"Develop a little self-righteousness. A lot of that is an ugly thing, God knows, but a little applied over all your scruples is an absolute necessity! It is to the soul what a good sun-block is to the skin."
Stephen King - The Stand P811
This quote perplexes me. It is quite poignant. It captures some of what I think I have going on. I used to have opinions, goals, scruples, a moral compass. I'd argue with anyone if needed because I thought I'm right.
Can't quite find the right turn of phrase. Maybe writing will help.
If everyone is "right", and "all opinions are valid", then what right has ANY person to any particular value? Society seems flawed in that regard, much along the lines of Ayn Rand in some respects. I'm part of a society of 100 people. If 51 want to elect an iguana for Prime Minister, I have no say. Majority rules.
The same can be said of societal ethics. The "social contract". You don't hurt me and I don't hurt you. But if 50% +1 decide you have crossed the line you go to jail based on whatever laws were created or enforced.
I feel like I have been slowly disappearing over the past years. I'm unsure of how many. Julie and I used to have fights, break up, get back together, but even if I compromised I still had opinions on things. Now I keep them to myself. (If a Twitter account that no one reads is considered private).
I feel like its a confidence thing. Or perhaps related to the depression? I feel like I have no opinions, or that the ones I have seem to get me in trouble. I used to have enough scruples to be able to survive anybody's conflict, now I just cave. It's easier.
Know what I grudgingly admire about Trump? His confidence. However misplaced he is, even in the face of provable facts, he just says: "Nope. Wasn't me" loudly and he gets a pass.
Thursday, November 2, 2017
Wednesday, October 18, 2017
Duality
I'm sometimes depressed by the duality of existence. Not the dichotomy, which I have always thought of as the ying and yang. There will always be opposites. For good there will always be evil. For light there will always be dark.
I'm talking about the filter, or lack of one, that people impose on their lives in judgment of others. I work with women now, more so as when I was in veterinary sales. As a sales rep I called on mainly women but didn't have the daily in-your-face relationship as I would soon be off and on to the next call.
I'm talking about the filter, or lack of one, that people impose on their lives in judgment of others. I work with women now, more so as when I was in veterinary sales. As a sales rep I called on mainly women but didn't have the daily in-your-face relationship as I would soon be off and on to the next call.
Thursday, October 12, 2017
Continuance
Continuance
In a world of clones that begin existence at the exact moment and with all their memories and experiences intact, it is illegal to clone a living person. However, in a loophole, rich patrons have been routinely "saving" their DNA at strategic intervals so they can be resurrected after they die.
Save your DNA from before you fell in love?
Man falls off cliff lands on precarious ledge, ledge is crumbling death is imminent.
Scientist at top of cliff realizes victim drank from his bottle only minutes before and the scientist can make an exact duplicate clone, with memories and experiences intact, as of the moment the DNA was left on the bottle. Timing is limited so the man has to decide to either save his clone or send his friend for help.
Victim objects, stating his desire to be saved vs simply replaced by clone.
"That's OK, you probably want to forget the last few minutes, and certainly the next 5, anyway. I imagine that the next 5 are going to be rather unpleasant."
"A bottle? What fucking bottle?" David was, to say the least, a touch upset at having been clumsy enough to have ended up here. It seemed like forever but had only been an hour or so.
The hike had been uneventful so far. What was meant to be a brisk walk through the woods with his colleague to commune with nature quickly turned bad when, thinking his footing secure, David's foot had slipped as he looked over the edge of the cliff and was roughly deposited on a small rock ledge about 12 feet down the steep vertical slope. As he stood up he began to regain his breath and take better stock of his surroundings. What he saw didn't calm his demeanor.
"You just took a huge swig from your new water bottle a few minutes ago. I saw you. The lid is probably crawling with viable DNA."
David looked up at his friend as he patted his jeans to get some of the dirt and sand off. Martin had been well back from the ledge when his friend fell. David was to far away when all Martin could do was turn in time to see him drop out of site. He heard the thump and as he ran to the lip he was relieved to see his friend on the ledge looking a bit worse for wear but still alive. Had he missed the ledge he would be long gone at the bottom of the valley.
"What the heck does the bottle have to do with anything? Get me out of here."
"How?" Martin knew they had not brought any rope. They were not survivalists, just a couple of guys out for a healthy hike in the hills. They brought water bottles and cigarettes and that was about it. Their phones were great for pictures but there was no service this far out of town.
David knew it to, but as he looked at his footing he noticed that the ledge was rather loosely lodged into the rock face. And was that crack there when he landed? He couldn't remember but it did begin to raise the level of panic. "Throw me your jacket, maybe I can catch the sleeve."
