Today's morning meeting with the division of Finance and Planning had a circular theme.... The client population has grown by 18%.. physical plant (the grounds/heating needs/actually buildings and structures) have grown by %50 to over 200 acres while in the same time period staff increases to support this growing campus have remained the same.
What he didn't say was that salaries have not increased either. Oh well. ~~ I've been on a quest for meaning for the last 3 years. I've had snippets of it here and there mostly when I'm doing something to benefit my Karma, but I've realized that the meaning I'm searching for is achieved by doing and that the "doing", or rather what the doing is, is what matters most. You'd think I'd know this by now though.
You'd think I'd know that watching Spiderman 3 really isn't going to contribute to a greater sense of well-being, a greater view of the world, and sense of contribution. You'd think I'd know that
sitting down in the dirt with my kid, while he tries to see if he can splash a mud puddle over my head, would be the path to happiness.
But a meaningful life is not just about happiness. It's about a sort of mental adjustment we make to certain feelings of connectedness and purpose to the world around us. How connected are we to our fellow humans, how deeply do we bleed when they bleed. Does this universe care about whether we exist or not?
Most of us, are not connected to the universe in any way. Sadly very few of us are the butterflies that release the tsunamis. It doesn't have to be this way, no matter how much I frown on institutions that train for leadership, as if we could all be leaders?... I think that we all can have deep rooted places in the world, in the cosmos, in each others lives. Ultimately though, there's a difference between what I think and what is reality. So given that our currently reality dictates that so many are fodder for the debtors camp; do we bother to try and stem the tides of encroaching corporate citizenship. Do we bother to teach? To help others to know a different world than the one their parents helped to build?
These kinds of exercises can be really fun; they are meant to bridge the gap of time and space and examine the humanity of our worst moments or of critical turning points in the evolution of our social fabric. That fabric that now envelopes us in such a swaddling way. If we can imagine a different world, then others might be able to as well. Change happens...
Ask yourself: Would our world would be decidedly different. How so? and would we have been better off for it? Can we still get there from here? Examples:
What if the English decided to rent the land from the Native Americans instead of slaughtering them? What if the hinderburg never exploded? What if Al Gore won? What if Helen Keller was killed in her early childhood by a runaway horse carriage? What if the dinosaurs hadn't gone extinct? Would they have poisoned the oceans too? What if you paid more attention in science class? What if your mom asked your dad to wear a condom the night you were concieved? What if you decided to take the road less traveled?
What if.... blah blah blah... the point being there's a divergence between the past possibilities, side noting that there is the inevitable regret inherent in them, and the bridge between that past and our partially regretable present. It will always be a partially regretable present wont it? All the same, we don't all have to be sheeple even if we've been sheeple for the better part of our lives.
"Whatever comes our way, whatever raging battle is inside of us, we always have a choice. It's the choices that make us what we are and we can always choose to do the right thing." -Aunt May
We are surely all going to hell in a handbasket. Monsantos keep putting their corporate profits ahead of the global health. But that's old news, read more about it here: http://www.greenpeace.org/international/news/austria-bans-monsanto-maize250708 ... Really whats got me in a dander is the shortview that I'm faced. I got that BS... a 4 year degree that took 14 years. Now I've got to pay the man for all that time spent screwing off in the back of the class, erstwhile cavorting with the intellectuals pretending that what we were working towards was a better world.
That kind of work can't be done sitting down though, no matter how well connected we are. Making the world a better place involves conversations, a new generation that doesn't know the evils of the painted human, and a hoe. A good old fashion earth implement... The hoe.
Move some earth, mix it up, plant some seeds. We're so far away from our food production that we think it all comes prewrapped and finely mashed into exotic Supermarket flavors. I know I do. I sorely miss my protein folding ground beef.
Anyhoo, apparently my income isn't enough to get by either, with all the things I'm trying to do, all the pennies that have been pinched, all the grand schemes in motion, I simply don't make enough to pay the piper. That's what I was getting to earlier. I've got little mouths to feed. They don't understand it, an they shouldn't have too.
