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an idea poem
Its been a productive time writing wise, since i started this blog, thanks again Ben. I have two pieces in the works and i was hoping to get at least one of them into publishable shape but i’m not feeling it. One expands more on multiconstruct thinking and how i came to think this way and the other is some general thoughts on bi-polar disorder. Keep watching i’ll get them up here one of these days (hopefully by mid-week since this post is going to be relatively lame). The only thing i have to post is an idea poem i wrote this week. I read it for a poet buddy on Saturday (after we carved pumpkins which was fun) and all he had to say is “what are you a neo-Platonist, have you read any Proust?
The idea of things are more real than the things themselves. Things decay, go away, become other things. I am more a consciousness than a body. I am a personality, a constructed device of organized information. I know and and am known. Every cup from which i have drunk is no more, or will be no more, or perhaps never was. Nevertheless, the idea of cup is wherever hand lifts drink to lips. Good ideas bring themselves into being out of necessity. What are ideas made of? From what land do they come? Unbound by time or space, ideas just are, everywhere and everywhen, a foreverland, a memic universe, heaven, the big book of life. I am an idea, information, a character in a story, observed and remembered even by myself. Point to that observer on an X-ray, MRI, bloodtest. You can’t do it. I am distributed. I am a multitude. And what of the idea of me? Where is that located? What is it made of? Does it dwell in foreverland, the memic universe, heaven, the big book of life? I am such a good idea if i did not exist i would create myself. I’m no cup, mind you, but i am bigger, more complex, a personality aspiring to archetype. For “Behold i am a new creation” and wise old Solomon knows “there’s nothing new under the sun”, sure and steady, but dieing nonetheless.
Voices
Last Thursday I had the great honor of reading some poetry at The Orr Street Gallery at a multi-media presentation put on by The Shelter on domestic violence and sexual assault. It was built around an 18 minute video of survivor’s telling their stories and it was very empowering to hear these incredible stories. I read 4 poems, closing with “A Good and Happy Child” which i posted when it was new. I thought I would include the others here:
“A Song of Love and Respect”
My Mother’s Mother was a lunatic
Her father died when she was twelve
She didn’t have anyone to teach her right from wrong
She had to learn that herself
She was raised by her sister and my Uncle Ott
A mean old bastard liked to fight a lot
He would start drinking around about lunch
He was harsh with his words and quick with a punch
So she left home when she was seventeen
With a boy she hardly knew who looked like James Dean
He liked to be in control didn’t want anyone to meet her
When she stepped out of line boy he’d beat her
So yeah she’s a little fucked up
She’s had to go through a lot
And yeah she’s a little fucked up
But tell me someone who’s not
She gets a little skittish if you move too quick
She’s lived in fear of the bomb
She worries about this and worries about that
But still she’s been a pretty good Mom
And yeah she’s a little fucked up
She’s had to go through a lot
And yeah she’s a little fucked up
But tell me someone who’s not
###########
“Define my own Reality”
I reserve the right to define my own reality
And that of others
Who have more power and less compassion
More voice and less insight
And for any hurt kitten who comes to my door
Licking a bleeding paw and needing a reality to stand in
Tall and proud and unafraid
And for any casual passerby
Eavesdropping on my public private musings
My meanderings through the memic garden of delight
###########
“Becoming Whole”
You see the whole absurdity
Of the human condition
And strive to see the beauty
In the life that your living
You’ve overcome the emptiness
And learned the art of giving
And you have broken the chains
That once held you down
You have learned to re-arrange
You are an agent of change
You think, and you learn, and you are
Destined for the stars
You love every part of life
You see the hope and the magic
You smile through the darkest nights
And rise to face the tragic
And you have opened your mind
And reached for the prize
You have learned to feel and grow
You can let people know
Change has happened before
It will happen again
The least shall rise up
The great shall pay for their sins
And you stand upon the rooftop
And shout out your agnosticism
But you love your neighbor as yourself
And live out your cathechism
And you have crossed the Great Valley
And are on the Other Side
You have faced the Great Fear
You have crossed the Divide
You have learned to overcome
Light shines from your soul
You are mighty and strong and you are
Becoming whole
Multi-Construct Thinking
Every way of organizing thought is a created system. Our perception of the world is shaped by the cultural norms of our belief system. Our religions, our philosophies, our professions, our role in our family, community, society, all channelize our conceptions of reality to a specific end which is not necessarily correlated with reality. How we define our terms and engage in language(s) shapes what we can and cannot experience or even perceive, invest with meaning. Each of these ‘organizations of ideas’ can be thought of as an artificial construction that can be dangerous to confuse with the real world.
