Zenitram Ttam

I've spent a lot of time alone recently. It may be because I stay up past the witching hour and sleep until I have to go to work in the darker parts of the afternoon. Or possibly because I have a long commute to work, so it just seems that I'm always in a state of mind for reflection. The scenery zipping past seems to compel me to look inward at the same rate. Regardless... as of late, reflection is the way of mirrors and Matt Martinez.

I miss my friend Matt Thomason. He would always take a mundane situation and swirl it around like so many tea leaves preparing for a reading. He often called me Zenitram Wehttam. Zenitram Ttam, for short. He would giggle, as if conjuring a new nominative attribute might endow me with the same onomatopoeic robot features that it implied.

Sometimes it did.

I'd repeat it, “Zenitram Ttam,” and do a gawky impression of the dance.

He'd laugh again.

I've grown to know Zenitram Ttam better than I probably should. He doesn't speak much. He holds eye contact for uncomfortable lengths. He doesn't seem to mind that I'm around, although he tends to back away if I do.

He thinks he has big ideas. He fancies himself creative, knowing full well that creativity implies a created object. He gets excited about things that haven't happened yet. He reads nonfiction books solely for their value as a metaphor and enjoys them greatly. He pursues a vibrant spiritual life. He's friendly and outgoing most of the time. He loves his girlfriend and tries to call every day before and after work. He has little old Italian ladies visit him at his part-time job with bags of chocolate that they hide in their purse until he gets them, “so that the other guys don't get jealous.” He has Catholic and Muslim coworkers that love him. He was deeply pleased when the Japanese sushi guy and Venezuelan cheese woman got into an argument as to whether he was a Japanese “twin brother” or Venezuelan “my boy.”

“No, baby, that's MY boy.”

He lives in the future and forgets that it takes the present to get there. He neglects friendships, perhaps mistakenly assuming that they'll be there when he finally becomes worth being friends with. He sometimes chooses to sleep rather than do important life tasks. He sometimes doesn't love his girlfriend with enthusiasm. He flirts with universalism and worries that he may slide down the slippery slope of atheism if he's not careful. He caught himself standing by his car during a break today, blinking at the sun and realizing that he really hasn't stood in sunlight for quite some time.

Zenitram Ttam changes, too. Sometimes it's hard to tell, but it happens. Subtle shifts from day to day.

I think that he looks older than he used to look.

I wonder if he thinks the same about me.

So, if I may, I'd like to list a few things that I've learned from him. They aren't profound, but I don't care. Perhaps profundity comes in the accrual of many simplicities.

The more you are alone, the more your ego grows. You can't really help it. You can't really notice it, either... until suddenly it's bumping its massive head on the ceiling and you have to deal with it. It's a result of a lack of perspective. Many perspectives balance your own limited one. Humility comes in conjunction with community, with whose “boy” you are.

If there was one piece of advice I'd dare to give anyone who comes after me, it would be that the most important choice in life is what community you allow yourself to be a part of.

One of my favorite quotes is said by the character Ender in a book by Orson Scott Card. “I find out what I really want by seeing what I do.” That idea has lodged in my head and won't shake loose. It is never more true than when you are alone... it's like the definition of character that I was taught growing up: your character is who you are when no one is looking. You find out what you really value by seeing what you do when you are alone. Just the realization of this truth is enough to help you change it. Or at least arrange it more ideally.

Some guy once said that “the unexamined life is not worth living.” That's easy to say when your life is mostly in hindsight. It's another thing altogether when you're trying to build a life from nothing. How about “the examined life takes your eyes off the road.”

There's a concept in acting that might be relevant here: dual consciousness. I was trying to explain this concept at a rehearsal for my improv small group last week. It's the idea that an actor is aware that he or she is onstage in front of an audience, but is also fully immersed into a character. It's kind of what acting is all about; you exist in the present and the future at the same time, mentally (duh). As an actor, you are constrained by what you have to do as the character. You have a mark to hit and objectives to fulfill. But you also have to position yourself to be fully visible to audience, avoid surprising your fellow actor into messing up or breaking, not knock over set pieces, remember lines... you have to maintain more than one focus, and do it believably. [For bonus points, I dare you to perform while being existential about your real life...]

