Music always seems to have the ability to transform my writing, and vice versa. So as my writing changes, my musical tastes are evolving. Or maybe my taste in music is changing, and it's effecting my writing. Hard to tell.
But today, on cold, wet, winter's day, I'm discovering the Lumineers. I'm thoughtful. And a little bit melancholy. More importantly, I'm writing. And I don't want to stop.
In case you aren't familiar, here's some background from my bestie, Wikipedia:
"The Lumineers are an American folk rock band based in Denver, Colorado. The two founding members and songwriters of the Lumineers are Wesley Schultz (lead vocals, guitar) and Jeremiah Fraites (drums, percussion). Cellist and vocalist Neyla Pekarek joined the band in 2010, after responding to a Craigslist advertising."
"Josh Fraites, the brother of Jeremiah and best friend of Schultz, died of a drug overdose in 2002. As a way to cope with their loss, Schultz and Fraites began writing and performing together ..."
That may explain the feeling I'm getting as I listen to them. Although they've often been compared to Mumford and Sons, the two have very different sounds and inspire very different feelings. The Lumineers leave me with a weight in my chest. A gentle sadness. A soulful longing. A reluctant hope.
Their most well-known song is probably "Ho Hey." You've heard it. Even if you think you haven't. But my favorite (for now) is "Stubborn Love."
It's better to feel pain, than nothing at all The opposite of love's indifference So pay attention now I'm standing on your porch screaming out And I won't leave until you come downstairs So keep your head up, keep your love Keep your head up, my love Keep your head up, my love Keep your head up, keep your love
It's hard to not to be affected by these lyrics.
Honestly, though, their self-titled debut album is absolutely perfect listening on a day like today. I haven't yet heard a song I didn't like.
Here's another favorite from their second album, Cleopatra.
"When I write you I anticipate my words will have an effect on you; they will elicit an emotional response because they're being written from an emotional place. That's a large part of this: emotion. Feelings. Sensations. Desires."
Another idea that has resonated with me while reading Carl G. Jung's writings is this, in it's most simplest form: emotions drain your brain. I've often heard the same notion in other ways. Emotions make you stupid. Emotions cloud your judgement. Emotions preclude rational thought. Abaissement du niveau mental literally means "a reduction of mental level." It is a phrase coined by French psychologist Pierre Janet, and expanded upon by Jung. More specifically, it refers to a "weakening of the ego due to an unconscious drainage of its psychological energy." It can be caused by a number of things, including physical fatigue, illness, shock and yes, violent emotions. Jung doesn't mention it, but I would add drug use to this list. Typically, drugs of all kinds impede our inhibitions, smash our self-imposed filters, and cause us to not give a flying fuck about consequences. Anyone who's ever been drunk knows this.
I digress. Let's think about this, because what Jung was getting at is much, much deeper.
Experiments in psychic ability (J.B. Rhine's) and Jung's own investigations into sychronistic events lead him to conclude that a heated emotional state would lessen the rational self to the point that your mind was more likely to tap into the collective unconscious, and thus be influenced by archetypal instincts. Once connected to that great ocean of thought, time, and space, you are likely to have psychic visions and experience sychronicity.
Again, it might all be bullshit. It's probably bullshit. Bunchoffuckingbullshit. But if it isn't ...
Shouldn't we wholly embrace our emotions? Be it hate, fear, loathing, elation, warmth, love? As a logical, thinking, responsible adult, we do just the opposite the majority of the time. Adulting is about conformity, and conformity is about acting "normal" and level-headed in any situation. Strong emotions often must break through to be seen and even felt. But to know and understand this experience (life) we should give more credence to these feelings. Engage and revel in them. Then, according to Jung, we'll be more likely to tap into that magical trove of collective human knowledge. As cool as that sounds, were we to be successful, we likely wouldn't be consciously aware of the fact. But what could we learn? What truths could be imparted to us?
I'm fighting my own daily battle. Do I smile blithely through everything that happens to me? Peacefully accept that change is inevitable and life happens? Or do I fight it? Do I allow my emotions to influence my decisions? Allow the brain drain to take over?
I always thought emotional people were weak. But now that I'm thinking about it, I mean, really thinking about it, perhaps it's us control-freaks who are the weak ones. We let fear keep us from realizing and expressing how we feel. And if we don't know our true feelings, how can we attain in life that which we truly want? Maybe there's a happy medium. I'm always looking for the happy medium.
Yet another work-in-progress. This recent path I'm on is causing me to ask more questions than I have answers for. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
J. L. Dodd
“Life is a comedy to those who think, a tragedy to those who feel.”
― Jean Racine
“One ought to hold on to one's heart; for if one lets it go, one soon loses control of the head too.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche
“All the knowledge I possess everyone else can acquire, but my heart is all my own.”
― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
“What is this "heart"? If I tear open that chest of yours, will I see it there? If I smash open that skull of yours, will I see it there? -Ulquiorra”
― Tite Kubo
“When I open them, most of the books have the smell of an earlier time leaking out between the pages - a special odor of the knowledge and emotions that for ages have been calmly resting between the covers. Breathing it in, I glance through a few pages before returning each book to its shelf.”
― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
Work Cited:
Jung, C.G. Synchronicity: An Acausal Connecting Principle. Bollingen Foundation, 1960.
I've been reading about sychronistic events that Carl Gustav Jung observed during his own life, and one in particular caught my attention.
"The wife of one of my patients, a man in his fifties, once told me in conversations that, at the deaths of her mother and her grandmother, a number of birds gathered outside the windows of the death-chamber" (Jung, 22). The woman's husband collapses, and is brought home close to death, but (shocker!) a flock of birds beats him home and settles on his roof. The man dies soon after.
Jung continues: "If one considers, however, that in the Babylonian Hades the souls wore a 'feather dress,' and that in ancient Egypt the ba, or soul, was though of as a bird, it is not too far-fetched to suppose that there may be some archetypal symbolism at work" (23).
Intriguing. I've a connection to this phenomenon (albeit in fiction) through H.P. Lovecraft's The Dunwich Horror. He describes the behavior of whippoorwills, birds that gather when death is near.
"Then too, the natives are mortally afraid of the numerous whippoorwills which grow vocal on warm nights. It is vowed that the birds are psychopomps lying in wait for the souls of the dying, and that they time their eerie cries in unison with the sufferer’s struggling breath. If they can catch the fleeing soul when it leaves the body, they instantly flutter away chittering in daemoniac laughter; but if they fail, they subside gradually into a disappointed silence."
You get the feeling that these birds are evil, although by definition, a pyschopomp (yes, I looked it up) comes from Greek mythology and means a guide for the soul to the afterlife. So I guess it depends on perspective. Same as with Hell Girl.
From Wikipedia:
"Due to its haunting, ethereal song, the eastern whip-poor-will is the topic of numerous legends. One New England legend says the whip-poor-will can sense a soul departing, and can capture it as it flees. This is used as a plot device in H. P. Lovecraft's story The Dunwich Horror. Lovecraft based this idea on information of local legends given to him by Edith Miniter of North Wilbraham, Massachusetts when he visited her in 1928. This is likely related to an earlier Native American and general American folk belief that the singing of the birds is a death omen. This is also referred by Whip-poor-will, a short story by James Thurber, in which the constant nighttime singing of a whip-poor-will results in maddening insomnia of the protagonist Mr. Kinstrey who eventually loses his mind and kills everyone in his house, including himself."
Hmm. So what does a whip-poor-will sound like?
Uh, yeah. That's definitely creepy. Could be a little bit maddening. Maybe we shouldn't be listening.
Just ... once ... more.
Again.
Someone ... help.
More to come. I'm not done with this topic.
J. L. Dodd
"Then came a halt in the gasping, ... A change came over the yellow, goatish face of the prostrate thing, and the great black eyes fell in appallingly. Outside the window the shrilling of the whippoorwills had suddenly ceased, and above the murmurs of the gathering crowd there came the sound of a panic-struck whirring and fluttering. Against the moon vast clouds of feathery watchers rose and raced from sight, frantic at that which they had sought for prey."
- The Dunwich Horror, H.P. Lovecraft
Work Cited:
Jung, C.G. Synchronicity: An Acausal Connecting Principle. Bollingen Foundation, 1960.
So the beginning of November was a veritable shit storm. And the middle. And the end. For myself, on a personal level. For all of us, on a national level. Can this month end already?
