I have moments inside myself, like crystals in a geode.
In the darkness enclosed by my skin, I contain precise matrices of different places, times of day, and certain turns of feeling (the emotional equivalent of turns of phrase). None of them are memories; rather, they are plans for the future. The basic elements are a specific kind of place, a particular time of day, and varying circumstances that engender an exact emotion paired with an essentially singular schema. They are all, to a one, open-ended dates with deja-vu.
One of the most long-lived moments is being alone in a dark room at night with a city outside my window, and feeling as though I were in a shell, nestling alone within multiplicity, gazing out across endless vistas while feeling extremely conscious of my corporeality. It's a cozy sense of isolation within dense population, of ownership of my own little corner to curl up in, of being able to observe the vibrant life of the outside world without being a part of it. Key to this sensation is a realization of the distance between me, the means of access, and everyone else.
I get this feeling every night in my new bedroom, which is the room furthest from the front door. As I prepare for bed, I shut the bedroom door, turn the light off, and open the blinds as far as they'll go, and drink in the light and the life and the night and the walls and the window and the ceiling and the floor and think I am here.
It's not something to which I readily admit, truthfully. It sounds odd and most likely will be perceived as though it were some sort of a psychological problem, the pleasure taken in utterly shutting myself off while still keeping an eye on everyone else.
The more I've thought about it since moving in last week, though, the more I realize that the crystalline futures I have hoarded within myself depend wholly upon an understanding of space. Vast spaces or close places, they nevertheless involve both a widening of my world and a constriction of my personal space to the area circumscribed by my feet.
I found a similar feeling the first time I took the Metro into the District. I only stopped at Union Station and Dupont Circle, but it was a feeling of liberation and also of myself among many. It happened again the second time, when I took it to the Mall and found myself at a loss for choice. Museums all around me. I wound up spending three hours strolling around the Museum of Natural History, in no hurry to get anywhere, knowing home was only two train rides away. It's a city. A world-class city. And it's mine to explore, to carve out niches, favorite places, that I can go to again and again and sort of snuggle myself into. It's a new home I can appropriate. Like taking the reins of a new horse and finding its rhythm, learning how to lean just here and just there to make it go just so.
Unfortunately, work prevents me from really settling into the city properly just yet. Fortunately, I have a four-day weekend coming up, an eleven-day holiday at the end of December, and another four-day weekend a couple weeks after that. It's almost as though I'm a parasite who just found a new host body, as sort of human-shaped Toxoplasma Gondii who is attempting to make a city more interested in the cat-urine of my comfort.
Or something. Either way, that moment which I've held inside myself for many years has now achieved its final actualization, so the move has become a sort of liberation in another, quite unexpected, sense.
It's gonna be a while longer. I got the job in Washington and am in the process of stressing myself out over the whole operation.
Once I'm actually up there and settled in and stuff, there may be a lot more coming up here, based on my wandering throughout the city. Museums and monuments and public transit and architecture are virtually guaranteed to foment some thought. Oh, plus the whole throbbing-center-of-declining-global-power thing.
In the meantime, my mind has slipped into a coma. I sleep (not well) and eat (not well) and work (not well) and get paid (not badly) and intend to pack. Intention to pack is an ongoing activity, I've found.
"If we look at the path, we do not see the sky." -- Native American saying
So today has been a good day, I guess. Morning at the bookstore, then a haircut (have I ever mentioned how wonderful it feels to get one of these? Ecstasy!), then Blockbuster to return some movies--and, unexpectedly, to buy Unbreakable. Evo's for a free steakburger with some fries and a shake--and the only good thing was the shake. I suspect their other offerings are considerably better and that, should I return, I would be well-served to deviate from my usual culinary milieu (such as it is). Ate the lunch at Coffee Pot Park with a lovely view of the water, then took the "scenic drive" along Coffee Pot Boulevard into Snell Isle, where I ogled the big, pretty houses there.
