archived goatee
the digital soul
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And you don't seem the lying kind -- a shame that I can read your mind. And all the things that I read there, candle-lit smile that we both share. And you know I don't mean to hurt you, but you know that it means so much... and you don't even feel a thing - Boa, Tuvet (from Lain)
The difference between faith and hope illustrated: (1) I hope she will be kind; (2) I have faith that all will be well. Faith lends strength, hope sometimes harbors weakness. Hope is the willing of a physical reality; faith is the willing of perception: a willingness. Hope can sometimes be dashed, faith must always be incited -- almost dared.
For Sabina, living in truth, lying neither to ourselves nor to others, was possible only away from the public: the moment someone keeps an eye on what we do, we involuntarily make allowances for that eye, and nothing we do is true. - Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being.
I read Kundera to learn about someone who thought highly of his book. It is a voyeuristic intimacy to read what another has read and imagine what they thought. It is a melding to read their worn and annotated copy. I sometimes fantasize about what others would think of my tiny penciled comments in the books that line my shelves -- to be that well known by another. The degree to which I am a mystery is a misery. Not because I am secretive, but because -- unlike Sabina -- I can only be true in the gaze of another. And I so badly want to be true.
Regardless, my copy was procured with money instead of trust: my imagination filled in for the other's annotation. This is at least how I started: annoyed at the ambiguities and gray. This tells me nothing of how to live a better life, how to be a stronger person! If this is her instructor, no wonder her thoughts are muddled and confused. Most of my reading is non-fiction... productive... instructive. I'm honing my soul such that it can rent the gray of reality itself asunder, separate all that is dark from all that is light. This is at least how I ended: awed by the strength and tenacity of life's ambiguity. I'd since forgotten about my original motivation, long since lost in the text. I finished the book, blinking tears from my eyes and walked home with a pleasurable but heavy sense of lightness, floating between the descriptive and the normative.
And you don't seem to understand -- a shame you seemed an honest man. And all the fears you hold so dear, will turn to whisper in your ear. And you know what they say might hurt you, and you know that it means so much ... and you don't even feel a thing. - Boa, Tuvet (from Lain)
Historic Maryland... When I realized I was going to be in DC, I called my parents and Maddie. My parents drove down to the hotel from Baltimore and we talked by the pool in the evening and played ping pong -- until we lost the ball down a pool table pocket. Sunday I visited Maddie in her new home. Maddie was my first girlfriend; we were together through most of college. Our engagement fell apart after a year of pursuing graduate school in different parts of the world. It's interesting to see how a person changes but stays the same. Or how she now has a house, but I have a cruddy apartment! The nice thing is that my relationship with both Maddie and my parents are comfortable things. At times, both relationships were difficult, but time heals all wounds and gives one a sense of perspective.
The conference went well, I had my usual moments of frustration but as far as conferences go, this is one of the best.
Last night I visited Sue at her new apartment in Davis Square and we watched the first four layers of Lain; I love this series. Additionally, the opening sequence is one of the best of any OAV. The animation is beautiful as is the opening song by Boa. I found a high resolution capture of the sequence and I've watched it 20 times at least. I'm looking forward to seeing the rest of the series, it prompts this strong but odd longing for Japan. I wasn't there all that long, but I've thought of the place my whole life. Those 10 days weigh in my mind more than years elsewhere -- as do my three months in Manhattan. That is why I sometimes feel restless. If 10 days of seeing and doing new things can affect me that much, the fact that I've already filled the next three months in my calendar with dealines and meetings ... it frightens me.
I'm feeling better now that I feel like shit. My irritability, queasy stomach, and drowsiness are physical: I have some sort of cold. The relief I felt when this dawned on me is like the relief some of my femme friends feel when they realize their malaise is their period.
Unfortunately, I have to go to Alexandria Virginia today for a weekend conference. Fortunately, I don't have to present, one of my co-authors is doing that. This illness isn't so bad to make the conference a drag given its high quality. However, last night at Sick&Twisted a friend reminded me that I'm basically going to DC. So I could try to go exploring and dancing, but I doubt if I'm up to that. Plus, I can't tell if this is a low slow cold that has already peaked, or if it's just started.
I hope to be back at 100% by next week though. Doris is visiting and we're going to P-town!
