Aloha Means Goodbye

First, the thanks: Thanks to those who read, and especially those who wrote comments, comments deserving, probably, of replies that I won’t offer. Thanks to the rest of the participants in Holidailies, and its creators, and its current sustainers. Thanks for reminding me to dust off the fountain pen and inscribe a few diphthongs on the virtual palimpsest. Or whatever.

Second, my apologies: For being inconsistent, inconstant, inconsiderate. For going nowhere in the most roundabout way possible. For not taking the project seriously, but occasionally being too solemn, for being too artificial and not candid enough, for treating the entries as exercises and not as opportunities. My apologies for not writing “A Red Death Christmas”, and, consequently, not posting it. My apologies for the pastiche and the pretentiousness and the parody which is the hallmark of my writing.

Third, the finger: To WordPress, for making the mechanics of this exercise such an ordeal.

Fourth, Goodbye: See you on the poop deck.

Case Closed

It’s all evidence. There is dust on the tabletop, there are fingerprints on the glass; every word that was said was recorded by unseen witnesses and can be recounted to testify. Against. You. There are traces of those steps you took, steps in shoes, steps barefoot, steps in stalking feet, the twelve steps, the thirty-nine steps, the Odessa steps, dance steps, serious steps, sinister steps. The ultraviolent light reveals them all.

You were followed, by a host of recording angels, in plain brown wrappers, and they stood under the lamppost while you went inside, writing it all down. When you went in, when you came out, the light that came on in the third-story window, the crazy shadows that fell against the window shade, and what they reveal. (Who knows? We all know!)

Chemistry can reveal a lot, too. The stains may be invisible but they speak volumes. Not to mention your browsing history, your marital history, your job history, and your academic history. Clear cache? Sorry, dude; that wave broke. Don’t surf if you’re not ready to wipe out.

There are psychologists ready to testify. Not just ready, eager. They can prove that everything you haven’t done proves that you suffer from a personality disorder, a crime spree waiting to happen, and that everyone who doesn’t remember the vile things the evidence implies, well, the very fact that they don’t remember proves something even worse must have happened.

So why waste everyone’s time? We’re all happier when we finally admit what everyone wants to hear. After all, just look at that dust.

Plus (Six)

Six hours into the new year, and nothing has changed yet. It’s dark out; that’s the first thing I’d like to change. First resolution: make the days longer. It can’t take that much will power to stretch the daylight by, say, thirty seconds or a minute every day. Then all it takes is steady application, and by October, it’ll be daylight maybe twenty hours a day.

I made coffee. whole bean so I had to find a grinder with my eyes closed. Disaster averted. I had a series of unpleasant dreams last night but they are all slipping away. Lisa? I’ll text her. I shouldn’t bother trying to write first thing in the morning. The keyboard is a menace.

I think I’ll try to get to work by eight, not that there will be much to do. The coffee was a little weak, I can have coffee there, but I probably drink enough of it at home.

Half past six and it’s no less dark out than before. I should really do something about that.

(Minus) Six

It is about five after six; and in another six hours this year, 2011, will have ended for me. It will never come again. This is the commonplace time for looking back, over the year, and seeing what was in it that was notable, good, or (at least) memorable.

Where was I? Mostly in the same place; I can’t remember a significant trip. I have the same job as I had twelve months ago, and I’m no happier at it than I was, and not noticeably unhappier, either. A few people I knew went out of my life; Rose died, Joanna moved, Liz moved on. I don’t meet them on the deck any more, but the voyage has gone on much the same.

The best movie I saw: “One Wonderful Sunday”. The best novel I read: “The Scarlet Gang of Asukasa”. The best work of non-fiction: “The Enigma of Capital”. I didn’t watch any television, though I watched videos of old shows, some of which I enjoyed. I didn’t read any newspapers, though I read articles online and on my device. I didn’t go to the theatre, or any museums, or any concerts; though I played a mute role in an epiphany drama, and I looked at a lot of pictures, and made some. I didn’t go to the beach, though I did get my feet wet.

I spent time with Kelly, I spent time with Jen, and I like them both as much as I ever did. I spent a lot of time with some people I don’t like, as much as I ever did. I trust my instincts more than I used to, but I still don’t act on impulse. There is a prejudice in our society in favor of “action” from which I abstain.

The year is ticking away, and whatever you put into it, wherever you went, whatever you accomplished, whatever you said, whoever you did; it will all be gone tomorrow. It’s about half-past six; in another five hours and a half, this year will have ended for me.

Tic Tac Tech

There is so much new stuff that there is an industry of millions who do nothing but catalogue the new stuff. Similarly, there is an industry of millions who do nothing but compile end-of-year lists of things. In the spirit of economic progress (and who doesn’t want that?), I hereby present my list of the most notable inventions of 2011.

1. The Hot Shower. Not especially useful, I admit, but harmless enough, but a sensual delight that is almost unsurpassed, and surprisingly unencumbered by guilt. Consider: St. Thomas Aquinas, Genghis Khan, Rikyu, and Maimonides never had one. This one fact leads me to suspect they lived in vain. The two drawbacks to the hot shower are that you can’t stay in it all winter, and that you can’t read in there.

2. The Indoor Commode. Maybe I’m “plumb crazy”, but I’m wild about these plumbing innovations! Powered by water and gravity, it washes the cholera away and down to the poor part of town. Night soil may make for a pretty patch of aspidastras, but it’s unhealthy and stinky, and those frigid trips to the “Chic Sale” were downright disheartening. The Indoor Commode is equally inviting to the binge drinker and the midnight pisser, as it processes poop, pee and puke with equal comfort and savoir-faire. A new age has dawned and a millennium of constipation and spider-bites comes to an end. Pull up a “stool”, and take the Reader’s Digest with you!

