hopelesshappiness.com

It may have been the blink-of-an-eye. It may have been infinity, unraveled; amplified. To extract reality from uncertainty, is to choose every word---every descriptor---with the utmost care. Like each single-latticed scale within the delicate, ethereal, translucent wing of a butterfly, each word must contribute to flight. Like the gargantuan immensity of a massive boulder teetering on the edge of a narrow promontory, each word must have weight; and intensity. Of course, this is impossible. Not the combination of flight and weight and intensity; this coalescence is difficult, but not impossible. The impossibility, is reality.

From the early smudge of questioning wonderment, to the recent blur of speculative skepticism, I am a solecism; organic offal of the highest order. I cannot rush; but I must hurry. Here I go...

Orientation begins at 00:00:01. At the very beginning I am simply plopped onto the tarmac, and encouraged to take off. Eventually I come to understand that orientation will continue for one full rotation, or cycle. I am uncertain as to what a full cycle is. Is it 12:00:00? Or is it 24:00:00? Or is it a numerical vagrant such as 75:00:00? Or 100:00:00? At the beginning, it does not matter. At the beginning, it promises to be a long stretch with an unforeseeable end. For purposes of clarity, I will equate it to a full day; (i.e. 24:00:00).

Previous to 01:10:00, I recall some, but not a lot of detail. I recall heavy sunshine with occasional stray showers, sometimes sporting gusty winds. I am happy.

At approximately 01:10:28, metacognition kicks in. I begin to wonder if I am happy.

Somewhere between 01:10:00 and 02:15:00, I become aware that a clock is ticking, but I am unable to locate the source. I am adaptable; I ignore it. During this period of orientation, I learn how to learn. I learn how to listen. I learn how to recognize. I learn how to be recognized. I learn how to curse. I learn how to ask more meaningful questions. I learn how to bring rain and thunder and lightning. I learn how to maneuver, with some finesse. During this period of orientation, I learn how to be serious, and I learn how to strive for control, and I learn how to believe I am in control. I learn how, and when, to not think. During this period, I do not learn how to shut up.

Between 02:15:00 and 04:20:00, I build on previous learning. I knowingly grow stronger, and I unknowingly begin to wear out. I find some waters to test, first in a drainage ditch, then in some chlorinated, manmade repositories, but ultimately I am wading through a sparkling, clear brook flowing from a luxuriantly green hillside. Refreshed and rejuvenated by the cool vibrancy of my surroundings, I revel for a time in the deeper pools below, and then, as 04:00:00 comes and goes, I chart a course and I begin to follow the spring, upstream. And during this period of orientation, I also learn how to see things in the best possible light.

Somewhere around 04:20:00, since I am still unable to discern the source of the (somewhat ominous, but not particularly worrisome) ticking, I visualize its source, I create a functional facsimile, I hang it on a wall, and I forget about it, because this process of orientation still promises a long day.

Between 04:20:00 and 07:40:00 I expand. I take on the responsibility of Love several times over. I come to learn joy, from its calm and peaceful roots to its pinnacles of effervescence. And I learn pain. I learn pain through mistakes, and regret, and through the compounded suffering of my personal humanity. I learn how to further intensify compounded suffering, and I learn how to escape. I come to find that I misunderstand "the responsibility" of Love, and I refocus. I begin to learn that Love is not the same as control.

Between 07:40:00 and 12:00:00 I struggle, and I persist. I am brought back to an awareness of the ticking I had previously hung on a wall, and I decide it is still distant; I decide I can continue to ignore it.

