with all of you wonderful creators. ย And I will (“can’t help himself”) keep making at each opportunity. ย And I thank you all so much for these past 8 months or so where I have had the inception of experiences of finding an audience, truly being read and responded to, a sort of community of creativity. ย It has greatly influenced my life and practice and confidence in keeping to my dreams. ย Thank you!

Be well everyone. ย Be well.

‘Tis Merely Acting (?)

Iโ€™m in the process of reading Girl Imagined by Chance by Lance Olsen, and I am thinking about how easy it is to make up oneโ€™s life.ย  Easy and hard, in different ways.ย  Like making peanut butter-chocolate milkshakes.

We watched โ€œThe Jonesesโ€ (obviously a mainstream movie, in that way they have of being consistently predictable and disappointing) last night.ย  Internet webs and informational glut, the redolence of media โ€“ its imagery and imaginings โ€“ makes lying very easy, and โ€œsoft.โ€ย  In the sense of โ€œwhite lies,โ€ or possibly not malicious, not evil.ย  Rather โ€œstealthy,โ€ โ€œclever,โ€ and โ€œcreativeโ€ manipulations, representations, (e.g. marketing).

I remember when Western Culture (particularly United-States-North-American) synonymed carpe diem with โ€œinvent yourself,โ€ i.e. the militaries โ€œbe all you can be.โ€ย  I was younger then.

Lying requires duplicity, which requires attention, which requires energy.ย  Much like working outside of oneโ€™s home and having a family.ย  Or some other role(s).ย  What is called โ€œposition,โ€ formerly called a โ€œpoint-of-view.โ€ย  Often borrowed from corporations or governments, churches or markets, movements or customers, and so forth.ย  โ€œWhiteโ€ lies.ย  Duplicities.ย  Now this, now that.ย  Positioning.

Already multiple (syn. plural), our selves find it natural to lie and adapt and yet not to believe that it is lying.ย  First one thing, then another; everything changes while remaining so similar.ย  Enough.ย  Apparently.ย  In other words, subtle repositioning / shape-shifting: therapist foreground, wife background.ย  Grunt foreground, husband back.ย  Student, son, father, friend.ย  Subtle shifts.ย  Highlights.ย  First one thing, then another, not exclusive (syn. deception).

Not that thereโ€™s anything wrong with it.ย  Who associated these terms (โ€œlie,โ€ โ€œdeception,โ€ โ€œmanipulation,โ€ โ€œduplicitousโ€ and so forth) with something negative in the first place?ย  Our histories, sciences, civilizations, arts, militaries, governments, religions, families and businesses are all based on them.ย  At some point along every route, things are contradictory, duplicitous, compromised, untrue.ย  What is evil about error?ย  Efficiency?ย  Multiplicity?ย  Complexity?

So if an image suits your message, whatever claims necessity, doesnโ€™t it belong?ย  Whether โ€œyoursโ€ or not, itโ€™s resonant, it โ€œfits.โ€ย  Illustrates the story.ย  Well, part of it, at least as viewed from this position, this point-of-view, whichever wherever whomever is being highlighted NOW.

It is as easy to invent yourself as to paste a collage or learn your native language.ย  Complex organisms utilizing contexts for their survival and adapting (sort of thing).ย  Lizards do it, plants do it, animals and insects do it โ€“ all stay alive by subtle shifts and adaptations, presenting themselves as somethings theyโ€™re not (perhaps) โ€“ representation, quotation, mimicry โ€“ all situationally basedโ€ฆ

We tell each other certain things (stories altering emphases with each recounting, each invention), behave in particular ways in particular environs, accept and follow various rules at various times of our days, because we have no consistent center, we are relative โ€“ relatives all of us โ€“ one to another, to our world โ€“ shifting, adapting, multiplicitousโ€ฆeach lie leading toward some aspect of what we name truth, like sides of a liquid coin.

Our trouble is that we are unable to be there and not be there, as weโ€™d like to think.ย  Itโ€™s all responsibility.ย  Our flexibility, agility, ability to respondโ€ฆorganism to context like a movie screen flickering now this, now that, hold focus, here blur, this angle, these lights, little more information, tone down the emotion, play up the cheer, empathize, stand firm, show authority, be gentle, shift shift shift shiftโ€ฆperspective position your point-of-view.ย  Highlight, accent, select…

Carpe Diem.ย  Seize this moment, this day, be all that you can be (youโ€™ve no idea how expansive and various that is!ย  Well, you must have some idea as we watch you change, grow, reveal, conceal, suppress, express, etcโ€ฆ) duplicitously, positionally, shiftily.ย  Itโ€™s easy to make up our own lives, to invent ourselvesโ€ฆ

โ€ฆweโ€™re doing it all the time, everywhere.