Eat up my puppets, it's going to be a hard winter. Have you prepaid your oil yet? Do you have a freezer stocked full? Did you ever get around to building the pantry with essential foodstuffs? How are the backyard chickens making out?
Milk is $4 a gallon. At the rate we drink it, that's $720 a year just for vitamin D Fortified white water. There's little ways to fix our everyday problems for sure, and fixing those little everyday problems are crucial to overall happiness. Happiness comes in those little moments and over time, not at the seat at the corporate trough... unfortunately though, that trough has actually given us great progress. Too bad it's only costing us our souls.
So I showed up here again for a second day. Forgive me while I re-find my writer's legs, while I find an audience, and a way of writing that's worth reading, topics of interest, all that jazz. Let's see if i'm here again tomorrow to keep up the bright and cheery reading topics .
You're going to want details of what I'm up to. I suppose. Rather, would you like a catatonic diatribe of circumstances about my mere life or the observations of an opulent mind?
I'd the latter too but sadly we're all stuck on this page for the moment eh?
Here's what I know. It's all coming down to the people. The people are being forced and painted upon. They're being melted into the molds of humanity; for humanity is lost. Again, as always. Unlike the chickens come home to roost, we're not going to turn this ship around.
We are legislating ourselves out of existence because we're living in such cramped quarters. Jimminy Crickets how do those 1319175332 Chinese get along anyhow? oh. that's right, an overlord communist government and by being the producers of all that we hold dear and true, plastic crap that is.... they hold us to be their stewards of future energies, of future wheaties. I can tell you this. Homesteading might slow the toxicity that spreads through us all but eventually we'll all succumb to the poison of culture. Free it up if you can. If you can't, time for us all to articulate it better.
Let's see if I can come back tomorrow and post something of substance eh?
First off... oh holy crapitude.. I've got lots to catch up on, I don't log in because I'm busy buying a second house, busy procreating, busy with homework, busy with work work trying to hire my boss. Go figure eh? I'll check around to all the peeps in a bit but I stumbled across this little ditty, it's short and worth reading. Chin up folks. :)
******* Groucho Marx writing, at least somewhat seriously, on the subject of comics:
"I am not sure how I got to be a comedian or a comic. ... I doubt if any comedian can honestly say why he is funny and why his neighbor is not.
"I believe all comedians arrive by trial and error. This was certainly true in the old days of vaudeville, and I'm sure it's true today. The average team would consist of a straight man and a comic. The straight man would sing, dance or possibly do both. And the comedian would steal a few jokes from the other acts and find a few in the newspapers and comic magazines. They would then proceed to play small-time vaudeville theaters, burlesque shows, night clubs and beer gardens. If the comic was inventive, he would gradually discard the stolen jokes and the ones that died and try out some of his own. In time, if he was any good, he would emerge from the routine character he had started with and evolve into a distinct personality of his own. This has been my experience and also that of my brothers, and I believe this has been true of most of the other comedians.
"My guess is that there aren't a hundred top-flight professional comedians, male and female, in the whole world. They are a much rarer and far more valuable commodity than all the gold and precious stones in the world. But because we are laughed at, I don't think people understand how essential we are to their sanity. If it weren't for the brief respite we give the world with our foolishness, the world would see mass suicide in numbers that compare favorably with the death rate of lemmings.
"I'm sure most of you have heard the story of the man who, desperately ill, goes to an analyst and tells the doctor that he has lost his desire to live and that he is seriously considering suicide. The doctor listens to this tale of melancholia and then tells the patient that what he needs is a good belly laugh. He advises the unhappy man to go to the circus that night and spend the evening laughing at Grock, the world's funniest clown. The doctor sums it up, 'After you have seen Grock, I am sure you will be much happier.' The patient rises to his feet, looks sadly at the doctor, turns and ambles to the door. As he starts to leave the doctor says, 'By the way, what is your name?' The man turns and regards the analyst with sorrowful eyes. 'I am Grock.' " --> --> --> --> --> --> --> -->*****
I'm looking to blog again... nothing serious, nothing... moving. Probably it'll be filled with trite inconsiderations of others, warm overtones subdued with childhood fancy, and a general disregard for grammer.
