my new mantra

to be chanted repeatedly for 22 minutes, upon awakening and before bed

 

tree-mantra

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the saddest vacuum cleaner in the world

saddest-vacuum-cleaner

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ghosts of 1000 crickets

i’ve been thinking a lot about glaciers since your trip to Alaska. And what they might sound like. i reconnected with this almost friend from my art school days, Pierre. And I did not realize that he was one my students when I taught a class in digital sampling. I could not remember that at all. I remember teaching the class. And I remember taking my students on a field trip to the Lyon & Healy harp factory. And I remember bringing “guest artists” into the class each week for the students to record (a singing dog and people with very unusual voices). And I remember that each week when the students played recordings of their work, we would turn the lights off, except for one very dim red light bulb. And I remember the head of the sound department occasionally peaking his head in. And I remember he told he could not tell if I was teaching a class or leading a seance. And I remember not saying, what’s the difference? And then I remember not being re-hired.

So… Pierre takes trips to the Arctic to record the sound of glaciers. And sometime over the winter, when Walden Pond was frozen, Pierre dug a little hole and stuck a microphone through the iceghost into the water.He said the recording sounded like the ghosts of 1000 crickets. I think he said that glaciers might sound the same, very ghost-like but less chirpy.

And I wondered if I he would let me hear his recording of the glaciers and if they would become like a song he can’t get out of your head.

Pierre also recalled how we collaborated on something for WhiteWalls magazine, and how I did the graphics and the layout. And I said how could that be? I had very little if any talent for graphics. He said it was just something I did in those days. Helping people with whatever they needed help with even if I was of no help whatsoever.

And I thought about memory. And the life that other people remember me living which I somehow was not around to experience. maybe memory is just chatter. maybe memory sounds like a thousand glaciers.

maybe i”ve already written to you about this before. maybe I already told you that when I was in the hospital post-bike accident 8 years ago, going in and out of consciousness, heavily sedated by morphine…. my sister tells me she remembers a time when i awakened and I started to give a little talk about string theory, and that it even was informative and made sense. and of course i did not know and I still do not know anything about string theory. i believe there are things that are called strings, but it does not matter whether i believe they exist or not. if people are seeing strings, i have no reason to doubt them.

 

 

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clothes moths

so i guess it’s true. it’s true what they say. they say that the hardest thing about going away is returning to the place you were getting away from. if such a place even exists.

the things i left are still here, the way i left them. the broken window covered with a black plastic garbage bag. the forgotten sandwich, molding away in the refrigerator. the book on John Cage and Zen Buddhism that I began reading when I arrived here in January, finally finished the day before my departure. the rust stain on the marble sink. the clothes moths.

but for some reason, somebody broke in, to make the bed, and move things around that I may never find again. maybe that was their purpose.

i worry.

i worry about not feeling things again the way i felt them before.

i worry about feelings the same way i felt them before.

because i am back.

there is a reason i came back. i am fairly certain of it.

it’s unfathomable to me now.

 

 

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hypothetical question

try to imagine you have something important to say. something that could not be said without you saying it.

what would that feel like?

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mutation

Isn’t it sort of interesting that on days you do not engage in any form of exercise, you  compensate for that by eating more and doing less. It’s uncanny how that always happens.

Much of today was spent looking at apartments with these 2 people I had never met, and I have no idea if we have anything in common–other than a desire for cheaper rent.

Fatima was the de facto leader of our group and she had arranged for us to look at 3 apartments. She is a psychologist, and her demeanor was very difficult to penetrate. She was friendly. She was cheerful. She was clear on what she wanted (a big kitchen and central AC). But I felt that there was something there that I was missing, something that could become a potential source of tension. Something foreboding and dangerous. Or she could have just been a nice person. But I had to turn it into a struggle.

Justin was a landscape designer (I think), and he did not speak very much. I think his main requirement was an Internet connection. I got the sense that it really did not matter to him if the 3 of us, or 2 out of 3, connected at all. He was very easy-going. I think it was genuine.

So we looked at these apartments and I realize now why I am so exhausted. It’s partly because I was trying to take in as much of each apartment and each neighborhood as I could within a short span of time. Trying to imagine what life might look like or what it might become in each of those places. While at the same time trying to decode Fatima and Justin, their collective and individual auras and energies.