3. Spectacles. Who doesn’t like looking at stuff? Nobody I know! So these convenient, fashionable accessories turn that Gaussian jumble of vague, threatening shapes and unnoticed hazards into a delightful panorama of, well, specific things you can (in time) recognize. anyone with a nose will love these; if you have no nose contacts may be a better bet. The main drawback to these: when you take them off you can’t see them any more, so they are easily lost, sat on, or stolen. Maybe not stolen.

4. Pneumatic Tires. Traveling in a wheeled conveyance has long been such a physical torment that spending time with your horrid relations at the end of the trip was a comparative delight. But the Pneumatic Tire makes a ride on our expanding network of substandard roads a joy in its own right. They don’t explode as often as you’d think, and there aren’t many inventions you can say that about! As for your relations, maybe they have an Indoor Commode; if so, pay it an extended visit.

5. Refrigeration. Cold beer, anyone? Frankly, I’m not sure what else this invention is good for, but isn’t that enough?

Laughter

I’m a very funny guy. Well, maybe not right this minute; don’t put me on the spot like that. But generally, I can make ’em laugh. And I can’t say I like it: after fifty or so years in this like, I am habitually able to make a joke out of most anything. Maybe not a joke: not all instances of humor are jokes, per se. (I can also make a tedious pedantic bit of nitpicking out of anything.) And I see others around me doing the same sort of thing, cutting up like they were characters on “The Ted Knight Show” or “Two Point Five Men”. Of course, I work at a church which is a gold mine for those in search of humorous material: cancer, mental illness, grief, doubt, death, all that good stuff. But, after all, I am starting to think, isn’t there a time and a place for sobriety? Can we please be serious for a moment? Then I think of the parable of the three pieces of rope. “I’m a frayed knot.”

O

Pretty runs cold after long rain dry moment sleep moment
After pretty rain cold moment under grand night stops day
Day night cold dry long moment love after love pretty
Stops runs dry day pretty night grand river sees moment
Love after love sees day after day runs long love
Long night long day long moment after love runs cold
Pretty day sees long night long day sees cold river
Love stops after long dry night moment grand under river
Winter runs under river grand long love runs stops pretty
Day night winter love river rain sees runs stops love.

Z

He came to save us. We didn’t recognize him. For the sake of his plan, he pretended to be something other than he was. He frightened the authorities, and they tried with increasing desperation to eliminate him. He won in the end.

That’s the summary of the career of Don Diego, alias the Fox, and with a few variations it’ll do for the careers of other saviors, too. In these stories the people is something of an undifferentated mass (on occasion, a passively rotting one), unable to make any significant effort on its own behalf. I imagine that, to run for president, you have to see yourself as a kind of Zorro. Likewise if you run for Anonymous. Or king. Or Christ.

I have nowhere else to go with this. But I’m thinking about it.

I

I am not an expert. I like my new shoes. I went out and bought Christmas cards today; a lot more than I intend to send. I saw Bill in the parking lot. I think I am about through with “social” media. I’ll finish “Treasure Island” in a day or two, and Jen never did bring me those books. I could call her; that’s no hardship. I saw Elvis Costello in concert many years ago; the Replacements opened the show. I had a nice nap this afternoon. I wonder whether anyone would even think of running a campaign based on the slogan “Unbought and Unbossed!” these days. I think maybe that should be everyone’s slogan. I’m defrosting the flounder. I don’t hate my job, but the people that work there… I’m not sure why Netflix is sending me three discs at a time now; suddenly they’ll stop and I’ll be disappointed. I remember that “Suddenly” is a pretty good picture, but I have no desire toever see it again. I could watch “The Apartment” every night. I suppose we all have days like that. I’m pretty sure that Steve Jobs’s genius was in making people happily confused about the distinction between toys and tools. I don’t give a shit about the “war on Christmas”. I’m probably late to the party on that, though. I do remember that the coolest people were always late to the party; if they showed up at all. I’m tired of the gratitude mafia. I look at the holidays through Veblen eyes. I had forgotten how cold your feet get in canvas shoes in the wintertime. I think I’ll stop now.

Status Seeking

Five years ago it was all over, but that’s not the kind of thing anyone notices at the time. I was miserable with a bad case of bronchitis, and it was dark and dreary and I was afraid to lie down and rest because I thought I would suffocate in my sleep. I got up every time, barely able to breathe, and I’d cough till I puked and go about my business.

I was looking for her that December, because she was clever and amusing, especially in Decembers past, but when she turned up, I was disappointed because she seemed to have lost her spark and energy, to have exhausted her creativity. In truth, she was just exhausted; the word came out, later, that she’d been sick, also with bronchitis. No energy for that spark; sick and tired effacing clever and amusing. She didn’t update. She missed her deadlines. She disappointed us. Me.

She died and I lived. I never met her, never spoke to her, barely crossed paths with her. I miss her.

Dateline: Somerset County
X’s Personal Eco-System Status
Date: 12/14/2011
Stress Level: Yellow with bursts into the Red
1-10: 7
Desire: Under control
Fuel: Whatever’s around…
Listening: Ramones
Clarity: More than most
Hair: N/A
Elsewhere: Staying away from there.
Text: Treasure Island
Needing: Fuel and clarity.
Beverage: Chocolate Stout.

all done!