After conferring with my advisors, we've decided that the November super moon and Trump are co-conspirators. I'm now wondering how far the shit storm spread. Did it effect people's personal and professional lives in India? Antarctica? Brooklyn?
I'm hoping that when November ends, this craziness will end. Yes, yes, I'm aware that the overall craziness in any population is directly proportional to the proximity of Christmas. Not this year, people. I refuse. This year is going to be chill. Gift cards all around.
But if it isn't, at least I have a new scapegoat. We (my closest advisors and I) have now coined, "Fucking Trump!" (Can be abbreviated as FT!) It's universal and pretty much covers everything. It replaces "Thanks, Obama!" Credit to Jenna Marbles for popularizing the phrase (I think).
So this is your chance, people. Republicans (and everyone else) had their run with it for the last eight years. No matter what goes wrong in your life, be it job loss, a headache, or you misplaced your keys again, just say, "Thanks, Trump!" It doesn't have to make sense. It's his fault. Somehow.
J. L. Dodd
I looked at "Thanks, Obama!" memes for 45 minutes before I decided to go in a different direction with my quotes.
Thanks, Obama.
"Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time. We are the ones we've been waiting for. We are the change that we seek."
"We, the People, recognize that we have responsibilities as well as rights; that our destinies are bound together; that a freedom which only asks what's in it for me, a freedom without a commitment to others, a freedom without love or charity or duty or patriotism, is unworthy of our founding ideals, and those who died in their defense."
"Let us remember we are all part of one American family. We are united in common values, and that includes belief in equality under the law, basic respect for public order, and the right of peaceful protest."
"Now, as a nation, we don't promise equal outcomes, but we were founded on the idea everybody should have an equal opportunity to succeed. No matter who you are, what you look like, where you come from, you can make it. That's an essential promise of America. Where you start should not determine where you end up."
So, I'm a little antisocial. I get anxiety when I am put in unfamiliar social situations (this last week it was just a parent/teacher conference.). My anxiety can worsen to the point where I will bail on something I've committed to (birthday parties, school carnivals, outings with a group of friends, trips to Safeway [the horror!]). If I can't bail, I will use my phone or a book as a barrier to distance myself and discourage contact. Some might think I'm a stuck up bitch, but please, people, I'm just shy and a wee bit reclusive.
I blame my job for making me this way (where I work with the public, in a small town, no less). I don't think it's unusual for me to feel this way. I've talked to my coworkers and friends in similar lines of work, and they feel the same as I do. It must be caused by some precise convergence of variables that occur in small towns.
I feel like I've been hibernating (when at all possible) for the last 5 or 6 years. My motto was always, "I'd rather stay home." Hello Agoraphobia! I get it now. And the fact that my children were small and dependent gave me the perfect cover.
But my children are no longer small and dependent. My youngest is 12, and nearly as tall as I. Slowly, but surely, things have been changing for me. Over the last year, I've been reconnecting with long lost friends and spending my weekends visiting with friends and family. In case you're wondering, it's a great feeling. No shit.
I think ... I'm ready to come out of my hibernation. I've realized the importance of human connections toward lifelong happiness. And, shocker! When I've been forced to be social (out of guilt or obligation)? It's not nearly as bad as I thought. Sometimes, it's even fun. It definitely makes me feel normal, like I'm a part of the human race. And isn't that what we all want? To be "normal"? To feel like we belong in any given group of humans?
I still refuse to go to Safeway, though, where I'll be forced to engage in multiple awkward conversations with acquaintances. That place is truly an alternate form of Hell. And the prices!
*sigh*
I wanted to write about something exceedingly flippant today. All my writing of late has reflected my thinking of late, and has been particularly heavy: theoretically, emotionally, politically. I think I needs to find me some drivel and dig in. Imma do that (as soon as I finish my five books).
But first, I want to share a random YouTube video that my kids find hilarious:
Moving forward, not backward. That's what I want to do.
And not in Goddamn circles. Circles aren't the worst thing. They can be fun (if you happen to be a hamster), and you can still learn from a circle. But you don't get anywhere. And that's beyond frustrating.
My subconscious offers this song: U2's "Running to Stand Still."
And so she woke up Woke up from where she was lyin' still. Said I gotta do something About where we're goin'. Step on a fast train Step out of the driving rain, maybe Run from the darkness in the night. Singing ah, ah la la la de day Ah la la la de day.
U2's lyrics are open to interpretation, and mean a wide variety of things to a wide variety of people. (Isn't that what makes music so fucking awesome? It unifies us even in our variance.) For me, it's especially poignant, especially now. I don't want to go back to how things were before, be it last year, or 6 months ago, or even yesterday. I must move forward. Recognize my mistakes. Change, going forward, even if it's difficult. Even if it's painful.
I don't want to settle in life. I want my life to be amazing. I want my family's life to be amazing.
So change. And impermanence. As much as I aspire to acceptance, I'm starting to see this quality as a weakness. Sure, it can be useful in given situations. You didn't get that promotion? Fuck it. Something better will come along. He doesn't love you back? Fuck it. Not meant to be. Papercut? Same. Cancer? Same. Yes, this attitude will help you cope. But does it really do you any favors in the long run?
Change is scary. Sometimes terrifying, as with our new President-elect. I'm not talking about that now.
But regret is even more terrifying.
Maybe the Universe has an order to it. Maybe some things depend on "fate" or "chance." Some things are out of our control. This must be true. It has to be. But some things don't, and aren't. Perhaps some things have to be set in motion by us, subconsciously or otherwise. And making that realization is the first step in owning your life and future happiness.
J. L. Dodd
"Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it." - Steve Jobs
"The biggest human temptation is to settle for too little." - Thomas Merton
“So the story of man runs in a dreary circle, because he is not yet master of the earth that holds him.”
- Will Durant
“You are not responsible for the past, but insofar as you do nothing, you are complicit in the present created by it.”
- Jonathan R. Miller
I'm tired. I've been up since 3 am doing a little of this, a little of that. So I'm just going to write, and try not to second-guess, and see where I end up.
I don't want to write about the election, my disappointment, or how I feel ashamed of our country. Unnecessary. Really, USA? Really? I acknowledge that people make mistakes. Fuck, I make mistakes all the time. My math is terrible, I can be hella judgmental at times, and I'm a lazy bitch. But this is different. The simple statement we made by electing him and thus, in a sense, validating his views is a colossal mistake on it's own. It's embarrassing. For anyone who wants to move, I feel you. Because on top of this, there is no way to predict how we will pay for it in the next four years. Worse, this mistake was made by the whole country. Actually, no. I'm at least glad that I can count myself as part of the 6.8 million who voted for Hillary.
As devastating as Trump's win has been, I'm finding hope in those with the courage to voice their dissension, from celebrities to coworkers to friends and family. Yes, it's done. He won. He will be our president in January. But we don't have to be happy about it. We don't have to make it easy for him. And as Americans, it's our right to question. To openly show dissent. To say, "Fuck that shit."
So that's what I'm doing. And I don't care who knows. Sorry Mom. Sorry Dad. You taught me to think for myself, so you can't complain when my opinion is opposite your own.
Okay. I do feel better, but enough. I've been thinking about this too much and I refuse to dwell on things that make me unhappy.
I don't want to write about my writing. Not much progress there. Too much going on. Just getting through the day is struggle enough.
I don't want to talk about music. Or do I? It just doesn't seem important right now, though I will say this: Vessel, by Twenty One Pilots is just as good or better an album than Blurryface. I especially like "Trees," "Screen," and "Migraine." And "Ode to Sleep." And "Fake You Out." Listening to this (to try to pick a few favorites) is literally changing my outlook on this day from a negative to a positive. And it's fucking Sunday.
Not to mention I want to dance, and people, I can't dance. Correction: physically, I can, but for the love of God, I shouldn't. It's not quite as bad as Elaine Benes on Seinfeld, but it's close. It wasn't always that way. Or was it? In sixth grade, my friend Meggen and I started a dance club (we put up signs around our neighborhood) and spent hours in her front yard dancing to MC Hammer and Vanilla Ice. We were experts at the Roger Rabbit, that much I am certain of. And I used to know the moves to Electric Slide, as robotic and unimaginative as they are. Fortunately or unfortunately, all that overflowing rhythm and coordination has long since disappeared. I'll blame adulting. It has a way of doing that to a person. That's my excuse, anyway.
I still dance. But only if I'm moved. And no one is watching.
There's plenty of other things I don't want to talk about, but I'll save those for next time.
