April 06, 2004

Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. That's relativity.

- Albert Einstein (apocryphal)

I have not had non-public Internet access for more than a year now, and that in non-daily two hour batches. (Tuesdays I make into the exception, which requires some creativity and occasional relocation on my part.) I used to work around that on my own computer, write up thoughts and ideas and large segments of fiction and non-fiction, copy/paste/format quickly while I could access the Internet.

This past weekend, after several weeks of coaxing and working around, I have had to finally accept that my computer's ability to boot is toast. This also happens to leave me without any access whatsoever to roughly two decades of work ... although at least I think those files are still intact. Sometime this week, I will hope that a professional will be able to untangle the mess, and that the resulting invoice allows me at least a month to pay.

Perhaps predictably this dilemma seems to have driven my channel into whatever I tap into overdrive ... but without engaging the clutch. Dream without sleep, for two days straight. Odds and ends of stray thoughts, more frequent than ever, I don’t think I could shut that out if I tried, but -- blurred -- unfocused, awareness without comprehension, connections without communication. E-mail sent off as first-order translation of awareness instead of the more fluent translation into words and sentence -- requiring more explanations on my side later and an assurance that no, that message was not an indication that my e-mail had been hacked. More odds and ends of stray handwritting on stray pieces of paper, to be sorted at some future indefinite. My life as grammar.

What comes into my mind, primarily as purposed communication?

It seems to have no bearing, otherwise. Personal life frustrations, by and large set aside as irrelevant (except in my ability to actually change something I am willing to change therein), largely not thought about at all -- even less so, now. Whatever it is I channel seems to demand its communication with others. In the absence of my most fluid form of such communication, it comes out stubbornly and ever more sharply verbally (see earlier notes on talks), turning my traditional introversion into a startling and terrifying extroversion. Writing at least translates into something with a common frame of reference (more or less) -- but speaking? Trying to translate the most basic of questions so that it is understood seems to require my establishing an extended framework almost as long as the talk itself -- just so I can explain where I am coming from in order to ask the question.

Once explained, it seems self-evident to others as well -- once we are on enough of a common frame of reference for its relevance to be accepted -- but first I seem to need to build the entire structure, "uphill": no, it is not going where everyone seems to assume it is. Why should it? We have already been there, built that. Whether or not it is solid -- well, let's follow this new construct built upon the existing foundation, and see if anything collapses.

Why should it matter if anything here does? As the world goes, these misconstructions, caught early, are harmless. Life as trial and error: who ever learns from the missteps of another?

What relevance to the validity of any given construct that this or that particular one happened to be more or less desirable to me personally, or of my particular speaking?

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