“You never know what someone’s going through.” That’s what people tell us in a cautionary way. To give people the benefit of the doubt. There’s a lot of truth to that. But there is also a caveat, exception, and disclaimer. Assuming that someone is going through something difficult as a way to overlook bad behavior ASSUMES that you’re not going through something as bad or worse. So if you’re a witness to somebody being mistreated followed by them repaying the mistreatment equally, you also have to look the other way and give the benefit of the doubt to the second person. This is the kind of pop psychology and circular logic that leads us down unsustainable mindsets. Our energy would be better spent convincing people to self-regulate maturely instead of doing what amounts to victim blaming. In short, if you’re going to tell us to look the other way because we don’t know what someone’s going through, you also have to look the other way if we’re going through a bad time and give the first asshole what they’ve got coming. In this day of chaotic workplaces and even worse political and social frazzlement, shouldn’t we assume that everybody is having a bad day? Ergo, we can’t blame anyone.
“An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind” is true. But equally true is this: “If we are all going through it, the safest course of action is to walk through the forest as if every leaf conceals a snake.” And while it might be the safest way, it leads to a life of guarded disconnectedness.
As for the picture, I took a long exposure to see if the colors would emerge in the dark early hours this morning. It’s an open space hidden in plain sight, one which I sometimes use when I want to watch the sky unbroken in a panorama above me.
I tried to snap a colorful photo of the rainbows flipping across my custom wood print in my bathroom. Instead, I got a goofy but boring snap that I illuminated. I’ve had people offer me upwards of 50 cents for this one of a kind piece of art.
I would snap a picture of my living room so that you could see the 500 rainbows streaming in due to all the prisms I have hanging outside. But the zebra won’t get out of the picture long enough for me to take one.
My cat Güino was not impressed by my morning thoughts. I tried explaining it to him, but instead, he wanted to do battle from 6 ft off the floor atop his cat castle.
If you read a book twice, the ending is not going to change. You react to it differently because, although outwardly you are the same person, your collection of knowledge and experience has changed you. Thinking about the past and diving into memories has the same effect. Unless you’ve changed the framework of how you view your past, you’re just cementing your identity and how you live your life. You’re not the person you used to be. It’s your mind playing tricks on you. That’s how habit and feedback loops of thought convince you that it’s more comfortable to keep doing what you’re already doing, even though you know it’s going to lead to the same result. .
I was out too early, looking to see a few spectacular meteorites from the Perseid meteor shower that is peaking this week. I know a couple of amazing dark spots in the middle of all this urban sprawl. But for some reason my feet took me west until I finally reached Deane Street. The modern trail and street lights they’ve installed are gorgeous. The first stretch looks like an infinite straight strip. On the north side, there is still a huge field that stretches north, with a northern perimeter that has surprisingly few lights to interrupt it. Facing away from the beautiful street lights, it’s one of the best urban views of the northern sky that can be had. It was beautiful before they modernized Deane. It’s still beautiful now, albeit in a different way.
As I walked, I stopped for fifteen seconds every few minutes so that I could watch and scan the sky for meteors. The third time I did so, I saw something running along in the tall grass. It turned out to be a small fox. Further along, I realized it was interested in me. I took out my camera and stood still. That’s how I got this amazing photo that is everything except the fox.
Shortly thereafter, at about 2:45 a.m., the blare of distant police and fire sirens to the south caused unseen animals out in the expanse of the field to howl and yap. I stopped about 100 yards away from the modern veterinary lab on Deane, listening in appreciation. A couple of barn and equipment buildings silhouetted against the sky. And that’s when I got to see my first meteorite streaking like a casual hello. It was short-lived but brilliant. That’s about all you can ask for. A couple of miles of walking in the dark gifted me with the briefest of illuminations.
As the economy sputters, and as I watch people seemingly dive into erroneous faith that encourages attitudes better left behind us, I stole that damn moment. Of course I would rather see a dozen meteorites. But it is the first bite of pizza that delights, or that split second when you lean in for the kiss you’ve waited for. Everything else is saturation and overindulgence.
An hour later, I still couldn’t bring myself to turn around. So I looped and walked along the mega car stores and the perimeter of the interstate. Absent traffic, there were amazing views of the night sky. Once you reach Chicory Place, you’ve encountered what I call Pocket Narnia. No street lights. No buildings. Animals and critters creeping without worry. It is a snippet of a perfect night view. The sound of insects holds its own against the background rumbling of the interstate that now seems to be five miles away. I can’t imagine that this little piece of Narnia will survive much longer, much like the original Narnia at the end of Leverett. “Everything changes, but not all of it is progress.”
When I took a minute to kneel and chalk a message on the concrete near the desolate Sam’s club, whoever was driving by slowed to a crawl. I ignored them, But also wondered what they thought they were seeing as they watched me leave a message, One that was almost Ecclesiastical.
I was lucky today. Despite walking too many miles, my accidental route didn’t drag me linearly. Had it done so, I would have had to call a friendly Uber to get back home. It amuses me that when I’m out here and forget time, it feels as much like home as sitting in my office chair.
