The MEP Index
continued as My Errant Path...
TODAY is BUY NOTHING DAY.
We are to buy nothing today. I think I can do that.
There was a story I read as a child. It was called 'The Lonesome Place' by August Derleth.
I read it once, twice, and then the next thing I knew I had read it hundreds of times, and began memorizing it at night in bed. Over and over again, going through the parts which I had problems with, highlighting them and underlining others.
"You who sit in your houses of nights, you who sit in the theatres, all you who..." For now, that's all I can come up with. It was a short story (about 14 pages) about a small boy and his friend who hated passing by a certain grain elevator at night when their parents asked them to run out to the store for milk. They named it The Lonesome Place. They were so terrified by it that they believed a large monster with claws lived there. Whenever they had to pass by it, the following day, they would exchange stories about the monster, what it looked like, and how fast they ran. Eventually, they grow up and forget about the Lonesome place. Then, one day, a small chubby boy who couldn't run so fast, was found molested in the place. The town was horrified, but the two main characters knew who had murdered him, it was they. They had created that monster, and therefore they were guilty of the murder. [ah, found it].
I wonder what i liked so much about this story? I was never forced to go to the store in the dark. I suppose there were dark places I was afraid of, but I don't think that is what hit me about it. I think that it was the concept. The concept that something they created in their minds could kill someone. Akin to a mind over matter discussion of yesterday. Women who find they cannot get pregnant because of the stress of wanting to too badly. The notion that what is in our heads is real. I still feel that we as a society do not take this seriously enough. We're still stuck on the separation of mind and body and I don't get it.
I don't think I got it then, either. When I believed that those boys really did create that monster who killed Bobby Jeffers. As our system would have it, I doubt that I would convict them in a trial for murder, but guilty nonetheless.
What else do we create
same old story. me, not seeing the picture…not ‘getting’ what was going on. trying to fit myself where i do not belong…finally, finally, i am starting to see that i do this, only a tad bit before it is too late as opposed to tons too late… is it such a strong desire to fit in or am i constantly just missing the point? i should stop looking at others to follow instead of paving the way myself. and why don’t i? easy. rejection. failure. disappointment. problem is this innate desire to become, to lead, to define. not if you don’t see it you won’t!
so. do those who learn later really see a clearer picture? not necessarily so but i would like to think so. do they merely see a more detailed image? one that has been processed for a longer period of time and therefore is presented antigenically as something i can digest and react to? maybe with more time i can interact with things in a way that i would not otherwise, i mean, if i had seen from the beginning. there must be a lesson in this. what i knew from the beginning was true all the same…it just takes me aeons to chew it up and finally see the truth in it. when i think of a good example of this i will let you know. there are two which come to mind but unfortunately i cannot write them here.
what i am talking about is learning things very late in life. There are lessons which we learn as small children, we know them as children, we do not nec. understand them. then as we grow, we begin to understand them…you know all the clichés of life. All of them. we get older and we start to see them happening. we realize at this stage, that we cannot avoid them..they are catching up to us and one day soon we will have to admit their inherent truth. AND then, one glorious day of days, we come to know, understand, see, and realize the most important lesson of all: they are not cliché’s at all. Everyone of them is in fact true, the true truth which we go around our lives forgetting. The definitions of what it is to be human. Or at least in the sense that cliché has come to be used. Clichés are not old and trite at all. They are the very crux of humanity. It is not Oxford’s fault that cliché has come to mean what it does. Defining words as humans use them, is their job. The downside is that we read the definitions and forget that we are the ones who created the meanings. Our language evolves, it is not stagnant. We are a part of that book, that language. We are not outside of it. Do not stand outside the dictionary, be in it. Do not see it as something which other people created for you to use, but as something which you will be a part of changing in the future. “Cyberspace” “netiquette” do not appear in my copy-yet we know their meaning, we are forming their definition.
The tool is only as good as the mechanic. another cliché.
cliché: A trite phrase or expression. Trite: hackneyed or boring from much use. not fresh or original. Trite applies to a once effective phrase or idea spoiled from long familiarity … hackneyed stresses being worn out by overuse so as to become dull and meaningless…”
>b>November 28, 1996.
staring through a large powder blue book called "Feelings".
A gift from cynthia.
It is empty, mostly.
My first thought: 'what a shame, such a nice book wasted...'
my second...'how appropriate for that time in my life, the emptiness says much more
than any words could have.
pretend you have a large book with your name on it in front of you.
it's purpose is to record your feelings.
Would you be able to find those feelings?
Would you want to?
November 27, 1996.
“As soon as one learns that women’s issues are not solely about women,
one becomes a feminist. - And the sooner this happens, the better." -me.
November 26 i guess, since yesterday was the 25th.
Today is an idea bigger than the rest. Today is taken too lightly maybe. Many songs have been written about today, about the fact that today is all we really know, all we have. But, how to dissect goals from today? can you really live in today, in the truest sense, and still have goals? how do people do this?