Any takers?
I don't like myspace per se... but they've got the right tools at hand to do the work. I could go with a professional blog but who wants to hear about computers all day. And what do I have to say anymore that isn't already being said by others. Others who can remember their sources and can stand their ground on their opinions.
What if it's all just for hedonistic pleasure... wait, I'm mumbling and rambling again. Lots of questions, all basically in the same circuitous pattern.... What if, Why... and so forth and so on.
So can anyone recommend a blog forum? I've got someone who pimps Livejournal pretty well, others I know about swear by blogger. Still yet others still use myspace, or even facebook. I'm looking for a true non-agenda collaborative thought space. Something that isn't trying to be "cool" but yet still has everything you need.
Anyone?
Currently
listening
:
Rehab
By
Amy Winehouse
Release date: 20 March, 2007
No, obviously i am. i haven't logged in in weeks. And my profile is private and my name says "Fred", go figure.
Maybe I'm not the person I was 2 years ago when I ventured into this online misrepresentation of life. Maybe I'm just too busy with two young children; 5 and 2... climbing, and tballing and doing that kind of thing.
Maybe it's 8 credits in six weeks, or being on the board.. or trying to make my life matter outside of a nicely decorated webpage.
Go read part of it please. Please. It's so easy to do nothing at all, it's so much harder yet to ask questions, it's even harder still to act and think. I know. I struggle with this too.
The presidential candidates come and speak where I work. But they don't care. It's all about spin, maintaining the power structure.
March people march... I would have thought that eminem would have made people move but we haven't seen the dead iraqi children on TV, so we sit still and hope our children don't catch ADD.
A while back, I sensed a change in the air. I'd hoped it was a good change, The angels are not watching over us anymore. i saw the last one leave on a solar-powered jet plane months ago...
thanatophobia: An abnormal and excessive fear of death. cacothanasia: A bad, harsh, or terrible death
Your mission is to try and include these words in everyday normal conversation... I am going to try it on my boss;
"Pat, I just can't come in to work today... I seemed to have contracted a case of thanatophobiawith a heightened proclivity forcacothanasia. "
Sadly, she's an effin english major so she'll look it up. But your challenge still stands my friends! Use it while ordering your morning coffee and donuts;
"GOD these fucking donuts are gonna cause me cacothansia!"
"I know this is terribly sophic of me but 97 cents is the proper change! ...[long pause] ...You don't want me to rain some cacothansia down on your ass do you? Well do you? Give me the right change damn it! Else you be sittin' 'ere sucking you' thumb all thanatophobic that you can't break a 20 and I got a can of whoopass waiting for you!"
Ah... myspace. What a wonderific place to be at 2 am.
" What do you want to be when you grow up?" I said to him as he stood there fidgeting. "huh?"
" Well, what do you want to be when you grow up? Do you want to be a musician? An athelete? A artist or painter. A doctor who saves the day?"
"..." "Well?, How about an orange or a pear?"
"grrr...." "are you going to be a lion or a monkey" "grrr...." "How about a Policeman or a Fireman?" "What about an Astronaut?" "..." ... ... silence ... ... " I want to be nothing, I am a boy...." a few moments pass then he says... "I want to be a human with a big fat head." He's 4 1/2 right now and is pretty wise for his age. I particularly find it funny when he uses the word 'human'. We'll be out, going into a restaurant and as we walk in the door he'll say "Look at all the humans daddy!"... The next time he says this I am determined to respond with "yes, I see them, you can look but don't touch, and no matter what you do, don't eat them. I think they have mad human disease."