For several minutes David and Martin experimented with whatever they had on them. Sadly, they lacked both the necessary raw materials and the required physical prowess to enable anything they did to facilitate David climbing up the rock face. Both men were in T-Shirts and shorts and had brought no other equipment. Clothes tied in a rope ripped, or were simply to undependable an instrument to risk holding you in the air while he tried to scramble up the rock face. David also noticed with every failed climb attempt that the ledge seemed to shift under his weight every time he landed back down. After several minutes David found himself weak, tired, and more than past the point of panic. The sun beat down overhead. The initial enjoyment of a sunny day soon became overwhelming when there was no respite or shade and the prospect of being left here, or worse, became very real.
After a while, exhausted, both men sat down. David on his ledge which both men now noticed was on a definite slant, and Martin on a small patch of grass where he could still see and talk to his friend below.
"I'm sorry D." Martin began, running his hands through his matted and dirty hair. "We've tried everything. The phones don't work, the jacket ripped and I hate to say it but that ledge won't hold much longer."
Both men were silent. There was no point in protesting. But neither man wanted to give up.
Ends with him waiting, undecided. hanging.
In a world of clones that begin existence at the exact moment and with all their memories and experiences intact, it is illegal to clone a living person. However, in a loophole, rich patrons have been routinely "saving" their DNA at strategic intervals so they can be resurrected after they die.
Save your DNA from before you fell in love?
Man falls off cliff lands on precarious ledge, ledge is crumbling death is imminent.
Scientist at top of cliff realizes victim drank from his bottle only minutes before and the scientist can make an exact duplicate clone, with memories and experiences intact, as of the moment the DNA was left on the bottle. Timing is limited so the man has to decide to either save his clone or send his friend for help.
Victim objects, stating his desire to be saved vs simply replaced by clone.
"That's OK, you probably want to forget the last few minutes, and certainly the next 5, anyway. I imagine that the next 5 are going to be rather unpleasant."
"A bottle? What fucking bottle?" David was, to say the least, a touch upset at having been clumsy enough to have ended up here. It seemed like forever but had only been an hour or so.
The hike had been uneventful so far. What was meant to be a brisk walk through the woods with his colleague to commune with nature quickly turned bad when, thinking his footing secure, David's foot had slipped as he looked over the edge of the cliff and was roughly deposited on a small rock ledge about 12 feet down the steep vertical slope. As he stood up he began to regain his breath and take better stock of his surroundings. What he saw didn't calm his demeanor.
"You just took a huge swig from your new water bottle a few minutes ago. I saw you. The lid is probably crawling with viable DNA."
David looked up at his friend as he patted his jeans to get some of the dirt and sand off. Martin had been well back from the ledge when his friend fell. David was to far away when all Martin could do was turn in time to see him drop out of site. He heard the thump and as he ran to the lip he was relieved to see his friend on the ledge looking a bit worse for wear but still alive. Had he missed the ledge he would be long gone at the bottom of the valley.
"What the heck does the bottle have to do with anything? Get me out of here."
"How?" Martin knew they had not brought any rope. They were not survivalists, just a couple of guys out for a healthy hike in the hills. They brought water bottles and cigarettes and that was about it. Their phones were great for pictures but there was no service this far out of town.
David knew it to, but as he looked at his footing he noticed that the ledge was rather loosely lodged into the rock face. And was that crack there when he landed? He couldn't remember but it did begin to raise the level of panic. "Throw me your jacket, maybe I can catch the sleeve."
For several minutes David and Martin experimented with whatever they had on them. Sadly, they lacked both the necessary raw materials and the required physical prowess to enable anything they did to facilitate David climbing up the rock face. Both men were in T-Shirts and shorts and had brought no other equipment. Clothes tied in a rope ripped, or were simply to undependable an instrument to risk holding you in the air while he tried to scramble up the rock face. David also noticed with every failed climb attempt that the ledge seemed to shift under his weight every time he landed back down. After several minutes David found himself weak, tired, and more than past the point of panic. The sun beat down overhead. The initial enjoyment of a sunny day soon became overwhelming when there was no respite or shade and the prospect of being left here, or worse, became very real.
After a while, exhausted, both men sat down. David on his ledge which both men now noticed was on a definite slant, and Martin on a small patch of grass where he could still see and talk to his friend below.
"I'm sorry D." Martin began, running his hands through his matted and dirty hair. "We've tried everything. The phones don't work, the jacket ripped and I hate to say it but that ledge won't hold much longer."
Both men were silent. There was no point in protesting. But neither man wanted to give up.