J. L. Dodd
Excerpt from "Migraine"
I-I-I I've got a migraine
And my pain will range from up, down, and sideways
Thank God it's Friday cause Fridays will always be better than Sundays
'Cause Sundays are my suicide days
I don't know why they always seem so dismal
Thunderstorms, clouds, snow and a slight drizzle
Whether it's the weather or the ledges by my bed
Sometimes death seems better than the migraine in my head
Let it be said what the headache represents
It's me defending in suspense
It's me suspended in a defenseless test
Being tested by a ruthless examiner
That's represented best by my depressing thoughts
I do not have writer's block my writer just hates the clock
It will not let me sleep I guess I'll sleep when I'm dead
And sometimes death seems better than the migraine in my head
My greatest fear is that I'll die some time in the near future. Not because I'm afraid of death; I'm not one of those. I know it's going to happen, and as far as I'm concerned, afterlife, smafterlife (again, sorry Mom).What terrifies me, though, is that I'll die before I get the opportunity to really do anything with my life.
Now, of course, I have (nearly) raised four beautiful, intelligent, amazing children. Obviously, to say this is an important accomplishment would be an understatement. But, really, that isn't what I'm talking about here.
I want to do something for myself. It sounds selfish, I know, but it isn't. Trust me, it's all about perspective. My 38-year-old perspective is vastly different, and continues to change from day to day. To start, I want to give my inner voice free rein and acknowledge all the things I never realized I'm feeling. I want to renew connections with lost friends, reminisce and revisit past discussions about being young, growing old, love and the meaning of life. I want to spend more time with my family. My children are nearly grown, nearly lost to me. There are many things I still want to do before that time comes. And I have extended family I haven't seen in years. I need their stories, too.
Of course, I want to write. I haven't been writing as of late, and no, this blog doesn't count. I want to write and self-publish my stories. I want to start and grow my own company. I want to travel with my loved ones and collect new experiences. These are things that are important to me. What I'm saying is that what is important to me is now important to me. For the first time in a very long time.
YOLO, then. I fucking hate that expression. It's annoying, and I feel most people use it as an excuse to act like idiots. But still.
Since I'm saying all this, I better get my ass busy. Enough with the resistance.
J. L. Dodd
"Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable." -Sydney J. Harris
"Many people die with their music still in them. Why is this so? Too often it is because they are always getting ready to live. Before they know it, time runs out". -Oliver Wendell Holmes
"Begin doing what you want to do now. We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand, and melting like a snowflake." -Marie Ray
"Why be saddled with this thing called life expectancy? Of what relevance to an individual is such a statistic? Am I to concern myself with an allotment of days I never had and was never promised? Must I check off each day of my life as if I am subtracting from this imaginary hoard? No, on the contrary, I will add each day of my life to my treasure of days lived. And with each day, my treasure will grow, not diminish." -Robert Brault
It's fall. Autumn. Whatever. The mornings are cool. The air is crispy. Halloween is coming. Dia de los Muertos is coming. Thanksgiving is coming. Screw Christmas, for now. This is my most favoritest time to fully engage my creativity. To read and write. To think. To reflect. To plan. I don't usually read poetry (maybe my next new hobby), but I'll make an exception for this season (see below).
First, I realized I cannot continue to divide my attention between books. I'm going back to the first book I started two months ago and finishing it. Today. Barring any sudden and sweeping inspiration, I'll focus on that. I don't like to feel divided. It makes me feel unproductive, and even though I'm undoubtedly moving forward intellectually and emotionally, when my focus is lost, it's more of a struggle.
Second, if I can't continue my revision, and by the painful, slow pace I'm keeping, it's becoming more and more apparent that I can't, I'll do what I did in the past: move on, at least for a time. Pick up where I left off in the next story. It also must come out, in time. And as long as I'm working, I feel at peace.
Another thing about fall, it's fruitcake season. I'm most certainly feeling fruitcakeish, especially today. Stripes, polka-dots, plaid, argyle. The sky's the limit. My scientific mind uses this phenomena as evidence that I'm in the right state of mind to create. My philosophical mind wonders WTF does this have to do with anything, but recognizes with this a priori, my consciousness has come full circle.
I'll hibernate in the safety and security of my home, drinking coffee long into the afternoon, cuddling with my dog, and allowing myself to become distracted by SNL, Fairy Tail, and The Somnambulist. This is how I work best. Why fuck with the process?
Apologies. Today's blog only makes sense to me. Apparently, I needed to talk to myself.
Don't knock on my door, people. I'm not home.
Jess
"October"
Robert Frost (from A Boy’s Will, 1915)
O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes’ sake along the wall.
"My November Guest"
Robert Frost (from A Boy’s Will, 1915)
My sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She’s glad the birds are gone away,
She’s glad her simple worsted gray
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.
Further research on Jung has lead me down a veritable rabbit hole (yes, friend, a rabbit hole) of philosophical and psychological thinkers of the past, from Schopenhauer to Einstein, to Hegel, Kant and Nietzsche, and all the way back to Plato. These are names I'm more or less familiar with, but here I'll focus on Schopenhauer.
I should preface this by saying I've only begun to delve into these matters, perhaps in response to my own, newly-christened search for individual truth.
German-born Arthur Schopenhauer (1788 - 1860) was an olde-school "Debbie Downer." A more proper (but no less correct) description would be a philosophical pessimist. He believed that the phenomenal world (that which can be observed by humans) was the product of a "blind, insatiable, malignant, metaphysical will." For me, malignant is the word that stands out. Why? What tragedy happened in this dude's life to make him believe such a thing? But wait, there's more good news. From Wikipedia: "Human desire is futile, illogical, directionless, and by extension, so is all human action in the world." Not only does good 'ol Arthur consider his cup half empty, I'd wager whatever it's full of is something yucky.
He further built upon Hegel's Zeitgeist, the idea that society is directed by a collective consciousness. However, in Schopenhauer's version of the truth, this collective consciousness was controlled by the all-encompassing Will. But wait, seriously, there's more. The only way to overcome this evil is to embrace mankind's duties of asceticism and chastity. It's no wonder most of his influence and fame came posthumously.
Schopenhauer's idea of the Will is intriguing to me because I think it nonsense. That aside, I feel I have much to learn from him (despite his misogynistic views on women). To build upon his predecessors and further develop his own unique school of thought is no small accomplishment. As I continue to do with Jung, I will sift through Schopenhauer's work to find those bits and pieces that resonate with my thoughts and further me on my own path.
Always helpful, my husband readily supplied me with Schopenhauer: Essays and Aphorisms as soon as I mentioned his name, so add that to the growing list of books I'm reading. I really need to update my Goodreads profile, people.
If nothing else, think of the possibilities for literary inspiration. This insatiable, malignant Will has a very Lovecraftian appeal to it. Perhaps when I'm done reading (which will likely be never), I'll start writing about it.
I'm feeling decidedly more optimistic in October. Peace out.
Want to take an acid trip minus the acid? That's what this South African trio is all about. Die Antwoord (Afrikaans for "The Answer") members Ninja, Yolandi Visser and "God" AKA DJ Hi-Tek were formed in 2008. How can I describe them? Combine insane, colorful style, "zef" culture, prolific profanity, unique and disturbing imagery and a gleeful rejection of mainstream musical norms. Believe me when I tell you, you've never seen or heard anything like them.
Their music is categorized as "rap rave." Give it a listen.
"Die Antwoord's musical and visual style incorporates elements of a 'zef' culture, described as modern and trashy, appropriating out-of-date, discarded cultural elements.Yo-Landi said, 'It's associated with people who soup their cars up and rock gold and shit. Zef is, you're poor but you're fancy. You're poor but you're sexy, you've got style.'"
Critics have undervalued their work as capitalizing on shock value. Shock, they do, and well, but there is real talent underneath all that craziness. I was introduced to them when they appeared in the film Chappie in 2015. Lyrics are somewhat typical if not often crude, centering on sex, drugs, and general egomania. I like Ninja, but for me, Yolandi makes them. She just does it for me: her accent, her raps, her "fuck-it" sensibility, and her proclivity toward horror make her unforgettable.
I'll admit, they may be an acquired taste. But bottom line: raps are brilliant and weird. Weirdly brilliant. Beats are bad-ass and catchy. My only complaint is there are simply too many penises: lyrically, figuratively, and in reality. If you watch the video for "Evil Boy," you'll agree.
Imma start saying "fok" instead of fuck.
