Hey Dok, I think I see the reason

[LMNO]

I had a burst of something last week – maybe two weeks ago – after one of your kick-in-the-pants epistles, I believe.  Made vows, cranked up the ®ant Machine, Got ready to blow out some carbon and get moving again.  I knew I had rusted up, my mental joints creaky from underuse, and from being corroded by grief, as I understood it. 

But a few days went by, and it all tapered off again. I found myself flinching at the thought of putting pen to paper fingers to keys.  My usual rituals weren't working; I was unable to burrow down into my Id and scrape the walls of my UnderMind looking for images, connections, resonances.  Something was making me recoil at the inclination of getting down into it and dredging whatever it is I found up to the surface, and then poking at it with a sharp stick.

Looking back at the last few weeks, I was horrified to notice that I was throwing my energies into my job.  I found myself writing exacting, well-structured emails and reports of completely innocuous and inane shit.  I was wielding rationality and logic to argue useless positions during meetings.  I was acknowledging my co-workers as sentient, and actually letting them talk to me.  Clearly, something was wrong.

Was it a creative block?  No, because I was writing new songs at band practice, and working on a commissioned mash-up for a new club night.  Was it creeping anti-socialism?  No, I was hanging out with friends, going out on weekends, having dinner parties.  I was still being creative behind the drums and in the kitchen, so it wasn't some sort of creative block.  It was only the act of writing, of getting the kind of content PD demands, that was being blocked.

And even that's not completely true, because I've been completely able to write up stuff about the Nutrino experiment, and I discovered I could WOMP using my iPhone, and I even had a thing or two to say in a politics thread.  No, it's fairly singular... I can't seem to tap into my emotional consciousness and put it into written language.  And that's when it started to dawn on me: I don't think my brain wants me to do that yet.

I think that my grief is presenting itself in an unexpected way – unexpected for me, that is.  It's pervasive, but not present.  It has permeated my mind, but isn't calling attention to itself.  Except when I'm trying to dig down past my frontal lobes, and then it pushes back.  It feels as if it's settled into my bones, and has merged with who I am, and that I will never be able to separate one from the other, ever again.  I think that it isn't ready for me to go poking around down there.  Speaking the Wise Man's eulogy was a good thing for me, and it felt good to do it, and at the time it felt so much like something was being completed, that I foolishly thought I was through it.  But no.  There's a lot more to do.

So, yeah.  Apologies for the radio silence.  Will resume when allowed.








PS – Fuck you, cancer.

[Doktor Howl]

Do what you have to do, LMNO.  It's not like I haven't lost MY Slack™ somewhere on the landfill that I call a desk, from time to time.

Thing is, ranting isn't for the enjoyment of others...Not if it's done right.  It's to make YOU feel better.  And if ranting is a chore, then it's not helping.  Wait til you're ready, THEN puke your hate all over PD in a glorious technicolor yawn that will make us all wish we were born retarded & blind.

As for the cancer thing, well, I've been doing some thinking on life & death over the last few days, after Tucson ate Coffee Bean.  Life is this really short period in which you get a CHANCE to have fun (if you're lucky, otherwise it's a chance to be a child soldier in Darfur), and it's followed by death, which may or may not be followed by something else.

The trick, obviously, is to have as much fun as you can in the 75 or so years that you can reasonably expect.  The only way to do THAT is to assume that you will die TOMORROW.  Been putting off taking your wife out to dinner?  Go tonight.  Been wanting to hit a show?  This Goddamn weekend.  Getting the hots for the wife at the office?  Burn a half-vacation day and go get all filthy.

TODAY.  Not tomorrow.  I've said it before...TOMORROW IS THE ENEMY.  Live for the moment, for right now, and don't just eat that cheeseburger, eat the hell out of it, because it just might be the last cheeseburger you ever get, and when you're dead, you'll SHUT UP LIKE HELL.

Okay for now,
Dok  

[Luna]

Do what you have to do, LMNO.  It's not like I haven't lost MY Slack™ somewhere on the landfill that I call a desk, from time to time.

Thing is, ranting isn't for the enjoyment of others...Not if it's done right.  It's to make YOU feel better.  And if ranting is a chore, then it's not helping.  Wait til you're ready, THEN puke your hate all over PD in a glorious technicolor yawn that will make us all wish we were born retarded & blind.

As for the cancer thing, well, I've been doing some thinking on life & death over the last few days, after Tucson ate Coffee Bean.  Life is this really short period in which you get a CHANCE to have fun (if you're lucky, otherwise it's a chance to be a child soldier in Darfur), and it's followed by death, which may or may not be followed by something else.

The trick, obviously, is to have as much fun as you can in the 75 or so years that you can reasonably expect.  The only way to do THAT is to assume that you will die TOMORROW.  Been putting off taking your wife out to dinner?  Go tonight.  Been wanting to hit a show?  This Goddamn weekend.  Getting the hots for the wife at the office?  Burn a half-vacation day and go get all filthy.

TODAY.  Not tomorrow.  I've said it before...TOMORROW IS THE ENEMY.  Live for the moment, for right now, and don't just eat that cheeseburger, eat the hell out of it, because it just might be the last cheeseburger you ever get, and when you're dead, you'll SHUT UP LIKE HELL.

Okay for now,
Dok  

Thanks, Dok.  That happened to be well-timed.