Ends with him waiting, undecided. hanging.
3 Weeks
It's been three weeks since I last told someone I loved them.
Not a huge span of time by any means. I'm sure there are some poor souls who go their lifetimes without having the opportunity or the ability to speak or hear those words. But for me, who used to send daily affirmations to my significant other, the time has been painful.
She was never a cuddly or demonstrative spouse. I was the one to write poems or stories or to do things that in my mind showed I loved her. I was the one in the initial stages of our relationship that struggled with how to show feelings or how to show someone you loved them. I think I echo my father in that regard. My parents were never big on public displays of affection. Having lived through depressions and the death of family members as children maybe takes some of the "spark" out of people. But as a child I remember that my dad was the work horse. If he ever had a day off my father would wash the car, or mow the lawn, or paint a room, or do something
The reason I like authors like Robertson Davies is that I find him what I call an "honest" writer. Something I have neither the skill nor the temperament to become. His characters have flaws to illustrate the human stain and make them relatable. I'm to afraid of what posting some of my stories might do to my reputation, whatever state that is in at any given time. Stories reveal some of the mindset of the writer, but sometimes things are done ironically or satirically, but what if the sentiment of the author is distorted or warped to fit someone else's narrative? What if the reader just doesn't "get it"? If I write about killing black people, will it be read as a moving story that holds up a mirror to the current state of race relations in our country, or will it just be seen that I want to kill black people?
Not a huge span of time by any means. I'm sure there are some poor souls who go their lifetimes without having the opportunity or the ability to speak or hear those words. But for me, who used to send daily affirmations to my significant other, the time has been painful.
She was never a cuddly or demonstrative spouse. I was the one to write poems or stories or to do things that in my mind showed I loved her. I was the one in the initial stages of our relationship that struggled with how to show feelings or how to show someone you loved them. I think I echo my father in that regard. My parents were never big on public displays of affection. Having lived through depressions and the death of family members as children maybe takes some of the "spark" out of people. But as a child I remember that my dad was the work horse. If he ever had a day off my father would wash the car, or mow the lawn, or paint a room, or do something
The reason I like authors like Robertson Davies is that I find him what I call an "honest" writer. Something I have neither the skill nor the temperament to become. His characters have flaws to illustrate the human stain and make them relatable. I'm to afraid of what posting some of my stories might do to my reputation, whatever state that is in at any given time. Stories reveal some of the mindset of the writer, but sometimes things are done ironically or satirically, but what if the sentiment of the author is distorted or warped to fit someone else's narrative? What if the reader just doesn't "get it"? If I write about killing black people, will it be read as a moving story that holds up a mirror to the current state of race relations in our country, or will it just be seen that I want to kill black people?
Wednesday, May 10, 2017
Journal
May 10 2017
Haven't written a journal in eons. Used to keep one and ended up throwing them into a camp fire many years ago. I regret that now as it would have been nice to look back. Burning them was a childish attempt to distance myself form what I perceived as sadness, or complaining, or just the general dissatisfaction of my youth.
I think the hardest part of writing is honesty. I'm afraid to write. Afraid to let others see my thoughts in case I am offensive, or more to the point, if I somehow leave myself exposed to ridicule or threat, or judgment.
Why write now? No idea. The impulse just hit me. I enjoy the writing. It's very cathartic. I've always thought I had a story or a book in me somewhere but I lack the courage of my own convictions to risk putting them on paper. They won't be good enough, people will laugh, I'll get turned into a "meme" etc. My sister Karen submitted a story recently to the "Chicken Soup for the Soul" people which was accepted and will appear in their next book. So SHE is a published writer... Being jealous I'll probably poke fun at her to cover my own insecurities... it's what I do.
May 12 2017 - I thought I would feel more elated. Victorious. The bully at work was fired. But all I can feel is empathy, which I suppose is a good thing. Having lived through it (and in many ways, still living through it) I can relate to the feeling of being rejected. What you thought of as a career is reduced to gossip between former colleagues.
June 8 2017
Wake up every morning with a goal. Something to accomplish or avoid through the day. Every day I seem to blow it. Old habits die hard. I can't stop... I can't write honestly.
Tuesday June 27 2017
I keep getting ideas. Urges, whims, to write. But I stop myself. I can't write honestly. I admire authors that seem to write from the heart
Haven't written a journal in eons. Used to keep one and ended up throwing them into a camp fire many years ago. I regret that now as it would have been nice to look back. Burning them was a childish attempt to distance myself form what I perceived as sadness, or complaining, or just the general dissatisfaction of my youth.
