You know, being cryptic is fun. Now, not many people are good at it any more. Sure, you can be vague…..which ALMOST the same thing, but not quite. Let me give you an example.

It’s a requirement of being a romantic to read this stuff into anything you can. Epic tales of passion and tragedy, deeds of heroism, and love overcoming impossible odds to conquer all. I don’t apply this to bugs however…for some reason it just doesn’t fit, and I don’t like bugs….anyway. It made me think of mourning, grief, whatever you like to call it. I’d liken it to the dog that sits and wastes away beside a dead master, or where he fell, waiting for someone who can’t to return. The dog doesn’t know this, all he knows is that someone he loved is gone, and this is where he was last, and he doesn’t know why he hasn’t come back. So he waits, and waits, and waits, for something to happen. When we grieve, it starts similar. Someone is gone that we miss, and we don’t know why they had to go. We want them back, so we leave that little empty space in our lives open, just in case. In our hearts perhaps, we know they are gone for good (or that they never left) but out minds are still reeling from shock and loss.

The widow leaves her husband’s chair empty, and sits by it reading, as they used to together. The widower leaves his wedding band on, even when he sleeps, now alone. The child asks questions that upset the adults: “Why are they gone? Where did they go? When are they coming back?”. Sometimes I think even the adults don’t know the answers right away. Most of us get over it, usually shortly. Some lingering melancholy might persist longer, and outright sadness when something reminds us sharply of the person we miss, perfectly natural. It’s when we get stuck in that mode, that the danger begins. The widow starts not just talking to her husband’s chair but cooking and placing meals in front of it, then saving the uneaten food in the freezer. The widower still hasn’t taken off his wedding band 5 years later, and insists he is married, but his wife is often away. Grief is similar to alcohol in my mind, you can handle it, and a lot of it, over and over, for a long time…but in the end it’ll catch up to you. We all quit in the end, aye? Mourn the dead, remember the dead, but honor them by continuing what they, and all the dead before them died doing: living.

Gloom plays it’s part, sure. I like the dark, but it can’t be night all the time, so cloudy is the next best thing. I like watching them move, the different shades, I imagine I’m out in the middle of the ocean, with nothing but roiling waves all around me. Lay down in a clearing on a cloudy day, and you can forget you’re on the ground looking up, and feel more like you’re in the sky looking down.

The rain though, brings out some interesting things in people. I was walking today, during a rain storm, and I saw a cop driving and texting. I wondered if it had anything to do with a feeling of being harder to see through the rain and gloom, or if he just didn’t care. I like watching the rain bead, pool, and run from anywhere and everywhere. If you watch the little streams running down the streets to the drains, you never know what you’ll see. I like to stand right over the storm drains, and look down, so everything’s a surprise. Little rocks, dead (or live) bugs and small animals, condoms (used and unused) pen caps, buttons, gloves, shoes, pocket knives, cassettes, the list goes on and on. Try it sometime, but you won’t see all of it in one go.

I like walking in the rain, and just after. I love the way it smells. For a few hours after a heavy rain, all the dirt, dust, pollen, and stink is washed out of the air. It smells fresh everywhere but the dirtiest parts of town (or anywhere near a plastics plant). You can see more clearly, the houses and cars look cleaner, even the people seem so. In some cases (a bum caught in the downpour) they literally are cleaner. Sometimes the things you can catch in the streams get stuck in the puddles left behind, and that’s an adventure all its own. You might even find a chunk of sidewalk that was never loose before.

Now storms, incorporate everything I like about cloudy weather and rain, and adds even more! This would be an easy sell for Anthony Sullivan. Wind, thunder, lightning, hail, and sometimes even frogs. Storms remind of something we as humans forget far too often: we are not in control. No matter how hard we try (implications of this for a future post) to order our environment, there are things we can plan for, but can never predict, or avoid, or stop. If you’ve never tempted fate by watching a storm roll in over a lake, I suggest you try it. Just remember, while lightning doesn’t usually strike people, it does usually kill them. The clouds boil, light flashes, bringing daylight back for a second at a time, thunder claps and rattles windows, wind howls blowing down trees and damaging properties. If it’s bad enough, the winds start to twist and move so fast they can drive 2×4′s through trees and embed grass in aluminum siding. Both wind and rain can destroy blocks, even whole cities.