J. L. Dodd
"We are the underbelly. No one has ever presented that. It was something people were shy or scared of - they swept it under the carpet. We made it our thing." - Ninja
"Music used to be about people not giving a fuck. We're taking it back there." - Yo-Landi
On their March 2015 show in Sydney:
"It's the kind of show that would be used as a torture device on most normal, sane people. Ear-splitting, rude, self-indulgent and manic. One man's hell is this reviewer's heaven."-Rachel Olding, The Sydney Morning Herald
Something has awakened in me a thirst for knowledge unlike that which I have ever known. Even when I was in college it wasn't like this. Back then, I had a very good reason to bury myself in textbooks, i.e., I was paying for it, not to mention the eternally-motivating concept of grades. Now, I'm not sure what is driving me. But I'm being driven, of that, there is no doubt. Is this an intellectual awakening? A search for enlightenment? Purpose? A cry for help? A mid-life crisis? A normal part of adulting? Am I descending (or ascending, depending on how you look at it) into madness? Or, most likely, all of the above?
The effects of this are most evident in the books I'm reading. Books. Rarely in my life have I read more than one book at a time. I know some people do this often, but in the past, I couldn't comprehend why a person would divert their focus from a literary work, especially one he or she found worthwhile. (In truth, I probably thought these people slackers. Apologies.) The only time I remember doing this was when I was deep in my Lovecraft/Poe phase. I would read one story or work, then take a break by reading something lighter. (This see-sawing is also necessary when reading non-fiction, not that I do that often. I need fiction in my life. I need to go somewhere else for a little while.) But lately, I keep finding myself thinking, "Ooh, I want to read that." For instance, my husband told me about Ursula Le Guin (The New York Times described her as "America's greatest living science fiction writer."). I want to read her work. My friend wants to start reading books by "crazy Russians," like Dostoevsky. I want to read those, too. A friend of a friend recommends Hot Pterodactyl Boyfriend. Sure, why the fuck not?
The bad part is, I have never been especially good at multi-tasking, and now I find myself at an unfortunate literary crossroad. I'm currently reading The Somnambulist by Jonathan Barnes, Wizard and Glass by Stephen King, V. by Thomas Pynchon, as well as Selected Writings from Carl Jung. I'm also dabbling in a short history of the Necronomicon that is accompanied by some scary-ass artwork. We're talking nightmare shit. I told my sister about it and she said, "Why? Why would you read that?" to which I answered, in so many words, "Because." Anyway, I've been able to stave off starting Hyperion by Dan Simmons and but only just. Long story short, I'm lacking focus (you already know this, people).
Another effect of transient thinking: my blog entries have increased, while the work on my novel has decreased. Okay, stopped. Until today that is. I'm so going to work on it today, damn it. Still, I see it as not necessarily a bad thing (rose-colored glasses and all). I'm accepting of my new found chaotic thinking. I'm so very "roll with it" right now.
Another theory is that all this is being caused by my uptake in caffeine. I'm a caffeine fiend these days. In my mind, caffeine equals productivity, be it reading, writing, house-cleaning or just being awake late at night. My excuse? I'm being enabled. The intricacies of my relationship with coffee intrigue me, though, since in the past, I've used alcohol to inspire me, though I haven't gone that route for some time. For now, I'll continue to abstain. I want to see where this is going.
All aboard, people. Blaine the pain is taking us to crazy town. Benny's coming, Mr. Moon, Cthulhu and the shadow archetype. It's gonna be fun.
I have a couple of friends (okay, one is more an acquaintance) that I went to high school with that recently moved back to our small town. The very same small town that when we were younger, we complained about non-stop. The very same small town that we all said we were done with when we graduated.
First the acquaintance. I want to say he was living in Ohio. Someplace cold. He has a wife, and kids, and a good job. But his family is here (and the weather is miserable). So he moves his family back. He takes a job at Circle K that he enjoys. He is close to his parents, the weather doesn't suck ass, and he is happy.
Now the friend. My age, single, no children. Attended Duke University. Got a job after graduation, teaching at Duke University. But ... her family is here. She goes back and forth for a bit. Eventually resigns. Moves back permanently, gets a job making custom hats, and loves working with her hands instead of her head (her words). And she gets to spend time with her parents. She is happy.
I realize I'm using the word "happy" as a sweeping generalization, but still. What conclusions can be drawn?
I'm getting older. I feel, maybe, just maybe, I'm getting wiser. My mental musings continue to chip away at the illusion of unlimited time, and my perspective on life, happiness and enlightenment has evolved to something I never thought possible. I think I've figured out what is important to me, at least, and what isn't. In a nutshell: Money isn't. Power isn't. Career isn't. Sex isn't. Possessions (even manga collections) ... no. It's the people in your life that are important. I think happiness comes from sharing something with another person, be it a smile with a stranger, a conversation with a friend, or an embrace with a loved one. Those connections remind us we are not alone, and make our struggle less so.
I'm sounding like a fucking Hallmark made-for-TV movie. It might all be bullshit. But I'm starting to believe that I believe it. So either way, it's a win-win.
J.L. Dodd
“Man is fond of counting his troubles, but he does not count his joys. If he counted them up as he ought to, he would see that every lot has enough happiness provided for it.”
– Fyodor Dostoevsky
"Happiness is inward, and not outward; and so, it does not depend on what we have, but on what we are." --Henry Van Dyke
"Happiness is spiritual, born of truth and love. It is unselfish; therefore it cannot exist alone, but requires all mankind to share it." --Mary Baker Eddy
I hate to jump on the bandwagon (Why, though? Do I think I'm too cool to jump on the bandwagon? Maybe. What is cooler than a bandwagon that I can jump on? Imma have to think about this.). In this case, I'll make an exception because it's warranted. I have a new favorite band: Twenty One Pilots. To clarify, they won't be superseding Linkin Park or anything, but the duo and their musical musings are pretty bad-ass.
When I first heard "Stressed Out" on the radio, I immediately liked it, although I didn't look to see who the band was because it was on the today's hits radio station (see aforementioned dislike of bandwagons). But when "Ride" was released, I decided I had to find out more, which of course, prompted a YouTube search. And the rest is history.
The name, it seems, has a rather unique origin. From Wikipedia: "Tyler came up with the band's name while studying All My Sons by Arthur Miller, a play about a man who must decide what is best for his family after causing the death of twenty-one pilots during World War II because he knowingly sent them faulty parts for the good of his business. Tyler explains that this story of moral dilemma was the inspiration for the name of the band."
Interesting.
Twenty One Pilots fans insist there is no way to classify what genre they belong to, and I'll agree, it is difficult. There is certainly rap, though not in the traditional sense. There is also rock. You may know I'm a fan of the combination of the two. But what makes them stand out for me are the lyrics. Most times I don't give a shit about lyrics of a song I like, instead relying on the melody to affect me. But these lyrics are different. Unusual. Intriguing. Full of genuine human sentiment about uncertainty and conflict. I mean, how often do you hear a rap song about insecurity? I haven't yet found a song by them I don't like, but my favorite is "Car Radio." It alludes to the voices in one's head, something I've been battling as of late.
Here we go again. Forgive me. From Wikipedia:
"The bandwagon effect is a phenomenon whereby the rate of uptake of beliefs, ideas, fads and trends increases the more that they have already been adopted by others. In other words, the bandwagon effect is characterized by the probability of individual adoption increasing with respect to the proportion who have already done so.
"...The tendency to follow the actions or beliefs of others can occur because individuals directly prefer to conform, or because individuals derive information from others.
"...When individuals make rational choices based on the information they receive from others, economists have proposed that information cascades can quickly form in which people decide to ignore their personal information signals and follow the behavior of others."
See? We just can't help it. It's what we humans do. But I want to believe this is genuinely my own belief and behavior. So come on, people. Jump on my bandwagon, it's the coolest.
J. L. Dodd
P.S. I made a Twenty One Pilots Pandora station, It has played Arctic Monkeys, Jack White, Cage the Elephant, The Black Keyes, and Panic! At the Disco. All alt, apparently. I guess that makes sense, alternative, by definition, being the catch-all for anything different.
(Partial) Lyrics for "Lane Boy"
They say, "Stay in your lane, boy, lane boy,"
But we go where we want to
They think this thing is a highway, highway,
But will they be alive tomorrow?