I think the hardest part of writing is honesty. I'm afraid to write. Afraid to let others see my thoughts in case I am offensive, or more to the point, if I somehow leave myself exposed to ridicule or threat, or judgment.
Why write now? No idea. The impulse just hit me. I enjoy the writing. It's very cathartic. I've always thought I had a story or a book in me somewhere but I lack the courage of my own convictions to risk putting them on paper. They won't be good enough, people will laugh, I'll get turned into a "meme" etc. My sister Karen submitted a story recently to the "Chicken Soup for the Soul" people which was accepted and will appear in their next book. So SHE is a published writer... Being jealous I'll probably poke fun at her to cover my own insecurities... it's what I do.
May 12 2017 - I thought I would feel more elated. Victorious. The bully at work was fired. But all I can feel is empathy, which I suppose is a good thing. Having lived through it (and in many ways, still living through it) I can relate to the feeling of being rejected. What you thought of as a career is reduced to gossip between former colleagues.
June 8 2017
Wake up every morning with a goal. Something to accomplish or avoid through the day. Every day I seem to blow it. Old habits die hard. I can't stop... I can't write honestly.
Tuesday June 27 2017
I keep getting ideas. Urges, whims, to write. But I stop myself. I can't write honestly. I admire authors that seem to write from the heart
Wednesday, February 8, 2017
Buried Steel
Eddie Dean and Larry Underwood. Two of a myriad of characters from Stephen King who I can relate. Or, I hope to relate to. Both of them had a "hidden strength". Buried steel. Biting on Larry would snag the offender a taste of metal beneath the surface. Eddie was a drug-addled bum who managed to pull it together when it mattered.
I would like to think I have the same strength buried in me somewhere.
Unfortunately I seem to see more of myself in the lame characters. The "Harold's" of the world.
Who can I admire? Pick people like Dan Fielding from the old comedy "Night Court". Or a Herb Tarleck from "WKRP". Dedicated assholes both. Yet they know what they are, and have the confidence to remain what they are despite obvious social pressure to confirm. I'm not saying I want to be as bad as a Dan Fielding, but whatever I am, good or bad, I wish I had the strength to be it and not constantly question myself.
I would like to think I have the same strength buried in me somewhere.
Unfortunately I seem to see more of myself in the lame characters. The "Harold's" of the world.
Who can I admire? Pick people like Dan Fielding from the old comedy "Night Court". Or a Herb Tarleck from "WKRP". Dedicated assholes both. Yet they know what they are, and have the confidence to remain what they are despite obvious social pressure to confirm. I'm not saying I want to be as bad as a Dan Fielding, but whatever I am, good or bad, I wish I had the strength to be it and not constantly question myself.
Tuesday, February 7, 2017
Vanishing
I'm not sure when it was that I started to fade. If I had to pick a time it would be just after I started working for Novartis. That's as far back as I can remember when I used to have the "courage of my convictions". Whether right or wrong, I had beliefs and I would defend them if needed.
I'm not talking about literally vanishing, but it was the beginning of the erosion that would leave me not remembering who I was or what I stood for.
I suppose, to be ridiculous, I should give an example that illustrates my point.
Most well-wishing people begin with a premise. let's say, I hate smoking. To voice that opinion then becomes offensive to smokers. Sure, they made a choice, but perhaps they were poorly educated, or perhaps they were to susceptible to peer pressure, or perhaps they are just to stupid to realize what they started before they got hooked. Whatever the reason, my opinion of them is now considered invalidated, narrow minded and politically incorrect. So by this logic, ANY opinion is automatically invalidated. No matter who you are or what you believe there are those who believe the opposite. And if EVREYONE's opinion is to be respected equally, then no one's opinion holds any merit.
Now for the ridiculous part...
Let's look at another opinion. Let's say... Hitler. That all Jews are evil and they are an inferior species etc. etc. Is he right? Why does the same amount of tolerance apply? If everyone's opinion is valid, so is Hitler's. If Hitler's opinion is NOT valid, then the premise fails and we begin to see that only some people's opinions are relevant and that at some point your opinion is considered so "fringe" that it can be dismissed. Of course Hitler is not right. But in the spirit of Kum-By-Yah don't all opinions matter?
I used to have opinions. I used to fell one way or another about lots of things but it seems that every time I open my mouth I get told I am wrong, or intolerant, or negative.
My sister in law won't vaccinate her child because is it "dangerous" and her opinion is to be respected and tolerated. She will, however, do "tapping" on family members to cure diseases as well as "Reiki healing" which uses the body's own life energy to heal sickness and disease in others. It's right out of using the Force in Star Wars. She tried it on my son when he visited a while ago. My son is a healthy skeptic and basically tried not to laugh while she waved her hands over him for 20 minutes (She is, apparently, a Reiki "Master" for only $19.95 and a few online courses.).
