[synaptic disunion II]

three different ones...

2008-07-07T09:51:00.000-07:00

"Why are we here?" he asked. I had come in on the suggestion of a friend because I needed a job, and I had worked at a paint store before. It was 1991, my parents were overseas, and I was running desperately low on cash. The question was, well, odd, I thought.

"You mean, we, as in humanity?" I replied.

"No, we, as in, this store." He countered.

I suppose I should have known that I was different before now, but it really wouldn't occur to me until a few minutes from now, when I was getting back into my car.

"We're here to provide quality products and service to our community." I confidently replied. It was the wrong answer. The right answer? To make money. That's when I knew. I knew I wasn't going to make it in the normal world.

"Fat people are Jolly people!" She said.

"What?" I said, wanting some clarification that she'd actually said this.

"Yeah...fat people are jolly people!" She said again, with even more belief in her eyes.

"No. Fat people are not all jolly...not all of us are Santa." I replied. I like to hope that I left her with a gift that day, but I'll never really know.

"Well, you always have to have progress and growth, right?" she told me, after our discussion of the housing boom of a few years ago.

"No." I said. "Not always. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if we're growing too fast, that this whole inflated housing market crashes in a couple of years."

"But we need growth!" She replied emphatically.

"The Oncler said the same thing, until the final Truffula tree was felled, and his world was ruined." The reference was lost on her. I reached across the table, put my hand on her shoulder and said "Truffula trees are what people need...not adjustable rate mortgages and a false sense of ownership. Those are Thneeds...and nobody really needs a Thneed."

How are you different?

patriotism...

2008-07-01T14:41:00.000-07:00

What does it mean to be a patriot? What does it mean to you? I'd suspect that for many Hannity and O'Reilly viewers, it would actually be the same definition of Jingoism. It wasn't so for people like Mark Twain, who said "Patriotism is supporting your country all the time, and your government when it deserves it."

Somewhere in the cable news networks today, someone said "I don't think riding in a fighter plane and getting shot down is a qualification to be president." That sounds like the truth, and yet, cable news, in all it's glory and wisdom decided it was an issue. Do we elect war heroes based solely on their war records? Am I qualified to be Traffic Commissioner because I drive on roads, and was in a car accident once?

I'm wearing my Obama t-shirt today, because I wanted to donate to his campaign and show my support, in my limited way. I got a shirt for my efforts. So, does that make me a patriot? Or, as some people might think, does it make me un-American? There are many, one I met today, who's opinions and world-views are clouded by their own cynicism. The person I met today looked at me, and my shirt, like they were looking at something so completely disgusting and foreign it shook foundations of their world. How could someone call themselves an American and vote for "that guy?" was the vibe I got. A healthy cynicism is good, but, like a drug, it can be dangerous and debilitating.

In the picture at top, there are four American flags flying. These homeowners fly their flags as many days of the year as they can. There's a spot on the street where I took this picture, where you can see no less than nine flags at as many houses. For some reason, the day I took this picture, this fact was mildly unnerving. I'm still trying to nail down exactly why I was unnerved. We fly our flag also, but only on holidays. It's a faded real cloth flag that has a stain on it, and should probably be retired. But its our flag, and we like it. Does it make us any less patriotic than the people who've spent lots of money on poles, lighting, and giant flags to fly outside their homes every day of the year? I don't know, really. Maybe I should go ask twenty four hour cable news what I should think.

coming back to life...

2008-06-30T16:41:00.000-07:00

Coming back to life, this morning, and trying to get back in tune with the work world after almost a weeks absence, was jarring. Even though last week was full of sickness and sleep, it was different. It was home. Even though sometimes I feel like a large lumbering bear in our house of tiny children, sometimes stumbling over them and their toys, stepping on their feelings and generally feeling a little out of place, it's our home, it's where I really belong.

Over the weekend, we all felt a lot better, we recuperated on Saturday and spend a lovely Sunday with Family Phil and his lovely wife in Couer D'Alene, Idaho. We left the dirty dishes in the sink, and on the counter. We left the trash, in need of being taken out. We left the clutter and the cleaning and the mowing and all the other things that go along with just life in general and left, went to someone's backyard, and sat, and talked. We had a wonderful time. Phil and his wife are genuine un-pretentious people. Real. No agendas, no pushy opinions or causes. Just people, with kids, trying to make it from day to day, like so many of us.