They think this thing is a highway
If it was our way
We'd have a tempo change every other time change
'Cause our minds change on what we think is good
I wasn't raised in the hood,
But I know a thing or two about pain and darkness
If it wasn't for this music, I don't know how I would've fought this
Regardless,
All these songs I'm hearing are so heartless
Don't trust a perfect person and don't trust a song that's flawless
Honest,
There's a few songs on this record that feel common
I'm in constant confrontation with what I want and what is poppin'
In the industry
It seems to me
That singles on the radio are currency
My creativity's only free when I'm playin' shows
They say, "Stay in your lane, boy, lane boy,"
But we go where we want to
They think this thing is a highway, highway,
But will they be alive tomorrow?
Will they be alive tomorrow?
I'm sorry if that question I asked last
Scared you a bit like a hazmat
In a gas mask
If you ask Zack
He's my brother, he likes when I rap fast
But let's back track,
Back to this
Who would you live and die for on that list?
But the problem is
There's another list that exists and no one really wants to think about this
Forget sanity,
Forget salary,
Forget vanity,
My morality
If you get in between someone I love and me
You're gonna feel the heat of my cavalry
All these songs I'm hearing are so heartless
Don't trust a perfect person and don't trust a song that's flawless
My internal dialogue has grown relentless, the voices in my head no longer content to whisper during quiet times of purposeful introspection. The cacophony invades every moment with arguments on all things past, present and future. Is this what madness feels like? No, really. I'm asking.
I assume that some kind of growth will come from this. It may be yet another round of obsession, but this time it is with my own thoughts and feelings. I have always struggled with expressive writing. Want a research paper on the lasting physical and psychological affects of childhood neglect? Easy. A comparison of the affects on the brain of Lysergic Acid Diethylamide and alcohol? Done.
But to write about that which you believe to be true? Terrifying for me and I suspect, many others. I mean, you are inviting criticism from a species that values conformity above all else. Do you disagree? Do you think we value those who are unique? No, those 'unique' non-conformists are simply conforming to the idea of nonconformity. So there. And people are just fucking judgy. But they can't help it. The (mostly) unconscious categorization by the brain (AKA, stereotyping) is an innate survival instinct. At one time, it may have been as simple as danger or nah. Now, it is a multi-faceted system assigning different values to whomever and whatever we come into contact with.
To ensure my own survival, I usually keep whatever I'm thinking to myself. Except once in awhile I accidentally on purpose tell my boss that she's full of shit. I kid, I kid. Good thing she likes me. Perhaps the courage to acknowledge and state the Truth is the difference between an artist and, well, everyone else. Truth, not in of itself, but true belief, is not so easy to decipher. And once you figure out what you believe, you may wanna keep that shit to yourself.
And so, I remain in search of my own version of truth. As Lovecraft would say, my own dread glimpse of truth (he's such a downer). I think I've finally matured to the point that I'm not so worried about what the world thinks of me. Nope, I'm more concerned with what the voices think of me. Especially since those MFs won't shut up.
J. L. Dodd
"Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma - which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition." -Steve Jobs
Read more at: http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/voice.html
“I became a writer so that the voices inside my head would become an acceptable occurrence.”
― Janae Mitchell
I've written about this before: http://jldodd78.blogspot.com/2013/08/synchronicity.html. Now, in my mindful evolution, I know Cthulhu is a widely-recognized, iconic beastie. As soon as I became aware of him, I saw him everywhere because he is everywhere. But recently, I experienced another, if much more poignant, example of synchronicity.
A close friend's daughter passed away last week. I've been heartbroken as a friend, as a parent, as a person. I dreaded the visit to her home on Friday, but I had to see her. Upon entering, there was a table set up with candles, flowers, cards, and pictures. I was immediately drawn to a large, framed pencil drawing of her face. It was exceptional work. Mikaela was a beautiful girl, and I can honestly say I have never seen a pencil drawing capture reality in such a way. I looked for a signature, but didn't see one, so I asked who the artist was. My friend didn't know. Someone had given it to her daughter over a year ago, and she had given it to her parents. But there was a signature hidden at the bottom: "BDodd."
*chills*
I have a cousin, a first-cousin, mind you (most people in small towns like mine are "cousins" on some level), currently living in Alaska, who is an artist. I don't keep in touch with him, but I remembered my mother telling me that he did amazing pencil work. I immediately felt that the drawing, which held some kind of intangible power, must be his work. Hours later, with the help of my sister-in-law, I found it on his Instagram. The story of how the drawing came into existence was a bit convoluted, but it seems that my cousin, who at one time lived here and still has friends here, saw a photograph of Mikaela (someone completely unknown to him) online and felt compelled to draw it. He then gave it to a friend, who delivered it to her as a gift.
What significance can we ascribe to this unlikely coincidence? My logical mind insists that humans instinctively look for connections, grasping at straws to find a deeper importance in everyday randomness.
My heart, and by heart I mean the emotional part of my mind, wants to believe something more. I want to believe that this is a "meaningful coincidence." Her spirit, or the collective unconscious, or the universe, as some say, has willfully given us this connection to comfort those left behind. To give us some sense that we are not simply adrift in this life; that there is something greater beyond death.
I don't know what I believe, but I know what I want to believe. Screw you, logic.
A good friend of mine lost her daughter this week. I haven't had much exposure to death myself (knock on wood). I did study the five stages of loss and grief in developmental psychology, but reading about something and actually experiencing it are two very different things. This is what I've learned since yesterday.
Death makes you feel strange. Disconnected. Powerless. When attempting to come to terms with the shock and finality of it all, overwhelmed to the point of numbness. As much as I tried to fall back on impermanence for comfort, I found that it doesn't quite work. Perhaps my problem is that as attractive as the concept is, if you aren't truly enlightened (and I'm not), it means little when confronted with something real and not metaphorical.
My heart is heavy, not just because a beautiful, vibrant, 24-year-old woman tragically lost her life. I am also sorrowful because I think we may all lose her mother in one way or another. How do you recover from such a profound loss? Even with hordes of therapists, oceans of anti-depressants and stacks of self-help books, is it possible? Will my friend ever be the same person that she once was?
I don't think so. I can't fathom how I would cope in the same situation.
I will mourn them both. My friend is someone whom I greatly respect, and in the 12 years I've known her, she taught me many things. She taught me all the bad and/or inappropriate words in Spanish I know: pinche, borracho, payaso, to name a few. She also taught me that AC/DC is devil music, and that some people take offense to being called a "weirdo." She coined the term "fade-out zone" and also helped me to realize that when I say, "No, thanks I'm good," what I really mean is "Let's have another eight beers." More than that, and what I'm truly grateful for, she taught me how to treat people with respect, and what it means to show humility.
R.I.P. Mikaela Moreno
J. L. Dodd
"It is not the end of the physical body that should worry us. Rather, our concern must be to live while we're alive - to release our inner selves from the spiritual death that comes with living behind a facade designed to conform to external definitions of who and what we are." - Elisabeth Kubler-Ross
"I hope it is true that a man can die and yet not only live in others but give them life, and not only life, but that great consciousness of life." - Jack Kerouac
Read more at: http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/g/georgeelio148896.html?src=t_death
I've been Pinteresting like mad people. I think in the absence of doing real work, I tell myself that Pinterest = research. Yeah, right. But it lead me to search Amazon for this: Death Wish Coffee (an apparent exaggeration). And there I stumbled upon a review by Benny Profane that was well-written and funny. So I read some of his other reviews. Then I found the three sloths T-shirt. The thing sells itself, so most of the reviews are sarcastic treatises on what it means to live as a sloth (or with sloths, or as the queen of the sloths), in other words, well worth my time to read.
In addition to books and some random products, I noticed that Benny had written reviews for flags (actual flags) from small countries (Swaziland, Qatar, Mongolia, etc). Weird, but turns out he wasn't reviewing the flags, he was roasting the countries for various political and human rights transgressions, fiscal irresponsibility, generally being assholes, you name it. WTF? Although extremely clever, it seems rather passive-aggressive. Then again, you won't catch me writing about important shit like that. I live in my own little bubble, people. I emerge when and if I want to, and when I do, I only go where I want.
Since when did this become a thing? I use Amazon a lot, and I've never run across these types of reviews until now. Okay, not true, I've seen the Haribo sugar-free gummi bears reviews on Pinterest, and I'll admit, although I consider myself above toilet-humor, I laughed my ass off. Perhaps I'll revise that opinion of myself (as I seem to keep doing these days). I've reviewed a few things myself, but usually only because Amazon harasses me about it. But usually one or two sentences will suffice, unless it's a book that was really awful, in which case you will feel my wrath. Sorry not sorry. But again, I still learn from these books. I learn what not to do.
