Excuses and other Diversions

No maniac trip through the biosphere today.

It's 815am on a Thursday morning.

Saw a grim picture of Jim Kelley the other day. He is suffering an advanced stage of oral cancer that has him laid low as no defensive lineman could ever do.

I like Jim Kelley, and I liked the Buffalo Bills of his time.


The Bills should have won at least one of the four shots at the ring. But, ...that's life, there are no guarantees. You have to go out and compete ever day. And Jim is a competitor and I love him for that.

Sometimes I get tired. It's easy to say, well, maybe its the cancer?

It's too easy to say that.

Sometimes, I am just tired, but once you have cancer, it lurks in your mind as an excuse for everything that might go wrong with the body...and its wrecks havoc on the spirit.

So, in quiet moments one has a tendency to make a pact with the disease.

If I am tired, well, it's the cancer.

If I get a cold, I am weak because of the cancer.

If I have an in grown toenail, well, it's the fucking cancer.

And, at my advancing years, if I feel tired, it's the cancer.

Last year, I was tired and everyone thought it was the cancer.

Well, guess what, Batman... Bam, Pow, Jeezam!

...it was the heart that was making me feel tired.

The pain in the ass part of it, is other people make the same pact with your disease. If you look tired, well...

...Tim's got the cancer, you know.

...Look how tired he looks, they say while looking you in the eye like you are not in the room.

...What's it like to have something growing inside of you?

...Don't you just want to rip it out?

I don't know how you do it?

Do what? is my response.

These are all things people have said to me, because, well, it's like being pregnant and everyone want to put their hand on your belly, but it's not life that is brewing in there, and there's a sick feeling that people want to feel the death seed as much as they want to feel the life seed. This embryo doesn't have a name, yet, so keep you prying hands off my cancer.

And this time, I am just tired, because, well, I am tired. It's doesn't have to be the cancer everytime.

In fact, I am tired because this winter has been a pissah and caused me more than once to sit on my ass and not exercise my body and spirit the way I should be.

So, Spring is arriving today on the backside of a Nor'eastah that blew through yesterday, and warmer weather is coming. I can feel it, well, because of the cancer.

Everyone, get up and get out there and play the game for Jim, and maybe a little for Tim, it's what we are here to do. I know that Neil will be in Berkley, my brother will be on Tybee, and Jack, wherever you are in Arizona, I know you will be too.

I love those who go out in the face of whatever wind is blowing and put their head down and go forward and live it the way it should be lived whether it's on a bluff overlooking the Pacific, or on the bow of a boat surveying the incoming tide coming up the Savannah River.

Best to Jim Kelley and a speedy recovery,

tim

Pequod, Distractions & Consciousness, or just call me Queequeg...

howdy...

Somedays I feel like I have been shanghaied onto Ahab's doomed whaling ship the Pequod...

My bunkmates are Ishmael and the tattooed wonder Queequeg...


My part is to fill the space between them while the rest of the story swirls around me, Queequeg harpooning the great beasts and Ishmael lurks gloomily around the deck house watching the one legged captain scan the horizon for the burning ambition that dooms us all.

"Where is that damned Malaysian 777!" he grumbles as others hide the truth and he chews on the fat of his imagination. "It's been two weeks..."

The thing about the Dick story is that Melville based it on true accounts of whalers who, like himself, spent time in the great Pacific Ocean. Some of them never to be heard of again, as an occasional whale might ram their boat or ship and send them to the bottom. 

The mystery of the real.

Their travels only slightly making an impression on those few who knew them... 

Like us all.

Today, we wonder at how on this planet we could have lost an entire aircraft with 270ish or so people on board. 

Poof, it's gone into the deep, maybe? Pakistan? 

I'm betting on the Indian Ocean, or somewhere else...

Some, throwing their bones of chance and speculation on CNN, wonder if a new black hole could have swallowed them in their entirety, leaving no evidence of their passing.