Whatever I write here, my own. Whatever thoughts come into my head,
they are mine.
Natalka Husar. Ukranian descent, Canadian, painter.
Some people are so good at describing themselves...so good at dissecting what they do, what messages they are getting across. Is it practice? I am practising too. Practising to find the right words, phrases and means of communication which will eventually, form a body of knowledge about myself. About the inside of me, the part that I don't even know. Ideas like Today and Natalka Husar swimming around my head, spewed out on paper to become a description of who I am. Wondering if there is perhaps another mode of communication which would be better and thinking about it constantly. Art? Fiction? Stories? Pottery? Which medium will truly capture my essence? Allowing me to feel embodied in something other than myself? God only knows that everyone can do this if they wanted to. It is the freedom required to do so which is difficult, I guess.
thinking in parcels. acting in parcels. events and situations are not separate, should not be distinct from one another and yet they are. divisive i guess. i know that they are not, really...but it is difficult to see them as one.
there's coffee left in my mug today. later on...
Of Glenn Gould
"His probing intellect, and free spirit.."-Peter Tonyi, CBC. Nov.26 1996.
On November 26, 1996: i wrote
we must find that medium which best expresses who we are be it clay, paint, film etc. if we cannot find or do not have the necessary tools to do so, then we must transform the method into what we do know. Andy’s art is science. His true expression.
the small boy following his father, i see it from a film perspective, but only because film is what i know already. a familiar way of framing the world around me. i must learn to rearrange the images to fit my canvas i must be able to express my perspective in a unique way using the media best suited to myself.
how to know which media is the difficult part. without attempting each, i use words to explore. my feelings are always private. you can never know how i am feeling - only the minute outcome which are words, digitized at best.
(unfortunately, i couldn’t care less. )
someone will ask me : "Did you get to know her?" and i will say: "Get to know her? Is there something to know?"
hunger presides over me now. again, i will re-iterate. they lead the shallowest of lives. it is no fun saying this, believe me. if you use another medium, paint, let’s say, then you can say these things in a more subtle way. if you use words, biting words, then it is easier to reject, to shun. words are more direct and unfortunately for me, words hurt more
"some people claim that there’s a woman to blame but
it’s my own damn fault."-Jimmy Buffet, Margaritaville
its funny what type of silence is stimulating.
the silence that is the inside of my car watching the other cars listening to the music in the radio very stimulating. very alone with my thoughts i don’t have to think there, the thoughts just come. here in the office the atmosphere is stagnant and i find it difficult to come up with words here nevermind ideas.
so now at least i feel i have a goal. a creation, neither literary, nor electronic, awaits me here.
it takes time before you feel that you can comment about what you are doing here. now that i think i have seen a sampling of what i can ‘compare’ myself to, i feel i have a need to do so.
and the typing becoming a music of sorts the speed is soothing, the method with which my fingers (all of them) hit the keys as though i were playing a symphony perhaps only one key at a time but still reminding me of a piano keyboard more and more and the more i become fluent with this instrument, the more i feel at one with it. i imagine this is a common feeling for people who spend days upon days at a keyboard, and that is many i suppose, but i feel an added freedom when typing here since the keys to hit are chosen from my head and not from an outside source. copying natural but not desired here.
and i can watch those around me going about their day and wonder what they are thinking as they do what they do. unfortunately, i think they do not think much at all. but who says what i think is better? because i write it down? does this verify me? it’s only an instrument after all ... however powerful.
and the chance of saying something truly original, slim.
so what's going on here?...i haven't really had a chance to dissect it yet...
lately getting very pissed off that i won't be able to know the history which is now.
what will they call the latter part of the 20th century? what feeling will they attribute to it?
what mood will it have, and do i represent that mood? will i be proud to have been part of it?
will it be seen as truly romantic, as berdj says, or will it be known as the dawning of the material age?
very annoying indeed. interesting how the worries of the afterlife
seem to be changing.
first, just fear. fear of unknown.then, very selfish...i won't be able to do this, i won't be able to do that...
Then, the thought of not being able to know what was going on...what inventions are to be invented,
what music composed, what paintings painted.
now this. never knowing the history which we are creating, now. The history which - in a sense, a feel an
integral part of-and in a sense, not at all. It will be a history, though. It will have a mood, a name, a niche.
other than that/gotta get brain in gear/take a deep breath/outside/snow/cold/monday.
------------------A WEEKEND GOES BY------------------
Oh, such are the dreams of the everyday housewife..
you see everywhere any time of the day...
The everyday housewife, who gave up the good life for me..
Now there's a phenomenon that didn't last long.
--- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- -
when i can't quite put my finger on how i feel, i sing.
and when i feel free, i dance.