I know it sounds far fetched. But if Reiki is supposed to be respected, then so is Hitler.
I, however, in forming my own opinion, find Reiki a ridiculous gimmick that sucks in the same stupid people who are into homeopathy and crystal healing. It has no basis in science and only "really works if the person believes it will". Well... science works whether you believe in it or not.
Novartis was the first place I had to listen to feedback if I wanted to keep my job. Apparently I was abrasive, negative, politically incorrect etc. So I had to look inward and change. Self-awareness is rarely good-news but I liked my job and wanted to change for the better.
Then came Campbell River BC. One of the first places I travelled to on the company dime. We had our morning meetings and everyone was leaving for lunches and excursions and such for the rest of the day. My boss asked me to take the phones, which was my job, and return messages. I stood at the phone booth and watched as the last car pulled out of the complex. The silence was overwhelming. Novartis was big enough that we had taken over the whole complex at this resort so when that last van pulled away there were not even employees visible. So I checked messages, got to listen to clients bitch at me for an hour, then ate lunch alone. Forgotten.
Then, later in the year, another truth became apparent. If I didn't like someone, it was my fault for not developing the relationship. However, if someone else didn't like me, THAT was also my fault for not developing the relationship. I couldn't win.
I'm not talking about literally vanishing, but it was the beginning of the erosion that would leave me not remembering who I was or what I stood for.
I suppose, to be ridiculous, I should give an example that illustrates my point.
Most well-wishing people begin with a premise. let's say, I hate smoking. To voice that opinion then becomes offensive to smokers. Sure, they made a choice, but perhaps they were poorly educated, or perhaps they were to susceptible to peer pressure, or perhaps they are just to stupid to realize what they started before they got hooked. Whatever the reason, my opinion of them is now considered invalidated, narrow minded and politically incorrect. So by this logic, ANY opinion is automatically invalidated. No matter who you are or what you believe there are those who believe the opposite. And if EVREYONE's opinion is to be respected equally, then no one's opinion holds any merit.
Now for the ridiculous part...
Let's look at another opinion. Let's say... Hitler. That all Jews are evil and they are an inferior species etc. etc. Is he right? Why does the same amount of tolerance apply? If everyone's opinion is valid, so is Hitler's. If Hitler's opinion is NOT valid, then the premise fails and we begin to see that only some people's opinions are relevant and that at some point your opinion is considered so "fringe" that it can be dismissed. Of course Hitler is not right. But in the spirit of Kum-By-Yah don't all opinions matter?
I used to have opinions. I used to fell one way or another about lots of things but it seems that every time I open my mouth I get told I am wrong, or intolerant, or negative.
My sister in law won't vaccinate her child because is it "dangerous" and her opinion is to be respected and tolerated. She will, however, do "tapping" on family members to cure diseases as well as "Reiki healing" which uses the body's own life energy to heal sickness and disease in others. It's right out of using the Force in Star Wars. She tried it on my son when he visited a while ago. My son is a healthy skeptic and basically tried not to laugh while she waved her hands over him for 20 minutes (She is, apparently, a Reiki "Master" for only $19.95 and a few online courses.).
I know it sounds far fetched. But if Reiki is supposed to be respected, then so is Hitler.
I, however, in forming my own opinion, find Reiki a ridiculous gimmick that sucks in the same stupid people who are into homeopathy and crystal healing. It has no basis in science and only "really works if the person believes it will". Well... science works whether you believe in it or not.
Novartis was the first place I had to listen to feedback if I wanted to keep my job. Apparently I was abrasive, negative, politically incorrect etc. So I had to look inward and change. Self-awareness is rarely good-news but I liked my job and wanted to change for the better.
Then came Campbell River BC. One of the first places I travelled to on the company dime. We had our morning meetings and everyone was leaving for lunches and excursions and such for the rest of the day. My boss asked me to take the phones, which was my job, and return messages. I stood at the phone booth and watched as the last car pulled out of the complex. The silence was overwhelming. Novartis was big enough that we had taken over the whole complex at this resort so when that last van pulled away there were not even employees visible. So I checked messages, got to listen to clients bitch at me for an hour, then ate lunch alone. Forgotten.
Then, later in the year, another truth became apparent. If I didn't like someone, it was my fault for not developing the relationship. However, if someone else didn't like me, THAT was also my fault for not developing the relationship. I couldn't win.
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