Notebooks

1992–2011

I’m trying to assemble all my notebooks. Some may have been lost when Google deleted Picasaweb. Still looking through my backups.


It’s a new day.

There is no closure.  There is no justice.  Or: justice is not guaranteed.  I want mercy for myself, but can I give it to others?  Can I let us all off the hook?  Can I avoid enough evil–or enough fumbling complacency–to find enjoyable spots in the world?  People are mostly forgetful, mostly unable, mostly incompetent.  We are barely machines.  The part of us that can *do*, is barely functional; the parts of us that are supposed to *be*, are even less so.  I think, with some people I know, that critical parts of them that would make them human…are not there.  There is not just evil in this world, there are mini-alliances of evil.  They are unplanned.  Sometimes I am part of them.  Sometimes we ad-hoc band together to close our eyes, bury our heads in the sand, and knowingly destroy.  Somehow through this the tyranny is that the ones being destroyed are expected to smile.  To smile, while my employer lays off half the company and puts me on half salary.  To smile when in order to get my father to pick up the phone, I have to harass his sister, to make it painful enough for him that he can’t ignore me without someone he cares about knowing it.  And parts of me, growing up like this, living among these people who are flawed like me…those parts have become horrible.  I am not the person I admire, the person who loves and supports the stranger and their attacker all at the same time.  And the people I know who are most like that are dead.  They die early.  To live that way is too much.  To live with continued love for those who are abusing you, using you, is I think a path that kills early most who try it.  My path, the path of half-love, half-hate, is even too tiring for me, I think.  People say hate tires you, but love tires you, too, when you do it with certain people.  Because some people don’t love, they don’t, not in the way I mean it.  I think we all want to, I think for each of us it’s hard.  And more than there being evil in the world, I think there’s fumbling, and fear.  Everything wrong we do is from fear, at root.  At root, every fear is the fear of death.  And that may be an understandable fear, and it may be, literally, a rational one, but to act in each moment out of the fear of death, is a waste, a mistake, and it may not be evil–it may be merely fumbling–but that kind of fumbling is a crime committed against ourselves, as the whole that we are whether or not we always see it.  It is not my job to remind other people, individually, that they are fucking up along these lines.  It is not my job to love them either.  I can love a cat.  I cannot love a snake.

It’s a new day.

There is no closure.  There is no justice.  Or: justice is not guaranteed.  I want mercy for myself, but can I give it to others?  Can I let us all off the hook?  Can I avoid enough evil–or enough fumbling complacency–to find enjoyable spots in the world?  People are mostly forgetful, mostly unable, mostly incompetent.  We are barely machines.  The part of us that can *do*, is barely functional; the parts of us that are supposed to *be*, are even less so.  I think, with some people I know, that critical parts of them that would make them human…are not there.  There is not just evil in this world, there are mini-alliances of evil.  They are unplanned.  Sometimes I am part of them.  Sometimes we ad-hoc band together to close our eyes, bury our heads in the sand, and knowingly destroy.  Somehow through this the tyranny is that the ones being destroyed are expected to smile.  To smile, while my employer lays off half the company and puts me on half salary.  To smile when in order to get my father to pick up the phone, I have to harass his sister, to make it painful enough for him that he can’t ignore me without someone he cares about knowing it.  And parts of me, growing up like this, living among these people who are flawed like me…those parts have become horrible.  I am not the person I admire, the person who loves and supports the stranger and their attacker all at the same time.  And the people I know who are most like that are dead.  They die early.  To live that way is too much.  To live with continued love for those who are abusing you, using you, is I think a path that kills early most who try it.  My path, the path of half-love, half-hate, is even too tiring for me, I think.  People say hate tires you, but love tires you, too, when you do it with certain people.  Because some people don’t love, they don’t, not in the way I mean it.  I think we all want to, I think for each of us it’s hard.  And more than there being evil in the world, I think there’s fumbling, and fear.  Everything wrong we do is from fear, at root.  At root, every fear is the fear of death.  And that may be an understandable fear, and it may be, literally, a rational one, but to act in each moment out of the fear of death, is a waste, a mistake, and it may not be evil–it may be merely fumbling–but that kind of fumbling is a crime committed against ourselves, as the whole that we are whether or not we always see it.  It is not my job to remind other people, individually, that they are fucking up along these lines.  It is not my job to love them either.  I can love a cat.  I cannot love a snake.