the lettered

January 21st, 2051

That Little Something-by-the-Sea

Northeast America, Earth, Sol, LIC, LB, Orion Arm, Milky Way

My dear friend, my comrade-in-yearning, Caius--

I was greatly intrigued to read of your interest in these up-and-coming warblers--I've never been much for the easy-bake trills and viral melodies preferred by those still new to Euterpe's embrace, but having ever held your taste in high regard, I endeavor'd to give those winking cherubs some small piece of my attention.  And lo--what a racket!  I confess that I sniffed poison in the well before I ever drank, but give me the lilting tones of Debussy or a good haunting by Rachmaninoff over your little Preschool Paganinis any day.

Things go well here, and the days pass as they must.  I have scribbled a little since I last wrote, and hope to include some samples of those works with my next missive, short and bitter though they may prove.  I am reminded of Mz. Parker's Lament ("I hate writing, I love having written!"), may she rest in the eternal torment that so amused her in life!

Is it strange for me to identify so well with a woman who thrived best in the air of a century-and-a-quarter ago...?  I enjoy my little modern conveniences too much to ever wish I'd been a part of that past, but some piece of me lives whenever Dorothy does, and I suppose it must have died with her, as well.  Oh, to be born out of phase with one of like mind!  It does the heart and mind little credit to dwell on such, insofar as it gets in the way of Proper Business, but the little unkillable romantic in me does read her verse and swoon!

You know I have little regard for my own works, be they poesy or prosy, and derive more delight from expelling the ugly words out of my head than ever from reading them again.  I believe it is the fate of all those who pour themselves into their creations, to be their own greatest critics.  Certainly Mz. Parker found her works to be trashy, dashed-off efforts, not worth the ink used in printing them (or so she said), yet anyone with half an eye for rhyme or meter can see the utter brilliance gleaming right there on the surface.  To ask how a firebrand such as she could not have realized the depth of her achievement is to realize that we are all in the same (sinking) boat, but only some of us can swim!!!

Long have I expounded on the value of a certain Mr. Lovecraft (Here He Goes Again...), but one point about the man is worth mentioning.  He wrote often of the esteemed personages he felt lucky to have met and corresponded with, and often voiced his utter confidence that so many of them would have great and illustrious careers.  I have eagerly sought out the fates of these happy friends of his, but not one has a biography, nor even a full page in the encyclopaedia dedicated to him- or herself.  No, it is always the same line, always, always!--

BEST KNOWN AS A CORRESPONDENT OF H.P. LOVECRAFT

In the end, Lovecraft himself was the most famous person he'd ever known, and the great destinies he foresaw for his friends (and the ignominy he predicted for himself) were quite reversed!

My point, my dear Caius!!  Take no action as though it would not be studied by HISTORY.  Utter no word as though it would not echo through THE AGES!  Your life is merely a scaffolding for the construction of the historical YOU.  Build it well!

Ever your ludicrously well-appointed Squire,

HOMO BREVITAS

pathos

Pathos

I went for a walk today,

And thought about the things I’ll say

Away, some far years down the line

When I’m not yours, and you’re not mine.

How Time is a cycle of infinite sights,

And how to tell the earthly lights

From Heaven’s, in the sky above.

And yes, my dear, I thought of love,

Of things that aren’t, and things that are,

And yes I saw a shooting star.

No char, it glimmered as it fell

To pull me back up out of Hell.

And, well, I’m not the sort of man

To go on so without a plan.

I can’t forget the things I saw,

The endless sphere, your trembling jaw,

The awe I breathed into the air,

I know it’s trite, but I must dare—

So there it is, my star-crossed mate,

And yes I know it’s not our fate

To hate or love, to fight or dance,

To share more than a knowing glance.

Romance is something sweet and short,

And I, for one, am not the sort

To thwart its early death or birth—

If I know one thing, it’s my worth.

The dearth of things you’ll say to me

Unmans me some, but that’s the fee

Of freedom, that’s the cost of life.

And yes, it hurts just like a knife.

And glimmers like a knife.

lone wolf

I'm completely alone.

The wife has gone away to her ancestral family retreat at Granite Lake, and I'm left to my own devices.  She's only gone for a few days, and I'm watching my mom's dog, but...still.  It's an eerie sensation for someone used to constant companionship (Indy is getting on in years, and isn't quite the hoot to be around he once was).

The last time I felt this way, I made a blog about it.  Bachelor for a Month was a lot of things (chief amongst them:  absolutely hilarious) but it lacked a certain ennui, and was pretty darn optimistic.  This bachelor-for-a-few-days has traded in his joie de vivre for something more like a scholar's malaise.  You can't stay a student forever; not even a student of life.

I took Indy for a walk today, and the particular light of the sun through the leaves was pretty peaceful.  I was enjoying the sensation immensely, but inevitably someone had to wander by, distracting me with a few friendly words.  I don't resent the intrusion, it's not as though I dislike people in general, but their presences disrupted what had become a fine community with nature.

I'm completely alone, and still I crave solitude.

I didn't really experience solitude the last time she left me to myself.  I got together with friends every single night she was gone, and I had a blast.  This time's only for a few days, and my calendar is already filling up again.  But right now, for these few hours, it is dark, and it is quiet, and I have only my voice for company.