Unfortunately, Benny seems to be in hiding, as he hasn't reviewed anything since 2014. But I suggest if you are bored (or procrastinating, like me) that you read his reviews. There's just the right amount of snarkful (yes, I made that up) yet eloquent prose combined with startling insight to be highly entertaining. Benny, wherever you are, you are more talented than most of us shit-mongering literary hopefuls. I hope you are writing something more meaningful than Amazon reviews.
J. L. Dodd
P.S. I just realized I am reviewing reviews.
"Loneliness can feel like an effervescent stench at times. Every interaction you have, every conversation with a grocery store bagger or coffee shop barrista, reminds you how very alone you are. It becomes self-perpetuating; every time you look at someone all you see is the ocean of indifference between your souls. The feeling that no one can reach you, not now, not ever." - Benny Profane
I have an
annoying habit of self-psychoanalyzing, even though my qualifications as a
psychoanalyst are, let's just say, in question. Doesn't stop me. Actually, I'm
pretty sure we all do it; I'm just a little more aware of the fact. Anyhoo, I
seem to go through cycles of normalcy, then periods of obsession, and sometimes
mild depression. And by mild, it usually lasts less than a day, but when it
hits, I want to stay in bed and watch Netflix. And nothing will get me out of
bed. We once had flour tortillas for dinner due to this phenomena, and I didn't
even get up to go get them.
As I move ever closer to the stark
landscape of nothingness that is death, I have realized how important work is
to keeping me going, regardless of which point in the cycle I happen to be
experiencing. It forces me to get up, get dressed, interact with others, and be
productive. Yay! I'm a productive member of humanity. When fighting my own
innate resistance, this, along with the desire to get paid, is crucial. So I am
so very thankful I have a 9-to-5. As much as I enjoy writing, it will always be
a hobby for me, being that I lack the discipline and the motivation to commit
to the drudgery that is being an author. Maybe someday that will change. But,
again, I'm getting older, and the probability that I'll change is next to nil.
Even now, I prefer the cold comfort of routine and familiarity. If I go to get
gas, I go to the same gas station, and use the same pump. If I go out to eat, I
go to the same places, sit at the same table and order the same shit. I could
write it off as merely an issue of convenience, but I'd be lying to myself. In
short: we are all doomed to become inflexible, crotchety old bastards.
It's fine. It's normal. People who
survive in this world long enough are entitled to be crotchety.
That being said, a smidge of
unpredictability and surprise might be good for me. It could act as a muse,
provide a little inspiration. Said muse recently appeared in the form of a
friend and has wreaked havoc on my (real) writing. My thinking has become
chaotic, and it remains to be seen if my writing will eventually benefit. But
then again, I would argue with myself, mindful chaos will no doubt be a
catalyst for change. I know I will not willingly abandon my cold comfort, my
love of sameness and predictability.
As long
as I don't fall too far into either obsession or depression, I think I'm good.
There's a fine line, fo sho. I finally realize how close to crazy we all are.
Just a few steps in either direction, and every one of us could be considered a
mental health statistic. I identify now more than ever with
obsessive-compulsives, hoarders, agoraphobics and the like. Only time will tell
which direction I go, but I might just combine the three and shoot for crazy
cat lady. I've always thought cats were awesome (especially when they're in
outer space and have laser eyes) and that I could lead a minimally successful
existence as long as I had a laptop and wifi. Add 60 cats to that, and I'm set.
By now, you probably know I am a sworn fan of Brandon Sanderson (which simply means I will swear at you if you say a single bad word about him). I just finished his debut novel Elantris, which I picked up at a used bookstore. It's much shorter that his other works, which is why there wasn't quite as much building toward something awesome, but it was still awesome. I imagine it would be quite daunting for a debut author and/or his publisher to put out a 1,000-page book like those in the Stormlight Archives series.
That being said, I thoroughly enjoyed Elantris, the plot and story line intriguing and original. I always thought that predictability in a novel was a bad thing, but Sanderson makes it work. As a reader, you have your own ideas about what you want or what you think should happen. As the story progresses, the expectation and intensity builds. You can't wait for (fill in the blank) to happen, and when it does, it's glorious.I just realized that sounded rather sexual. Well, I suppose it is a bit of a mind fuck. All good stories are.
SPOILER: For instance, in Elantris, you know Raoden is going to eventually become a full Elantrian, you just know it, and that's what keeps you reading.
I can see a parallel to Lovecraft's stories in that they build in a different direction, toward something horrible, but again, you can guess at.
Manga, on the other hand, is written as a tease (enter fanfic, basically literary masturbation). Whatever you really really want to happen, that absolutely will not happen. It may come close to happening, but it won't. And if by some miracle, it does happen, it will be immediately reneged on. And I understand. This is what keeps us reading. If not, you might as well write a novel instead. But it still sucks. I'm talking to you Yoshiki Nakamura.
J. L. Dodd
“I'm Galladon, from the sovereign realm of Duladel. I'm most recently from Elantris, land of sludge, insanity, and eternal perdition. Nice to meet you.”
― Brandon Sanderson, Elantris
“One cannot seperate truth from actions... Physically inevitable or not, truth stands above all things. It is independent of who has the best army, who can deliver the longest sermons, or even who has the most priests. It can be pushed down, but it will always surface. Truth is the one thing you can never intimidate.”
― Brandon Sanderson, Elantris
Today when I should have been working, I was thinking about Starbucks. In some cities, like Las Vegas, there are Starbucks locations literally around corners, usually just out of the line of sight of the last one. In fact, Las Vegas is tenth on the list of most Starbucks stores, with 136 stores total, behind Seoul, New York, and of course, Seattle, to name a few. If you think I'm exaggerating, check this out: http://www.starbucks.com/store-locator/search/location/Las%20Vegas%2C%20NV%2C%20USA
Literally, on top of each other.
I was trying to understand why a large corporation would pack them so close together, when it would obviously be more profitable to spread them out so they aren't competing with each other. Is this some kind of really expensive, ridiculous marketing ploy? Are they fucking with our heads, that green and white logo haunting our collective subconscious until we are addicts by association? Or, as my dark half asked, could there be a different reason?
Think about it: if you were an evil genius and you wanted to start a zombie apocalypse (admit it, we've all thought about it at one time or another), what would be the perfect, socially acceptable vehicle to infect millions in one fell swoop of morning addiction? Cafe lattes, mochas, cappuccino ... followed by brains brains brains. Not surprisingly, after a quick Google search, I realized I'm not the first to associate the two, though perhaps the first to assign them a causal relationship. So if you are reading this in the future and intend to go back in time and stop this shit, (James Cole) listen up! Start with Starbucks. Howard Schulz is probably just a pawn in someone else's game of world domination. It might be that suspicious IT guy who fixed my computer's internet last week. And if he happens to be from Seattle, you are definitely in trouble. People, if you don't hear from me again, it's because they are on to me.
You may not know this, but I'm an optimist by nature. What? Optimists aren't necessarily goody two-shoes who can't enjoy dropping the f-bomb. Let's look at the bright side of a Starbucks-fueled zombie apocalypse. Virus-laced lattes would make possible a new round of natural selection. Seriously people, it wouldn't hurt to have a few less humans on the planet. And if you did get infected, maybe being a zombie wouldn't be that bad. Who's to say? Have you ever been a zombie? Don't knock it till you try it.Then again, if you refuse to start your day without a venti vanilla latte, you may already be one.
J. L. Dodd
"Starbucks is spreading like a cancer."- Rupert Everett
"Starbucks represents something beyond a cup of coffee." - Howard Schultz
Read more at: http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/starbucks.html
"Humanity is mind-controlled and only slightly more conscious than your average zombie." - David Icke
“In my world there would be as many public libraries as there are Starbucks.”
― Henry Rollins
I'm finding this summer that I have less and less time for reading (and writing, especially blogging). I'm not exactly sure why. Some of it is my kids are home and hogging MY computer. Who lets them? Well me, but you don't understand. I have guilt when I kick them off. And screw you anyway, voice in my head.
I did manage to finally (after at least 3 months) finish the 3rd book in Stephen King's The Dark Tower series, The Wastelands. It was wonderful and horrifying, as expected. Roland is just a bad ass, and so is Jake, come to think of it. I haven't started the 4th book, although I've been toting it around for at least a week now. A few days ago I found a used copy of Elantris, by one of my favorite authors Brandon Sanderson, (see http://jldodd78.blogspot.com/2013/10/mistborn-trilogy.html) which I started reading right away. This is his debut work, and within the first few pages I was so intrigued that I've been reading whenever I can, which isn't nearly enough.