• Between 09:15:00 and 09:40:00 I find myself in the midst of rougher terrain. As 09:40:00 comes and goes, the hills I have been strolling become steeper; and rocky. There are plateaus on which I am solid and confident; and there are treacherous cuts and passes in which I am tossed from side-to-side, battling slippery shale and a jagged melee of seemingly random encumbrances. I learn to gain surer footing. I miss the rolling hills, but I am pleased with my ability to navigate the rougher terrain. It is during this period of orientation when I begin to learn that control is not the same as bravado.
• At approximately 11:16:21 I am knocked sideways by an unexpected and unseen assailant, and I begin to learn how to walk in the dark. As 11:20:00 comes and goes, I find I have traveled from rocky country into a land dominated by heavy forestation. In the thickest depths, where light is sparse and trails are thin, I become adept at walking sideways; or, on occasion, I simply sit comfortably in my forest. I become deceptively untroubled in deep shadow; and I come to find that the world does not miss me, and I do not miss the world. But then I come to find that I misunderstand my relationship with the world, and I refocus. I begin to learn that comfort is not a state to be desired. I begin to learn that movement---progress---requires discomfort. I begin to learn that I learn best moving through both shadow, and light. I begin to learn that bravado is not the same as knowledge.

As 12:00:00 comes and goes, I build on previous learning.

At approximately 12:06:04 I am wandering down a pleasant wooded path when the ticking becomes unbearably loud, and the face of my metronomic visualization becomes blurred and illegible. I can no longer ignore it. As 12:06:04 comes and goes, I can still visualize its face hanging right there on the wall, belching out its resounding ticks, but I can no longer make out its temporal movement. I can no longer trust my capacity to grasp its divinatory message. The harder I focus, the more it jumps around; once reading 13:42:26, then 23:18:51, then 17:21:21. And when I am not watching---when I turn my head---its resounding belches become gastronomic eruptions. As I am shaken, I remember that I created this functional facsimile. I remember that I hung it on that wall. And I remember that the end is unforeseeable. I turn my head, and it is bearable.

As 12:06:04 comes and goes, I continue to build on previous learning; at a more rapid rate.

As 12:06:04 comes and goes, I begin to seriously contemplate the purpose and the nature of orientation. By definition, it is a preparation. I must believe this. If I did not believe this, I would seek comfort. I previously found comfort in the complacency of my deep shadows; and I moved on. I previously found comfort in the acquiescence of the best possible light; and I moved on. On occasion, I still find comfort in these things, and each time, I choose to move on. In this moment I believe that each moment of orientation is there to prepare me for the next moment of orientation. I may choose to work within this momentary opportunity; or I may choose to be complacent; or I may choose to acquiesce. In this moment I find comfort in the knowledge that the end is unforeseeable. As I contemplate, I begin to learn that knowledge is not the same as reality. I must move on. And then, I must ultimately move on. These thoughts create discomfort.

As 12:06:04 comes and goes, 12:06:04 is gone; and 13:42:26 is gone; and 23:18:51 is gone; and 17:21:21 is gone; and 24:00:00 comes, and goes.

It may have been the blink-of-an-eye. It may have been infinity, unraveled; amplified. To extract reality from uncertainty, is to choose every word---every descriptor---with the utmost care. Like each single-latticed scale within the delicate, ethereal, translucent wing of a butterfly, each word must contribute to flight. Like the gargantuan immensity of a massive boulder teetering on the edge of a narrow promontory, each word must have weight; and intensity. Of course, this is impossible. Not the combination of flight and weight and intensity; this coalescence is difficult, but not impossible. The impossibility, is reality.

Dear Future Employer:

Thank you for your timely request for help. I look forward to a mutually beneficial career, (or job), as a Copywriter, Content Writer, Contributing Writer, Feature Writer, Staff Writer, Technical Writer, not-so Technical Writer, or just-plain Writer, within your Organization. I will consider full time, part time, permanent, temporary, or freelance work; with a preference to be determined contingent upon your offering. I will accept a work-from-home position or, if you are located in Mobile, Alabama, I would also be amenable to a nice corner office or an interior, cramped cubicle; (I look nice in a tie).

"And why," you are asking, "should we hire you?"

Two words:
1. Dependability
2. Versatility

And...