The best part? There is nothing any one of us, or any number, or even all six-and-a-half billion of us can do to stop it. In fact…if we were all standing in a group, all the radiating body heat, might actually make it worse. Similar to a hurricane picking up strength over warm water. Nature is the only predator humankind has left, and we’d do well to let her do her job. If we ever DO manage to control the weather….I don’t even like to think about it.

It’s odd really, that many of these people are people I see every time I come to the cafe, but I don’t know any of them. Anyone I see here that I know, I met somewhere else. It’s a place to meet friends, or run into them, but not to make them. The first thing I did on arrival was search for an open seat with a power outlet, set up my laptop, and throw on my headphones (well, I did order my drink first). I’m kinda shy, sure, but there are times when I’m both sober and feeling sociable. If I were to walk to someone here, and attempt to start a conversation, I’d likely be coolly put up with until I went away. I was privy to a conversation once, that a duo of girls were going around introducing themselves to everyone. This really annoyed the person telling me this story. That someone dare presume to be friendly, as a stranger.

Now I’m personally acquainted with both of this “duo” in question, and they’re….obnoxious at best. So, that could be why they grate so easily on the people here, I think though it’s a deeper problem. I can understand the “excuse me, I’m with my friends” mentality, but why not later, if you see the person, say hello? Or as you’re leaving offer them a cheery wave (assuming you weren’t an ass when they talked to you)? Of course, there’s another side: the person who’s trying to be friendly. Friendly people aren’t exactly a dime a dozen anymore, and being a prick about their attempts to engage you, wont do anything for their disposition. If you’re not in a mood to be friendly, at least make it a point to use body language to your advantage. Don’t make eye contact, wear headphones, and if someone actually ignores all this and tries to talk to you, be polite about it.

I’d like to take a moment to appreciate the value of bullshit. Now, don’t mistake me, I’m not seeking to emulate that masterwork On Bullshit by Harry G. Frankfurt. No, I just happened to come to a realization today about just how amazing a thing it can be. I don’t know about anyone else, but generally when I’m given a topic for a paper, I really have to fish around for something. It’s always supposed to be something that you look back on in life, or an allegory of something that’s happened to you, and you’re expected to come up with a nice lesson you learned from whatever experience you decide to relate.

Now, the problem I have, is that I just don’t think that way. I haven’t had a lot of hard knocks, but I have learned a fair few things the hard way. Every lesson I’ve learned through experience, has been filed, and ceases to be an active topic. It is what we in the grammatical “know” call understood. To me it’s all sensory. I just recall what it felt like to be in the drunk tank, or what it felt like to be told “it was over”, and link that to my current experiences. I’m not considering what led up to it, or the details involved.

This paper I’m doing right now for instance. “Should be a memory narrative with a moral” and that is (I admit) a masterwork paraphrasing. The problem is, that my lessons in life are incorporated into my living, not filed for future reference. So, the invariable answer to this dilemma, is bullshit. I’ll think of something suitably dramatic, and squeeze out some lesson or moral like a the first few days of a high protein diet. In this case missing my sister’s graduation, after I promised to be there. I can say it so baldy only because we reconciled. So, I missed her graduation? Big fucking deal. It was important, but it had no lasting effect on our relationship.

So, I have this memory, something I’m making up as I go, coming up with this and that about promises, and suddenly…..I really do learn something. Something I hadn’t considered until I sat down to write the paper. It had never occurred to me. What began as pure, unadulterated bullshit, ended up teaching me something, I’d never have thought about if I hadn’t started this assignment with BS.

You always find what you’ve lost in the last place you look. Funny, no?

There is nothing I can imagine that scares me more, except perhaps death unloved. Then again, what difference is there? The most amazing thing about fear, is that telling people about it, tends to make you feel better. There are a few things I won’t mention here, them being too personal, but I would like to list a number of fears, if for no other reason than to get them off my chest.

I am afraid of God.

I am afraid of Hell.

I am afraid of dying.

I am afraid of being alone.

I am afraid of the dark (sometimes).

I am afraid of drinking,

I am afraid of not drinking.

I am afraid of help.

I am afraid of leaving my parent’s house.

I am afraid of ignorance.

I am afraid of making a stand.

I am afraid of admitting my faults.

I am afraid of speaking my mind.

I am afraid of admitting fear.

I am afraid of insects.

I am afraid of red meat.

I am afraid of strangers.