Life has a way, sometimes, of reminding us what's important. Work, isn't as important as your boss says it is...really.

two old lions...

2008-06-28T09:18:00.001-07:00

At Cat Tales Zoological Park in North Spokane, Sunday, June 22nd. I fed this guy raw stew meat.

noroviruses and you...

2008-06-24T21:25:00.000-07:00

Have you had a visit from one of your friendly local Noroviruses? We have. Three out of five (possibly four) in our house are currently experiencing bodily evacuations from both ends resulting in the human sprinkler effect. It all started with yours truly, late Monday night. Yeah...I'm a vector now.

I blame George Bush. Why? Everyone else does, that's why.

And so it goes. No sleep. No food. Water stayed down for about ten minutes all night and into the morning. But it's getting a little better as we pass through the stages. Lollypops from neighbors and free Ginger Ale are welcome (we'll take more, also, as we're currently without). We'll be out from under it's clutches soon, probably by Friday, but we'll be tired.

Our tip for people who'd rather not be visited by this lovely virus? Wash your hands. ALL THE TIME!!!

on the monday of life...

2008-06-23T10:26:00.000-07:00

It's Monday, but Friday's coming. Does that give you hope? What gives you hope? What feeds you a steady stream of non-paranoia driven hope? For me, it's a lot of things. Although having "hope" seems almost blindingly naive right now, it's better than the alternative, I think. I've sat back and watched this country with cynical breath and sarcasm for a long time, and I think I need to change. Change, there's another current buzzword.

The candidates are courting "change" like there's no tomorrow, when, indeed, we hope through our change to make a better tomorrow. I hope one of the candidates, whoever it is, can change the world for the better. I'm placing my hope, change, better tomorrow on Obama. I don't care, really, if people say that his rhetoric is shallow, his experience lacking. I can't imagine anyone has the experience it takes to be a president. One thing I do know, however, is that a president has to inspire, instead if raise ones ire. A president needs to encourage, not discourage. A president needs to be able to talk people into doing something, instead of fearing people in to nothingness and hiding behind duct taped windows.

But, it's Monday, so my hope is thin...so I'll just finish out this post with mundanities and nothingnesses.

I just realized that if you want to hear the songs I'm listening to throughout the day, you can hear a clip of them by clicking on the song name in the M-Chart widget I placed over on the right side. Geeky? Oh yeah...it is. Do I care? Not a stitch. Also, I just realized that if you click on the little Online Status notification under my avatar, left, you will be able to anonymously talk to me. I didn't realize that was a feature of this widget...but now I know. I suppose I should pay more attention in life.

Lastly, we went to Cat Tails over the weekend. It was pretty fun. I was allowed to feed an African Lion some raw stew meat through a hole in a sheet of Plexiglas and a chain link fence. He seemed to like it...was upset when I ran out...I hope it wasn't tainted.

Have a hope-tastic Monday!

inside out...

2008-06-18T09:25:00.000-07:00

Any words written to explain what happened next would fall short of their goal. No words are big enough to contain where I went, what I saw. I saw the beginning. I saw the end. I watched the birth of countless stars and the deaths of even more. I found myself soaring through nebulae as big as galaxies, and through the cells of creatures unknown. I found myself inside and outside of an edge-less and center-less, creation.

I spent an eternity just watching. I spent another eternity just listening. I re-visited the cabin but it's machinations of creation didn't notice me anymore. I was outside the painting now, experiencing. I swam with dolphins, I flew with eagles, I followed comets and touched the surface of suns. Through it all my memory grew, I knew all and saw all, and yet was not omnipotent. I could go anywhere in any time because I could reach into the hourglass of time and pull out the grain where I wanted to be, and find myself there. Time was just another thing made in the cabin. A construct to help lifeforms cope with infinity.

It was then that I knew what I had to do...where I had to go...who I had to see. I had seen and tasted infinity, and all I wanted to do was go back to what was linear. All I wanted to do was help bring infinity to the finite. I found myself walking across a college campus on a pleasant spring day. Birds were singing, the wind was lightly blowing across my face...I had a face again. I could move from corporeal to incorporeal at will. I knew where to go, I'd been here before. I found the crowd of people in front of the Union building on this campus with ease. They were listening to a preacher, who's brand of fire and brimstone hammer handed theology was so distant to me now, yet so familiar and quaint as well. I sat on a bench and watched, and waited.