It left me depleted. A long walk around the pond would have been perfect.

But something else took hold of me. And I lost all motivation, all will power… ending up eating 4 tacos and a Mexican bistro, followed by a rather hefty cup of ice cream at the local emporium. And of course, feeling awful afterwards.

I have to figure this out. How does the need for motion and movement and exertion mutate into pure gluttony and laziness? And why? And is this an isolated incident? And if it isn’t, how can I disrupt it before it takes hold of me again? And why is my neck so stiff?

 

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A little problem 

I’ve run into this little problem.  I may be dying faster than I had planned and I’m not quite sure what to do about it. I try to convince myself that this is just a minor setback. like a parking ticket.

it could be worse. it could be much much worse, you might tell me.

you might also say that i should consider myself fortunate.

how so?, i ask.

and then you might say that if it’s something you have to explain, then i’ll probably never understand it.

that’s more or less how you respond to most of my questions. but i can’t stop asking them.

so …

the doctor gives me this grim diagnosis, but then she tells me to make an appointment with her in 6 months.

so what am I supposed to do in the meantime?

i guess that counts as another question that you can’t answer. although i think you have an answer.

you tell me that if you gave me the answer that might deprive me of the opportunity to learn how to figure these things out on my own. it might inhibit my growth and maturation as a human being.

and i think that’s a pretty good answer. because i am beginning to see that I can use these next 6 months to grow and mature.

i think that is how i will occupy my time.

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Boston social life

it’s beginning to look like i’m making some headway in my quest to find friends, to connect with other sentient beings as i drift through this strange land where i always feel like a stranger.

but then i remember that i am only forming these connections with those i am paying for various services. Among them are…

the hepatologist

and the retinalogist

and the hematologist

and the dermatologist

and the pulmonologist

and the jungian psychologist

and the internist

and the hair stylist

and the personal trainer

and the landlord (and her daughter and her dog)

and the bartender at the sushi bar, the only bar i like to frequent, but not for much longer because i am not really supposed to drink alcohol. i am not sure how i will replace her

and the manager of the Japanese diner near work, with the great salad bar.

and the Uber driver who was playing John Coltrane on his car radio as he drove me from the retinalogist to my workplace

although they are not (yet) my friends, nor do i expect them to eventually become my friends, it all adds up to the illusion of a social life. suddenly out of nowhere, i am feeling widely popular and greatly in demand.

 

 

 

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pirouette

“i’ve decided to stay where i am for the time being,” he writes as if he knew where he was or had any sense of time or being.

I’ve thought and thought about living outside this house where I have stayed for the past 6 months that feel like a complete blur. everything has pirouetted, spiraled out of control and it is just too overwhelming to try to catch up, to catch a glimpse of the surface of the water, the only thing that almost feels like it is in my control is to not take any sort of action of any kind. So my decision to stay is not to be read as a commitment to be here.

the owner of the house wants me to stay, i think partly because she likes me and her 11 year old daughter seems to like me and I don’t seem to make myself very visible. So she is converting her garage into an artist work/live space, or so she has in mind. i don’t completely trust that this will happen, but I’ve decided to pretend it will. to have faith. But faith in what?

i think maybe my big problem is the part about letting go. i am terrified to let go. to step towards something new feels perilous, like i will lose everyone. and if i lose everyone, there will be no one around to let me know whether or not I really exist.

 

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chairless

today at work, i had to sit through one of those bloated all staff meetings where they pack 200 people into a conference room without any chairs. I had a difficult time focusing upon the meeting since, over the course of the meeting, I grew increasingly worried about what had become of the chairs. I worried that someone had made a cruel decision to banish them. And that they would be left on the street to fend for themselves, and even the heartiest among them, would never return. And what about my favorite chair? could I really be the only one who cared about it?  It was too painful to contemplate. Why did I care so much?

which was the moment i tuned back to the meeting. they turned over the microphone to the head of IT, who is one of my 3 bosses, and one of the most difficult people I’ve ever tried to work with/for. The moments where she is not rude to me or condescending, those are the moments i live for when i have to deal with her, which I try to do as little as possible.

