Tag Archives: health
Iff..
Iff my friends in the business can take care of Dr. Drew, I’d appreciate the effort.
Meditative Moment
As the fresh, raw feelings of loss subside, more days between now and the death of my father than a week or a month ago, as I grow stronger because I savoured and relished the emotional states that passed through my body, I face the future in these words, more than in drawn images or recorded sounds.
As ethnicities spread across the planet and mix, their subcultures subsequently subsiding, the global culture defines itself spontaneously.
How do languages and their speakers survive in a homogenising dough machine, the yeast rising, the bread ready-to-make in the oven of a world in transition?
Do you like the flavours in an “everything” bagel full of wheat, pepper, curry, onions, potatoes, garlic and salt?
Where once the survival traits of one’s gene set ensured early death due to birth defects, lactose intolerance and gluten allergies, the current cultural fixation is to cure us of our genetic abnormalities when normality is a moving target on a Möbius strip of the toroid of life.
One may feel full of God’s love and empty at the same time — the louder one has to shout the words of one’s religion, the less one is believed to have internalised their meaning.
Thus, one may hate the world and love the world simultaneously.
The intersection of subsets of thoughts may clash but innovation and invention arise from the need to mate incongruities into harmonious patterns.
Humour is a single part of an artist’s palette if one is free to express oneself free of coercive commercial interests intent on generating more income than debt.
When a population is mostly freed from survivalistic needs, can the population long survive while pursuing selfish interests in opposition to population [re]generation?
Where are the protectors of the faith that the world is full of purveyors of the emperour’s new clothes that must be declared unsavoury and unhealthy to sustain a population which wants to be around thousands of years from now?
Humour for humour’s sake is a fool’s folly.
Art for art’s sake is a loser’s game.
An uninformed populace will obey the uniformed police without reasonable cause to question authority.
What are we producing to improve our future?
Every day, I wake up and ask myself, “What am I doing today that I’m here for because I didn’t die or kill myself yesterday?”
Some days, I don’t have a good answer so I research the reasons and ask again, knowing I’ll find the tiniest part of me that I improve that day to better answer the question tomorrow.
Some days, I state a plain ol’ platitude, let it sit for a day and look at it from a different perspective the next day, learning most often that I never know everything that I think I did the day before.
One day, I’ll die if I don’t kill myself first when I’m an old man whose tunnel vision prevents him from seeing the car heading into his path as he turns to drive across oncoming traffic on the way to his favourite watering hole, assuming I’ll be driving an antique automobile not retrofitted to stop me from making a traffic mistake in the first place.
There are a lot of days in-between to see how I, despite the errors of myself within the subcultural training I received along the way, can get from here to the Moon, Mars and beyond, one set of states of energy in a population of seven billion and growing.
Last night, my team of subsubsubbasement scientists showed me a new gun they had invented that senses the emotional wellbeing of the shooter and locks the trigger until one’s emotional state of misplaced anger has been subdued with neutralising pharmaceuticals embedded in the gun’s grip, thus preventing many murderous acts of passion by firearms.
As my blog fades into obscurity…
[Thoughts after watching the movie “Robot and Frank,” which portrays a depressing image of my future?]
As my blog fades into obscurity, I go back over the sensations in me right now…
…the emptiness…
…the muscles and tendons shivering…
…the joints aching…
…looking at a clock which indicates 13,593 days until whatever I want to say is supposed to happen in that 24-hour period…
…glad I am happy being me, observing and reporting in an online diary the same way I have talked to myself since I was at least five years old…
…retiring at age 45, ready for my life to end at any moment, no more mountains to climb, or impossible dreams to make real.
I am a tired, old man, weary of the ways of our species, always left with just me to entertain myself in my thoughts at the end of every day.
If the universe is supposed to be a projection of my thoughts, then I can close down this movie theatre of my mind and say the show has run its course.
My desire for social engagement is limited by the boredom that quickly seeps into hearing yet another combination of people talking about their lives that I have experienced or heard in one form or another for over 50 years.
Why live any longer and watch my mind disappear, my body decay and my life at the mercy of professional caretakers, human and/or robot, who we can plug into each other’s lives as needed in socioeconomic interchange because our wealth, not our thoughts, define us?
If I’m merely the combination of trillions of cells, sets of states of energy in synergistic, symbiotic relationships temporarily, how do I let go of the “I” and disperse these states of energy into other sets and combinations?
If we can legalize abortion, then by extension we should legalize murder and suicide, should we not, because there’s nothing sacred about life anymore, is there, the wonders of the universe fading into the simple facts of rational scientific methods and erasable memories?
