Categories
Just Shelley

Get Used to Disappointment

A friend told me last week that disappointment is part of any friendship. I have to agree with him because any relationship between people that is something more than the barest superficial association is going to have times when one, or both, is disappointed in each other.

The same has to hold with our friendships we make with each other through these weblogs; a connectivity that is almighty strange at times, but basically boils down to human behavior, digitalized. If we become disappointed in people in real life, how can we become less so in the virtual? Virtual connectivity is a conduit, not a transformation device.

This last week has led to disappointment for me and others, which I take in some ways to be a positive, not a negative, experience. I’m finding that the people who I have set up to be bigger than life, are actually human, doing things and saying things I don’t like, or approve of. My heros had feet of clay, but I didn’t see the footprints until they stomped about, in big oversize boots, all over their weblog pages.

Well, didn’t that just blow my dewy eyed view of things all to hell and gone? About time, too. I was beginning to think I was the only imperfect being out here on the boards.

Jeneane has been writing about the loss of the Columbia and saying things that are truthful, but not necessarily easy. Things such as she doesn’t feel the sorrow others do at the loss of the Columbia crew; that she would keep pieces of the shuttle if they had fallen into her yard.

This was a disappointment for Liz, who wrote:

I was shaken, deeply, by this. I’m appalled by the belief that profiting from tragedy–no matter how removed you feel from that tragedy–is a legitimate expression of “capitalism.” I’m trying to imagine how Jeneane’s daughter would feel, years from now, if her “money for school” was acquired through the sale of this debris. I’m wondering if Jeneane’s belief that “anything that lands in her yard is hers” extends to human remains–heck, those are probably worth even more, right? Likely to fetch a bundle on ebay from collectors.

Why this makes me so angry, I’m not sure. I suppose it’s because it comes from someone’s whose writings I trust–someone who writes so beautifully about her relationship with her daughter, her frustrations with injustice. It’s hard to reconcile this self-described “slimey” statement with the person I feel as though I’ve come to know through her writing.

Jeneane responded to Liz with a frank, honest discussion, which I appreciated. She also apologized to me, saying:

To Shelley, I’m sorry for commenting on what were such beautiful tributes on your site. I know this is a deep loss for you because you believe in all that is space exploration, and because you have a deeper heart than you like to admit. I should have kept my insensitivity over here.

It is true that the loss of the Columbia was a very deep loss for me because of my passionate interest in space exploration, and astrophysics. (And because the loss of good people doing good things always disturbs me.) But Jeneane shouldn’t apologize because I provided a forum for comments, and she expressed her view.

If I wanted you all to agree with me, I wouldn’t provide comments, I would provide the following:

 Shelley, you’re so right, and smart, too.
 Shelley, you’re so right, and beautiful as well as clever.
 I agree with you Shelley, not as much as yesterday, but not more than tomorrow
 Shelley, I agree with you and I love you, marry me
 Shelley, I agree with you, I lust after you, have sex with me
 Shelley, you’re so smart. Run for president.
 Shelley, you’re so smart, I have a job that’s perfect for you and that pays a million a year.

Jeneane definitely bucked against the general sentiment with her statements. However, spending one’s time echoing the sentiments of the world around you, whether it be the sentiments of the country you live in or the sentiments tracked by Daypop, is a lie. We can’t all agree on the same things, feel the same way.

Even the clannish warbloggers have been disagreeing more and more lately, as different facets of each of their personalities, other than those associated with going to war against Iraq and other assorted general Arab countries, begin to surface. Just because you’re a warblogger doesn’t mean you’re a Buffy fan, or that you support Bush, or that you even agree with who should be bombed, and when.

This isn’t the usual metablogging crap — this is people who have come to know each other through a weblog, learning about deep differences in each other’s viewpoints and coming to grips with those differences. This is about as human as it will ever get here. Not pretty, not eloquent, not classy, and definitely not made up of people holding hands around the campfire in some great exploration of new connectivity (can’t you just hear the orchestra building with this one?). No, it’s messy, sad, disappointing, and real human behavior.

wKen wrote something recently that stuck with me a bit. He said the following:

So my basic rambling round-about point is that I rarely talk about bad things in my life on my blog, not because nothing bad happens to me, but because I don’t want to dwell on negative things. I deal with them the best that I can and move on. That doesn’t mean that I’ll never whine or complain about anything, but I try not to make bitching and moaning my main focus. It just isn’t productive, and also not very entertaining for others to read.