Others like to cast the bizarre plots of TV shows and movies around like this is indeed a fiction that we can manipulate with our ideas and wide-eyed craziness until the final act when everything will be resolved.

I have speculated that the plane is imbedded in my left side, because I had a cancer there for seven years and no one could find it...and, roughly, it was the size of a lode stone...but, I digress, again...

Somehow, I think the ending with have nothing to do with all the beginning.

Can you imagine going to a movie with these people. They'd be chirping the entire time about what they think will be happening next. Homicide would be happening next. That's a guaran--tee...

I stand amazed as Queequeg and Ishmael gaze upon the world with inquisitive eyes wondering how we can play the games of the shore keeper, stunted in our imaginative growth that only surmise a fiction from the truth by forgetting that it is indeed the reality of our time bending their minds into inadequate contraptions of what they want it to be, instead of what it is. 

But that is the power of self-delusion...

Indeed, have we become so civilized that the only answer is the one we can think of, a product of an overheated imagination and not the truth-evidence? Somewhat narcissistic, too. Think politicians here of any color.

The truth is a distraction and it gets in the way of reality...which will all be forgotten when reality sinks in and we have to admit that aliens have not come and abducted our Boeing 777...

Although I know aliens are watching me, they drive an old Ford truck and work at the local On the Border...they're very nice but have no interest in Boeing airplanes...a new toro lawn mower or weed-wacker, maybe, but not a Boeing...

We are an impatient bunch of monkeys.

I was reading an interesting piece the other day about what separates us from other things in the universe, like the grass in our back yard or the rock that lines the Maine coast...

It is our consciousness. Otherwise, we are just machines. That was what made Queequeg so interesting, an alternative consciousness to the mundane reality of Ishmael or the machinations of madness by Ahab, the captain.




And to be conscious is to have a subjective understanding of the events that mark our lives. A short digression, some people do believe that grass and rocks have a consciousness, just one to which we can not (yet) communicate...

It doesn't mean that because we have a subjective understanding of the events that that makes them correct. It just means we have feelings that give them significance in our emotional worlds.

I mean really, look around, there are many states of consciousness altered by our beliefs of ethnic purity, pluralism, left wing, right wing, Shiite, Sunni, Hindi, Buddhist...and Christians seem to be everywhere preaching peace and understanding between people...I wonder if that will ever catch on?

What the fuck are we supposed to do with all this consciousness...I mean, gawd, it's everywhere...

It's a MF overload...of consciousness...we are simply too subjective for our own good...being a rock might be OK, look at their lifespan...

And the more we communicate our consciousness into the world, the more reality is dissolved by it...because whose consciousness is the correct one...???? I am thinking Putin's consciousness is in the lead right now.

As someone who has tried to understand my place in the flow of the Pequod's cresting through the waves, my shipmates many times confuse me while Starbuck handles his morning coffee with the cynical eye of someone who deals with authority gone mad...



Reality is illusive and truth is subjective...don't we know how unimportant we are?

When did we forget that? It's hard to keep track when we are looking for the next piece of information that will do nothing but excite a part of a brain that we are not currently using...

We love to be distracted because it is stimulating, and nothing results from it...sort of like watching a SYFY movie...the Japanese used to distract themselves in the 50s by watching Godzilla movies, of course after being crushed in the war, they needed a distraction that had nothing to do with reality, that was a dose too strong for them...so bring on the giant lizard...



The currents of history and time are our own creation, we try to lunge after them and hold them prisoner, like some vast beast that we can conquer and control.

"Put the giant lizard back in the cage!"...

We are forgetting our own mortality. The distractions of what we want it to be always gets in the way...every once in a while we get a wakeup call, but that's hard when you're punching the hell out of a little plastic phone that constantly requires attention...it's worse than having a misbehaving child...

The more we conquer, within the confines of our limited understanding, colored with the subjective feelings of the small beasts that we are, the less we are able to understand the limits of our world. 

We think we're beyond the patterns of behavoir that appall us, only to find, that no, we still are capable of being a beast pounding our chest in the forest...