โ€˜Tis merely act-ing (being/doing/living) in the world!

Tying Knots

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โ€œTo tie knots, not decipher themโ€

-Arkadii Dragomoshchenko-

 

Thinking again of my father.ย  Which wends its way to thinking of my friends, my nearest family, my mother, sister, sibs-in-law.ย  Children.

Mainly Iโ€™ve been thinking of my father.ย  For decades now.

(Rewritten 41 times).

 

I keep trying to decipher.ย  In fact in yesterdayโ€™s version I described my desire lacking the keys to its secrets, and declared us all impossible to descry.

If thatโ€™s the word for it.

Forty-one years using letters for rope.ย  That is fraying.

 

Iโ€™ve said that I want to be known better than I can know myself.ย  By him.ย  By which I meant differently.

Iโ€™m sure thatโ€™s correct.

Otherwise not being possible.

And vice-versa.

Such knotted things.

 

Unfortunately I deciphered it, thereby fancying a code of simplifications and falsity.ย  Reading something like this: ta TAH ta TAH ta TAH / de dum de dum de dum dum dum.

Sounding better than the truth I never hear.

 

In other words, by desiring my desire (to comprehend it โ€“ synonym: โ€œfit it into my small frameโ€) I laid it out in lines of script as on a butcherโ€™s table.ย  And looked for patterns.

xxxx— I want to be known better (elsewise) than I know myself —xxxx

by:ย ย ย ย ย ย  +@+@+@ my spouse; -/-/- my siblings; o][o my friends; ~!~~!~ my children; ^*_= my parentsโ€ฆ

and likewise inter-pret them

forever crafting spies sniping through tiny keyholes

one another.

 

The dimensions are not vast enough.

We donโ€™t possess the organs (apparently).

Iโ€™m not sure any of this has much to do with knowledge (though I keep on using those terms).

 

It was about knotting ropes or threads, veins or limbs, ideas.ย  Tangling memories, blending emotions, and cross-narrations.

 

I tried actions (working-with, snuggling, fighting, conversation and more).ย  I tried history (genealogy, geology, agriculture, politics, religion and so on).

Think of these as ropes or twine.

Perhaps tied is a better word than tried here.

I tied performing, misbehaving, more languages and themes.ย  I tied sickness and health, better and worse for this knowing, this desire.ย  These persons.

to no avail

What was I expecting?

Transparency.

Demystification.

Understanding.

Deciphered companions.

 

What have I got?

Unclear, confused and knotty, my hands canโ€™t pass through them.

I canโ€™t wrap my brain around it/them/us, nor define.

At a loss as to explanation (a probable gain).

Father-cipher.ย  Mother-cipher.ย  Spouse-cipher.ย  Family and friend-ciphers.

 

Something substantial.

 

Happy Monday this Tuesday. Begin.

Today I woke up.

I woke up in love.ย  In joy.

A song was sparrowing to and fro in my mindโ€™s sky (Boxer Rebellion โ€“ Soviets)

We have new puppies and they are loving and cute.

The heat has broken and there were clouds in the sky.

we have twins of these

In love?

In joy?

What might those mean?

We danced the pups to trauma to the Lumineers โ€œHo Heyโ€.

Like coming out of a slump.

Like post-coital bliss.

That full, that relaxed and open.

For no particular reason.

For so many particular reasons.

plus we made a pistachio bundt cake

How does the brain chemistry experience?

How do the senses collage reality?

How are we?

this is your brain on joy

 

I woke today in bliss and joy.

I woke today in love.

.

Happy Monday this Tuesday.

Begin.

On the Anniversary of Our Wedding

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The Forest of Marriage

(Happy Anniversary Holly Suzanne!)

ย 

Iโ€™ve never felt sexy or young, my memory is chained like an old growth forest accumulating decay.ย  Remains tough to destroy.ย  Why would I want to?ย  Perhaps for you โ€“ so lovely to me โ€“ youthful, vital, your non-submissive and consistent new growth.ย  Your winding ways, nubile bends โ€“ how do you regenerate yourself?

Iโ€™ve no doubt my dying fertilizes and enriches, our scent expands.ย  Some wreckage crumbles beautifully, overgrown and softened by corruption.ย  But itโ€™s not the same as planting seeds, a puppyโ€™s not a dog.

Steep.ย  A word for danger and infusion.ย  Calamity filters through.

Seed.ย  It is not uncommon for your resources to sprout fresh things in me.ย  Renewal, come in.ย  I am fertile in layers.

Steep.