Three-hundred-sixty-thousand words:
1. 250,000: Personal Blog, I have a strong history of dependable content production. Almost six years ago I assigned myself the task of exploring Happiness on a weekly basis, with a deadline of each Saturday Midnight. In that time, I have missed one deadline due to a technical glitch, and I have missed one deadline due to personal human error; and I have never written "last minute" though some content was produced expeditiously. Additionally, each week I have posted everything I have written within that week, occasionally resulting in multiple posts in one week. I have written every week for 300+ consecutive weeks. I should also note that I have purposefully spent virtually zero effort on promotion in order to disproportionately think, write, and learn.

2. 50,000: I have written and self-published one book, and I have edited / published two other books; one of which is a hardcover, coffee table history of a school district, currently being sold to benefit the district's nonprofit Education Foundation. For each project I performed extensive content editing, proofreading, layout, and design, (including cover design).

3. 50,000: I have written a Procedures Manual for the tightly regulated, technical field of propane and farm fuel delivery, immersing myself in the subject matter beyond state code and equipment manuals, to actual hands-on experience delivering propane and farm fuel, changing out propane tanks, and finding and repairing leaks.

4. 5,000, or thereabouts: I am currently involved in creative data management for a newly established Master of Physician Assistant Studies program, including creation of rubrics measuring cognitive and non-cognitive factors to determine correlation that will ultimately lead to predictive assistance within our selection process. I include this here not only to highlight my Dependability and Versatility, but also my Creativity and my Organizational Skills.

Access to the three-hundred-sixty-thousand words referenced above will be made available for your perusal upon your request. These words reflect recent efforts since 2011. Previous to 2011, I had approximately 20 years experience creating (largely) customer service oriented policy, procedure, and training process, (including a comprehensive policy and procedure manual), within varying management and human resource positions. In nearly every position I have held, I have always been the "go-to" for creative content.

In the interest of full disclosure, I am currently seeking flexibility so I may be flexible---(an apparent redundancy to be clarified by examining the intricacies between seeking and being; i.e. between now and then).

In my current circumstance, I have a job in Missouri. In a work-from-home circumstance, I have flexibility.

In Missouri, I am more frequently snowbound and I am landlocked. On the Gulf Coast, I lived through Katrina and I am imaginatively unrestrained.

*(Did you know that in the last 30 years, even including Katrina, more people were killed by the cold of winter than by hurricanes; and more people were killed by tornadoes than by hurricanes; and more people were killed by lightning than by hurricanes.)

In Missouri, I see less of family more frequently. On the Gulf Coast, I will see more of family less frequently.

In Missouri, I have frozen seafood. On the Gulf Coast, I will have fresh seafood.

In Missouri, I make a minimal impression on adult family members. On the Gulf Coast, I will be many hours closer to my five-year-old Granddaughter.

In my circumstance of Social Security Disability benefits, I am limited as to productive contribution. In the potential of full-time and/or multiple part-time work-from-home positions, I will be imaginatively unrestrained.

In my circumstance of believing that I have been stuck (in my comfy bureaucratic web of "You are a Number!"), I have been unimaginatively restrained. In my newly-discovered confidence in my ability to contribute productively, I am looking and moving forward.

In my circumstance of SSDI uncertainty, I am again reminded of my government's belief that I am inconsequential and, according to some, bad. In a circumstance free of excessively excessive government restriction, I will be imaginatively unrestrained.

In my rapidly expanding disillusionment with the system, I am losing faith in people and there are days I am at an astonished and exasperated loss. In my work-from-home job or jobs, I will be expressing my faith in people by actively working to move us toward reasoned cooperation, while considering the viability of living in southwest Canada.

To summarize:
In my belief that uncertainty and doubt are necessary for reasoned cooperation, I fear over-confidence. Within my fear of over-confidence, I am consistently put in my place. From my assigned place, I have often been angry. From my anger, I have learned productive temperance. From temperance, I have developed an instinct for recognizing a middle ground between audacity and acquiescence. From this middle ground, I am imaginatively unrestrained.

And this, ultimately, is why you should hire me: because I am now, rather consistently, working to be imaginatively unrestrained.

