Sep 132014

wakeuplittlebird copy

“I haven’t done much; swam a bit, read a thing or two, loved nothing. It was not a time of poverty, though. I had to dig around and accustom myself to the sight of corpses. Worse than the lack of achievement was the fact that a lot was started. Oh well, one or two ballads got finished. I’m getting on with sawing away the branch I’m sitting on, if only slowly. But I shall manage to lose my sense of security all right.”

—Bertolt Brecht

Woke up from some kind of crazy dream. In the dream, all that mattered was my job, and I didn’t have one. I mean, I had a job, I did it every day, and some nights, and weekends, but it didn’t matter, and I didn’t get paid. The job mattered to me and two or three other people and in some ways, it mattered to the entire world, but the entire world knew nothing about itself, so it didn’t care. The entire world never acknowledged me, or my job. The entire world had its head up its ass. And it never threw a banquet in my honor.

So I woke up from this crazy dream, it was a nightmare really, and in the nightmare, my self, my soul, my personality—ME, what else can I call it? ME was split into all these little parts. The parts were living inside my head together. They were chattering away, running about here and there. They were a family.

Here’s the worst thing. These parts of ME were a family, inside my head, and they didn’t get along. Like the family in those Chevy Chase Vacation movies or the family in All in the Family. They were like The Simpsons, but they weren’t funny. They bickered and blamed and tried to shut each other down; so it got kind of hard for ME to get things done. For ME in the dream. To get things done. And getting things done, as it turned out, this was my job.

Woke up from this crazy dream.
Couldn’t get back to sleep.

Jun 102013



“How does a pearl develop in an oyster? A jagged grain of sand makes its way into the oyster’s shell and makes its life unbearable. The oyster exudes slime to cover the grain of sand and the slime eventually hardens into a pearl. The oyster nearly dies in the process. To hell with the pearl, give me the healthy oyster!”

Bertolt Brecht, from the play Galileo

Remember that little kid in Brooklyn who was walking home from school alone? He asked a man for directions and instead of getting help he got suffocated and chopped into pieces.

Remember those ladies in Cleveland who were walking home and the bus driver pulls over and says, “Want a ride?” Then he imprisons them for a million years and does unspeakable things.

What’s wrong with me? Sitting around thinking about bad people, bad things that happen. Actually, let’s just say evil. Sitting around and mulling it over. Evil.

Well, maybe I have to. Call it the urge to make sense of horror.
We do like talking about it. We need to know that evil villains are out there, and we need to know just what the hell they are doing with themselves. But Michael Moore convinced me that absorbing the stream of frightening news stories makes me a consumer chimp. We get scared, and then we go out and spend money. And SO many things scare us. It can be liposuction malpractice. It can be a tornado. It can be government spies.
So if I don’t inform myself, then I also won’t have to numb myself. With shopping, for example, though there are many mind-numbing activities and behaviors available.
But I have to inform myself. If I don’t, then the whole world will just slip away.
Actually, that’s pretty tempting. The entire world. Gone.
No, that would make me exotic, irresponsible. None of my friends would approve.
So I will just have to be scared. Or numb.
Tough choice.