"Just when you have things worth living for, the fabric of time begins to unravel with alarming speed..." -summerrae
"In the early 50's when I was in the early elementary school years we had bomb drills in school where we closed the blinds and got under our desks - I thought we closed the blinds so the bombers would think no one was there and hid under the desks in case they came in just to make sure no one was there." -Madriene
"I always used to think that there was a totally different world through the mirror. The reason why we couldn't get through was because the person the looks exactly like you on the other world does the exact same thing. Whenever you poked the mirror to get to the other world, the other person pokes it too, blocking you from getting through" -caraboo
"i always thought that a DEAD END sign was where they put all the road kill."
-pav
"I used to believe that I could be anything I wanted when I grew up. That's why I wanted to be an airport. My best friend wanted to be a firetruck." -BP
myspace is like sitting on a street corner sitting there forever and anyone can come look at you and see your most private thoughts written on the back of your shirt
are thoughts supposed to be private? what if you don't understand what someone thinks? what if you disagree with it? what if your misunderstanding looks like a plain white tshirt with no scribblings on it?
as we are all sitting on these street corners of Haight-Ashbury, we see each other as plain cows mooing daring not to speak AGAINST the man
because we've got little ones to feed and deep down inside there's a primal need to be part of a clan
But now that I've got a soap box? What do I say? What do you say?
It's not that I will become a president someday, it's not that I will be famous. I surely will never have to worry about papparazi.
but what if? I say against a member of a division of the armed forces? or our president?
or what if my most private thoughts are angry one day, and I lash out. at the moon, and a spoon and tell everyone how I threw the spoon at the moon.
and the next day, someone more deviant than me. finds the spoon, and is angrier than I st the plain white shirts. and uses the spoon to maim the mammal?
and at my inquistion, my blog entry about spoons and moons is paraded through the court room and my fingerprints are on the spoon
unlike the angrier monsters I did not wear gloves when I was distraught
then. my future is fraught and i should not have ever typed a private thought
in such a public place unless of course. the world is ready to help me wash my dirty laundry.
Family is; immortality all the little moments all the time, blowing bubbles, and frogs in pockets children and spontaneity emotional strength, thought beyond thoughts the secret story you carry to your grave the porch light burning through a fetid fog Family is the multi-legged table that life is played out on shopping for school clothes in august disappointments in D's, being bailed out of the drunk tank what you trust when your parachute doesn't open your first home, your final home Family is an artsy basement in a cauldron of craziness where hate and love spring eternal a stewardship of names, places, things the mantle laden with old wooden frames in the Kennedy's weathered beige house on south willow street Family is what happens when the dog is put down a mad puzzle with pieces missing, and a few that don't fit at all picnics on dry summer crabgrass blankets in front of a crackling winter fire Family is yahtzee on a Friday night grandpa in a large buried box skinned knees and t-ball dried rustling leaves in the fall baby coos and size 1 shoes leftover meatloaf on Tuesday, Thursday, and again as meatballs on Saturday
Family is frightful when you are young, Vengeful when you are grown Familiar when you are old is crazy super elmer's after cups rocked off the curio Family is a casserole And boisterous as holidays zip in, Drag on, and blow up Family is cookies, Burnt, uncooked, and chocolate chips at midnight With milk Family is stories about snow and people on the go a note in your lunchbox and lessons in pinning corsages a little overgrown garden with thorny roses and perfect petunias Family is what sits by you in the recovery room, reading last years "reader's digest"
SOLD OUT. the vending machine of my soul has no more little crinkly packets of colorful candy... All that is left is a packet of 4 year old asparagus and artichoke soup mix,
AND you're craving chocolate, and love, and whip cream on the terrace, with tealights, and nuzzling hair, younger days when a shower was all you needed to be presentable.
Now it's a phd, and a lack of MTV, botoxed armpits, charm, charisma, wit pennies in your pocket, dream houses skyrocket
sand gardens, high density housing. epoch of my days are young. hairloss, greying, the 30s have onset,... death is but a toehold above my furtherest flighty notion, just out of reach by my bloodied devotion to you
. 
busy