I am afraid of butterflies. (deserves specific mention)

I am afraid of car accidents.

I am afraid of transcending my fears. (not quite the same as admitting my fear).

I am afraid of flying.

I am afraid of sailing.

I am afraid of revolution.

I am afraid of complacency.

I am afraid of black holes.

I am afraid of asteroids.

I am afraid of AIDS.

I am afraid of being a father.

I am afraid of being disliked.

I am afraid of being adored.

I am afraid of change.

I am afraid of my habits.

I am afraid of large bodies of water.

I am afraid of heart disease.

I am afraid of cancer.

I am afraid of my parents dying.

I am afraid of not doing my parents proud.

I am afraid of being shot.

I am afraid of anger.

I am afraid of mistakes.

I am afraid of 2012.

I am afraid of things I don’t understand.

I am afraid of not understanding.

I am afraid of spending my life in a basement.

I am afraid of many things. I am not, perhaps, afraid to be afraid. I fear, but I do not, do naught, but fear.

You see a lot of eclectic in the SG. Mattresses, children’s toys, assorted trash and food wrappers, discarded decorations, and (usually) empty liquor bottles are just the standard fare. I’ve found everything from railroad spikes and roaches (not the bug) to School ID’s and pant’s nailed walls next to second story windows (wish I’d been at that party). Most of the stuff lying about yesterday was leftover from the Halloween bashes. Halloween is popular here, for some (such as myself) it’s about the holiday. Others enjoy the pageantry, it is after all a great excuse for the ladies to show themselves off, and for the Gents to oggle them without to much guilt or consequence. As Halloween fell on a Saturday this year, the SG was particularly enthusiastic, and one out of three houses were decorated lavishly, if cornily. Only a week after the festivities, many decorations were still up, but obviously neglected. It lead me to wonder, are the left up because people don’t want to let go of the holiday, or just out of laziness? I have my guess, but I’ll keep it to myself.

I crossed paths with remarkably few people in my several hour long walk, and I wondered, as I kept forgetting it was Sunday. Sometimes it’s nice to be on your own, but yesterday, it approached creepyness. I almost felt as if there were some reason I should be about on foot, and I was really taking my chances being out in the open. It may have been associated paranoia from how I was feeling that day to begin with, I don’t know. Much of the time, I could Imagine myself not having seen a person for days or weeks, wandering around peering into windows, looking for absent signs of life, though It hadn’t been long enough for it not to seem as if everywhere I looked, someone had just been there, and I barely missed them.

I recently picked up a book Promethean: The Created. Now, this book is not only a work of fiction, but a work of fiction designed for instructing people interested in the World of Darkness Pen and Paper RPG on the intricacies of playing and storytelling prometheans. Think of the Frankestein Monster. Dead flesh reanimated. Not undead, nor alive in the sense you or I are. These are the prometheans. Alive, but not mortal, souless, animated by divine fire. There are all sorts of complications given by this state of existence, along with the rather broad set of supernatural abilities. Reading though, has given me a lot to think about.

Fiction, though untrue, is not irrelevant to reality. There is much to be learned from fictional works. Commentary on the authors time, a lesson buried in the pages of your favorite Koonz Novel. Perhaps even a true account of events from an author’s life, that they are ashamed or afraid to recount firsthand, disguising it instead as a work of fancy. So, as I read about the fictional Promethans, read of their pains, their pale imitation of emotions, and their desperate struggle to become truly human, I think. I perhaps should not say I feel for them, as they do not exist, and that kind of talk provokes some people (particularly roleplayers (well, SOME, roleplayers) to nervous or agitated talk about the “Line” between roleplaying and reality. I do feel for them though, I pity them, I pity the idea of them. I do not need to be told they aren’t real, and that the entire idea is fanciful imagination. I would even submit that people who constantly remind others of this are afraid of losing themselves to fantasies they live a bit more strongly than they’d care to admit. However, another time I will discuss what I think about some of the Cheshire Cats. This is more about the idea of feeling.

How do we feel, how do we define it? Tactile sensation, tearing up at a funeral, even groping that little girl on the underground, can all be called feeling. I believe it is something most of us, including myself take for granted from time to time. The idea that we are capable of emotion and sensation is more a miracle than surviving a car crash or winning the lottery (though, two things many would pray for). I notice as well, that when we are not simply ignoring how amazing a thing “feeling” is, we are claim that we alone are capable of it. We are all experiencing the uttermost depths of despair, the most horrific realms of pain.

