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Facing unforeseen adversity often generates FEAR whenever unknown forces energize.

“Simple–almost comic,” as F Murray Abraham as Salieri said of the beginning of a Mozart piece in AMADEUS. So that’s where Fear comes from. But how do we make it go away? For Fear DOES interfere–with endeavor, with romance, with peace of mind.

There is a Vonnegut book called GALAPAGOS which imagines the next million years of human evolution beginning with a handful of survivors of a disaster that wiped out the rest of the human race. Their heads become more streamlined, that they may swim faster and catch the fish they need to survive; their brains become smaller and less capable of deceit and other problems “great big brains” create.

I have a strong feeling that Stephen Baxter, author of MANIFOLD: ORIGIN, has read GALAPAGOS and was influenced or inspired by it. In M:O different offshoots of hominids such as Homines Erectus, Australopithecus and Neandertalis are stranded on an outsized red-dusted, atmosphered moon, which has suddenly appeared in Luna’s place. Onto this moon Emma Stoney, lover/hater of Reid Malenfant, has fallen, due to Malenfant’s foolhardy go-fevered impulse . . .

Sorry about that. Off-track digression. Please read the book if you want an ingenious answer to Fermi’s Paradox, which may  be oversimply stated as “If there are other intelligences than our own, why haven’t they been here already?” The M:O connection with Vonnegut has to do with Baxter’s imaginings of the different ways different intelligences could evolve in different species. The most intelligent of his lot, his Homo Superior folks, look a lot like gorillas, and walk on their knuckles as well as their feet. They are so intelligent that they move vast distances by mentally manipulating space.

Each intelligence has its upside and downside. Neandertals are unhampered by mythology. H. Superior with its short lifetime and limited resources tend to wring every atom’s worth out of their “farms” rather than go spacefaring. H. Sapiens make great intuitive leaps, but we also lie and steal and such.

Back to Fear: Emma Stoney is called upon to think like a Neandertal in order to breach a barrier. She learns of their fatalism, their involvement in the moment, and their lack of sentimentality for tools and other possessions. While making tools in the Neandertal fashion Emma suddenly finds herself becoming the tool she’s making, and in that moment her connection with the Neandertal is made.

Fear, I think, is a lack of connection with that which we fear. Afraid to show your feelings to a potential Special Someone? Learn about that person and what welcome your feelings would get. (Do not stalk, though.) Afraid to go off the High Dive into a washtub full of piranha? Find something better to do. 🙂

We are so much Creatures of Habit that it never occurs to us to say “organisms of habit” or “beings of habit.” We latch onto phrases that sound good and soon they become comforting cliches.

And we like our entertainment to be predictable as well. The well-wrought movie IN THE HEART OF THE SEA got a lousy Tomatometer rating, I think, because the story didn’t cleave to cinematic cliche of intro/rising action/crisis/payoff. So critics and other audience members couldn’t fit its square pegs into their round holes.

Episodic continuity is not only in our TV shows and comic books, it is in our daily/weekly/holiday life. When you get up and have your morning coffee, it is part of a pattern that, disrupted, adds to your stress.

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Entertaining shopping sprees
Picaresqueness with a breeze
If the sins of Prez or Rev
Slump, then check out Campbell, Neve
Or explore a tomb well hidden
Don’t heed curses–Carter didn’t
Each and every means employ
Effortlessly to enjoy

Word balloon 1: Egad, Elmer! Ecclesiastical Encyclicals! Enjoy!

Word balloon 2: Pablo, please palpate Pam’s peritoneum.

Word balloon 3: I ignite ingots, Ignatz.

Word balloon 4: Savoring salads sows salubrity.

Word balloon 5: Oh, Oliver, our Oleander!

Word balloon 6: Dear Diedre, Dastardly Dick’s dead.

Word balloon 7: Egad, Elmer–ecdysiasts!

 

Some time ago I wrote “the man in the shower is dying.” While I was taking a shower this afternoon, I thought of more to say, including a punchline that makes any further “man in the shower” sequels unnecessary . . .

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the man in the shower returns

the man in the shower returns to his musing/obsession with dying and willful confusing;/he thinks as he’d done on that long-ago day/of the final release from the vertical fray.

then comes odd contentment, erasure of glower/as the spray hits his head in a shower sub-shower/and he pushes the knob, puts the soap on the shelf/–thinks “at least when I’m dead I’ll get over myself.”

aboveliness/belowliness

to damn or bless?
aboveliness
death from above
look out below
there’s hell to pay
the heavens know
belowliness
is not our lot
unless we live
neath whip or plot

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False duality plagues our thinking. Up is good, down is bad, right?  (Not if you’re in a hurricane . . .) To think of a sunset, a woman, or cesspit as pretty or ugly is to ignore most or all of the reality involved.