It's kind of like driving a car: going forward while glancing in the rear view mirror and back up and down at the gauges and back up. With the sun in your blinking eyes.

It's kind of like living life while examining it at the same time. Without knocking over set pieces.

It's kind of like making friends with your reflection and learning from his mistakes.


Sometimes I smile at Zenitram Ttam.

Occasionally his return smile seems... ironic.

… that punk knows something that he's not telling me...

Viral 4: Listen to This, acoustic guitar edition

A few acoustic guitar songs from my favorite musicians that force me to hit the repeat button over and over.

Enjoy.

If you don't enjoy them, don't bother telling me; I'll just immediately judge that you have terrible taste in music. [I'd put an emoticon here to indicate sarcasm, but if you didn't pick up on it, you probably shouldn't be reading this blog anyway]


The Tallest Man on Earth



The moving live version is also worth checking out. As is every song he has ever sung ever.

Sam Amidon



This guy is a ball of goof. And I love him. Check out his quirks in the live version. Well worth the whistle.

The Books



Besides being a friggin' amazing concept, this song is just awesome. I'd recommend the whole album, along with their blog (as a sort of road map for its seeming randomness).


So that's all for now. Just wanted to share. Feel free to reciprocate.

Ramshackle

So we're looking at apartments, Chris and I, and the ones that are within our price range are... well, not ideal. One apartment in particular sticks out... really, the only one comfortably within our price range. It sits on Baxter Street.

Baxter Street is an anomaly. Located between Luther Street and Henley Place and right off of Queens Road, Baxter Street has all the locational pedigree one could hope for. Tree-lined roads lead through upper-upper-middle-class suburban paradise. Glimpses of the Charlotte skyline peep through, winking opulence between houses reminiscent of Italian villas and Georgian Colonial double-chimneyed mansions. Occasionally there is a name in front: The Duke Mansion stands as a cornerstone of the community, forcing cars to slow down and appreciate the grandeur through which they are privileged to be passing. And there... smack in the middle of success-ville... lies Baxter Street.

Baxter Street is obviously aspiring for something far beyond its reach. It sits ignored like a fault line between productive societies, deep enough to seem inescapable. It is the very definition of juxtaposition. It is the beach on which urban crests into suburban. Baxter Street is a tide pool.

I remember one late summer when my family went to the Jersey shore. As I recall, a storm had raged miles off the coast the night before, churning up the freezing water from deeper parts of the ocean, causing an immense amount of dense fog and a strangely cool breeze despite the time of year. Or maybe it was just Jersey, it's hard to tell. Regardless, it was cold, so although everyone had removed their footwear, no one was quite courageous enough to approach the ocean's unpredictable wave patterns. Instead, everyone played in the tide pools.

Of course, in the true spirit of family vacations, we decided that it was necessary to splash a bucket of the cold water onto Mom. I mean, come on... it was inevitable. I forget who threw it, which probably means it was me. She saw it coming and started to run away, squawking loudly. It was the running that caused the problem, as she was watching the bucket and not the beach (which is, in itself, a lesson). The water was aimed squarely below the neck when it was thrown, but, due to an unforeseen dip in the sand, it slammed heavily into the side of her head. A big bucket full of stagnant tide pool water right in the ear... needless to say, she had a massive ear infection for weeks afterward.

Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure it was Miles who threw the water, the scamp.

Baxter Street is a tide pool and it has shocked me into sobriety.
I deserve to live on Baxter Street.
I know this.
In overly-dramatic terms, this realization is causing me a raging ear infection of the MIND (I'd make the font bigger to highlight the ridiculousness of that statement, but you get the picture)

No matter how much I can explain it away with phrases like "personal efficacy" or "cultural/societal restraints," the fact is that I haven't played the game. I've placed myself in a rich culture without concern for preparation, expecting my surroundings to influence my actions and appearance. My occupational floors are warped with the effects of extreme temperature, having neglected a central heating and air. My attitudinal stove is rusted over with poor usage. My communal wires are exposed and disconnected. My emotional storage space is so small as to be considered non-existent. Physically... well... I think I've made my point.

The funny thing is, we're probably going to live on Baxter Street, at least for a while.

It takes time and elbow-grease for restoration.