Artwork used by permission, and provided by:
The Inhabitant

what are the animals telling us?

2008-06-13T09:35:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, a friend saw a Great Blue Heron outside her car window. It stared her down in a menacing way for a while before she realized "hey, shouldn't this bird be over on the coast this time of year?"

Also, yesterday, a wandering Moose found it's way almost into the Elementary School where our son just finished Second grade. You have to understand, we live in a very built up area. Lots of houses, and the river is almost a mile from the school. So, it's pretty rare to have a moose running around in this area.

So...what are the animals trying to tell us? I'm not sure, but it can't be good, for us, that is... I find it interesting that the lower the life form, the more in tune it seems with it's environment. The higher the life form, the more it tries to modify it's environment to something that it can understand and control...or indeed, destroy. When you try to control something, you destroy a part of that thing. Right? Maybe that's what they're trying to tell us...

Or, maybe they're just thanking us for all the fish before they leave...click the dolphin picture at top, and you'll get a nice little treat....there you go...good little human...nice little human...clicky clicky little human.

dreading day four...

2008-06-12T12:45:00.001-07:00

officeDreads, originally uploaded by toadmaster.

It's been a busy week. It's the last week of school for our oldest son...the beginning of summer is now imminent, though you wouldn't know it by the weather.

It's day four with my dreadlocks. Nothing new, really, to note. I've had no derisive remarks from anyone, I suppose those who know me have come to expect a little unconventional-ness from me. People who don't know me, well, I don't know what they think, but I'll be honest, I haven't seen any lingering looks.

People come, people go. There's a wax and wane to life that's not always comfortable, yet always present. I have my wife. I have my children. They are the closest to me...I love them the most. But, so long as those who come and go in your life have experienced you in a true and honest way, the go from you the right way, in peace.

I know you've been dreading this...but...

2008-06-10T13:17:00.000-07:00

Well, I know you all were concerned that I'd do something rash...or at least something that might cause a rash, and now I've gone and done it...

My wife, over the course of two long, drawn out, and painful evenings of work, finally finished doing to my hair, what you see on the left. Dreads, man. Yeah. Thick waxy smelly dirty dreads, man. Just in time for summer...

<-- click for more pictures.

a passion play...

2008-06-06T15:03:00.000-07:00

The zealots wanted Jesus to conform to their vision of messiah, but that wasn't his passion. Their idea was to push aside, tear asunder, take over and restore the land of Israel back to the Israelites...unless I mis-remember my biblical studies courses in divinity school, from so many years ago. They saw weakness in Jesus, and attempted to push him into action by thrusting Rome upon him in the garden. All the forces of heaven and earth, however, couldn't sway his passion...and violence was not his passion.

Many people have in their heads what their passion is...some feel their passion is, or should be, the passion of others as well. They are driven by their passions into a frenzy of action, no matter the consequence. They barge in, unannounced, and expect their passion to be your passion. They are blinded by it all.

The passions of others are fine, so long as they don't step on the toes of others, I think. I enjoy watching someone in throws of doing whatever it is they love so much, and am even willing to help them in their endeavor, so long as it is understood that I am an outside observer...someone who recognizes the happiness and joy they get from their thing. That's why, when someone tells me "this is our passion," I get confused. It's too personal to be shared, I think. You cannot dictate what someone else's passion is, can you? It cannot be an edict, or a directive.

Look at the picture I've posted with this entry. Do you see that smile? Do you see the dirty pants and the muddy fingers? Do you see the brightness in those eyes? That's only one of my passions. Nothing else I do throughout the day is more important than that one child. He is one of three others in whom I find my purpose, my meaning, my reason for living, my passion. Everything else is only a means to this end. Nothing else matters.

In the story of Jesus, his passion was humanity. We are told that he did no harm to others, he stepped on no toes and pushed aside no one, and indeed, took on all the violence onto himself. His passion was personal, and so much more. He was peace. He never let what he loved to do, what he wanted to do with his life, hurt anyone else. Nothing else mattered but that.

it's cloudy in here..

