You can take your cog and replace it!

I recently encountered a quote attributed to Douglas Coupland that states:

“You pretend to be more eccentric than you actually are because you fear you are an interchangeable cog."


That intrigued me. To think that there are people out there that fear that they are not different enough that they do out of character things in order to convince themselves that they are in fact not just white noise (I'm sure there's some metaphor for the Ganzfeld experimentation in there somewhere but I think it's more interesting to make you look it up [This is all the help you'll get]).

I know a girl like this. It's not enough that she be weird (enjoy miming in public outside of the realm of buskering, wear cat whiskers on days other than Halloween or possibly the odd cosplay convention). She insists on everybody around her knowing that she is doing these things:

"So what do you think of my 'coonskin cap?"
"I mismatch my socks every day."
"I think normal people are weird."

I have no issues with people that do these things. In fact, I'll be one the the first to applaud them for their candor. I just don't understand the purpose of pointing out to people that they are participating in aberrant behaviour. The closest approximation I can come to is it being a statement that she is not associated with the very negative things that she attributes normalcy to which in my mind is not at all the same thing as not being normal. That said, I think she is eccentric. I just don't know why.

I don't believe that I'm an interchangeable cog. I feel more like a catalytic converter in that I do something just not something so obvious as what a cog does. The eccentricites I put forward are an attempt to discover that my function in the world can't simply just be removed with little noticeable impact on the world. My fear isn't that I'm replacable, it's that if I am a cog I have no other cogs that will react to my ridiculous gear system.

The Birth of the Fourth Muse

It was an innocuous enough video. Hardly worth noting, really. A room, a girl, some almost remembered 1960's band playing in the background. There was babbling, of course, but who doesn't babble? He told himself that this moment was significant. There were true moments of affection projected to somebody that wasn't him, not that he was so selfish as to think that they should be, perhaps he just hoped that they could be, possibly, some day. That day was not today.

He wanted to tell her "I understand you. I know the squirrels that run around inside your head when you close your eyes or furrow your brows. I have named mine (Norris, Morton, the shy one in the corner is Penelope). You make sense to me." But she would not hear him. Even if she did he would say it in such a convoluted way that it would not make sense by the time it got to her heart. And really that was the only important part that should receive his message. Everything else was noise. . .

"This is significant", he repeated.

© October 27 2008

Lichen

Recently I wrote a note to somebody I will realistically never see again that ended with the words "Nothing is permanent. Everything is important". Looking back on it now I'm not sure that the message was meant entirely for them. In hindsight, which is always 20/20 (mind you, there is vision that surpasses even this standard), I realize that the reason I had simpatico with this individual as well as I did was because we were walking the same path in about as many ways as I can conceive. Ships in the night, only with signal flares fired to show friendly colours.

. . .and now an excerpt of dialogue I have not found a home for creeps its way into my brain.

1: You're an odd one.
2: Oh? I'm sure there are plenty other people like me. I just haven't been able to find them.
(pause)
1: Why are you such a downer anyway?
2: I like being a downer. It makes me happy.
1: Well you won't find people like you by hiding under rocks all the time.
2: People like me hide under rocks.

I tell myself that this meeting means nothing.

An open letter to M

This was written roughly a year ago, give or take a week.

Hello M,
Of course it upset me to not see you today. I treasure each and every moment I get to spend with you so to have that opportunity taken away makes me sad; you know how I like to keep track of time. I don't want you to feel badly, though. Whatever disappointment I may have contracted from this, I understand that you are not flippant about your relationships and value me as highly as I value you. I want you to know that if you feel you need something, I will not hold you back from it. And if you feel you need me I will not draw away from you. I don't mind that you have set up a dwelling in my mind. Your murmurings weave into my thoughts and in those quiet moments I can hear you. You give me peace in knowing that you are within me. Feel free to stop by any time. I have much to learn from you.

I hope the tumult in your own mind has subsided. I have already told you that I do not wish anything negative even in your general direction. So however necessary your tension may be, I pray that it is short lived and that the lesson you learn from it is learned without too much loss.

-P

A very new poem (as in, like, just now)

I figure I can just jump in on the wake of Valentine's Day with this one.

