So its late and I'm watching "The Big Bang Theory" while waiting for my pain medication to take effect so I can resume my attempts at sleep, and I had a minor epiphany. Nothing overly profound, mind you, just one of those realizations that's been lurking in the subconscious and finally had a moment of crystallization:
My life seems to be strongly demarcated between being a geek and aspiring to be a sophisticated Renaissance Man. Seriously, very little middle ground here. Growing up, I wanted to be Batman (or, failing that, James Bond) because they were both men of decidedly iron-like resolve, self confidence and sense of purpose. More importantly, I felt, they were the perfect blend of sophistication and brawn. To that end, I decided to try and learn as much about many different subjects as I possibly could in order to achieve that level of self reliance and maturity. Art, literature, music, history, philosophy, martial arts, theatre, Latin etc. (Well, to be honest, I'm only starting to try and teach myself Latin but its something I've wanted to master for many years now.)
And yet, I'm far more at home with comic book fans, videophiles and people who gravitate towards the weird and obscure. I have no idea what this means beyond some kind of Jungian childhood-related thing. My friend, Laura, is getting her PhD in Psychology and besides having an encyclopedic knowledge of both sides of my self realized demarcation is probably ideally suited to be able to shed light on what drives these two sides of my personality.
I have no interest in politics or religion and world events in general tend to escape my notice, but I'm almost always up to speed on which well known actor just joined the cast of the movie "Thor." I have no definitive idea of how many lives were lost recently in Haiti, but I can tell you the name of the only actor to portray James Bond onscreen once. *
On the other hand, I can quote Shakespeare, have a passing understanding of quantum mechanics, and for a hobby, enjoy trying to tie the murder of Christopher Marlowe to the Shakespeare authorship question. Not that I hold these examples up as a definition of smart, merely to differentiate between the two sides that I'm droning on about.
Realizing that "normal" is entirely relative, I still have to ask, "is this behavior/interest normal?" Is this merely an example of the Yin/Yang that exists in all of us? Taking that question to the next level I have to honestly look at another aspect of myself and say that despite what people might think, I do not care for violence. Yet I've discovered in years gone by that I'm good at it. I don't mean that I'm a fighting machine, only that I have the propensity to, when pushed over an acceptable line to having no qualms about inflicting violence in short and sometimes random order.
So this raises another Yin/Yang perspective: the inherent violence in all of us. Most people that know me will say that they think I'm an extremely nice (or at least affable) person and I try very hard to be so at all times. To be cordial at the very least. However, those who know me best know that I have a dormant temper. Not to say that its remarkably short, just a deeply-rooted capability to plan and follow through with various degrees of violent behavior, depending on the circumstance. I assure you I'm NOT boasting when I say that most people will tell you they have a temper, but they do NOT compare with my darker nature.
Is this normal?
Very probably, this is a direct result of my being beaten up as a child and developing a pathological hatred of bullies. I'm quite sure that Freud would say that my behavior is textbook overcompensation. But growing up I found myself, time and again being the only one to stand up to bullies either singly or in groups. As I grew older and, hopefully, matured, I learned to control my temper and to either walk away from a confrontation or follow it through verbally. This would be a nod toward my trying to exert my "sophisticated" side to win an argument or diffuse a potentially dangerous situation.
Maybe its the geek in me that ties directly into the darker aspect of my personality. Since I could relate far easier with other "geeks" growing up, I let my hatred of their natural antagonists really become a focal point for my temper. I had a friend in high school named Terry Jordan who had a very mild form of Downs syndrome (or something similar) and he was naturally a prime target of jocks and bullies. Terry and I became friends when were both teachers aides our sophomore year. After he got over his initial shyness, I soon discovered that Terry had an insatiable appetite for science and in particular how it behaved in science fiction. I will never forget him using his number one pencil (remember those from kindergarten?) to shakily draw schematics of how he felt the transporters worked on "Star Trek." This was not a dumb person, merely one with learning disabilities. I felt a kinship with Terry in very short order and joined one or two others who liked and protected Terry from roving gangs of football players who sought him out for sport and entertainment.
I wound up in the school clinic (and more often, Principal's office) a fair number of times with bruises and blood on my face. But I was content. I'd not only stood up for a friend, I stood up for someone who couldn't fight back. THAT was what mattered. That's how I was raised: the fight had to be fought, win or lose. (When trying to describe this aspect of my personality I often quote the scene in "Witness," where Alexander Godunov, playing an Amish man tells a bully that violence isn't his way. Then Harrison Ford's character walks up to the bully and says that it's "his way," and drops him.) It wasn't that I enjoyed the violence, I was just PREPARED to commit myself to what needed to be done.
Yet, I frown on that side of my personality and MUCH prefer to strive towards the aforementioned Renaissance Man. But who knows? Maybe I'm still trying to emulate James Bond's ability to be ultra suave and yet still be the two-fisted, SAS-trained assassin. I guess there's worse things to aspire to. ;-)
Okay, its amazingly late and as usual I'm trying to determine what the purpose of this entry was. Oh well, I'll crawl into bed and that'll put things into perspective for me.
(* George Lazenby)
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
Somewhere in the ether...
I'm not sure why it is, but lately I've been feeling more productive while I'm taking my heavy duty muscle relaxers. Or maybe productive isn't the right word; perhaps I'm fooling myself that I'm simply more inclined to create. I don't know whether its my subconscious coming out to drive or merely the "taking the edge off" effect of the medication, but I feel more conducive to sitting down and not only writing, but analyzing the ambient universe around me.