I’m probably the only one I know who appreciates how beautiful Garland/112 is on these early summer mornings before the sun even considers gracing us. I walked right down the middle of this road that is still somehow two lanes. The dome of the sky enveloped me. The modern buildings the U of A intermittently installed become invisible. The view from there is largely the same as it was seventy years ago.
As I came parallel to the Y-park, I turned and stopped to listen to the ocean of insects and to briefly remember a late night there forty years ago. My second meteorite of the night interrupted my reverie. If I didn’t know better, I might swear that the universe is trying to remind me that there are no moments unworthy of distraction.
I find some interesting things when I’m wondering around. This morning, I found a few eight-track tapes on the edge of the street and the sidewalk. As if someone had driven by and tossed them out every hundred feet. I amused myself by trying to imagine who drove through sometime last night and chose to toss them out the window. Did they come flying from a vintage car? Was the person who tossed to them someone who bought them when they were released?
Eight-track tapes came to the United States in 1965. By the time these were popular, Glenn Miller had already been dead twenty-one years. He was another artist I didn’t appreciate until my Uncle Buck told me to listen to his big band style with a different ear. Glenn Miller once ruled his corner of the musical world. But now he’s an increasingly forgotten relic of the past.
I like moments like these before the sun comes up. A random find brings nebulous memories back from the dead.
I’ve decided that the person who discarded these decided that the owner of a carefully maintained 1966 Ford Galaxie took his old car out for one more drive. Ford was the first company to put 8-track players in their vehicles in the United States.
I’m not a car enthusiast, but when I was younger I involuntarily learned an encyclopedia of information about cars. Because of innovation, all that knowledge is just trivia now.
Like Glenn Miller, we will all be footnotes. I guess I better walk a little faster before time races past me.
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The Langoliers haven’t arrived yet. People might not get the reference. But I’m always looking at things and admiring how pretty they are when they are static and waiting for people to inhabit them.
Sitting on the landing while attempting to hold and contain my cat while drinking a cup of coffee, I had the strange sensation that if I did not get up right then and take a walk, that I might not do it again.
Within two minutes, I was out and headed north. Even though I didn’t think about it, I was headed right down the throat of daylight commerce. Except at 3:00 a.m., It’s a ghostland. Everyone is in a hurry unless they are driving to avoid detection.
When I went over the crest looking out onto the interstate interchange, the breeze hit me again. I stopped for a moment to watch the stillness and the kaleidoscope of lights. It’s not supposed to be pretty, but of course it was.
I’m in Springdale now, knowing I probably can’t walk all the way back without the risk of my legs getting wobbly. I’m not quite ready to sit down in the red rocking chair in my living room and stay there.
When I neared the crest opposite Lake Fayetteville where the Lewis and Clark building sits empty and watches, the breeze off the lake felt like salvation.
I’m going to keep going for a while. In the off chance this could indeed be the last time I take such a walk. The only reason we get through a lot of days is because we don’t know when we’re experiencing the last of something -or watching some on way now do the same.
Although I originally wasn’t feeling it, once I got out there, another late night/early morning long walk was exactly what I needed. The usual suspects were there to greet me: drunk drivers, cats skulking, possums and skunks skittering, and random dogs barking at my audacity to walk by. I probably should apologize to one group of houses because I couldn’t resist barking back so that the dog objected even louder against my presence. When I made the long loop around and back across the interstate, one dog wagged its tail in the dark and let me pet it as it sat patiently under the beautiful modern street lights along Deane.
A man sitting perfectly still next to his house on Sang Avenue made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. The house had only a few feet between it and a chain link fence bordering the sidewalk. I assume he belonged there rather than being someone who didn’t because he was sitting on something and mostly hidden by the bushes.
Totally unrelated: did you know that the circumference of your calf muscles bears a strong correlation to how long you are likely to live? It sounds like a scam but the science is there to back it up.
Did you know that the world record for a person holding their breath underwater is 24 minutes and 37 seconds? Tell me again that human beings aren’t fascinating.
This isn’t the kind of post I started out to write. I don’t mind expressing myself on the fly, nor do I worry about being vague when I shouldn’t be, or about not getting it quite right. There are so many reasons NOT to write off-the-cuff. But I usually don’t let that stop me. If you want to get into hot water or draw unwelcome scrutiny, just try openly talking about sexuality.
When we’re young, we don’t fully understand it. It takes experience, tempered with real-world knowledge of the rituals and social norms of sexual expression and interaction. By the time we’re older, our bodies begin to revolt, and our expectations can get skewed by people, circumstances, or frustration. It’s not supposed to be that way.
Most of us are sexual beings. It’s one of those facts that’s obvious. Yet, we spend an inordinate amount of time keeping it hidden in plain sight. Most of the time, anyway. We wonder about our attractiveness, even when we’re in a committed, monogamous relationship. Hair, makeup, clothes, body, just about everything gets intertwined in our sexual identity.
For much of our lives, seeking pleasure is a constant companion. When it’s good, it’s one of the best possible things we can experience. It’s free. It’s liberating. It creates a connection. At least it is supposed to. When love is present, it can be freely expressed without so much shame, guilt, or embarrassment.