-- --- -- --- -- --- -- ---
at relative peace now.
peaceful relative to those around you. it's not a mental peace
but more of a physical peace. It is not the kind of peace that is easily
disturbed by thoughts. will i be late this morning? will it snow?
the words come slower, but mean more. the coffee tastes stronger.
relative peace is when you can walk around the mall, and enjoy the objects
there. stroll through the bookshop knowing exactly what you don't want;
and what you find is exactly what you want.
relative peace is not the kind of peace that you can share. it is a lonely
peace, in a sense, but the lonliness comforts.
the Webster people are annoyed that we still call them Websters.
They want us to call them Mirriam-Websters.
do you feel it?
is it enough to know who one is surrounded by?
...is it enough to know who you are?
...what you can accomplish in the face of others and what their actions do or do not mean?
blows are hard very hard. but only the strong survive..and i am strong.
i wonder how many times i must tell myself that.
what are the options to living in a world like this.
full of lies deceipt corruption.
everyone tells me not to fight it but i cannot stand back and watch. i don’t want to save the whales or anything, i just want to save me. i know the truth. when willsomeone finally realize that? but! if there are milllions who live the other truth,
then which is in fact the truth?...your truth tells you who you are.
problem is, the same truth tells you who they are.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - -
you wish you could see the world thru their eyes
or DO you?
what would i forsake to see the goals they see? this is no better.
and my dreams are going away.
writing isn’t helping so i will go on.
- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --o
this applies to everyone, if you are able to see that, then you know
what i am talking about. i don’t want to fight for my rights. i don’t want to
fight the ones motivated by things i do not believe in, to get what i deserve.
i don’t want to play their game...which game shall i play?
well the answer to that is, i don’t want to play any game.
i like the game of life.
i say that life is fair.
i say that people are kind.
i say that there is beauty.
i say that the world does not revolve around money.
i say that i will and cannot be someone i am not in order to
get ahead.of course this is easy for me because i do not want the
same things as they do.
of course i end up miserable because a part of me does want what they have,
what others think of them in their childish ways and petty values. ergo my dilemma.
i wonder if anyone has any therapy for me? can this upbringing be reversed?
i like my reality checks. i like the connectedness i feel to them even though
i am not one of them. i do not want to detach completely. i do not want to live in a cave.
i do not want to grow my hair long.
i know where there is a will there is a way.
if i tell myself this enough times and i am really really patient, then perhaps it will come.
in the mean time
i must continue to pray
November 20 1996
greetings fellow ramonians...
trying desparately to find a bit of silence inside my silence.
leftover angst from yesterday
and the torture of eating more (relatives) of ramona lurks in me.
she still loves me but unless i give her a voice does she have one?
i think sonotsonotsonotsonotsonotsonotsonot
we must not let ourselves feel as one of many, in making these
kind of decisions (ramona is a cow...) but in fact we are one in many.
and others have done it before me. berdj for one.
what of berdj? i do miss him.
giving myself four minutes to rap this up...
showers are so time inneffecient...not to mention the water they
waste. i wonder if anyone out there hates showers as much as i do?
not rain showers, i love those. work, i tell you, work.
two more minutes!!! snow on the ground. webs in my head.
websy websy websy. i know now why i don't have counters and
November 18, 1996:
ramona and the bodyguards are here with me,
facing the music and i can too.words talk alone.
what we have as little bit of our time.
- - - - - - - - - - -
lay me over your eyes
with a vision of who you think i am
press closer to something you cannot define;
compare and construct whatever you like
but remember as i do, nothing’s divine.
The basket of essence they seem to become
going in this one
having properties attached
which no one can see
and always just fleeting
as you are to me.
once the washing is done and the remnants are dry
the pity is taken and guilt is divided
the lives are corralled for the masses to meet
and the lonely of lonely, lay, at your feet.
- - - - - - -
returning home recently
someone was there
waiting as i was
alone on a stair.
a small little hug
and a smile of delight
re-entered my life
as i knew she might.
you have control of yourself;but none of others.
you have control over your actions but not your emotions.
you have control over your breakfast;but not your dinner.
you have control over everything;and nothing at all.
your words bite. your words heal. your words tempt. they steal. they
free some and leave others trapped
they dance with Ramona they climb every mountain
so you want to become a better person.
should you do this by being honest, or by pretending to be someone you’re not.
should you risk friends? true friends come back. i see that now. wow. a friend!
very exciting.there’s lots of things that i would LOVE to write here you know my
true feelings thoughts. Would they lock me up? maybe. better not risk it eh? Is there a way to do this diplomatically? I doubt it. I am not entirely dimplomatic,
says she. Nor business like.
instead of rubbing myself all over
bathing myself in myself or am i doing that too?
Whenever i sit to evaluate my level of happiness; it seems that i am often wrong. these words remind me that although life may have been simpler then, it was certainly more complicated...
"I swear she thinks i am five years old...she said i had to be in at 10:00. she says i manoeuvered my way into being allowed out until 11- my ass, I asked her one night and she distinctly said 'eleven'. She says i am sassy to a jerk brother." (august 1980).
"and when i hurt; hurtin' runs off my shoulders,
how can i hurt when holdin' you?"-Neil Diamond