Ride a bus, a plane, or stand on a street corner, everyone is looking into their palms for the latest information over which they can deign to have an opinion, (the modern version of simian chest pounding) like that will give them some power over events that have nothing to do with them...

I cast my eyes to the horizon and look for the whale, I only see the long drawn line of blue against blue, whilst the sounds of the creaking ship moan below and the dragging of Ahab's leg scraps against the wooden deck...

The only pattern of consciousness that I can see uniting us is that we either really only want a window seat or an aisle, preferable an aisle...Ishmael gets the window and Queequeg gets the aisle...he will need the extra legroom....Ahab will not be making the flight...he is otherwise busy.



random thinking gone astray....excuse me, I have to go see if they found they plane yet, or if the Russians are in Kiev...

best, tim

Prayers, ideas, & handoffs.

Greetings,

I am sitting here this morning in a food court at Logan airport contemplating the bits of flotsam and jetsam of life.

Well, to be honest, I do this a lot.

The human experience is always a fascinating bundle of serendipitous events that are sometimes connecting, and other times just a bunch of co-inquidinks.

When I was a kid, I played in the Little League, always loved that name, and sometimes I still feel like I am in the Little League, but I digress.

I wasn't very good as a ball player at that age, and only marginally improved as I got larger and played in the Larger League in high school.

My problem was that I couldn't catch the ball when it was hit to me. However, one time while I was  playing left field, another appropriate place for me, the ball came and with a hand up the ball suddenly jumped into my glove.

Stunned, I looked into my hand to see the ball there and not somewhere at my feet. What miracle of cosmic forces had deemed it right for my hand to have been in the right place at the right time?

Certainly it was some synergy of divine will.

Pondering this at age 12, I broke myself out of this meditation to look up to see the other kids running, shouting, and otherwise trying to get my attention.

What to do next?

Life is really all about the handoff. I have learned this little tidbit of life's processes on many occasions. It is not that you do something right or wrong, accidental or not, but what you do next.

Not really knowing what to do next with the ball, I grabbed it and threw it in the direction of the dugout where I was sure someone else would know what to do with it.

Not the best handoff, but one that was successful in that now someone else had the ball and my small heroics, which for me was still making my heart beat wildly with the thought I had actually done something significant to the game, was filling my head with pride and fear.

God knows, I might have to do it again.

As a historian, also in the Little League, I read a lot. I was struck recently by a passage in a book on the Pacific War (WWII against the Japanese). The fatalism of the Japanese when the generals and admirals knew the war was lost, but they continued to fight anyway, sacrificing a great majority of their generation in battles that had no meaning except in the honor of not having given up, because, frankly, they didn't know how to surrender, a handoff to their nation's people that would have avoided greater disasters ahead for them.

But they were believing hard in the myth of their divine providence and their invincibility, even when it had been shown that they had none. It was all they had in their bag of beliefs.

It is difficult for me to admire that mentality. Because, expecting to lose, experienced men made mistakes that junior officers would not have. They marched into battle, or sailed, as the case may be, with the idea that they had already been beaten, thus their actions reflected those of  doomed men, instead of those with the courage to make decisions that were aggressive with the idea they could win for the moment.

Very un-bushido of such a bushido warrior country.

Their hand off was even less heroic than my own.

Their gods of war and personal sacrifice failed them and their belief in those gods had failed.

Doomed, they blundered forward committing national suicide as the perverse manifestations of their empty ambitions.

The collected wisdom of their ideas were awash with failure, assuming they had failed before the battle had even begun, and unable to manage the deeper meaning of that failure they thought death in battle the only way out.

Who knows, there may still be some ancient Japanese soldier lurking in the jungles of the Philippines, holding out against the sweep of history as it lurches forward.

What happens when a society loses its belief system, the faith in the ideas that underpin its daily progress? Not good things.

But it is that way for individuals too. What happens next? Do we give up in the face of failure, handing the ball off carelessly to the next without the wisdom of what we have done or accomplished? And, how do we judge failure to begin with?