That's it for now. No resumé. No references. No portfolio. However, I do understand due diligence. If you would like a chronological framework in which to fit my knowledge, skills, and abilities, I can certainly provide it. References? Of course. And as previously stated, 360,000 words for your reading pleasure. Ask and ye shall receive.

An out-of-context excerpt from "The Sport of Kings" - a Novel written by C. E. Morgan:

"Whacked steadily from behind by the drovers' staves, each wave of squealing hogs pushes the hogs ahead of them to the slaughter, scrambling and pressing up the stinking ramp made slippery with green shit. Now the first hogs smell base blood over excrement, but are forced ahead into the shadows of that first and last chamber. A bloody-aproned man moves in menace at their far reaches; then one animal is gripped at the pastern above the cloven hoof and dragged, screaming, its left leg clasped in metal, now hauled up by a pulley with a shattering cry, its own weight ripping ball joint from socket so it hangs distorted at the thick hip, screeching its final confession, eyes bulging wide as its neck is sliced and blood jets from its jaw and runs into its eyes. Unable to pass through the slit trachea, the air whistles uselessly. The pig jerks madly and is soon drained pale, eyes bald of life. Now the next one and on and on. All hanging in a line, swaying side to side along the pulley as their bodies are opened, showing waved lines of ribs and vertebrae like the keys of a warped piano, the heads sawn off. Now to the disassembly: a drop onto the table, then quick mechanical thudding, the fall of cleavers, the flinging of component parts---hock, shoulder, loin. In sixty seconds, the hog is gone and meat is made, the dumb passage of life."

A parable on "The Fragmentation of Responsibility" from the British philosopher Jonathan Glover; (paraphrased and retold below):

Once there were 100 bandits who lived in the hills. And in the valley below these hills, there was a village inhabited by 100 villagers. Each Tuesday these 100 villagers sat down to a communal meal of 100 bowls each containing 100 beans. One Tuesday the 100 bandits converged upon the village and each bandit took a bowl of beans from a villager, leaving the entire village to go hungry until Wednesday. The 100 bandits were pleased and repeated the appropriation the following Tuesday. After a few weeks, one bandit spoke up and admitted to feelings of remorse for causing a villager to go hungry every Tuesday. A few other bandits, (though not a majority), also admitted to pangs of guilt. So, after much discussion, being a thoughtful, forward-thinking assemblage of bandits, they continued to raid the village each Tuesday but instead of each bandit absconding with an entire bowl of 100 beans, each bandit took only 1 bean from each of the 100 bowls set in front of each of the 100 villagers. In this manner, no single bandit stole the entirety of any single individual's sustenance or dignity, thus allaying all feelings of guilt and remorse. And the villagers lived hungrily ever after.

On Friday, April 28, I walked away from my comrades in thought and foreswore the life of banditry, for that day.

On Saturday, April 29, I glanced at my former associates and decided to prolong my dissociation, for another day.

Each day since, I have reassessed, and each day I have maintained gastronomic distance from all once-living beast or fowl; though I have continued to partake of fish and seafood. After making this decision, repeatedly, I discovered that there is a word for me: I am a "pescatarian." It feels like a philosophical statement moreso than a decision based on health or bandwagon considerations, which I believe to be the two primary motivations for one to change their diet. I consider "gluten-free" as more likely to be an example of the bandwagon, and the elimination of red meat as more likely to be an example of a health consideration. Additionally, many claiming ethical considerations are jumping on the bandwagon. Regardless, I also believe that within any dietary decision, including and perhaps especially a vegan, vegetarian, or semi-vegetarian/flexitarian diet, there is some measure of thoughtful personal philosophy.

But to be truthful, I have so far been unable to solidify this gelatinous flow of philosophy with words. And if I am unable to wrap words around a concept, it remains an uncongealed abstraction and I remain  unconvinced; which is why I am repeatedly making this decision on a daily basis. I must find the words.