I am tired of participating in the competitive marketplace of ideas, tired of finding no one who agrees with my thought patterns, tired of being tired, tired of being tired of being tired, and ready to close this blog except I’ve pretty well memorized its location as a globally-accessible online diary I can get to just about anywhere so I might as well keep writing here in obscurity.
Out of obscurity and back in again — the definition of life?
“Sorry, your car remains in Park until we finish updating and restarting your vehicle firmware.”
A school bus with tinted windows and white roof speeds down our country road.
A buzzard circles overhead while sparrows, wrens and chickadees chirp in the winterised forest.
What is your definition of the true meaning of Valentine’s Day?
For me, it is no different than any other day — greeting others with loving kindness, knowing the universe is full of unkind, unloving, seemingly-random actions about to surprise us at any moment.
For my wife, this morning I cut down a redbud tree precariously overhanging our driveway and this afternoon dug a drainage well for our clothes washing machine wastewater discharge.
We ate lunch together at a local cafe co-owned by Margaret Hale Baggett, the daughter of a childhood friend of my wife, sharing with Margaret an old newspaper photo documenting the dedication of a flagpole honouring the Hale family, showing Margaret as a happy, young girl in a summer dress, waving a tiny American flag along with her family.
St. Valentine and St. Patrick share with us their fame and their legends grown large with time, stories embellished to fit the times.
Earlier today, I enjoyed a brief interview with Bryan Curtin from Aerotek about an embedded software engineer position, serendipitously occurring after my wife and I said goodbye to her hometown this past weekend, both of us ready for new adventures.
As the sun sets over Little Mountain, I look out the window at our place in the woods and wonder what [extra]ordinary tales wait to be told about our place in the universe…
We shall see!
Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!
Thanks to Molly and Mr. Jacobs at Amis Mill Eatery; Matt, Chris, Kim and Dana at Lowe’s; Natasha and Elizabeth at Beauregard’s; Jenn, Harold and Joe at KCDC; Otis “Eddie” Munsey III and Charlotte Fairchild; John Jerdon; Melinda Miller; Mayfield Dairy tour guides; Maggie at Little Dutch Restaurant; Publix; Walmart; people who smile back for no reason.
Swapping Shop Talk at the Slop Shop
I sit alone upon a hill, green grass overhanging rock outcrops, a row of fence posts marching down the slope, their steps frozen in single file, held together by wire.
A few spring flowers push up out of the dead brown patches where cows once grazed and left their marks.
Hieroglyphic lichen patterns hold the landscape fast.
Cloud shadows flow across the hills and valleys below.
I am home.
Home am I.
Happiness and freedom far from the cabin in the woods.
Wandering the countryside.
Alive.
This is my universe, my place of rest, the activity of ions and atoms busy out of sight right here in front of me.
Relaxed.
A sunny breeze tickles the tops of grass stalks.
My steps disappear behind me and reappear in front of me.
Miracles.
Farmhouses in the distance.
Mirages.
Energy now and forever more energy
Just to show that energy studies have been studied for decades, thousands of years after our ancestors discovered fire is good for warmth and a good pot roast:
A Different Time
Love is…
Oops! I deed it again!
I woke up with a Brooke Shields Britney Spears song playing in my thoughts, the brief memory of a dream disappearing into the last hour — me, an author, at a book signing, sitting on stage as if at a rock concert in a large performance venue, people screaming my name at me for reasons I couldn’t fathom…well, who doesn’t like a good ego-boosting dream every now and then?
Thanks to Ashley and the “pretty in pink” tanned hostess at Peerless Restaurant in Johnson City; the owner/chef and daughter/server at Sweet Tooth Cafe in Rogersville; Aaron and Heather of U-Haul at Lender Services; Grace, Cody and more at Food City in Colonial Heights; Demetrice and staff at the Cupboard/BP; Ada at Capital Bank; Spencer and “Bacon” helping to unload furniture; Evelyn and David Carpenter helping to load furniture; Cindy giving lessons of International Folk Dancing [Greek style?] at the Legion Street Rec Center in Johnson City, aided by Brent, Marie and Lynn (with participation by Mark, Cindy, Julie and other smiling faces); Rogersville Sanitation Department; U.S. Dept. of Veteran Affairs; Rick Carroll; James Point; Annette at Sublett Insurance.
Soon, a house belongs to new owners.
Then, the story of our solar system as told to me by rolling the crystal ball down a shiny hardwood lane into bowling pins will play out here, the future safely looking back at us from that good ol’ 1000-year distance.
Thought taking me back into my dreams: why do I think that a salary is stealing from my customers instead of sharing the wealth of a healthy labour/investment credit barter system? — what is blocking me from profiting more than I have in the past?
Bound and determined
Growing up in the ‘burbs, I knew from friends whose parents were pill poppers.