2008-06-05T16:50:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I just don't know. I think, maybe I should just go and be a writer, or a plumber, or a whatsit-maker. People and their crazy behavior, their crazy wishy and washing and showing upping and asking and telling and wanting wanting wanting you to drop it all and do do do do do whatever it is they have going at the moment.

But, I'm compliant. I'm complacent. I do. I comply. I smooth it over and work out the problems and talk talk talk talk and my mind gets clouded with all the confusinations of their ruminations and their workinations and riddly diddly runningly fastingly workingly craziness. Most of the time I just watch. They ask me, I work, I do, I'm done, I watch, and I go home.

It gets all jumbled and bumbled in my head and the clouds get all blue and orange and brown and gray and dark and hover and threaten rain and I just stare and want to sleep. I'll be out from under it all soon...

...this post, including making the picture, took all of five minutes from beginning to end...from mind to pixel in five minutes. A record? No. Jesus wept. That's a record for short.

Nite nite.

wasn't it just...

2008-06-04T16:22:00.000-07:00

wasn't it just the other day, we were walking hand in hand through the park, and all the flowers smiled up at us and we couldn't see beyond tomorrow?

wasn't it just the other day, we were talking about names, about places, about going, about staying, about this-ing, and that-ing?

wasn't it just the other day, the world stood still under our feet, and we felt the soft rumble of the Earth's rotation stop, and all we could feel was the coolness and the grass, and all there was, was us, and the universe?

wasn't it just the other day, we were young, healthy, running along the beach laughing, throwing stones into the blue, gazing down at our sand colored feet and wondering how far they'd go together?

wasn't it just the other day?

go figure...

2008-06-03T22:18:00.000-07:00

thyme off, and fillmore remembrances...

2008-06-02T16:32:00.000-07:00

It was a nice time, my time away. While away, I noticed that I coughed less. That's something. My parents drove from the land of Tejas to our little house in Spokane and visited us for a while. We went down to the Spokane River and saw the river in flood. We visited. We didn't talk about politics, we can't really do that these days, but that's not important. We can, and should, be able to move beyond that. When they left, my dad hugged me and told me he was proud of me. I wasn't sure what for, maybe I will someday.

After my parents drove off for their south land home again, I remained home and drank in the whole 'not at work' vibe. I didn't think about it, and in fact, had to have someone help me remember something today. Mostly I just hung around the house, puttered in the garden, and got a place ready for the Playhouse(now)/Potting Shed(future) that I want to build.

Yesterday, we visited with an acquaintance who calls himself The Stickman. He bequeathed to me two posters, of which I'll post pictures soon. Two posters from that time in music history where there was so much happening. Actually, things during that time weren't just happening in music, the whole undercurrent of American culture was bubbling over. Stickman gave me two posters from the era of The Nice, King Crimson, Traffic, The Doors, Janice, and others. Posters from shows they did in 1968 at The Fillmore in San Francisco. These Bill Graham produced show posters, with their awesome art, are now mine. I now have a bit of that history. So cool, man.

I love old things. I love things that have a place in history. That's why I love these posters. They represent a point in time, a place in history. I also own two ceremonial Nazi swords. Why? The same reasons. Am I a hippie because of the posters? I don't know. Am I a Nazi because I have the swords? Of course not. These are things, manipulative's, if you will, that I can use when explaining history to my children. Holding them might help them, and me, to remember that these times really did happen...that those people really did exist and believe those things. Holding those things, helps me to remember.

existential...

2008-05-30T23:29:00.000-07:00

There are people who are always striving to find that place where they belong. They need a group with which to be a part. They're always looking for a community in which to fit, somehow. I admire these people, yet also wonder at their painful longing.

Then, there are people who've given up. They've stopped trying to fit in at all. They don't want to be a part of your world, or even their own world. They create barriers around them that cannot be penetrated. Isolating themselves they watch and wring their hands in anxious worry at the world that has passed them by from behind self erected ideological bars. I worry about these people.

Sometimes, there are people in between these two extremes. I think this is where I am, right now. I don't really need a place to belong. I have that place. I don't really need a community in which to contribute, but I wouldn't mind it, I suppose. I have grave concerns about the world and it's direction, but I'm not in any position to change it right now, though I think I do what I can for my own peace.

My place and group to which I am a part is my home and my family. My community is here, now. I need no other existence beyond this.

also, I made this...