I have very specific tastes in large houses. First, I hate most of the new ones, mostly because they seem to be really into superfluous pillars, the majority of which are twisted like those scary lollipops you can get at Disney World. I hate those pillars. Second, I dig houses that make use of interesting textures--like a little round brick tower in the corner between the house and garage, or waves of plaster, or square timber frames in a manner reminiscent of Mitteleuropa. Third, Interesting Architectural Details, like spiky dormers, little balconies with porch chairs, or outdoor staircases. Fourth, unabashed ostentation, like this one house I saw, which was unfortunately white-stuccoed but which had dark blue glass windows and a very massive and grand covered entry staircase leading up to metal doors that were punched in a sunburst pattern. Pimpin'. Fifth, deliberate imitation of a specific style, a favorite of which is the architectural elements found on Santorini, thick white plaster walls with little blue accents. A particularly fantastic example can be found on Longboat Key in Sarasota; a mansion there is almost blindingly blue and white. Such methods are uniquely suited to sunny locations on the water, particularly on a clear blue day.
And sixth: Complexity. I love complicated houses. Interminable hallways that get you mixed up, odd little rooms behind odd little doors, endless nooks and crannies with overstuffed armchairs and large windows, a few living rooms, a few decks, balconies all over the place where the best views can be had. If I ever grow wealthy enough to own a large house, my architect had better have a fine mind for detail.
The saying quoted above came from a short story by Charles de Lint, from an anthology that was one of two de Lint books I borrowed from my sister. I'm not necessarily a big fan of his work; he displays an overwhelming love of urban bohemia (slightly overrated, in my opinion; one should do what one wishes and not make a scene over scenes) and an unstinting pessimism regarding the associated crime rate, which he thinks is symptomatic of the larger world's decline, to say nothing of the effeminate streak gleaming among his endless paragraphs. Nothing wrong with that, but one grows tired of soft, dreamy women who find magic and the sternly protective men who have apparently never touched a football. What I do enjoy is the near-folkloric nature of much of his work, particularly the Amerindian elements he introduces (although he does seem to be strongly predisposed to Celtic folkways, he is writing about an American (or possibly Canadian) city)--such as the woman with birds in her head and the use of crows in many of his stories.
Anyway, this saying took me by surprise in Coffee Pot; I have a obscure obsession with paths, with finding them and walking them. The word "path" itself is one of my favorites, one of those perfectly shaped for its purpose. Like "orthodox" or "juxtaposition." At the same time, I find myself fixating on the sky, the vast spaces. It's the only truly long view that is available to anyone on Earth at any time, and such a proverb puzzles me; it seems to split both into a dichotomy, rendering the individual unable to observe both simultaneously. Treading the proper path is, to me, an ideal; if one focuses only on the sky, one will find that one has a tendency to plunge over precipices suddenly and without warning, resulting in a failure to see anything other than the sky as one's broken body lies dashed on the rocks below.
Far better, I feel, is this quote from Susanna Clarke's Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell:
"Where?" Sir Walter was surprized; there was no place he found so much to his liking as London with its gaslights and its shops, its coffeehouses and clubs, its thousand pretty women and its thousand varieties of gossip and he imagined it must be the same for every one.
"Oh, wherever men of my sort used to go, long ago. Wandering on paths that other men have not seen. Behind the sky. On the other side of the rain."
This was found on page 406 out of 846, incidentally, of my paperback copy. It is rather interesting to note that I had no idea of the quote's context and had to go hunting for it. It took less than ten minutes, in spite of my misremembering its phrasing. In order to find it again later if I wish, I just added a note. I have an urge to re-read the entire book once again, this time adding annotations and marginalia, something I do very, very rarely. It isn't that I have so much respect for books that I don't wish to mar them; in fact, I strongly encourage the reader's interaction with the text and the habit of leaving a record of this intercourse. One of my favorite things is to come across a used book in a bookstore that has had comments and notes scribbled on its pages; it lends a fascinating coloration to the book's printed contents. I just never feel as though I have anything sufficiently substantive to commit to paper.