Reexamining the quote and the parable above, I acknowledge the cruelty of meat, and I recognize the irrationality of the argument that one individual will not make a difference. So, is the statement I am making largely within the context of cruelty and fatuity? And because one could argue that this same (means-to-an-end) cruelty and this same (if-I-only-had-a-brain) speciousness apply to many, many different inanities inflicted upon current and future generations, is it this larger scope of narcissistic, unthinking, self-destructive obedience that I am lashing out at in an attempt to bring attention to the reality that the village is slowly dying from hunger?  Perhaps it is. And perhaps it is also the proliferation and spread of multiple groups of humanitarian bandits (in which each bandit is taking "only" one bean on Tuesday, and eight grains of rice on Thursday, and four kernels of corn on Saturday, and two leaves of lettuce on Sunday), that helps to explain why I am making the daily decision to refuse long-suffering-sentient meat. Perhaps it actually is a larger statement applicable beyond a philosophy of food.

As an individual, I find it is not difficult to turn my head and ignore the suffering of the caged hog; or the homeless man; or the oppressed and hungry villagers. As an individual, I find it is not difficult to justify inaction based on the futility of my individual action; or based on the certainty that I have earned my place; or based on the belief that I am simply more deserving and "they" therefore are simply less deserving. As an individual, I find it is not difficult to think only of myself.

I can rail against consumerism and bureaucracy and tyranny and all form of injustice; and I do. And I can espouse compassion and skepticism and affinity and all form of justice; and I do. But I find that I am limited as to animated (vs. verbal) statements. By choosing, each day, to reduce the overall daily consumption of human cruelty and stupidity, I am acting my philosophy. And perhaps, in this process, I am also mitigating my own personal daily, unthinking, very human contributions to those very insipidities, (in all manner of reach), I so vehemently denounce; contributions such as my weekly dip into consumerism via a lunch and a shopping excursion; or my political participation in social and/or workplace hierarchies; or my daily buy-in-slash-sell-out to the established Western order of all things so ordered. Yet, total voluntary exclusion will leave me on the outside looking in; whereas my food choices allow me to remain on the inside looking out, affording greater potential for maintaining awareness and trading influence, but nonetheless, also, providing convenient justification for my own personal, daily, unthinking, very human contributions to those very insipidities I so vehemently denounce.

Perhaps, with continued effort, I may one day find a fleeting moment of equilibrium.

Perhaps with continued action driven by thoughtful effort, I may one day find a fleeting moment of equilibrium.

Perhaps with continued awareness demanding reasoned action driven by thoughtful effort, I may one day find a fleeting moment of equilibrium.

Perhaps with continued influence encouraged by insightful awareness demanding reasoned action driven by thoughtful effort, I may one day find a shared moment of equilibrium.

Perhaps if I continue my pescatarian ways, I may one day find the essence of my momentary self.

Intractable: not easily controlled or directed; not docile or manageable; stubborn; obstinate; hard to shape or work with; hard to treat, relieve, or cure.

Some moments consist of layers layered upon layers layered upon layers layered upon layers; fragmenting and reforming and commingling; a melding of melodious dissonance creating a confusion of jumbled and inefficient thoughts and deeds.

Tractable: easily managed or controlled; yielding; easily worked, shaped, or otherwise handled.

Some moments consist of the moment; and while not completely tractable, certainly more peaceful.

This week I have been struggling mightily with the intractable dilemma of Life and mortality. By definition Life is inclusive of mortality, but to consciously consider them together, one alongside the other, has the potential to add multiple layers of unruly complexity. How do I free myself from this fusion of discordant compatibility?

I must let go of something.

If I let go of Life, I become an adherent, or disciple, and/or distracted, or (at the very least) a follower.

If I let go of mortality, I become idealistic, or abstracted, and/or distracted, or (at the very least) impractical.

Yet, this week, this combination has me at odds with myself.

... ... ... ... ...

Perhaps I should let go of the finality.

This week, in these last few hours, I have once again started looking forward. And by doing so, I realize I haven't done so for some period of time. By looking forward, I believe I can live Life and let go of finality, without losing sight of mortality. By looking forward, I believe I can live Life without becoming idealistic, abstracted, distracted, or impractical. By looking forward, I can conceive of an abiding integrity. And if for some reason, the finality of my mortality comes to fruition before I have stopped looking forward... I believe that will be preferable to having stopped looking forward.