Birth control, antidepressants, antipsychotics, tranquilizers, you name it, kids would search their homes looking for all sorts of things including Christmas presents but also nefarious objects like cigarettes and yes…gasp! condoms.
Curiosity killed the cat. It also supplied kids with free supplies of goodies, turning whole neighborhoods into collective pharmacies.
The “dark side” of modern civilisation?
Perhaps.
So it is we are brought forward into the world of cinema, the latest flick, Side Effects, questioning the definition of reality, whether due to drug side effects or mental gymnastics.
You can see for yourself, or read this prereview that reveals a little.
A contemporaneous event ties together the suspension of reality in film and the suspended colloidalism of reality — the continuing saga of Ashleigh Brilliant, chronicled by the man himself:
Wits End
Dear Friends,February 1, 2013. Greetings from the Loony Bin (or, if you prefer, the Booby Hatch.) You may remember my telling you that I was once (at the age of 20) a (voluntary) patient in a mental hospital for several weeks. Since then I’ve been happily able to stay clear of such resorts — until today, when I find myself, at the age of 79, once again (and I must emphasize, again voluntarily) a guest in one. The big, and to me very interesting, difference is that the first time, back in 1954, my problem was feeling too good — what the psychiatrists call being “manic.” I was in such an elated state that I couldn’t go on with my normal life as a college student, but wanted to talk all the time, in a way that was very unusual for me. This and other bizarre behaviors and feelings eventually made me realize that I needed help.
Now, however, the shoe is on the other psychiatric foot. Instead of being too happy, I have been abysmally depressed, and anxious, to the embarrassing point of really not wanting to go on living. As before, I know this is not normal, even for someone of my age, especially for a person in good physical shape, as I have kept myself, after making a good recovery from a serious accident two years ago.
But what’s REALLY interesting is that, despite the lapse of time, and despite the fact that I have never had even a second “manic” episode in my whole life, (though I have had many experiences of depression) that one single manic episode qualifies me as being “BI-POLAR” (and hence a victim of “bi-polar disorder”) with all the rights and privileges pertaiining thereto. I am still finding out just what these are, because it was only last night that I accepted the label, although my psychiatrist had been trying to pin it on me for months.
What made the difference was my following his suggestion to look it up for myself. And sure enough, if you type in “single manic episode,” you get a whole raft of references to bi-polar disorder, even if the single episode was years and years ago.
So this is all very new stuff to me, and so is the facility in which I now find myself — a sort of semi-secret closely-secured section of our main Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital. The unit itself, obviously not wishing to carry the stigma of a “Psycho Ward” is generally referred to simply as “5-E.”
I am still learning the ropes here — to say which, in this context, is an unforgivable faux pas, because ropes of any kind, together with a whole long list of other possibly helpful items to a would-be suicide, are strictly taboo in these precincts–and even the rooms are designed to provide minimal leverage or support for such attempts. For example, there are no hooks, towel-racks, or exposed piping.
But apart from making it harder to kill yourself while they have you here, what can they actually do for you? In my case, the main hope seems to be to find the pill or pills which will give me good sleep in the night, and a less miserable day to follow.
February 5, 2013. It’s now 4 days later, and I’m glad to say I’ve already been discharged from the Hospital. The answer in my case seems to have been a combination of 2 drugs, a “tranquillizer” called ATIVAN and a “mood-stabilizer” called LAMICTAL. They’ve been working fine so far — much better than any of my pre-5-E meds, and with any luck, I hope they will keep me from making any further forays into the Polar zones — though I still hate to admit that mere chemicals can have such crucial effects on how we think and feel.
In any case, we are all now happily out of January, which for me (and perhaps for many of you) has always been the most difficult month of the year.
All the best,
Ashleigh Brilliant——————————————————————————
ASHLEIGH BRILLIANT, 117 W. Valerio St. Santa Barbara CA 93101 USA. Phone (805) 682-0531 Orders:(800) 952-3879, Code #77. Creator of POT-SHOTS, syndicated author of I MAY NOT BE TOTALLY PERFECT, BUT PARTS OF ME ARE EXCELLENT. 10,000 copyrighted BRILLIANT THOUGHTS available as cards, books etc.World’s highest-paid writer (per word). Most-quoted author (per Reader’s Digest.) Free daily Pot-Shot cartoon: http://www.ashleighbrilliant.com CATALOGS:[h&m included]. Starter $2. Complete Printed Text version: $75. Electronic Text-Only (emailed $25, on CD $30). Electronic Illustrated Catalog/Database (CD only) $105 (includes shipping anywhere). Details: http://www.ashleighbrilliant.com/IllustratedCatalog.html
treetrunkdings 