So she was talking on and on about virtual reality and the new software for entering time sheet hours and staff training and workshops and a new phone system. it seemed like she would never stop, until one woman in the back of the room raised her hand to say “excuse me, but this is only relevant to 3 people and most of us are on deadlines and… ” and the head of IT interrupted her and said, “excuse me, but I think you’re being a cunt.” followed about 70 seconds of dead silence in the room. And then the CFO grabbed the microphone away from the head of IT and thanked everyone for coming, “especially those of you who would give anything to be elsewhere, were you given the choice.”

I could not wait to get back to my desk, even though they had taken my chair away.

 

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mid-thought

i should have known this would happen. i should have seen it coming. i knew it could happen, but then i thought who am to know anything? and i should have seen that question coming.

but i knew right away that the very second i described loneliness in a post that I would lose all 3 of my readers. i’ve managed to alienate you all. what can i do to undo the alienation? and why would you trust me to do it? why would you ever trust me again?

it was just an experiment, a tiny experiment to see what it would be like to not pretend i am somebody else. maybe if i stopped trying to be somebody, maybe if i stopped trying to fit in, stopped trying to fit into a world, a sphere, a culture that doesn’t really allow someone like me to fit in.

which leads to the question of where exactly someone like me would fit in? And if such a place exists, how does someone like me get there?

the only answer i can think of at this moment is that … wait, i just forgot what i saying in mid-thought. oh yes, were i to stop trying to fit into the places that would never let someone like me fit in. if i stopped trying, how lighter i would feel. how much less energy would be exhausted. it could be exactly the the uplift i need to take me to that place i do not know how to reach.

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weight

i have tried. tried so hard. tried as hard as a person can to not let this blog become a chronicle of loneliness.

And I will keep trying.

But I have never felt so alone in my life.

I have not had a conversation with a friend, or a family member, or anyone at work (outside of a very unpleasant meeting with one of my managers, and even that does not count as actual conversation since she rarely let’s me get a word in)– for this entire week.

And I can’t bear the weight of such loneliness. It annihilates me. I feel completely disempowered.

So clearly I am not making constructive use of my alone time. Some people can handle it. But those kinds of people tend to not be me.

I long for connection with other humans. But I can’t seem to find it in this strange city. It’s eluding me. What am I doing wrong? And what about the clairvoyant who told me what a great life I would have here? What am I doing wrong to circumvent that?

 

 

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a new strategy

I’ve decided to take a new strategy. For every co-worker  I pass in the hallways who does not make eye or smile or say hello, I will find another person with whom  I will initiate eye contact and at least say “hi.” We’ll see how well I do with this strategy. I don’t entirely trust myself. It can be easy to forget. Like forgetting to breathe.

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R.S.A.D.

the fatigue washed over me as I had never been washed over before. It did more than that. it nullified me. actually, that’s an overstatement. as far as i know, i am not completely nullified. i am here. maybe a bit decimated. But they tell me it will pass.

the oppressive july heat on a Saturday afternoon, i wade through it as someone wades through quicksand. the sun, the midday sun is an assault upon my spirits and sensibilities. i sit here at a cafe patiently waiting to see if it will ever set. there are no imminent signs of that occurrence. not a cloud. not a shadow.

winter cannot come soon  enough.

it’s an imposing combo. my reverse seasonal affective disorder (R.S.A.D.) and my aloneness in this city that is feeling more inhospitable with each passing day. my confidence has never been lower. how i can i rise above such lowness? what will it take? who will rescue me?

i wander around partly because i like to wander. but also partly because i have not yet found an apartment. 5 months of living in room in a stranger’s house. there are many many places i would like to live. i just cannot afford any of them. so  i stay in this room. and I spend my days wandering away from it. there is no home anymore.

occasionally people will ask me why I came here. why someone would come to a place where i have no family or friends. there are friends scattered here and there in massachusetts, but i would not consider them to be my confidantes.

i just realized where confidence comes from. it comes from confidantes. one single kindred soul would be earthshaking.

i hope you will forgive this dark little post. it is not me speaking. it is the fatigue using my laptop.

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the common denominator

at my workplace. plus a few I borrowed from Werner Herzog, which I posted on the bulletin board this afternoon, which so so far no one has noticed.

13729070_10206013639712380_2922379822202352002_n.jpg

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