The Woman (from the perspective of a pair of lips)

The top of a foot
A toe, a toe, a toe, a toe, a toe
An ankle
A shin
A calf
The same calf
A knee
The front of a thigh
The side of a thigh
A hip bone
The right side of a waist
A forehead
An eyelid
A cheeckbone
A cheek
Behind an ear
Behind the same ear
A temple
An eyebrow
The bridge of a nose
The tip of a nose
A lip
A lip
A lip
A mouth


A jawbone
A neck
A collarbone
A shoulder
An armpit
An arm
A shoulder blade
The bottom of a neck
The top of a spine
A spine
A spine
A spine
A spine
The bottom of a spine
A buttock
A hip
An abdomen
A belly
A bellybutton
A belly
A rib
A rib
Underneath a breast
A breast
A nipple
A breast
A chest
A throat
Underneath a chin
A chin
A lip
A mouth
A lip, a lip, a lip, a lip, a lip. . .

-Philip Rey Miguel

© February 2008

Hard-wired Gibberish

I recently read an article on the internet (where I get roughly 1/3 of my obviously accurate information from) about irrational optimism and how it may be hard wired into humans brains. Actually I never read the article. I looked at the cover link on the article and I immediately wrote it off [not because of the link itself so much as it's location on the sympatico/msn news page (which I have learned after repeated attempts at finding evidence to the contrary, that any "news" link that is associated with it has the nasty little side effect of causing me to feel less intelligent after reading said "news")].

This got me thinking about the idea of trying to test for the existence of hard-wiring (I despise the phrase but find myself at an impasse as how to describe something I despise without referring to it). I'll give them the benefit of the doubt that their study group had a proper representation of pessimists who agreed to have a study done on their brains.

Sure they can show a significant amount of evidence "a" in test groups 12 through 85 but how can they separate that from it being a nearly necessary survival mechanism? I can posit that breathing is hard-wired into the human brain and do all the tests I can imagine at proving (or disproving) it but there is nothing I can do to push that assertion past breathing being just overwhelmingly needed (I blame the scientific method).

I thought I might have more to say on the subject but I really don't. I'll just leave with a phrase that I may or may not be quoting (I'm too lazy to look it up).

"If you're not getting the right answer, you're asking the wrong question"

Anima

A question I've been asked more than once in my lifetime in a variety of ways is "Are you gay?". The people asking these questions have ranged from associates that I had only a passive knowledge of their acknowledgment of my existence before the question was asked to girlfriends (why yes, that is a plural for significant others who have asked me).

So I ask myself, "Self, what might lead someone to ask this question of me? Might it be because I write poetry? Or maybe because I am an avid listener of Sarah McLachlan songs? Could it be my four years on a gymnastics team? Or perhaps it is the fact that I can knit and identify a gingham pattern."

And self answers back, "Why in the bloody hell does it matter?" (self can be quite tactless when he is feeling English but also infuriatingly poignant). I thought about his answer yesterday as I was french braiding my scene partner's hair. Sure, it can be awkward when I don't know whether a person is asking me because she wants to find a nice, unassuming man to develop a strong friendship with without worries of said man becoming attracted to her (to insert a thinly veiled cheap-shot here, I'm quite certain that she was in no danger of that becoming true in my case) or if that person was attempting to stuff me into a ticky tack box (now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure it's safe to assume both in this case). But really, any judgments made upon me are made after the fact of me and whichever my interests happen to be at the moment (right now, for example, I write this blog for the gaiety that it instills in me).

And what of those judgments? Am I to assume that these things I do swing me towards some solidly defined line of femininity beyond which there is no return? To those who say so, self says, "Shut your damn piehole! The ideas of masculine and feminine are afflicted by the same circular reasoning that plagues the romantic poets; they are defined by the very thing that they define. Men are masculine when they do things that are done by men and women are feminine when they do things that females do." I'm a man, I do things. I'd much prefer to be defined by how those things affect people in specific rather than in general as they correspond to some inconstant and fundamentally flawed checklist. I'm afraid I'm not going to fit into any of your paradigms. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm either going to replace the brakes on my car or plant some poppies outside my window. I haven't decided yet.