Maybe that's the sign the intrinsic creative well is dammed up: when you write about whatever is hopscotching its way across your neural pathways. Sort of a first-person travelogue of whatever the hell crosses your mind at that precise moment. Of course, give the fact that, ultimately, I'm using this blogging source as a cathartic outlet, it does rather render the point moot. Maybe its nothing more than flexing the synapses and trying not to let the mind atrophy. So, to that end, I hit the random button on not only my thought processes but on the "Ambient Music" folder on my iTunes and write about everything and nothing as I listen to things like Tangerine Dream, Tubular Bells, and Patrick O'Hearn.
So, in an effort to have a better grasp on the Lovecraftian horror that I'm intending on weaving throughout the pulp serial that I'm working on I've started reading "Supernatural Horror in Literature," by H.P. Lovecraft himself as well as "Danse Macabre" by Stephen King. Admittedly, Lovecraft's work is much more scholarly in its approach: what does mortal man fear and why? He conjectures that mankind is born with a pathological fear of what it cannot understand or "what lies beyond our ken." In a juxtaposition, King postulates that man is inherently attracted to that which scares us for the sheer, primordial rush that it gives us. He even goes on to delve into the personifications of monsters, (i.e. Vampires, Werewolves, the undead, etc.) and why we're so attracted to them. While I find this a very interesting topic, it is not as helpful as Lovecraft actually letting the studious reader understand where his head was at when he created the Cthulhu Mythos. Still I think its good to have a balanced perspective when trying to blend really scary scenarios with a good, compelling action story. I hope I can do it justice.
Okay, in the swirling Brownian motion of what's passing for coherent thought in my mind at present, I find that, toddler like, I'm already bored with my last train of thought and am waiting for something new to emerge from the wispy ether of my subconscious. Once again, I find that I'm inadvertently bastardizing Socrates' "Euthyphro," by wondering if I'm writing all this stuff down because it has value or does it have value because I'm choosing to write it down. (Were I not pretty high on 800 Mg's of pharmaceutical grade ibuprofen and Hydrocodone, I would be ashamed to admit that, for a fleeting moment, I viewed the aforementioned thought as a legitimate "conundrum.")
Damn. Has it come to this? Getting pleasantly ripped on pain medications and then jotting down whatever enters my mind?? Sad. Really. I need a girlfriend or a job. Right now, the latter is the more reasonable goal so I'll focus on it.
And, on that note, I can see that my consciousness still has enough hold over my brain to tell me that its time to sign off, and read until I fall asleep.
Tomorrow, I'll most likely print an apology for the vacuousness of this whole entry...
Maybe that's the sign the intrinsic creative well is dammed up: when you write about whatever is hopscotching its way across your neural pathways. Sort of a first-person travelogue of whatever the hell crosses your mind at that precise moment. Of course, give the fact that, ultimately, I'm using this blogging source as a cathartic outlet, it does rather render the point moot. Maybe its nothing more than flexing the synapses and trying not to let the mind atrophy. So, to that end, I hit the random button on not only my thought processes but on the "Ambient Music" folder on my iTunes and write about everything and nothing as I listen to things like Tangerine Dream, Tubular Bells, and Patrick O'Hearn.
So, in an effort to have a better grasp on the Lovecraftian horror that I'm intending on weaving throughout the pulp serial that I'm working on I've started reading "Supernatural Horror in Literature," by H.P. Lovecraft himself as well as "Danse Macabre" by Stephen King. Admittedly, Lovecraft's work is much more scholarly in its approach: what does mortal man fear and why? He conjectures that mankind is born with a pathological fear of what it cannot understand or "what lies beyond our ken." In a juxtaposition, King postulates that man is inherently attracted to that which scares us for the sheer, primordial rush that it gives us. He even goes on to delve into the personifications of monsters, (i.e. Vampires, Werewolves, the undead, etc.) and why we're so attracted to them. While I find this a very interesting topic, it is not as helpful as Lovecraft actually letting the studious reader understand where his head was at when he created the Cthulhu Mythos. Still I think its good to have a balanced perspective when trying to blend really scary scenarios with a good, compelling action story. I hope I can do it justice.
Okay, in the swirling Brownian motion of what's passing for coherent thought in my mind at present, I find that, toddler like, I'm already bored with my last train of thought and am waiting for something new to emerge from the wispy ether of my subconscious. Once again, I find that I'm inadvertently bastardizing Socrates' "Euthyphro," by wondering if I'm writing all this stuff down because it has value or does it have value because I'm choosing to write it down. (Were I not pretty high on 800 Mg's of pharmaceutical grade ibuprofen and Hydrocodone, I would be ashamed to admit that, for a fleeting moment, I viewed the aforementioned thought as a legitimate "conundrum.")
Damn. Has it come to this? Getting pleasantly ripped on pain medications and then jotting down whatever enters my mind?? Sad. Really. I need a girlfriend or a job. Right now, the latter is the more reasonable goal so I'll focus on it.
And, on that note, I can see that my consciousness still has enough hold over my brain to tell me that its time to sign off, and read until I fall asleep.
Tomorrow, I'll most likely print an apology for the vacuousness of this whole entry...
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