2008-05-27T22:26:00.000-07:00

I love playing with Flickr/Picknik on my vacation...so I decided to make this (see left).

I know, silly slogan, but I did it anyway. I like Barack Obama. I really do, and I don't care who knows. I don't care if some ill-informed dimwit in West Virginia thinks he's a Muslim, or some racist jerk won't vote for him because he's black, or if some other brain dead mouth breather thinks his middle name is a sure sign of evil. I think he's cool. I think he's smart. If you judge someone on their name...a name THEY didn't even get to chose, you're an idiot.

Feel free to steal and use this picture to promote Obama on your website, I don't even care if you give me credit. I'm also gonna send a copy to www.barackobama.com, in case they want to see it...they might not even like it...but I do.

Vote smart America...it could be your last chance.

vacation is a trip, man...

2008-05-27T22:00:00.000-07:00

It's like, I've never seen colors and stuff like this...there's this whole world outside of work and stuff, you know?

Yesterday, I saw this little man in my garden, wearing green leaves and stuff. He said his name was Jack...he was working really hard. Jack-o-the-Green, he said his whole name was. I was all, "hey man, why you trippin so hard man? Chill out and stuff." He said, "hey man, we've all got a part to play." and he walked away and made the forget-me-nots burst into flower (see picture below).

So I just sat next to Gnigel our Gnome, for the rest of the day (see picture above). He'd been doin' some stuff that was a real trip, so I just lay down and watched the show.

Yeah, vacation is a trip, man.

water music...

2008-05-26T22:20:00.001-07:00

MOV01835,
originally uploaded by toadmaster.

Parents drove off tonight. Yeah. They drove from Texas to Spokane, and start driving home in the morning.

We had a good visit. We went and saw the Spokane River in flood, but we decided not to kayak it...this time...unlike OTHER law breaking citizens...you know who you are!

Other than that little outing, that's all we did. Southerners, you see, visit. We sit around, and, well, visit. We eat, drink tea, take naps, and visit.

I'm off the rest of the week though, and household projects are calling, so I can't say that I'll be back to posting regularly just yet...

Love to all!

taking a holiday...

2008-05-22T16:54:00.000-07:00

My parents are in town. I'll post when I can. See you all in about a week, or so..or maybe sooner.. who knows!

10,000 days = 27 years...

2008-05-21T09:42:00.000-07:00

...this might be lengthy...bear with me, if you want.

Would you ever imagine a guy like me, who writes the kind of hopeful drivel that I write, would enjoy a band like Tool? Me either, actually. What kind of images do you get in your head when you think of Tool? I remember when, for me, their dark and heavy music was the soundtrack to a meth or coke addict life, lying somewhere on a vomit and blood encrusted shag carpet in some two-bit motel on the seedy side of town. People lock their car doors when they hear their music, the car doors in their minds. I always got the impression that their listener base was out on the fringes of sanity and embedded in the throws of substance abuse and multiple piercings of as many bodily locations as possible. Admittedly, that image isn't entirely wrong. But, as with most things, the first impression isn't always the right impression...the truth isn't always black and white...it's somewhere in between.
Alrighty, then ... picture this if you will.
10 to 2 AM, X, Yogi DMT, and a box of Krispy Kremes,
in my "need to know" pose, just outside of Area 51
Contemplating the whole "chosen people" thingy
when a flaming stealth banana split the sky
like one would hope but never really expect
to see in a place like this.
Cutting right angle donuts on a dime
and stopping right at my Birkenstocks,
I remember when Rush was called, by a radio jockey somewhere in Texas, the "thinking man's metal band." I thought about that, and said, yeah.. that's true. Peart's writing, while a little too Ayn Rand for my tastes these days, was always interesting and thoughtful. With Tool, it's not quite the same, however. Their Parental Advisory lyrics are peppered with images that would curl your nose hairs, and dark thoughts that would make you cringe. However, in the darkness, there is sometimes clarity. Intellectual? Not really. Introspective? Often. You don't have to be college educated to be self-aware...so why are so many fans of Tool complete...well, tools? I don't really know. Perhaps they're drawn to the danger of the darkness like a moth is drawn to the edge of the flame. One thing's for sure, you'll never find me at a Tool concert. Why? I'd likely be beaten up and rolled for drug money.

