Coming from a family that worked for Eastern Airlines and kept maps around the house, Trips with family and friends have been some of the best experiences in my life. But what about traveling on my own? Am I’m missing out by going places without others around? No, not really. Continue reading “The Introvert Traveling Alone”
Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past.
—George Orwell, 1984
Any quotation from 1984 usually implies that the author is about to write something sinister or dystopian. Today, I’m going to turn that notion on its side a bit, consider the wisdom of Orwell’s “Big Brother,” and discuss how it relates to how people think about their past, present, and future. Continue reading “Curating Your Own Past”
Okay, great. I’ve shared the fact that I’ve been in a funk. And yesterday I took the time to share how I’ve attempted to cope with it after waiting for it to go away didn’t work. But have I learned anything? Made any progress? That’s today’s entry. Continue reading “How One Geek Sorts Out His Mind II”
I’ve been reading a lot about “toxic masculinity” on the Twitterverse and elsewhere, and I suppose enough comments got under my skin to post something here. The goal is not to flame anyone, denounce anyone, or otherwise have an unseemly flash of temper. I merely wish to share the thoughts of a nearly-50-year-old guy who grew up in a household run by a single mother and more or less taught himself how to be a man. Continue reading “Masculinity, Non-Toxic or Otherwise”
Today’s writing prompt is on the nonfiction side: Describe your morning routine using the most eccentric words and phrases that come to mind. Hoo boy. You asked for it, you got it, pal. Continue reading “Writing Experiment: A Lofty Beginning”
It starts placidly enough:
A couple ice crystals of thought
bumping into each other like
inconveniently colliding as they make their way
purposefully through the universe.
The collisions create energy, though.
The atoms collide with others,
inconveniencing their fellows
up and down the cloud.
The ice itself grows thicker,
billowing into a floating, bloated mountain,
feeding on the heat and energy below.
The collisions keep coming,
bringing the moving mass out of balance
with the rest of the world.
Abruptly the atoms achieve critical mass,
crackling with an energy all their own.
No force can stop it,
no logic will deny it;
the wavering electrons must go somewhere.
In a moment, they discharge their fury,
unleashing their destructive force
on the nearest, most prominent target.
With the speed of light
and the righteous power of the gods,
they smite their target, blasting through water, air,
The place where the atoms strike is charred,
a smoldering, blackened ruin
where once there had been innocent peace.
The storm passes,
the atoms of thought no longer colliding or inconvenienced.
But the damage has been done.
An ashen hole in the ground marks the thunderbolt’s passage,
eventually to be covered by forgetful grass and weather and time.
But the damage has been done.
Still fluffy on the outside. Plush.
Still bumpy on the inside. Mush.
I don’t pretend to know how to fix
the mess inside.
My only weapons or tools or saviors
are work and peace and writing and time.
Work for distraction.
Peace outside to emulate inside.
Writing to get the gunk out where I can see it,
push it around into smaller, grimy piles and sort it out.
Time to heal and rest and forget.
Maybe, eventually, time to make some slight repairs
to the messes I’ve made, the things & people
But I can’t repair others
until I can heal myself.
And the much-too-tender soul
underneath the exterior crust
needs time, as much as the world can spare.
I have a lot to learn about how to heal
and be kind to all, even myself.
Still so much to learn.