Our constructs guide our vision to what reinforces our belief in the construct. Constructs both illuminate the true nature of the universe and obscure a true picture of the universe, mostly because the universe is just so damn big. We can access literally an infinite amount of information. A true picture is too large to comprehend so we cut it up into pieces. We make maps and guidebooks because there is a lot of room between being able to know something about something, which we obviously and easily are capable of, and knowing everything about everything. A true map of the universe would be as big as the universe, which is preposterous. So we create constructs, formalized systems to organize information to make the infinite universe appear to be knowable. Nothing is wrong with that until we mistake our construct of the universe for the universe. Every construct breaks down at the edges and becomes false and meaningless. That’s why every construct has a critic. To not stray from the truth ask not if a construct is true but how is this construct true? In what ways is this construct false? In what ways is this construct meaningless?
Constructs are a systematic framework of patterns of concepts and sub-organizations of concepts, memes if you will. Memes are words or ideas, but seen as existing independently in an information universe. Memes have many of the qualities of life in that they can be created (born if you will), they reproduce, they grow and evolve, and they disappear (die if you will). Constructs are simply large and complex memes.
Constructs provide power by directing or harnessing information in a directed fashion. A shared language allows cooperation and all it entails; it allows cultures to arise preserving memes in the cultural members and in their artifacts, increasing the memes chance for survival.
Constructs create meaning and are created with a purpose. Purposeless and meaningless constructs lack survival value from competition from constructs with purpose and meaning. Malicious constructs, or patterns of behavior or belief that have deleterious effect can continue to exist when chained to a larger construct with survival value.
Perhaps you have heard this example; an anthropologist, a physicist, and a mathematician journeyed to Scotland and saw a brown cow. The anthropologist said the cows are brown in Scotland. The physicist corrected her by saying there are cows in Scotland and some of them are brown. The mathematician corrected her with there is at least one cow in Scotland, one of which’s side is brown. This illustrates how our understanding of the world filters the meaning that we attach to our perceptions. Most of us already juggle multiple constructs. Lets say the anthropologist is also a mother, a Buddhist, and a libertarian. All of these constructs will inform the way she perceives Scotland. Multiple constructs may overlap or not. If our mathematician is a father and a vegetarian as well those systems have little overlap. They provide their respective meanings to the individual who is a mathematician largely in their separate spheres of understanding. Having disparate constructs to create meaning in a variety of circumstances enriches the individual.
When multiple constructs overlap they can be in agreement or disagreement. Our Buddhist anthropologist easily sees the connection between the threat of ethnocentrism, judging owns own culture as better or more right than others and the Buddhist idea of seeing the Buddha nature in all people. In fact the anthropologist is informed and enriched by her practice of Buddhism. Both the shared language of the two systems and the extent that each reaches places the other might not have gone makes our anthropologists personal uber-construct of anthrobuddhistmotherism a more robust system in which to place her sense of self.
a new poem
After reading John’s comment on his blog it got me thinking and remembering and I put together this little poem, which i feel pretty good about. I also have to give a nod to Hannah who suggested the novel whose name i used for my new poem. I also have to thank John for getting the registration up and going so if you have tried to make comments and couldn’t register, it now works, comment away.
A Good and Happy Child
Standing in the back
At the little clapboard church
In oversized rubber boots
And muddy from mushrooming
I felt ashamed and out of place
That I was dirty and poor
And my daddy was drunk
And he didn’t believe
In this shit anymore.
John was there too
And we never talked about
What we were feeling
But I bet his was
Anger and not shame
He was three years older
And his boots fit too
And he didn’t have a potbelly
He was trim like Dad
he coulda been a rider
For the Pony Express
But it was the wrong 70s
No doubt about that
And we both heard
That we were sinners
And I think we both believed
It was the LaSalle Gospel Tabernacle
A box of good news
Cuz this sinner
Learned to feel bad
And hence how to feel
And that sinner
Learned to spurn
The admiration of god and man
And hence how to be free
Here’s a quick post while i wait for a print job. Many years ago i would write funny little caricature songs about my interesting friends but some of the subjects thought they were less than flattering. In response I wrote a song about several of my family and friend’s good qualities. I read it at The Shelter gathering at Nancy’s and am going to do it at Voices on the 18th.
Becoming Whole
You see the whole absurdity in the human condition
And strive to see the beauty in the life that your living
You’ve overcome the emptiness
And learned the art of giving
And you have broken the chains
That once held you down
You have learned to rearrange
You are an agent of change
You think and you learn and you are
Destined for the stars
You love every part of life
You see the hope and the magic
You smile through the darkest nights
And rise to face the tragic
And you have opened your mind
And reached for the prize
You have learned to feel and grow
You can let people know
Change has happened before
It will happen again
The least shall rise up
The great shall pay for their sins
And you stand upon the rooftop
And shout out your agnostocism
Yet you love your neighbor as yourself
And live out your cathechism
And you have crossed the great valley
And are on the other side
You have faced the great fear
You have crossed the divide
You have learned to overcome
Light shines from your soul
You are mighty and strong and you are
Becoming Whole
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