Each of us has our own limits, boundaries, expectations, and fantasies. They aren’t something we talk about in our daily lives. If you’re lucky enough to have someone who loves you and is selfless enough to keep you satisfied, you are fortunate. If you don’t have unresolved issues, anger, or distance to keep you apart, you’re lucky.
Sex gets twisted into so many things it doesn’t need to be.
Because this is my blog, I can say anything I want. It doesn’t shield me from potential recoil, shock, or embarrassment if I share too much or share things people don’t want to know. It’s not as if I’m explicit.
I like writing romance stories. Especially shorter ones. I graduated with a woman who makes her living entirely from writing romance. The only difference between romance stories and erotica is that the latter breaks the barrier of explicitness. Romance novels use implication, innuendo, and roundabout means to signal all the things that erotica can express without limitation.
Is erotica literature? Not always. But it can be if done with elegance and care. Exactly like sex can be connection and intimacy, even though it is rendered in flesh and bone and a messy adventure. People will smirk at erotica, as if some people don’t watch “Dancing With the Stars” for inspiration, or watch steamy movies without realizing it is running along the same rail as erotica.
Imagination powers a lot of sexual expression. Just a fantasy does.
Because people don’t think about it comfortably, they can’t distinguish the subtle differences between fantasy and real-life expressions. They conflate a person’s fantasy life with their actual motivations.
As the long, dry spells of no sexual expression occur, I turn to erotica. I never thought I would be in a position to experience a life with such absences. However, as everyone knows, many relationships are more akin to roommate scenarios than to committed, loving, and intimate connections. I prefer erotica, whereas most people, it seems, turn to porn. Instead of reading what others have written, I prefer to compose it myself. To imagine people and scenarios. But all of them have the common theme of sexuality expressed as mutual satisfaction and selfless fulfillment. Don’t get me wrong. Sexual expression is amazing. But will anyone argue with the fact that it’s immeasurably better when you have someone who loves you and trusts you?
Perhaps erotica is old school in an era of so much technology. However, it’s about imagination, and very few things can trump someone who has a fantastic imagination.
It is fascinating to watch people as they live their lives and wrestle with the hidden fact of their sexuality. We don’t know what people think in the privacy of their minds. What turns them on. But we do know that sexuality ruins a lot of people and a lot of relationships. Especially when it’s absent or used in a way it’s not supposed to be. A big part of that is because sexual discussion is very taboo except in very limited circumstances.
What makes it worse is that the very people most likely to criticize or shame others are also the ones who are most likely to be secretly consuming all manner of explicit content.
It shouldn’t be the outliers trying to guilt us or shame us. We’re all created and hardwired with the drive for sexual expression. Most of us, anyway. And there is an entire spectrum of differing sexual expression and need.
A good, satisfying life is about striking a balance in all things. Sex is just one of those things. On the other hand, I often think of one of my favorite lyrics, “I didn’t buy the house for the kitchen, but try living there without one.” If one thing is out of balance, it creeps into everything. Modern society constantly reminds me that people will lose all reason in their search for what they think is missing. It is also the cousin of alcoholism and addiction.
I don’t like the idea of objectifying people. That’s one main difference between erotica and other means. It’s entirely imagination. And the kind I like requires people who are excited to experience another person, trying to find the right mix of pleasure and living life with someone who wants the same.
Because I’m out and about at the weirdest times, I often notice patterns, even when I’ oblivious to them for a long time. It’s hard to define what looks off or weird, but once you recognize it, you pay attention, even if only in passing.
And that’s where the unavoidable urge for shenanigans started.
I mentioned the specifics to a friend, which was an error on my part. Because once I vocalized my idea, it became an imperative.
I’d noticed that people were acting suspiciously. I don’t mean the “they voted conservative” type of suspicious. Walking in zigzags, looking around way too much, and reaching on top of places that normally aren’t touched. (Unless you are a pigeon.)
It took me two times to realize that what they were retrieving was something another person was leaving in the agreed upon place. Which lead me to the conclusion that whoever was leaving the item had a line-of-sight to the spot. I’m sure they were watching from one of the apartments on either side. Since the trees have been removed in that area, visibility is much better for nefarious activity. And bird watching. I had my doubts about the bird watching.
Which meant I had to be careful. Or go in disguise. It’s not like I could drive up in my inconspicuous bright blue little car, jump out wearing my cape, and startle the participants. I thought about putting on my squirrel mask and magic cloak to avoid being identified. Instead, I put on my weird winter hat and a mask, walked calmly up to the spot, and left several notes in the place in question. I’m sure having a winter hat on in the pre-dawn heat didn’t look the least bit suspicious. After all, I’ve seen people walking the street wearing their bed blankets.
I didn’t stick around to see what happened. Not just because I had to get to work, but because while I can run fast and creatively, I’d rather not try to outrun objects traveling at high velocity.
I’ll take bets that a couple of people made some strange faces when they found the notes I left.
I was a little vague in this post – and for obvious reasons.
Even though I’ve been a little too much in my head, this shenanigan made it much better.
I’ll include pictures of the some of the notes I left for the people who need to be less obvious in their attempts to break into dubious capitalism. You have to D.A.R.E. to make a profit, after all.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 