Then the X-Files being,
Looking like some kind of blue-green Jackie Chan
with Isabella Rossellini lips, and breath that reeked of
vanilla Chig Champa
Did a slow-mo Matrix descent
Outta the butt end of the banana vessel

So why in the name of all that is sacred and hopeful, do I find any compelling reason to listen to Tool? It's just the music, really. It's the atmospheres they create so well. They're dark, and sometimes make your skin crawl, and that takes talent, in my limited opinion. Also, mathematics is their friend. Moving from 6/8 to 4/4 to 3/4 to 2/2 in the space of one musical phrase might be jarring to the untrained ear, but musical candy to geeks like me. Their way of rolling the harmony around a bouncing bell-toned drone note perks up my ears and causes me to give a listen.

And after calming me down
with some orange slices
and some fetal spooning,
E.T. revealed to me his singular purpose.
He said, "You are the Chosen One,
the One who will deliver the message.
A message of hope for those who choose to hear it
and a warning for those who do not."
Me. The Chosen One?
They chose me!!!
And I didn't even graduate from f^#&in' high school.

Tool's album 10,000 days has to be, in my opinion, the best of their efforts so far, and I applaud them, even if their fan base, and indeed, the members of Tool themselves, would all give me the one finger salute for trying to dissect their music like the psych patient that it is right before they slug me in the face.

Monkey killing monkey killing monkey over pieces of the ground.
Silly monkeys give them thumbs they make a club,
And beat their brother down.
How they survive so misguided is a mystery.
Repugnant is a creature who would squander the ability,
To lift an eye to heaven, conscious of his fleeting time here.

i'd rather be in my garden...

2008-05-19T16:21:00.000-07:00

Morning appointment, slept in.

Afternoon appointment, blood drawn.

Workday abbreviated, headache still.

Youngest fell off a toy, blood from lip.

Away I leave, again.

Goodbye Monday. I don't trust you anymore. I'll see you next week.

i promise to never do this again...seriously..

2008-05-16T15:49:00.001-07:00

toadwrong,
originally uploaded by toadmaster.

...this is just, well, something I should have never done, ever. I think I'll just stick to posting videos of the kids and writing instead. See how I mumble? How I can't talk very well? Yeah...back to writing. No more of this. This is bad. Also, I'm really not this insane in person. Really. Don't be to frightened (like I was after viewing myself.).

Anyway, have a nice weekend everyone!

what the hail!?

2008-05-15T10:36:00.001-07:00

Growing up in Texas, I'm used to storms on scales so epic as to be biblical in their scope. It's really hard to explain to the up-landers here in the atmospherically calm Inland Northwest, really, and truly, what they were like.

They made you feel small. Tiny, in fact. They made you feel helpless. Like trying to hold back the tide. There was nothing, really, you could do to stop them, and very little you could do to defend yourself against them. People living in Tornado Alley will understand this. People sometime ask me if this is the reason we moved away from our tiny home in tornado alley. I answer, emphatically, "NO" when asked this. We moved for other reasons.

So why do I bring this up on this calm and sunny spring day here in the inland northwest? Simple. I have a niece who lives in Austin Texas. Yeah...Austin, that little spot of blue smack dab in the middle of all that Texas red. That little oasis if "hip" in the middle of all that "hick." Yeah. THAT Austin. Anyway, she got hammered last night by a hailstorm the likes of which would wither and crumple the weather weak of the inland northwest. She endured weather that would have reduced an inland north westerner to tears and have them whimpering and praying in a corner. She's got the pictures and video's to prove it...here: http://wittlemelody.blogspot.com/

happy birthday...

2008-05-14T12:30:00.000-07:00

Today is my wife's birthday. I won't tell you how old she is today, that would be rude...so, I'll let you guess by looking at her youthful face in the picture above.

I love her so much, but I often falter when I try to tell her. I don't really talk very well...I write. When I try to tell her how much I love her, I fail miserably. I stammer, I stutter, I look down and mumble. I never know what to give her because I don't pay enough attention to detail, I think.

But on this day, above all other days, I want her to know that I love her more than anything in the world. She has made me a happy man, and a complete man. In so many ways, I feel like I am a very lucky man to have her by my side, raising our boys, and sacrificing our lives for theirs.

I love you, my dear. With all my heart and soul. I will love you forever.