Iโ€™ve aged tall and long and twisted, hoary with moss and tangled by vine.ย  Formidable, while spongy in places.ย  Your green shoots pierce me, exposing my slowness and rot, my muffling stance.ย  You crack me open, engender new soil.ย  I collapse and give way, I adapt.ย  Itโ€™s a marriage.

I wouldnโ€™t say โ€œhandsome,โ€ thought at times picturesque – in a rugged way, and worn – tendriled with you growing green.ย  The occasional strength to bloom: I mushroom, you flower.ย  I fungus, you shine.ย  Together we develop our wonder.ย  Some stop and look, others stay awhile, everyone traveling through.ย  The coupling is not unfortunate โ€“ providing nourishment and shelter.ย  Thereโ€™s always damage.ย  Having endured, still I am fragile, and you, with your gentle, tenacious roots, ever purposeful and true, yet transplanted and remaking, storms can threaten with uprooting.

We are called by one name and belong – a vast generality for incalculable kinds.ย  We donโ€™t mind.ย  Old or new itโ€™s still growth; what dies and whatโ€™s born construct a joined density.ย  I lean on you while providing shade, you straighten me as you fight for necessary light.ย  We are one seething thing, steamy if un-sexy, cross-generative and moist.

When the fire burns, it destroys and begins.ย  Gaining as much as we lose.ย  It takes time – symbiotic โ€“ establishing roots we combine and recover, shed and absorb, co-create and depend.ย  Relying on the same in our differencing.

Reaching again in each instantโ€™s climate.

(I love you beloved wife โ€“ happy anniversary โ€“ and hereโ€™s to continual renewal and the sustenance of old growth)

ย 

A Serial Struggle

An Opinionated Review

Eat.ย  Pray.ย  Love.

ย 

On a wonderful jaunt to our public library yesterday, my wife spotted a movie based on a mega-bestselling memoir that sheโ€™d been curious to see since its release a couple of years ago.ย  We checked it out and viewed it last night in hopes of a light, relaxing fare to happy us toward slumber.

It was excruciating.ย  My first reaction was โ€“ can a personโ€™s biography truly resemble such a clichรฉโ€™d American self-realization mythology?ย  Basically a woman goes on a journey away from her responsibilities to others to โ€œfindโ€ or โ€œhealโ€ herself, in the process (and apparently justifiably since it delivers her to a goal of peace, happiness, pleasure and love with a seasoning of spirituality) wrecking othersโ€™ lives and forgiving herself for it, ending in the arms of a handsome foreigner on a tropical island with some standard religious โ€œtruthsโ€ in tow.

Here are things I realized about myself:

I am suspicious of personal pleasure that causes others pain.

I am oh-so-glad and grateful that I grew up in a reserved Western culture with Continental philosophy and theologies at its roots.ย  I much prefer battling to wisdom and calm through the frenetic and anxiety-ridden vertigo of a convoluted mind ferociously doubting and investigating than through some โ€œbe here nowโ€ philosophies of higher unities and cosmic accord.ย  Rather interrogate now than โ€œlet goโ€ and โ€œlet be.โ€ย  I am attached to the workings of our brains and our languages, pestering perception and scrutinizing sense experience with imaginative and skeptical rationales.

I radically doubt โ€œgurus,โ€ โ€œprayer,โ€ โ€œsaviors,โ€ and other spiritual or โ€œwholisticโ€ practices of โ€œbalanceโ€ that accomplish โ€œgoals.โ€ย  Outcome-based anything feels totalitarian and programmatic and therefore facile to me, as if there were a form or behavior we might fit ourselves to that would lessen the struggle or suffering of โ€œto be.โ€

The filmโ€™s story took a yearโ€™s time, replete with life-changing habits of mind and body and some claimed resultant growth.ย  As if wisdom came from Apple or McDonaldโ€™s.ย  The past was hardly processed, responsibilities released like thoughts during Zen, and no effort to apologize or repair any damage or hurts the main character had caused those close to her along the way (thank goodness no children were involved!).

It was the time-tested failure of the American Dream: do what you want to get yourself comfortable in your own skin (whatever beliefs, illusions and experiences that might seem to require) and everything will be alright in your world.

I simply donโ€™t buy it.ย  And I wonโ€™t.ย  If we are socially constructed realities (and my point-of-view on the cosmos supports this) then final import is not in a self, but in a system.ย  Not toward results but a how of processing.ย  Not a personal calm or pleasantness but a social accord.

The film made me terrifically thankful for scrutiny and doubt, fervent self-questioning in light of surroundings, and the โ€œwisdom of no escape.โ€ย  It just goes on.

For what itโ€™s worth,

here lies a steaming pile of my opinions.

N Filbert 2012