Good question, Tim. Go to the head of the class.

My own feeling is that I despise negativity, either the self-righteous who predict doom at every turn, or the careless weakness of those who have given up to their own nihilistic world and want everyone to be sucked down the rabbit hole with them.

While I fight my delaying action against illnesses, that has in some cases it has been a significant battle that has almost taken me down, I have maintained my inner sense that I am still going to live and laugh another day.

I do not feel the doom of defeat, because my expectation is not that I have lost, like those poor Japanese who surrendered not to their enemies but to the failure of their beliefs. My expectation is that life is what it will be. I have lived longer than god intended, saved a few times by medical intervention, so I am hanging around knowing, like we all should, that life is a terminal experience, and I am enjoying it the best I can when I can. There is really nothing wrong with having a little fun from time to time. I see so many people that forget that.

For those people that keep me in their prayers, thoughts, and otherwise think positive things about me and anyone else in their lives, who may need some human kindness, that is the real handoff we give in life, to connect ourselves to one another, maintaining the tribe, the sacrifices we make to sustain the tribe, and the belief that our actions today through faith, philosophy, and friendship, leaves some mark on those that we pass along to the next generation, should they be willing to learn it.

some random thinking, tim

Sun Still Shines....

You know, I am only mildly insane...

Just heard the other day that a mother of my daughter's friend had recently died of Lou Gehrig's Disease. ALS. Fuck.

Three days on I am humbled by the gods of chance as they toy with the ambitions and achievements of we mortals.

I am sure POTUS is wondering why his achievements don't match his lofty rhetoric and the ambitions of such a brilliant mind, at least that is what he said...

I have always had an affinity for the Greek gods of old, who were so small minded and liked to fuck with the little men of the Aegean Sea. They, like the old testament prophets, toyed with guilt and a self-conscious appreciation of the world around us and how the emotions we felt controlled that view.

Well, fuck you Zeus, you doodling old fool with your human wants and rapacious appetite for mortal girls.

Being sick, well, I am.

But, aren't we all.

I mentioned to a friend the other night that I am just waiting to hear what is next.

But aren't we all.

I, at least for the moment, know what I am contending with. Some poor fuck in the middle of nowhere America, China, or whatever-ville is going about their business without any appreciation of the 24 second clock as it ticks toward the final shot.

Just watched a few good movies as I prepare for the Oscar test tonight. Liked the Robert Redford lost at sea story, and in that light watched Captain Phillips again...in both a spell binding move toward the tense final acts of the story.

Couldn't help cheer when the Seals shot the MFing pirates. I guess I am a little Old Testament kinda guy, because I'd hose that whole part of the world. But the gods aren't gonna make me a co-worker for the day, so pirates, terrorists, and mindless psychopaths will live to be the instrument of our darker side to demonstrate that part of our nature we try to hide from ourselves.

The good has to kill the bad, or otherwise, we are all fucked.

Punishment is a good thing.

I loved the movie Nebraska. Bruce Dern has always been one of my favorites, and his performance is subtle and spot on. He's my underdog winner tonight. Would love to see him win.

I am humbled by life, got a lot to do.

Cry more often then I like, but it's a private indulgence that makes me feel human.

I also like to say fuck you to things I don't like, like people aping toward a self-importance they don't have...again, POTUS, are you listening you weak MFer.

Things change despite the best laid plans.

Waiting, well patience is really irrelevant. I got things I want to do, and will do some of them, but others, well, the 24 second is ticking, and I hope to hoist a few more shots before the other team gets the ball. But, my team is playing some tenacious defense, not quite the shut-down defense I would like, but we are keeping them on their heals.

So, as I drive toward the basket, old Zeus is trying to stuff me into his sack of odd assortments of crazy mortals that thought they could go up against destiny.

Napoleon once said, Geography is Destiny. Well, the Geography of the human planet is also destiny.

The sun still shines brightly for me, humbled as I may be by my own story, others face greater odds and trials.

tim