Don’t think I’m trying to tell anyone else what to write about, because I’m not. Blogville is big enough for all the bitching and moaning anyone cares to publish. I’m just offering a little bit of my own experience, and suggesting that it might work for some other people the way that it has worked for me. My life isn’t even close to perfect, but it isn’t half-bad either. So, while it may be cathartic to pour all of one’s sorrow online and have group hugs from virtual friends, making a habit of it may not take you where you want to go in life. I’m just saying…

I hear what wKen is saying — if one devotes one’s weblog to bitching and moaning, a person will never change their focus in life from the negative to the postive. Pool’s too big to only paddle about the shallow end.

If I disagree with wKen, it’s that I think spending most of one’s time talking about only the positive things in one’s life is a way of hiding behind your weblog, carefully forming the picture we want to show people, never quite showing the truth. Weblogging from behind a one-way mirror — I see you, but you can’t see me!

There’s no wrong in this, but I didn’t come here to read about saints. I came to read about real people, having good times and bad, telling us how they feel not what they think we want to hear. This means at times I’m going to get disappointed, because these real people are not going to live up to my expectations. Sadly, this means I’m also going to disappoint people at times, when I don’t live up to their expectations.

I imagine that the more ‘traditional’ webloggers, those who focus primarily on the dispassionate “link and comment”, must grow weary of the rest of us coming in, dripping real humanity over their nice clean monitors. All those footprints made of clay.

Archived with comments at the Wayback Machine

Categories
History Just Shelley

Once we believe in ourselves…

Another e.e. cummings poem has been coming to mind lately, spurred on by the discussions about the ‘proper’ amount of sorrow we should feel at the loss of the Columbia crew. Proper sorrow. What is that? I do not know what proper sorrow is.

cummings once said:

We do not believe in ourselves until someone reveals that deep inside us is valuable, worth listening to, worthy of our trust, sacred to our touch. Once we believe in ourselves we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight or any experience that reveals the human spirit.

For me, I can’t think of a better good-bye to the Columbia and its crew (Rick Husband, William McCool, Michael Anderson, David Brown, Kalpana Chawla, Laurel Clark, and Llan Ramon) than that quote, and the following poem, If I believe:

if i believe
in death be sure
of this
it is

because you have loved me,
moon and sunset
stars and flowers
gold creshendo and silver muting

of seatides
i trusted not,
one night
when in my fingers

drooped your shining body
when my heart
sang between your perfect
breasts

darkness and beauty of stars
was on my mouth petals danced
against my eyes
and down

the singing reaches of
my soul
spoke
the green–

greeting pale
departing irrevocable
sea
i knew thee death.

and when
i have offered up each fragrant
night,when all my days
shall have before a certain

face become
white
perfume
only,

from the ashes
then
thou wilt rise and thou
wilt come to her and brush

the mischief from her eyes and fold
her
mouth the new
flower with

thy unimaginable
wings,where dwells the breath
of all persisting stars

e.e. cummings, from Tulips and Chimneys

A goodbye to Columbia, but never to space; and never to wonder and the unquenchable human spirit of the child within.

Archived with comments at Wayback Machine

Categories
Writing

Curving Space with cummings

Summary:   I seldom write about poets, preferring to leave this genre to others better suited. But the talk yesterday about the shuttles and Hubble and Chandra, and of stars and black holes and other aspects of astrophysics, brought to mind one of my favorite poems, Space being(don’t forget to remember)Curved, by e.e. Cummings

I seldom write about poets, preferring to leave this genre to others better suited. But the talk yesterday about the shuttles and Hubble and Chandra, and of stars and black holes and other aspects of astrophysics, brought to mind one of my favorite poems, Space being(don’t forget to remember)Curved, by e.e. Cummings:

Space being (don’t forget to remember) Curved
(and that reminds me who said o yes Frost
Something there is which isn’t fond of walls)

an electromagnetic (now Ive lost
the) Einstein expanded Newton’s law preserved
conTinuum (but we read that beFore)

of Course life being just a Reflex you
know since Everything is Relative or

to sum it All Up god being Dead (not to

mention inTerred
LONG LIVE that Upwardlooking
Serene Illustrious and Beatific
Lord of Creation, MAN:
at a least crooking
of Whose compassionate digit, earth’s most terrific

quadruped swoons into billiardBalls!

