the id, the ego, & the single misfiring brain cell

observations and thoughts with no other place to go

"That which does not kill you makes you stronger." 

This sounds terrific on the surface, but even a cursory examination proves it to be only so much feel-good bullshit. Assuming that the phrase applies to how we deal with trauma, it would be far more accurate to say that that which does not kill you maims you--physically or emotionally. 

***

You should read this: http://inmyspiralringnotebook.blogspot.com/2013/07/white-people.html. Everyone should read it. And I mean now. 

***

What does it mean to "look like a thug"? What does a "thug" look like, exactly?

I'll venture a guess that most of us have never actually been accosted by a thug, which means that our notion of what a "thug" looks like has been given to us by our culture. So...what does he look like? 

He looks like a "he," for starters. He's fairly big and muscular; his physicality is intimidating to the labeler. He's probably not white, although he can be. He's in a certain age range, too--somewhere between 15 and 30. He wears all-purpose laymen's clothing, like jeans, jackboots/hightop sneakers, and sweatshirts or "wife-beater" tee-shirts. 

Don't believe me? Change any one of these characteristics and see what you get. 

When you're finished with that experiment, go back and question how you label people, and why. 

***

The word "thug" suffers from the same annoying and meaningless circularity as does the word "feminine." I mean, a woman should be "feminine," right? And what is "femininity" if not the characteristics our culture is comfortable associating with women? 

What is a "thug," then if not the characteristics our culture is comfortable associating with thugs? 

***

Coincidentally...

Yesterday afternoon, Mich and I were driving to a party in town, thrown by Heather, a good friend who is about to leave the country, having had the good sense to marry a Briton. En route, as we were driving past the carnage left by the Black Forest Fire and simultaneously watching some wicked storms move in over the mountains, we discussed the additional damage this was causing in Black Forest, as there was so little vegetation left to prevent the massive erosion that's now occurring with the flooding.* From there, for some reason I cannot divine, I found myself thinking about Taco USA, a fast food joint in my home town, and about how a Mexican chap I once dated would call it "taco oosa"; I wondered if they were still around. They had the most amazing taco sauce. 

* A few days ago, I mentioned this to Kalli, who responded, "Let me know when the locusts arrive."

When we arrived at the party, Heather introduced us to another friend, John; when I asked what he did, he told me he is an archaeologist who is working for the government in Waldo Canyon right now. His job? Surveying areas for archaelogical value before the environment "rebuilders" come in to grade and tier and plant as necessary in order to--yep--prevent further erosion. 

In the course of the evening, I had occasion to discuss poetry with Dallas, another friend of Heather's who lives in Manitou Springs and frequents the Ancient Mariner--a landmark bar that has been there as long as I can remember. In the late 80's, when I first went there, the bar was unique and wonderful. It had the entire poem of "The Ancient Mariner" inscribed in brass along the top of the bar, and it was a rockin' Deadhead joint. I told Dallas that I'd taken Michelle to the Mariner a few years ago just to show her the poem, and it was no longer there. So...what happened to it? Dallas said he was friends with Ann, the bar's owner, and he'd ask the next time he saw her. This launched a conversation about poetry in which Dallas told me about the poetry he loves; William Blake, he said, is his favorite poet. I mused that I also love Blake so it's odd that, in my undergrad work, we must have spent at least a couple of weeks on Blake's work, but it generally doesn't find its way into the broader canon,* by which I mean the literature survey courses that I teach, which is sad. We disagreed about when Blake wrote; I thought he wrote in the early to mid-nineteenth century and Dallas thought it was the seventeenth. 

A couple of hours later, when Dallas was preparing to leave, I reminded him that we needed the answer to the Ancient Mariner question. A gentleman who'd arrived in the interim was sitting nearby. He said, "I work there." I asked about the poem, and he said that the former owner had had the poem inscribed on the bar, but had sold it to Ann eighteen years ago, and she hadn't really kept the place up. There are, in fact, still pieces of the poem on the bar, but most of it has worn away. (Sadly.)

* Except for "Tyger! Tyger!" which is not one of my favorites. I'm a huge fan of "A Poison Tree," though. 

Later, a few of us were discussion religion, and I told Heather about the book I've been reading in my "leisure" time: How to Read the Bible: A Guide to Scripture, Then and Now, by James L. Kugel. It's a brilliant discussion of how interpretation and understanding of scripture has evolved over time, and how the beginning assumptions of various faith groups (and scholars of all sorts) guide their interpretation of various passages. It struck me as the sort of book Heather would love. She agreed that it sounded awesome, and would I please text her the name of it when I got home. I said ok. 

I forgot when I got home, though. Heather PM'd me this morning to make sure we'd made it home okay. I said yep, and thanks! When she texted me, I was reading a discussion and sermon near and dear to the church of Christ about whether we can understand the bible alike. This reminded me of the book, so I dropped her a line with the link to it on Amazon. Having been distracted from what I was doing, I skimmed through Facebook and saw a link to some breathtaking art--these pallete knife paintings by Leonid Afremov--and what did I see at the bottom of the page but a link to "Five Beautiful Poems by William Blake" (1757-1827, so neither of us was really on the money.) The third poem on the list is "A Poison Tree," which I just added to my syllabus.* 

* Yeah. All the time it looks like I'm just nit-nobbing around on the internet, I'm actually working on my syllabi. True story. Reading and discussing things I enjoy helps me remember the points I need to discuss with my cadets, and I make notes as I go.  

Then I flipped back to Facebook where a friend in East Texas had just posted that they were going to stop at Taco USA for lunch. Good to know they're still around. 

Anyway...all this to say that I probably should buy a lotto ticket today. 

d