I got dragged to the movie "The Conjuring 2" over the weekend, and was pleasantly terrified. I screamed and jumped and laughed (a little). I haven't seen the first movie, and truthfully I hate watching scary movies, but either I'm getting older or number because it didn't bother me too much, and I did manage to enjoy it in spite of the subject matter. I have a love/hate relationship with all things Lorraine Warren. I find her work fascinating, but it scares the shit out of me. Back when I still had cable TV, I used to watch a show called "Paranormal State." Think "Ghost Hunters," but real shit. These kids were in the business of helping people, not fame-mongering. Mrs. Warren appeared on the show from time to time, assisting the team of with their investigations. If I've learned anything from my hours of TV watching, its this: seriously people, do not play with Ouija boards. Something bad WILL happen.
I'll be back to business in August, I hope. I can't keep pretending I'm on summer vacation as well. Have a great summer!
I was trying to decide what to write about when I realized I have a new approach to blogging. When I started this several years ago, I would choose a topic (usually something I was already researching for my book) that I thought was interesting. I was doing quite a bit of research at that time. Japanese myths, monsters, everything about the moon, Taoism, Shintoism and Buddhism, etc ... There was lots to choose from, but my blogs were like mini-reports that I would have turned in at school in high school (okay, not really but kinda). In other words, fucking boring, unless you are in the mood to learn. I spent hours reviewing and perfecting the language and choosing the perfect quote to complement my writing.
I'd like to think I've relaxed a bit. Maybe that's partially a cop-out for being lazy, but lately my blogs are little more than randomness spewing from my brain to my keyboard. I don't think that's a bad thing. Let's face it: nobody reads this shit, so I might as well give myself free rein. In a way, it's an improvement, because there are fewer filters, as you may notice my profanity seems to be steadily increasing the more I write.
I am actually getting very excited about my writing. I have more or less finished book one. It only took 5 years, people! I am waiting for my beta readers and copy editors to finish their reviews as I look for inconsistencies on my own. But I also took the time yesterday to review everything I had written on book two, and I actually have a lot of good ideas. More than I thought. I have a lot of work to do, but I'm excited, and I haven't been excited in a long time.
I'm saving money to get the LLC paperwork etc filed for my little publishing company. Things are really starting to move, and I'm hoping to keep it going. Not that any of you care. But I'm sure you writers out there can attest that staying motivated for long periods of time is not easy. Screw you resistance!
J. L. Dodd
P.S. Sorry this is just a bunch rambling bullshit... Sorry not sorry ...
"Most books about writing are filled with bullshit. Fiction writers, present company included, don't understand very much about what they do—not why it works when it's good, not why it doesn't when it's bad."-- Stephen King
I'm not sure what is going on with me. Usually I listen to the same shit in the Linkin' Park/AFI/30 Seconds to Mars genre. I do deviate, but lately I'm all over the place. A few weeks ago, I don't know why, I decided to make a "hair bands" station on my Pandora and it is fucking awesome. I've been listening to music I remember from middle school like Guns'n'Roses, Motley Crew and Skid Row, and it makes me really happy. But I also have gained a new found appreciation for two bands: AC/DC and Whitesnake.
So of course I recognize most of the AC/DC music, but I never really listened to them on purpose. My coworker told me that it's "devil music." I think she was kidding (she's a little hard to judge sometimes) but either way, I've decided that I really like it. But don't ask me to comment on the whole Axl Rose controversy. Sorry Axl, just ... no. BTW, I'm going to create a new Pandora station called "devil music." We'll see what they play.
I had a Whitesnake poster right next to my New Kids on the Block poster on my wall when I was in middle school. I remember it because my mom didn't like it 'cause those dudes were all chest hair. I had a poster but I did not have any of their tapes (yes, tapes). But they have awesome songs that until recently, I just didn't realize were theirs, like "Is This Love?" and "Here I Go Again." So I'm giving them credit now people. Check it. And don't judge, I'm old. For real, Pandora is great. So let's all create a new station, be it based in nostalgia or curiosity or devil worship, whatevs (just kidding mom). Just do it. It will make you happy. And seriously, don't you get tired of the same shit all the time?
J. L. Dodd
Definitely devil music ...
"Highway To Hell"
Livin' easy
Livin' free
Season ticket on a one way ride
Askin' nothin'
Leave me be
Takin' everythin' in my stride
Don't need reason
Don't need rhyme
Ain't nothin' that I'd rather do
Goin' down
Party time
My friends are gonna be there too
I'm on the highway to hell
On the highway to hell
Highway to hell
I'm on the highway to hell
No stop signs
Speed limit
Nobody's gonna slow me down
Like a wheel
Gonna spin it
Nobody's gonna mess me around
Hey, Satan
Payin' my dues
Playin' in a rockin' band
Hey, mamma
Look at me
I'm on the way to the promised land
I'm on the highway to hell
Highway to hell
I'm on the highway to hell
Highway to hell
Don't stop me
I'm on the highway to hell
On the highway to hell
I'm on the highway to hell
On the highway to hell
(highway to hell) I'm on the highway to hell
(highway to hell) highway to hell
(highway to hell) highway to hell
(highway to hell)
And I'm goin' down
All the way
I'm on the highway to hell
I read a lot of reviews on Amazon. Of books I have read, want to read, want to write, etc. I think of it as research. What I see consistently is in the young adult genre, people say they hate love triangles. I have to disagree. I love me some love triangles. They not only advance the plot, but they allow for all kinds of juicy little moments that I love to write and read about. But they have to be well written. If not, it turns into something predictable and that really bothers me.
Since I'm admitting things at the moment, let's talk about the mother of all literary love triangles: Twilight. Let me start by saying I have not seen all the movies. I only watched part of the first one, and it was horrible. I did, however, read the books, and I loved them (I don't care what all you MFs think about it, I won't take it back!). I actually got in fights with my husband because I was spending all my time (and I mean all of it) reading. Throughout the series, you experience a lovely gut-wrenching feeling as Bella is pulled in different directions. In the back of your mind, you know she's going to end up with Edward, you just know it, even though he's a douche who abandons her for her own good. But when she unexpectedly kisses Jacob, you understand that she also loves him, albeit on a totally different level. So in the end, still predictable, but well-written, I thought.
I love the manga love triangle, which can vary in specifics but usually goes like this: Girl meets boy, girl likes boy, boy remains aloof, enter childhood friend who publicly announces his undying love and generally makes things awkward. Then boy one gets jealous, realizes his feelings, and everyone is happy except for poor boy two who must accept his unrequited love. I wish I could write a manga where the childhood friend wins out. I mean, come on, he's always loved you! It's not his fault he doesn't know how to play hard to get. I think I'm thinking of Kaicho Wa Maid Sama as I write this. Although I love love Usui's character, I really thought the other dude deserved a chance. Hinata. So Usui wasn't exactly aloof, and Hinata wasn't a childhood friend, but you get the idea.
Obviously, Skip Beat takes the concept to a whole new level. If you include the "Beagle" you could make it a love square, although Kyoko actually hates him and Sho. The whole diagram makes for some hilariousness. Last year I splurged and bought every volume of the manga so far. That way I can go back and reread my favorite parts. Awesome.
I have a feeling I have a lot more to write on this topic, so be warned. This isn't over.
J. L. Dodd
'Twilight' passed like a fever through the sophisticated reader and the unsophisticated reader alike. People devoured those books in single sittings, over weekends, with a kind of raw intensity that is rare. Holly Black
Read more at: http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/twilight.html
Have you noticed lately that everybody and their dog likes to say, "It is what it is"? It's pretty annoying at times, especially when people use it to excess. Like, "We are out of cereal. It is what it is."
Surprisingly, it's a pretty old phrase. In Wikipedia, the earliest known use is in the Fihi Ma Fihi (Persian literally meaning "It is what it is"), a Persian prose work by the 13th century Sufi writer known as Rumi. It's a trendy way of saying, "Fuck it, I can't change it," which makes much more sense, and is way less annoying. This leads me to the concept of impermanence, which I believe I have discussed before and is one of the main themes in the book I am writing.
