Wednesday, July 23, 2008
There is something wrong with the way I think
My problem isn't severe, or unique, or dangerous, or even particularly compelling, but it is mine and occasionally, it is fodder for random contemplation. I read an excerpt from the forthcoming book Night of the Gun in the New York Times Magazine. The book is an autobiographical tale from one of the Times' staff writers, David Carr. Mr. Carr is the father of three daughters, two of which are fraternal twins, a cancer survivor, and a sober drug addict. He is also a confessed abuser of women, recurring felon, former crack dealer, and self-described "fat thug". According to the excerpt, which I would highly recommend you read, the only reason he won custody of his twin girls was their mother's inability to beat her crack cocaine addiction, an addiction he played a major role in catalyzing. The excerpt and the information at the book's website (see link above) are compelling reads. There are even several videos available to add depth and texture to the promotional excerpt.
I like Mr. Carr's style. He recognizes that his story is just one more 'junky makes good' narrative, making sure to temper the 'terrible drug addict metamorphoses into wonderful dad and (eventually) husband' story with the cold reality of his life and behavior as an addict. And here is where the problem in my thinking comes to the surface. This is a feel good story, or at least it should be. At the very least, it should inspire the reader to believe in the power of redemption. But these kinds of stories are so common that they bore me to the point of feeling discouraged. It seems that the world is being taken over by recovered assholes and repentant scumbags, while decent, honest, genuine people become progressively more rare. Even though I am one of the faithful adherents to the idea that redemption is a real and even necessary thing, I feel insulted by the idea that a scoundrel who eventually embraces decency after a life spent running rampant will ever be the equal of a continually decent and honest human being. The recovered addict or repentant abuser will always have those psychological elements brewing and stirring in the recesses of their mind. They will always be compromised.
Yet, we make heroes out of the repentant and marginalize those who live their lives according to genuine values. All the cool kids dabble in sex and drugs and delinquency. To be exciting and interesting and edgy is to be selfish, dishonest, and caustic. We make heroes, martyrs, and demigods of drug addicts, even as we routinely send the message to what is left of America's decent population that they are outdated, irrelevant, and substandard. Music that glorifies drug dealing, drug taking, misogyny, and hedonism sells millions, while anything positive or intelligent is lucky to go gold. Interestingly, we still enjoy watching "the good guys" win on screen, as evidenced by The Dark Knight beating Spider-Man 3's single weekend box office records this past weekend, but I suppose such instances are best considered exceptions to the general rule.
And I am in no way innocent in all of this. For the better part of my youth, I was so disgusted with humanity that I gravitated toward just the kind of music and movies and literature I am questioning in this post. It wasn't so long ago that Slipknot released a song titled "People=Shit" and I found myself inclined to agree. But maybe that is closer to the crux of the matter, this thing that is wrong with my thinking, and why I am unable to be inspired by the triumphs of former drug addicts, criminals, and degenerates. My psychology is such that I seek out the flaws in nearly every thing and every person I encounter, myself not excluded. Even as I try my best to contribute something useful to this world during my time on it, I continually chronicle the woes of this world as an amplification of my own failings, grinding my teeth and spitting out any faith in the process. I cannot help but grow frustrated with a society that describes the reborn scumbag as a triumph of the human spirit, while taking for granted the quiet, humble, decent people that are truly the foundation for any hope we might have of truly knowing collective greatness.
Hero worship and the cult of personality are the byproduct of generalized simple-mindedness, which contributes to the larger dynamic of canonization that people seem so infatuated with. The weak-willed, abusive drug addict with a penchant for womanizing and narcissism is a god because he can write a powerful song, but the honest, small business owner with a spouse and two children in suburbia is irrelevant because all he or she does is the right thing. Run an upstanding business, remain faithful to your loved ones, and keep the greater good in mind as you walk through your days, and you begin to lose touch with the cutting edge of cool. Such a scenario is the definition of stupidity! Thinking this way is a roaring indication of deficient intelligence. How dumb have we become that the honest and forthright amongst us are seen as uninspiring and generally useless? We are a country in love with human clusterfucks, and by engaging actively in this love affair, we are progressively becoming a society of clusterfucks…and so what is left of my mind goes, and goes, and goes.
Labels: life or the lack thereof
Friday, July 11, 2008
This old man
This Old Man
Take this old man's mind away,
Far, far away from present days.
One hundred years, ten thousand miles,
up and out to places alive with peace,
where sun-speckled lanes whisper
gently into the ear of giggling streams;
reminders of the promise in patience,
the sacred nature of innocence.
Once again to befriend the waves.
Fingers and toes tickled by sand
transformed to mighty castles,
cylindrical towers and conical parapets
tenderly eroded by the nudge of wind and water.
Each castle a monument to unfiltered eyes,
every laugh a jovial confession of faith -
belief in the sanctity of smiles and tan lines.