On the other side of the coin, we express only surprise that something happened to cause us to feel pleasure of some kind.

I’m casting my net wide purposefully here, as I know not everyone is guilty of this all the time, and a rare few never are. I however, and everyone I know are. It’s quite human (interesting thought in and of itself) and perfectly fine to be upset when things go badly or be surprised when they don’t. Some though take it a bit further, they latch onto the idea that not only are they feeling, but they ALONE feel. Others can, and do not understand the depths of their misery. I’ve yet to meet someone who’s been convinced they are the happiest anyone has ever been and no one else has a clue….but I think that’s more do to the circles I travel in, not because it’s never happened.

No matter how lonely, how miserable, how rejected or alienated we are feeling. Misunderstood, hard done by, slighted, or in pain, we are not the only ones. We also are not the only ones capable of understanding what these things feel like simply because we’re experiencing them at a given time. There are others (with a few exceptions of course) that have faced worse, and come out better for it. There are those who learned nothing from their experiences too, however. Those are I believe the most prone to the idea that they alone are possessed of the ability to fathom pain and suffering. There are certain things most of us, simply because we are people, just like the people around us will never know or understand. Alienation, disgust, rejection, true loneliness are things most people cannot feel. They are not alone, are not alien, are not disgusting, and have not been rejected by everyone.

It’s easy to forget these things when we’re at our best, let alone beset by the tortures of existence, and I do not say this facetiously. Existing is full of suffering and of joy, and it is sometimes hard to tell the difference. Not all tears are evil, and not all laughter good. Feeling the same things that all of feel does not make you special anymore than it marginalizes you. It simply reenforces one of the most amazing things about being able to feel: we can feel for each other. We would all do well to remember this. I had more to say about this, but in the writing I’ve become a bit emotional, and I think I couldn’t really articulate the rest of it. I am, simply feeling it. One of the other amazing things about feeling: it’s ability, to transcend our ability, to do anything but…feel.

In the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Ford Prefect (an alien stranded on earth for fifteen years) is puzzled by the human tendency to say things like “Oh, nice weather we’re having” or “We’re going to die aren’t we!?”. At first, he wonders if humans keep talking to keep their lips working. He later abandons this theory in favor of one less flattering, but much more accurate: If humans stop talking, their brains start working.

It’s funny because its true. Or maybe it’s just sad, but still very true. Most people will say anything to fill a silence, even to the point of telling complete strangers very personal things (not that being open with strangers in bad in and of itself). If you care to test this theory, just keep your mouth shut next time you’re out with someone. See what happens. If you would learn all the world’s secrets, simply remain silent. Some people will talk to you because the people they normally surround themselves with are too self-absorbed to even consider actually listening, and instead spend the time they aren’t talking thinking about what to say next, and so mistake your silence for being a “good listener”. Others will talk just to keep the silence at bay, and talk about anything from their own embarrassing infections to how many times they’ve had unprotected sex (sometimes related, true enough).

The best example I can think of, is the use of the sound “uhhh” to cover pauses in conversation. It is deeply rooted in people, man on the street, or eloquent professional (listen to NPR sometime, they don’t even bother to pronounce all their words correctly). I have (mostly) trained myself to simply fall silent when I have need to pause in conversing with someone, and often, this is either taken as their turn to start talking (wouldn’t want them to forget what they were thinking about when they should have been listening after all) or that I’m suffering some kind of fit (“are you alright?”).

I see similar behavior in everyone (I even catch myself at it sometimes) and I’m often thankful for a question my father taught me to ask myself: “Does it need to be said, does it need to be said now, and does it need to be said by me?”. The answer is nearly always no, to at least one part, and so, I remain silent. Being “brutally honest” is no excuse for lack of tact, and anyone who needs to tell you they’re being honest, isn’t. In much the same way someone who introduces themselves as a lesbian, or a republican, probably isn’t. People with confidence don’t need to advertise themselves.

Really though, silence is usually best, and great minds throughout the ages have said similar. Whether it’s Logan Pearsall Smith saying “Never tell your friends their social faults, they will cure the fault, and never forgive you” or George Carlin reminding us that “Not every ejaculation deserves a name” the message is the same: Keep it to yourself.