As I was searching for Jonathan Strange's words, I realized that I had no specific strategy for pinpointing what I was looking for. The Internet failed to give me anything; Google showed its first flaw. The book itself has no index, and its contents are dense with narrative, footnotes, asides, and interwoven subplots. Strange is a major character; a significant portion of the book is devoted to him and his experiences. What was I thinking? Was I going to have to put this post aside for a few days or weeks while I carefully reread the book until, in the middle of page 406, I found what I had been looking for? Several times, as I searched, that thought crossed my mind, and I realized, suddenly, that I knew, knew, with utter certainty, that I could find my quarry. Knew. I can't explain how I quickly winnowed through Strange's sojourns on the Continent against Napoleon under Wellington, the thistledown gentleman's seduction of Stephen Black and enchantment of the Lady Pole, Mr. Norrell's struggle against the coming revolution in English magic, Drawlight and Lascelles's dastardly plots, homing in on that one paragraph, that line of dialogue buried very nearly in the exact center of the book.
What is it? Have I imprinted on this book so deeply that though I can remember very little of a set of words other than their meaning, I can ferret out its hidden structure, folded away in some dark corner of my unconscious mind? Or is it something much more mysterious, the smell of the words, their shapes somehow slowly revealing their proper place in the larger text?
Truth is, I think I can do it with almost any book I've read more than once. I think anyone can, actually--and I've clearly been reading too much science fiction. Or Charles de Lint.
As for the rest of this post--well. I was going to go off on a tangent regarding proportional taxation and how the number of people paying taxes doesn't matter so much as it is how much money those people are making or the fact that some people don't seem to realize that if the wealthy don't pay high taxes, then the poor people are going to have to. The money's got to come from somewhere, after all.
But I won't. First because I was originally planning to go off on authoritarian surveillance societies, and how interesting it seems that the most popular target for classic dystopian novels--Brave New World, 1984--and current dystopian culture objects--V for Vendetta, Children of Men--tend to be set in Britain, and how the actual country seems to be fulfilling these semi-prophecies rather admirably, but it's been done before. Second because I'm going to have a bagel. Third because I'm going to watch Unbreakable and very likely Bones, and don't quite feel up to spending the rest of the day working on this post, as opposed to the last 7 hours. Fourth because this post is quite long enough already.
In conclusion, watch your step; it can be a doozy.
My thoughts on the presidential debate as it occurred...
McCain's lefthanded?!? Or is he just self-taught ambidextrous?
Oh, sweet. Obama brought up infrastructure--I haven't heard any of that so far in this cycle. McCain's pretty collected, though I'm not sure energy independence and tax cuts and the national debt have much to do with the collapse of retirement funds in conjunction with the decline of the market. I find it interesting that he's advocating the purchase of bad debts by the government--and saying is it expensive? yes--when in the last debate, he was advocating spending cuts.
Oh yay. He just reminded us of the "suspension" of his campaign so he could go "help" with the bailout. Also going after Obama and his "cronies"--although he does have a point about the CHA's expansion under Clinton. He's putting an awful lot on the shoulders of the bailout package and keeps shilling for the government's purchase of bad debt.
Obama keeps pounding away on the deregulation issue. Seems to be sticking to the talking points. Unfortunate. McCain's sounding more realistic, although of course he keeps bringing up the cronyism/special interest thing--not a good idea for someone who's been there six times longer than his opponent.
Obama seems to be a little condescending and meandering--is his point that although both parties are at fault, the Republicans are more so this time around, so trust the Democrats instead? He really didn't answer the question. McCain is answering the question much better, though, mentioning various civilian government-spending watchdog groups. The "my friends" thing is kind of irritating, though, and Joe Lieberman is NOT a good example of bipartisan cooperation.
No Middle Eastern oil in 10 years? Well, if we could send a man to the moon ... yeah, actually, that sounds pretty awesome, O. I wonder what people thought of that...
And I'm getting really annoyed by the overhead projector. Does he seriously think that thing's what's bringing down the economy? An overhead projector? Who cares about that? Do these people really not know what a small part earmark spending plays in the overall budget?