Every time a friend succeeds, I die a little inside - Rohit Khare, or Gore Vidal...
| Katie continues to take the world by storm! Her geekgirl write-up resulted with a playboy.com
profile. I'm so envious. Why doesn't anyone want to interview
me? Anyone? -- Oh, stop it Joe.
However, it doesn't look like she tried to say anything to throw them off -- or they edited it out! When she first heard about the gig we joked about the interview: she could pretend to be a hardcore butch who hated all men. What would playboy do with that? Instead, it turned out very cute, very playboy, "Because her résumé reads like her head should be twice as big as normal to hold in all the brains, I am sure she will have no problem finding the ideal position. " Ideal position, yea... nudge nudge wink wink.. |
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Tuesday sleeps in a stable | Wednesday's in a chains | Tuesday gathers up the crumbs under the table | Wednesday dare not complain | My heart has collapsed on the tracks of a run-a-way train. -- Nick Cave, Sunday's Slave.
Evidently Tuesdays are Nina days. I bumped in to her at 1369 and I spoke with her for about half an hour. It was only half an hour because I made plans to watch Real World with my roommate. During our conversation I was watching the clock and left with just enough time to get home. I got back on the hour, but 60 minutes early!
Just as well, I'm not up to seeing her. The rational ego (looking out for number one) knows this -- regardless of the id's dreams. Interestingly, the conversation was smooth; I'm always surprised of how good the flow is when we speak. I haven't seen her in a couple of weeks but within seconds the groove clicks. And I think I masked the little bit of panic I had well ("I'm ok.") even if it made me flub what time it was! At least, I didn't turn and walk right back out the door.
Now I don't mean to make this more dramatic than it is. Granted, I kept thinking about something she said. Nina had said that her journals had arrived from Japan and she had been reviewing them trying to figure out "what had happened." What does that mean?! Is that like, "what went wrong?" So while my mind turns it over, I really don't even want to know.
However, she's only human (nothing to fear) and this is life.
I'll get over it all at some point. Until that point she's a
managed liability -- instead of an asset. My friend trouble once amazed me
by telling me of the end of a relationship (a few dates I think)
where the boy did the "let's be friends" thing. She responded "I
have enough friends." My friend Amy has a line she uses when she
realizes a person is draining more than giving, she'll say, "I have
to let you go!"
My point is, I don't feel any ill will or anger. But I was
extending a ton of credit on the odd chance that this would
pay-off. It didn't. So I have friends that build me up -- and Nina
simply isn't one of them. I can't see any sort of relationship or
interaction with her bringing me anything but pain. I'd love it to
be otherwise, but that's the facts unless someone (she) tells me
otherwise. Until then she's on my "managed liability" list. That
means I have to be careful about if and how long I interact with
someone. People stay on that list (instead of the "have to let you
go") because of historical affection, remnants of hope, and because
sometimes the fact that a person brings me down is my fault more
than theirs. People do come off that list even if it takes six
months to a year. My emotions crest, thaw, and flow like a glacier,
but that's ok. I'm one of the most patient people I know.
Something's up. Or should I say I'm down?
Nothing in my external environment has changed, but internally things are a bit shaky. Hints of anxiety flit by on the wings of obsession. I feel the need to tuck and whimper as I get tossed about on waves of frustration.
This weekend I did some serious editing on my audio documentary, got my money back from BankBoston (yea!), and hung out with friends. Good stuff, but at one point, I had this sense of immense sadness while riding my bike and I realized that it was already dark at 7:30. Also, my basket got upset a bit last Tuesday night. I thought I had done an admirable of job of ending the angst that's bothered me for the past few months. (The thing that prompted all those poetic and mysterious paragraphs.) I agreed with the femme that we should stay out of each others' way. I was rather annoyed with the whole thing and even told her off a bit. Out of sight, out of mind. But she called me last Tuesday all upset (about her boy of course) and I felt sorry for her, sympathetic. I don't know, but maybe that put a chink in my armor of my pissed-off (get lost) attitude. So I hope to God I don't hear from her for a while. But then I permit myself, well, maybe if she's got something to say that would make me happy. That then leads to guilty hopes that I'll hear from her regardless. I fantasize talking with her about all the things I've been thinking. See, hope is hell.