Take this old man's mind away,
this will and work and weariness undone
so All is wisdom's grin and radiance -
unfettered, unapologetic, unrestrained.
Free to bask in unencumbered sunshine,
or doze the afternoon's expanse
while shadows stretch into twilight,
troubled no more, sleeping well.
No more fear for the moon and stars,
their companionship a welcome visitation
as time races around and through
Aging skin held hand-in-hand
with the wide-eyed child at his heart.
Mystified and mesmerized by the world
Now as ever, this when and where so strange,
eyes still reaching toward the next horizon.
Labels: life or the lack thereof
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Sketches
Finally got around to doing some character sketches. I think I have the look of my main character and her sister done, and I'm close on a couple of other central personalities. Nothing much to say at this point, but I wanted to provide proof that I have been at least working on this thing. Photoshop does a shit job saving images as PNGs, so they look washed out and devoid of details. Will try to fix that in subsequent updates.
Labels: art?
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
The Sacred
So I'm working on character design, plot lines, and image style for this graphic novel "thing". At the moment, I am moving forward without even so much as having conjured up a working title, so for the time being, let's call it The Project. I capitalize because capital letters infer importance and formality. Who says no one learns anything in high school?
My hope is that The Project will develop into something very different from anything I have done before. A friend of mine agreed to let me use some details from a story (the mystery story) she shared with me, which is a very good thing, as I have the foundation for an imaginary space in which to play and explore. I'm not JK Rowling, but I do have an active imagination, and I am going to do my best to let it run wild with possibilities. With any luck, this will be the most interesting work I've done to date. If all else fails, it should be enough to get me a Bachelor's degree. The drawing from a couple posts ago? It's still in a state of pause, but I hope to get back to it shortly.
So that's about it for The Project, but not it for this post. My mind has once again landed on the idea of "the sacred" and its value in modern times. I think I have posted a lengthy diatribe on this before. In fact, I'm sure that I must have. One of these days I'll use the search function Blogger provides, but not to day. So I was thinking about my little kid version of "the sacred". These things I hold sacred, that many other people hold sacred, are constructed of the fascinations and preoccupations of my youth. I suppose this idea of what is sacred serves as one more string I tie around my fingers in hopes of not forgetting what it was like to be young, to be innocent, to be free-minded. Too many people surrender up those things, or are stripped of them by life, for me to let them go without a fight.
How important in our lives are the things we hold sacred? How do they change and metamorphose as we grow older? Important questions, in my mind. I know a girl who has floated in and out of my immediate awareness for something near 4 years now. She's a gorgeous girl, fun to be around, gainfully employed, and numerous other positive, attractive descriptors, but she was also once promiscuous and cold and the complete opposite of what I would find attractive. She is an interesting question mark I am led to examine once in a while.
Should something like sex be sacred? I have a feeling that opinions would vary greatly. Ask 100 people, you might get 100 different answers. I believe it should be, but not everyone can or will share that belief. Is it possible for people with opinions in polar opposition to one another on such a key issue to build anything resembling a relationship? A couple of years ago, I would have said no as surely as the sun will rise in the East. I had a fervor powering the opinion that left no room for compromise. Now, I think my thinking is more in line with the idea that it shouldn't, and probably wouldn't, but that the failure need not be an integrally bad thing. Failure is a significant part of every life, particularly where relationships are concerned. Most relationships fail, sometimes miserably, and on occasion, tragically.
A friend of mine from the Visual Arts program recently saw his marriage obliterated by his wife's affair. They had been married 10 years. Everything about this particular art friend tells me that he is not one to philander, but she apparently was. Rather than leave, she took on a sexual partner outside the marriage. He was crushed, is crushed, but I got the feeling that he would persevere. I haven't ever been married, haven't ever been close, so I have only the most limited concept of what he must be going through. But I cannot help but wonder what she held sacred. What does she value? Him? Their marriage? Her word? Her honor? Her integrity? What does she put in a position of worth that transcends all other things? Could it be experiences as base as excitement and attention and gratification? What is a promise worth today?
I don't know and have been trying harder lately to let not knowing bother me. I am trying very hard to accept that most people, and in my case women in particular, are question marks, billions of question marks. Where I might have once lamented all those looming questions, I feel more content to not have any answers. Maybe I have learned some lessons on this journey through the physical world, or maybe I am just getting old, but the further I go, the more I am certain of my sacred, and the less I am bothered by the uncertainty of those seemingly limitless questions. The frustration that once scorched my thoughts on the subject now only flares up occasionally.
I am 31 going on 12, with the dreams of a 10 year old and the temperament of a crotchety centenarian. I have my sacred, and not much else, but in the end, I have a feeling that sacred will have been more than enough. It will have to be, as it should be.
Labels: life or the lack thereof