If the finality of my mortality had come to fruition during this recent period of "not" looking forward, it could be said that the finality of my mortality had come to fruition several months previous to the finality of my mortality.

I must not get bogged down in a final, intractable synthesis of antagonistic collaboration.

Today, in this moment, I must look, (and then move), forward; and by doing so, the momentum may carry part of me beyond the finality of my mortality.

A. Passionate, stubborn, selfish lack of critical analysis.

Or

B. Arrogant, presumptuous, quixotic surplus of tangled bureaucracy.

This is the choice we are consistently given. And after decades of choosing, despite the seemingly infinite and ever-growing mass of available knowledge...

...We have become a passionate, quixotic, arrogant, stubborn, selfish, presumptuous, tangled bureaucracy unable to think beyond gaming and blaming.

...We have become a circus train wreck with rampaging elephants stomping performing poodles, and clowns brandishing severed arms to allegedly keep the peace, and one-armed jugglers spurting blood and looking for a new line of work, and the fire eater unable to take another bite, and the acrobats turned human cannonballs, and the knife thrower and sword swallower considering and then reconsidering rescuing the strongman and bearded lady thrown under the train, and broken and bent cogs and sprockets and wheels scattered haphazardly about, and the tightrope walkers broadcasting disputatious accounts of the carnage, and the trapeze artists taking advantage of the chaos and confusion to sow discontent, and the lion tamer left to explain to the authorities because the ringmaster is busy tweeting about the tightrope walkers and trapeze artists failure to maintain balance, and a large majority of the public giddily unaware, and another significant portion of the public unable to comprehend---on so many different levels.

...We have become a contradiction, routinely and often unknowingly swapping roles as straight man and dimwitted comic, as good cop and bad cop, as sadist and masochist, as beggar and miser, as master and slave, as know-it-all and dissident, as mastermind and stooge, as us and them.

...We have become a shadow box of nooks and crannies and niches; small places to hide and feel secure; protection from all except that which is directly in front, on the surface; superficial and immediate; no exploration; no depth of reasoning; limited investigation and slapdash interpretation; believing that others are outside looking in and seeing the whole picture, when in actuality we are all peeking around corners; and if inclined to explore we are often strongarmed back into our place; and from our place, inside our small and comfortable cubbyhole, we define self, and purpose, and Living.

...We have become expectatious, which, because it is technically not a word, appropriately represents our constant anticipatory state of entitlement which, because it is technically not a sense, should not be even a fleeting frame of mind, yet here we are believing the world owes me something simply because I draw breath; and because we are so busy worrying over getting our individual due, we are unable to make the effort to notice and take action to assist those with greater need which would be far more helpful and productive not just to those individuals here and now with greater need, but ultimately to the survival of Humanity because those with the greatest need are those future generations who are not here to help themselves or even to have input, and yet here we are believing we are not messing things up for great-great-grandchildren.

...We have become a freak snowstorm; turning our previous potential for warmth and compassion and beauty into a blinding blizzard of detached solitude; transforming a possibility of universal interdependence and synergy into a cold and lonely struggle for independent survival; forcing us into isolated and entrenched encampments designed to protect us from outside elements; disfiguring our landscape and adjusting our perspective to match the barren desolation; creating whiteout conditions in which we no longer know up from down; in which we no longer know the passing of time.

...We have become conflict and confrontation because our yardstick is power and money instead of acuity and aptitude, and though our yardstick has always included power, power has also typically been reflective of (at least a degree of) acuity and aptitude, but today, despite the seemingly infinite and ever-growing mass of available knowledge, the incestual relationship between power and money has excluded acuity and aptitude, claiming power and money as the true measure of acuity and aptitude despite the hideously malformed and monstrously incompetent offspring power and money, (or power and power, or money and money), have sprung upon us.

...We have become oblivious.

...We have become undone.

...We have become, unbecoming.