There was a time when the world was in love with Einstein and space travel and physics and the atom and all that was science. For the first time in our history, a scientist rated over a businessman or a politician at the dinner table, though not necessarily a football player or a writer. Into this comes cummings and his irreverant look at curved space, a poem that he himself called a parody of the times in The Explicator 9.5.

Dear Sir–
please let your readers know that the author of “Space being(don’t forget to remember)Curved” considers it a parody-portrait of one scienceworshipping supersubmoron in the very act of reading(with difficulties)aloud,to another sw ssm,some wouldbe explication of A.Stone&Co’s unpoem
–thank you

E. E. Cummings
December 11 1950

The satire of cummings is most apparant in the last stanza of the poem, when he writes about God being dead, killed by man who sets himself up as “god” — the same god who “at a least crooking of Whose compassionate digit, earth’s most terrific … quadruped swoons into billiardBalls”; who, with the curve of the trigger finger, kills the mighty elephant in order to turn its ivory into billiard balls. The same billiard balls that are used to demonstrate the curvature of space.

I’m not sure why I like cummings so much. Perhaps its because he was a true Renaissance man, a painter who painted such uncompromising portraits of himself, in addition to art ranging from the prosaic to the erotic. Perhaps it’s because he wrote faerie tales as well as poetry, and immortal phrases such as “There is some shit I will not eat.”

I admired his willingness to throw out form if it suited his needs, and this, indirectly, helped me overcome my fear of writing publicly when I knew that, inevitably, there would be times when I would miss ‘form’ unintentionally.

And then , there is of course Cummings’ poetry, sometimes silly, sometimes satirical or lovely, but often biting and blunt, and always timely:

Humanity i love you
because you would rather black the boots of
success than enquire whose soul dangles from his
watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both

parties and because you
unflinchingly applaud all
songs containing the words country home and
mother when sung at the old howard

Humanity i love you because
when you’re hard up you pawn your
intelligence to buy a drink and when
you’re flush pride keeps

you from the pawn shops and
because you are continually committing
nuisances but more
especially in your own house

Humanity i love you because you
are perpetually putting the secret of
life in your pants and forgetting
it’s there and sitting down

on it
and because you are
forever making poems in the lap
of death Humanity

i hate you

I think, though, my fondness for Cummings is because he understood the ultimate struggle:

To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best night
and day to make you like everybody else means to fight the hardest
battle any human being can fight and never stop fighting.

Categories
Just Shelley

Blanc Mange

If we look hard enough, we can find the lowest common denominator among us, and we can beat down the peaks and fill in the valleys and take comfort in the sameness among us.

And one spark of beauty, one ray of true art, can multiply, like the loaves and the fishes, to feed the millions. And when we shake the dirt of this ball of mud from our feet, no one will be left behind. We’ll all travel faster than the speed of light, because that is our destiny and destiny cannot be denied.

But there will be no room for difference on the flight, it will be crowded. We must all turn and breath in synch. That’s okay, though. As long as we’re all together. All the same, each holding our one spark of beauty, the last ray of true art.

Categories
Just Shelley Political

What did you do to fight the war, Daddy?

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

Lest you all think that we in America speak in the same voice as Bush, and lest you all think that we America are doing little to fight this upcoming war in Iraq, think again.

I was contacted about a job just across the river in Illinois that I was a perfect fit for about three weeks ago. I had the skills, I had the experience, and most importantly, I had a secret government clearance that could be quickly activated. This, combined with my previous experience having worked on defense systems gave me the edge for a job. A good job. It would have been a good job.

A job working on a system for the military to be used in whatever capacity in the Middle East. What kind of system, what type of work, I don’t know.

I did not pursue this job, and declined the opportunity with the recruiter, telling them that the job is incompatible with my beliefs, and that the government would not care for my continued protestation against Bush and his actions in the Middle East.

I didn’t say anything about this three weeks ago as I figured you all would think I was an idiot. I felt like an idiot afterwards. And maybe I am — a principled idiot, without a fucking job in a really lousy economy.

I didn’t put my blood on the line, but I put my future, and that will have to do.