Once, I was more terrified of being alone than anything.  Or, more precisely, being left alone -- of people forgetting me to the point that I may as well not exist.  Well, that's a silly fear, I know now; there are always more people to talk to.  Everybody's lonely, to some extent, and eager to find someone else to share the burden.

That's the trick, isn't it?  Searching for that one thing that'll bandage the wound, fill the void, heal your pain, and enable your happiness.  Instinct and experience together tell me that it's human nature to believe such a magic potion awaits in all of our lives, if only we have the moxie and stick-to-itiveness to go out there and find it.  But maybe we're all corrupted by the magic of advertising, poisoned by the end result of millions of man-hours bent on convincing us that we aren't happy.  How could we be, when there are so many things we still don't have?

So we search, and fight, and pursue, whatever the heck it is we've identified can finally give us peace.  Those with the best luck never quite get there, but spend their lives in the pursuit of our dreams.  Those with the worst luck achieve them, and what then?  Do they just find another reason to be unhappy, and work to remedy that?  It never ends.  A life where you achieve all your dreams is a life without purpose.  You know, assuming dreams impart purpose to begin with.

I'm completely alone, but no worse off than if I weren't.

The dog was so excited to go on his walk, he was shaking.  He was jumping up and down, giddy with glee.  He pulled at the leash the entire way, so overjoyed to be out in the world, smelling everything, learning, living.  He barked and dashed and pooped and smiled!  He was in his element.  He did everything he knows how to do out there, and then I brought him home.  Now he's lying on the ground, staring at me.  I threw a ball for him to catch, but he wasn't interested.  He's old, and I think he just wants to sleep.

I wish he could talk.  I wish he could tell me what he's learned in life.  I wish I could understand why, when I say the word "WALK," all the hours and days and months of empty staring just melt away, and he's a puppy again.  But all he can do is stare at me.  And when I sit on the couch and read, eventually he wanders over and places his head on the couch.  He wants me to pet him, so I do.

And neither of us has to be completely alone.

calm signal

Oh, what a fool I've been!

I will confess the reason I have not written a real blog post in months.  It is due to my adhering to the mindset expressed in my post of September 1st.

I was taken with the notion of "writing for myself."  I wanted it to be that way.  But then, every time I sat down to write a blog post, I couldn't avoid first envisioning how others might react to it.  And I let those imagined reactions put me off writing almost entirely.

My major mistake, I think, was in trying to identify some isolated "self" to write for.  I don't exist in isolation!  My "own" desires and interests are a reflection of my interactions with the people around me.  I can't write a blog post without considering others!  This blog would not even exist without others.  And so.

I'm ashamed by my naivete.

Looking at my last full post (not the poem or the movie review), it strikes me that these are the words of a defeated man.  And I am no less defeated today -- I'm just strong enough now to cast aside the cheap rationalizations and recognize the fact.  We are all, in some ways, defeated by life.  I would like to share an image with you.

This picture is from the webcomic Achewood, and is the creator's conception of the Wheel of Karma.  It is the circle of judgment; it is the scale on which a man's life is balanced, though he is always found wanting.

It is my understanding that we progress along the Wheel naturally, and only the icy heat of anger can impair that progress.  The Wheel itself judges individuals by analyzing their personality traits and life circumstances.  I will transcribe what is written on the Wheel, along with my best guess for each layer's meaning:

Outer Ring (The Good We Give Ourselves):  Virtue, Health, Outlook, Good Deeds, Hospitality, Improvement, Investment, End????t (possibly Endearment, Endorsement, Endowment?)

Second Ring (The Good We Give the World):  Danger, Beauty, Sociable, Popular, Endorsing, Scruff, Introspective, Charm

Third Ring (The Bad We Give the World):  Violence, Vanity, Invasive, Ignorant, Lying, Filth, Self-Obsessed, Arrogance

Fourth Ring (Our Curse):  Foundling, Bastard, Gypsy, Enfeebled, Harelip, Whelkspine, Octocephaly, Lash of Thanatos

Fifth Ring (Our Wounder):  Wounded by Parent, Wounded by Others, Wounded by Self, Wounded by God

Place yourself on the Wheel and learn your fate.  The image has some highlighted already, for a miserable cat.  They are Virtue, Scruff, Self-Obsessed, Lash of Thanatos, and Wounded by God.  To give you some idea, that combination would result in reincarnation as a baby dog.

Does that give you some idea?  No?  That's fine.  Figure it out.  The Wheel welcomes us all.

I will place myself.

Improvement, Charm, Lying, Gypsy, Wounded by Others.  Anger is a factor, but not a very significant one.

I judge that I will be reincarnated as a cuckoo.

Give it your best shot.

Persuasion

Persuasion

Once I gave a pleasant little tour

                                                             (in my arrogant way)

Of places near and dear to me,

People that I like,

Things that bring me pleasure.

And I capped it off

                                   (as usual)

With that caveat.  That warning,

Disclaiming, admitting that I

Am a terrible person.

                                    (           )

They laughed

And on we went, another joke of many.

I smiled, I like when they laugh,

They like me.  They are

Favorably disposed, and

Like is more like to

Give me what I want.

                                      (all of it)

But it was true, I tried to show them, and

The harder I tried, the worse I was,

The more they laughed.  I learned

You cannot be honest, and charming, and cruel.

They do not believe you.

They laugh, and feel good.

                                                (why not)

Why not let them.

Why not laugh along and play the part,

Persist the happy ruse, and

Get what I want.

                                      (what do i want)

All of it.