From Wikipedia: Impermanence is one of the essential doctrines or three marks of existence in Buddhism. The term expresses the Buddhist notion that all of conditioned existence, without exception, is transient, or in a constant state of flux. The mutability of life, that time passes on no matter what happens, is an important aspect of impermanence. According to the impermanence doctrine, human life embodies this flux in the aging process, the cycle of birth and rebirth (samsara), and in any experience of loss.
In the first one or two years I was writing, I was spending about half of my time researching, and in studying Buddhism and Shintoism, I came across this truly unique concept. It has affected my life in many ways since. To understand and accept that time passes and things change has a very calming affect on me. I have even come to accept that my death is inevitable and that worrying about it is futile. Of course, I feel differently, at least to some degree, about those around me. But I can't tell you how good it feels to put off that anxiety and fear. There was a time a few years ago that I thought I might die. The situation was completely out of my control. But my brain reverted to: "If it's my time, I will die," and that's how I got through it. Since then, if I'm driving with my Dad in his truck (or his boat), I just tell myself the same thing, and I can get through it. Dad, I love you, but I don't want to drive with you anymore. You scare the crap out of me.
Then again, this thinking leads to complacency, which most agree is a bad word. In fiction, characters often have to decide if they will accept their fate or fight against it. For me, I think you'll be happier in life to learn acceptance. But that may be because I'm a type "B" personality.
Wow, this blog is some serious shit. I'm not sure why I am waxing so heavy, but I'm not gonna change it. Fihi ma fihi. Or better, fuck it, I won't change it.
J. L. Dodd
"I'm living with every step. I can't live with regret. The past is the past. I'm not worried about it. I can't change it. I can't fix it. It is what it is. I'm just living." – Ryan Sheckler
"Impermanence is a principle of harmony. When we don’t struggle against it, we are in harmony with reality." – Pema Chodron
"Come back to square one, just the minimum bare bones. Relaxing with the present moment, relaxing with hopelessness, relaxing with death, not resisting the fact that things end, that things pass, that things have no lasting substance, that everything is changing all the time—that is the basic message." – Pema Chodron
“The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.”
― Mark Twain
Ug, so this is just a blog post to apologize and complain. I take it back, all you drivel-writers out there. Well, most of it, anyway. Writing a book is damn hard. Every time I think I'm close to being finished, I go through another revision and realize "Shit, this needs a lot more work." So if I've shelved your book on my "don-t bother" bookshelf on Goodreads or given you a bad review on Amazon, I'm sorry. I do have respect for all the hard work you've put in, even if the end product leaves much to be desired.
I think an editor is essential to making really great stories. For those of us who are just starting out, maybe we should all agree to edit each other's books. Do you know how much a professional content edit costs? At my current work's length, between $1,200 and $3,000, depending on the editor. Sorry but I don't have that kind of money lying around, and even if I did, it would be spent on something else, like, I don't know, food, water, shelter, manga. Necessities, people.
What's amazing to me is that the authors I've criticized the most (and by criticized the most I mean they pissed me off so much that I have taken up arms in the form of a bad Amazon review) have self-published 6 or 7 or 10 books. I can only hope that they are improving as they gain experience, but based on their reviews, which I do read as opposed to their books (fool me once, shame on you), I don't think that's the case. If nothing else, they provide motivation for me to strive to do better.
LOL
Well, people (I'm not comfortable naming names), I can do a soft content edit, and I can also do copy editing. I have no professional training but I did work at a publishing company where I did just that for a couple of years. So if you are a self-published writer in the young adult/urban fantasy genre, please feel free to reach out to me. It's for the betterment of all of us wannabe/self-published/prolific writers of crap-ass stories.
J. L. Dodd
From Goodreads:
“Anyone who says it’s easy to self-publish a book is either lying or doing a shitty job.”
― Nan McCarthy
“The good news about self publishing is you get to do everything yourself. The bad news about self publishing is you get to do everything yourself.”
― Lori Lesko
Have you seen this viral video? I hadn't until about two weeks ago.
Okay, so apart from his freakish appearance (at first it was interesting, but now it's developed into the scary kind of vampires), he is so fucking right about everything. I watched this as part of the "Adults React" series by Fine Brothers Entertainment, and what was amazing was that for the most part, all the adults agreed with the video's message. What else is amazing is that I'm an adult too. I never thought it would happen but it did. And yes, you are so fucking right, Boyinaband. When am I going to use the quadratic equation? Shouldn't something that specialized be taught to people who will need to use it in their careers as, I don't know, mathematicians or architects or engineers? Oh my!
I work in banking now, and I have always wondered why I was never taught how to budget, balance a checkbook, or save. How about investing, or how to build credit? This is serious shit people. These are things every person needs to know, and trust me, you don't want to learn through trial and error (mostly error) like I did. Twenty years later I'm still trying to pay off debt I could have avoided.
Let's think about some more subjects that should be required learning high school:
Basic home maintenance (repairs, etc. Can someone please teach me how to hang a door?!)
Basic vehicle maintenance (how to check the oil, change a tire)
Basic nutrition and cooking (and gardening?)
Basic first aid (and offer more advanced courses) Why doesn't everyone learn CPR?
How about parenting? Yes, you learn from experience but what if you had some idea what you were getting yourself into at the start? Wouldn't that be helpful?
Survival skills (Boy Scouts 101)
General sustainability (reduce, recycle, reuse)
How not to be a douche (super important for those with a hereditary predisposition)
Two of the adults on the video were teachers, and they both agreed that there is way too much "teaching to the test" going on. I saw it myself this week as my kids took their AZ Merit test. They are only in middle school and completely stressing about this stuff. It's ridiculous.
And who's to blame? I can't really say. I know it's not the students or the teachers. And how do we change it? I don't really know. But I will continue sharing this video with everyone I know who will listen, including my friends who work in education. The nice thing about the internet is you can pretty much learn whatever you want just by Googling it. Maybe that's the answer to our problem. Don't stay in school, just let Google teach you everything you need to know about life.
"School failed me, and I failed the school. It bored me. The teachers behaved like Feldwebel (sergeants). I wanted to learn what I wanted to know, but they wanted me to learn for the exam. What I hated most was the competitive system there, and especially sports. Because of this, I wasn't worth anything, and several times they suggested I leave." - Albert Einstein
So I was sick over the weekend and couldn't really go anywhere or do anything. I watched a lot of Hulu, but eventually settled on catching up on Fairy Tail. Fairy Tail is an anime based on the manga written by Hiro Mashima. If you haven't see it, you should. It's a little more shonen than I usually like, but its hilarious and has something for everyone. I had watched 88 episodes (to be precise) over a couple of years, and not seen any in awhile.
I ended up completely binge watching ... In three days I watched 51 episodes. Keep in mind I was sick, and I kept falling asleep, otherwise it probably would have been even more. So 51 eps at approximately 20 minutes each (I fast forwarded through the intro and outro) is about 17 hours. I even started looking at fanart and fanfic because it was so frustrating to not see Lucy and Natsu's relationship developing more. My otaku sixth sense tells me it ain't ever gonna happen; that we'll be kept in limbo indefinitely, and I guess that's okay. But it's not fair! Why do Erza and Jellal get to have their thing? I mean its not consummate, but its more than I can hope for with Nalu. I guess that's what fanfic is for. Just stay away from the lemons. I wasn't familiar with the term when I started reading. They are horrible and yet ... you can't stop reading. I've never thought about writing fanfic. I might like to try it sometime. But not that kind.
I haven't done this much anime binging since I watched the first three seasons of Bleach. That was worse, much worse actually, because it was at least 6 or 7 or 8 years ago and there was no Hulu or Netflix or Crunchy Roll. I was downloading episodes through bit-torrents on Bleach fan websites and watching them throughout the night, then going to work on little to no sleep. Come to think of it, that's another anime I need to catch up on. I don't remember where I stopped. Somewhere after Aizen was finally frozen or whatever they did to incapacitate him since apparently he couldn't be killed.
Its going to have to wait until my Fairy Tail binging stops. I can't watch 5.6 hours a day like I did last weekend, but its up there with food, water and shelter in terms of priorities. I'm down to 4 episodes a night, which allows me to appreciate the battles, the humor, and the ridiculousness much more.
J. L. Dodd
Very moving from the ep I watched last night:
“It's for my friends! For seven years...all that time...they waited for us! It was hard on them... They had sad times... They got humiliated, but they just endured it... And kept protecting the guild... It's for my friends! I want to show them...that Fairy Tail will live on!! That's why I gotta move forward!!” ― Natsu Dragneel