And we’re stuck with the notion that Above and Heaven, and Below and Hell,  are intertwined. If our distant ancestors had evolved underground, it might have been a different story, though not necessarily more correlative with big-picture reality.

If we manage to survive, and we resume our spacefaring ways in suitably expansive fashion, those who follow us will be more capable of shedding false duality. Zero-gee lends itself to a superior world-view to “this is Up and this is Down.” And, free of Earth’s false ceiling of sky, the three-dimensionality of our cosmos becomes evident.

Wish I were up there–oops. Wish I were OUT there . . .

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Last night was Caffeine Corridor, for which I took a day off work. (My friend and co-worker MaryBell filled in for me.) The acrostic came while I was on the light rail going to the event; the poem came this morning.

Solving insomnia and equations too
A equals B and calm minus care sleep
Pills dissolve and become fluid octopi
Intelligent enough to add cortical goo
Even as the patient snores on the lanai
Neurons seek new paths to alter mood
Then Morpheus sees that non-hope dies

Are smart pills in the future? Of course they are. Let’s hope they aren’t bitter, or rebellious . . .

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When you’re a kid you may get a wart or two. (Your wartage may vary.) But when your skin passes its Sell By date, you get the epithelial equivalent of weeds–little outgrowths that are sometimes like browned marshmallows, sometimes like itty-bitty punching bags, but always disconcerting.

I have one near my left armpit that is crusty-white on top (perhaps due to callusing; I fervently hope it is that, and not something more dire) and getting-a-sunburn-pink at the root. If you’re squeamish, read and look no further–a photograph follows.

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Skin tags may be removed with nail scissors. I’ve done it exactly once in my tag-growing career. The pain is minimal, about the same as the pinchy stab you get when donating blood, but the odd like-cutting-cardboard textured sensation gave me the heebie-jeebies, and I’m going to let a professional do it next time I see one.

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Today is Kate’s birthday. We did early birthday stuff two days ago because I’m working today. “I come bearing gifts,” I said as I came through her door, “CHEAP gifts.” She said cheap gifts were fine. (She knows I am of necessity practicing Shoestring Economics.) I gave her two solid-milk-chocolate bunnies, remaindered by the Family Dollar after Easter, and I gave her a wishbone I’d salvaged from a whole-chicken purchase at Safeway. Solemnly I advised her not to impulse-wish, but to think about her wish till her birthday, and then to grasp the wishbone in both of her hands and pull it apart. But before we left for Tokyo Express, I rested the wishbone on my forehead and willed all the wish-power I possess into the wishbone. (That’s a lot of hooey, right? But are you SURE? If you’re saying things like “that’s not the way it works” or “you’re not allowed to grab both ends of the wishbone,” then YOU must think there is some power to this thing. As do I.)

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So we went to Tokyo Express, and it hit the spot for both of us–we felt like Harold and Kumar at White Castle. And we went to Samurai Comics, where Kate purchased the magnificent graphic novel KINGDOM COME–and then gave it to me on indefinite loan, because she knew how badly I wanted to read it and savor the magnificent Alex Ross paintings it contains.

And then we went to the Movies. We saw WHISKEY TANGO FOXTROT with Tina Fey as Kim Baker, embedded reporter in Kabul, Afghanistan. “Well,” said Kate when I asked her what she thought of the movie afterward, “I didn’t dislike it.”

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To My Daughter, With Whom I Am Well Pleased

Happy Birthday, Sweetums.

Your great-grandfather once said, “This is my Grandson, in whom I am well pleased.”

Glad to extend the tradition, because it’s so true
In the case of You.

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Though Nozzles, even in the senescent, are capable of dispensing two kinds of fluids, Gasoline and Diesel Fuel, our remarks will be confined to the dispensation of Gasoline.

Over decades, the hydraulic force involved in the dispensation of Gasoline tends to diminish. Where once there was fire-hose pressure allowing the flow of Gasoline to fill a tank quickly, there is now a variable somewhat dependent on the Gasoline supply but never of the power of yore. At its worst performance the  Nozzle yields its fill with great reluctance, sometimes requiring up to a minute or so even to begin. At the same time, the configuration of the nozzle tip has been altered through extended use and misuse to preclude an even, laminar flow. Indeed, the turbidity of the escaping Gasoline often results in what can only be described as semi-spray. This often results in the dispensing area, if not the Owner himself, smelling faintly, or not so faintly, of Gasoline.

Prevention of this nonhygienic outcome may be achieved in several ways. A funnel may be employed; the Nozzle may be brought closer to the tank via leaning or squatting; or the Owner may dispense his Gasoline in the back yard, if he has one.

The topic of Leakage, while of paramount importance, is beyond the scope of this discussion.