"Many of you remember the tragedy of 9/11 and where you were on that day ... " Yes, every second, rehashed every week since. The point being?
THE PEACE CORPS! I am definitely voting for Obama. Also, he's cute. And McCain gets attacky once again and pulls out the ridiculous cliche: Jell-O to the wall. Why have I been hearing this so much lately?
Oof. Brokaw just slapped Obama down and let McCain's attack on the tax increases stand. Ouch. And of course, Obama still gets his way--by not answering the new question. Urgh. I'm on the rumbly train to Maaloxburg. This had better work; if I'm not hearing a lot tomorrow about how he's not raising taxes on 95 percent of the population, I'm just going to give up milk. Long-winded fuck; he's eating up a lot of time.
On the other hand, McCain is surprisingly hypocritical tonight. Or...not that surprising? Oh, look. It's that famous pen. I swear to God it looked right at me from the TV. And Brokaw is a biatch--"Look at the lights, we have them in red and green and yellow and..." blah blah blah. Son, you're just the moderator. Shut up.
Supply-side economics, rah rah rah. McCain keeps walking around, directly into the camera's line of sight behind Obama. I wonder if he's trying Al Gore-style debating techniques, or if he might just wanna be on camera? In the meantime, Obama keeps talking ... and talking ... and talking. McCain, though, has the posture of Montgomery Burns from The Simpsons--holy shit, and the hair. I can totally see him going "Eeeeexcellent..."
Oh good. Arizona is a better place to live than Tennessee. How nice. I'm sure the Tennesseeans in the audience appreciate it. Sweet, McCain's gone over time too, that pasty fuck.
A good hit against McCain on children's insurance and also a pretty great point on federally-regulated health insurance versus cross-state insurance purchases.
Goodness. I had no idea that a strong military was absolutely essential for peacemaking. Thank you, Mr. McCain, for teaching me that peace can only be bought by force. Also, I hate how cunningly buddy-buddy McCain seems to think he's being; son, you're old. You've been in politics for a third again as long as I've been alive. Gravitas is your friend. Simulated roguishness is not. Every time you get that look in your eye when you're about to make a joke, it makes me wonder if you get the same look just before you beat your wife.
I like Obama's answer about his "doctrine" as far as humanitarian crises go. We do in fact have a moral obligation to intervene in places like Rwanda and Darfur, even if our national security isn't necessarily at stake. At the same time, I also liked his answer about the peacekeeper force already assembled by the African Union. On the other hand, McCain says we need "a cool hand at the tiller" in these situations; does he really think he can be that cool hand? Yeah, me neither.
10:10 p.m.: [Cig break]
After the fastest cigarette I've ever smoked--Bomb, bomb, bomb Iran! And I loved that straight-arm--shut up when the young and relevant are speaking, old man.
He acted responsibly throughout his military career? He slept around Rio, crashed three very expensive planes, and stopped the Vietnamese from killing him by whipping out daddy's name. And he knows how to get bin Laden, huh? I'm sure the President would have liked to know this, oh ... seven years ago?
Whoa. Obama'd go into Pakistan? Ballsy. Not that great an idea, although this may have to happen again eventually because of cross-border attacks. I don't know about McCain's answer re: Russia; is it really a good policy to continue to jab Putin as though he were an autocrat? I mean, he is an autocrat, but treating him as a bad guy won't serve to avoid another Cold War.
Oh, look at Clever McCain: he got out of that gotcha question! At least Obama said, they've engaged in evil behavior and have strongly nationalistic impulses and...well, blah blah blah.
McCain didn't answer the Navy Guy's question: he asked if Iran did attack Israel, not how to prevent it. Finally Obama does--we will never take military options off the table.
Long answer to the short, last question, O. Nice intro of your bio, but finish it. McCain's answering it but good--what I don't know is the unexpected, but I do know we can depend on each other for support and blah blah blah. Of course he knows that; he depended on his father's buddies in tough times! Although his ex-wife probably isn't as well-acquainted with the notion of being supported by people who love you in those times. He repeated the tiller line, though. Hmm...