Little Distractions

I'm sure everyone goes through this. Correction: I'm sure every non-medicated person goes through this. I've never taken Ritalin, but I'm craving the idea something fierce right now.

Here's the deal: I have like thirty hours to complete my grad school application in order to be considered for a scholarship for the coming fall semester. But, in true slacker fashion, I have managed to find everything else far more interesting. Here's a quick list of some of the more interesting distractions I've managed to find over the last hour or so:

1. The new Rob Bell book controversy.
-Just a couple reflective thoughts on this one. First, I still like Rob Bell. He's been on the fringe of the Christian realm for a while now; his struggles with the established church are struggles that I share, albeit in my case on an impotently mental level. And it irks the hell out of me (see what I did there?) when the untouchable ones (Piper, Driscoll, etc) react as pompous jerks sneering off of theological high-horses. But now I'm being as judgmental as
they are... ah, the temptations to engage in the mud of church battlegrounds. I'm definitely going to read the book, though.

2. Catch up with the Oscar results, as I was busy watching "Let Me In" and "The Social Network" during the live broadcast. Both movies are amazing, just in case you wondered.

3. My favorite web comic

4. Reddit, of course... still giggling at this and this... and still kinda annoyed at this.



5. Reflect on my fear of success and fear of failure and general lack of personal efficacy, remember not to be negative about what I don't have, buckle down and attempt to finish the autobiographical section of the application... immediately get massively overwhelmed and retreat to a blog to distract myself even further.

So now, to complete the cycle, off I go to see if I can make it another round with life.

Hehe... dropped my taco...

Cowpens: February 27, 2011

its roots
silently reach
towards conversation
wet and heavy
its tides groan
beneath the gentle gravity
of palms
it soft-shoes in
selfish
hourglass sands
sometimes
it has two
left feet

two trees stand vigil
on ancient battlegrounds
freshly watered
they whisper wisdom
in the winds
I wonder if
their roots
are connected
too

we are seeds
with self-sustenance
for a brief moment
but then must grow
roots
and often bark
and sometimes leaves

some things are seasonal

i've found
i'm not
an evergreen

winter only seems
like death
but i've still got
some sap

i know i'm not poplar, birch
but
if i can
i decide you, us

Möbius Strip

I'm 26 now. Awesome.

I'm tired of prefacing things.

List:

1. Measureless goals are empty dreams.
2. Excellence and elitism hold hands.
2b. Elitism and nepotism hold hands.
3. Direction and progression are not the same.
4. Meditative, present-oriented self-actualization is useful only if you have money.
5. No one seems to differentiate between what God does and what you do under the influence of a God-flavored motivation or strategy.
5b. Are what God does and what you do under a God-flavored motivation equally important?
5c. Why do I feel tricked when I'm told that God won't work unless I do first?

I've been trying my best to lose control, but control is an onion.

Control is an onion shaped like a möbius strip; internal and external, but you still can only get to it from one side at a time.

Losing control is trickier than seizing it.

I've been thinking a lot about trying not to think about everything a lot.

Like a character in a play, only actions that arise out of necessity bring progression to the story. The absence of necessity easily facilitates the absence of action. The absence of action stops any progression, resulting in dissatisfaction. There is no story. Two roads present themselves: passivity and activity. Passivity yields to the inaction... which is an action. One road presents itself: activity, either positive or negative, internal or external. Passivity is an illusion. There is always a story. The absence of satisfaction brings action. Action easily facilitates the awareness of necessity. Like a character in a play, actions that create necessity bring direction to the story.

I've been doing a lot that seems like spinning my wheels.

Seizing control is easier than losing it, but it requires both direction and progression.

Once upon a time a farmer went to market and purchased a fox, a goose, and a bag of beans. On his way home, the farmer came to the bank of a river and hired a boat. But in crossing the river by boat, the farmer could carry only himself and a single one of his purchases - the fox, the goose, or the bag of the beans. If left alone, the fox would eat the goose, and the goose would eat the beans. The farmer's challenge was to carry himself and his purchases to the far bank of the river, leaving each purchase intact. How did he do it?

I've been trying my best to find control, but control is an onion.

Melodrama

Sometimes drama is laughable.