Damn. Awkward moment, when McCain grabbed that guy's head. I will eat your brains. And fuck if John and Cindy don't look especially affectionate--a quick side-hug. Michelle's schmoozing the crowd, though and John's making the rounds, and Obama's spending his time chatting with this one member...interesting. He's got a rectangle under his jacket--Manchurian Candidate by remote control? Still, he's having a good talk with some folks in the audience there. He made a funny! But seriously, are the Obamas trying to talk to every single person in the auditorium?
It's been a while since I've posted here. It's not because I've gotten bored or forgotten. Indeed, there are four drafts sitting in my Drafts folder, all of which were eventually abandoned for various reasons.
Mostly, I just feel as though I'm banging my head very hard on a wall. Pound, pound, pound, pound.
First: The presidential election. McCain has tanked pretty badly so far; he seems to be battling senility or Alzheimer's, judging from his behavior in recent weeks. Exacerbating his situation is a running mate who seems very certain that she will be the president soon, while demonstrating a disturbing commonality shared with the current occupant of the White House in many respects, not least of which includes simple elocution. In the meantime, it seems McCain has resorted to a Manchurian Candidate strategy, even stating that Obama had had to return money to illegal Palestinian donors--who had bought T-shirts in bulk from his campaign website but listed an address that confused "Georgia" (the state) with "Gaza" (the strip). Wonderful.
Second: The economy is circling the drain. Or so the media would have one think. The truth is, it's the credit market that is going down; unless the commodities market begins to collapse, the real economy--you know, that thing you actually live in and which confuses you because life still seems normal even though the newspapers say it isn't--is more or less okay. It's a little harder to get a car or a house or a credit card, but that's okay--they should be hard to get. Of course, this is not to say the sky isn't falling; it may very well be, but it's because of large, dark, distant machinery grinding to a halt. There's not a whole lot you can do about it except get a cart and a reliable donkey and bone up on your horticulture. In the meantime, I get to enjoy the alarming experience of actually agreeing with President Bush in his insistence that the economy will be fine in the long run. Of course it will. Our society has been nothing if not resilient. The problem, of course is, how to ensure that resiliency in the future. We need to learn how to build a civilization that will last for thousands of years, come what may, not one which relies on meeting the needs of the moment.
Third: My occupational life. I flew to Washington DC a couple of weeks ago for a job interview. Since then, I have heard nothing. In the meantime, I'm bucking for a promotion at work, which is its own special little source of stress. I would rather tell Bossman where he can put it, but can't do so unless I have an offer in hand from somewhere else. Alas! At least I do live in a fairly nice city with many of its own appealing qualities.
Fourth: My family life. My sister is pregnant again. My parents are McCain supporters. Nuff said.
Fifth: I've figured out why The Sarah Connor Chronicles doesn't quite work. It's a fantastic show, let me say that first of all; I love how it not only has these terrific sci-fi elements but also focuses on the human element as well. An example of this appeared in tonight's episode as the climactic battle was juxtaposed with a reading of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz for a kid's book report.
However, the more I think about it, the more I think that Skynet's tactics aren't quite up to snuff. I mean, sending killer machines disguised as humans back in time to gun down key individuals?
Here's what I would do if I were an evil, globe-spanning AI with the ability to travel in time. Two possibilities.
Option 1: I'd send mobile copies of myself to, say, something like a million years before the present day. This is the most obvious one. Option 2: If total causality collapse were to be too great a risk to exercise Option 1, I'd simply send small, almost unnoticeable machines to perform a few interesting tasks here and there: decreasing the structural integrity of a construction crane, say, or ensuring that someone's brakes fail at precisely the wrong moment. Why leave behind a chain of suspicious events when seemingly pure accident does the job equally well? To say nothing of the extremely unacceptable potential of human interference otherwise; Sarah Connor and her little coterie certainly seem to be quite skilled at staving off the Ts.
Happily, it seems that the show is working along those lines as well; the extremely unsettling Catherine Weaver would seem to be its embodiment.
However, the decided instability of recent events has me in a pessimistic set. We shall see.