But!! It ain't gonna happen. I'm hardcore positive. Nothing's taking me down. I just feel sorry for my colleagues and friends who have to put up with my grouchiness. And I'm going to bust some silicon if these damn computers don't stop misbehaving.
Fortunately, there is something that makes me smile:
The Klingon bastards flies around. Always ready for some war. They don't care about any rules at all. As long as they can kill some more. Evil barbarians without discipline. Unpredictable death machine. Never, ever, never trust a Klingon. You will always regret it. Never, ever, never trust a Klingon. You will never forget it. S.P.O.C.K. Never Trust a Klingon.
What a disappointment. I was grocery shopping during the strongest winds of the storm! It was so weak that my entry yesterday actually embarrasses me; I was going to delete it. But my friend Lisa caught it before I could. She also confessed to being an addict of -- what her husband calls -- "weather porn."
I finished " Promiscuities" yesterday. I enjoyed reading the latter half when she started writing of history beyond her own. First person is interesting, but I want to use it to understand things as part of a larger system, with a perspective that spans decades or centuries instead of years. However, the book still left me hungry for something else. Granted: this society's concept of gender and sexuality is fucked. Granted: the interaction of one's own biases that conform to or conflict with the biases society presents can be confusing. But why? Why does the male hetero fear the female slut? (Why is he both attracted to and repulsed from the lesbian?) Why do we focus on the sexuality of youth? Why do women analyze every aspect of how men view them, but apply their own biases of male selection with impunity? Interesting questions, but no answers.
I need to do some grocery shopping before the hurricane tomorrow! That has nothing to do with the hurricane and everything to do with tomorrow; I'm out of juice, fruit and vegetables. I'd need them regardless. So while I'm excited, I'm not panicked. Others are rushing to grocery stores for whatever, schools are closed, and 3 million people on the south east coast are evacuating -- that's scary. But I'm looking forward to it. I want to run around in the 70 mph winds we are expecting in Boston. The type of gust that you can lean all of your body into and still stay upright. Perhaps this is a guy thing, but call me Indiana Joe. Two of the most exciting things I've ever done was fall down an elevator shaft and pee off the top of the highest building on a hill during a lightning storm. Electrifying!
I watch those natural disaster shows with my eyes glazed. Man! To have been under that underpass as the tornado went over! Of course, I don't want to be hurt, I don't want anyone to be hurt, but nature ... man she rips. We are but specs on a dynamic ball of life hurtling through space.
But then I feel guilty. Its like when I was in school and would hope for two feet of snow, knowing that somebody would freeze or have a heart attack probably. I still do! I like blizzards! But is my wish wrong?
So I'm hoping for an amazing show Floyd, but take it easy.
As they say over at slashdot, I have a slew of quickies, one of which is mention from an article on slashdot regarding eBay addiction, pretty damn interesting. I want to give eBay a whirl with some DVDs I don't want anymore, and I looked into it last week, but seemed like too much hassle at the time.
This weekend I made a few small tweaks to An Anarchist's Punk Ethic and found and learned the software necessary for completing the editing phase of my ZineTown Bean Town audio documentary. So I'm psyched to resume that and one way I might reward myself for completing that project is with a digital camera! Then I can start all the photo projects I have bouncing around in my head. (That decision will also depend on whether I get refunded the $460 someone stole using my ATM card two weeks ago.) Also, I've got to write a slew of thoughts here on porno, faith, self-perception, and love. Of course, I have to find time for this and its tendon time, which I'm already pushing for work, so my hands have a slight burn going.
I finished Nozick's Anarchy, State and Utopia: heavy reading though well worth it. I also started " Promiscuities: The Secret Struggle for Womanhood". I haven't heard good things about it, but I really enjoyed " The Beauty Myth : How Images of Beauty Are Used Against Women." I'm pretty disappointed so far, very boring. I'll probably finish it up in a day or to and move on to Wright's " The Moral Animal : Why We Are the Way We Are : The New Science of Evolutionary Psychology." Of course, I'm still making my way through the Zine Yearbook #3 and Best of Temp Slave. In the yearbook, I read a great article from "Used To" (John Fail and Dan Goldberg) on JoyBubbles. Joybubbles visited the University of Pittsburgh Library so as to listen to every episode of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. He was born blind and was formerly a phone phreak known as "The Whistler." Joybubbles started the national support line called "We Won't Grow Up: Supporting the Eternal Child." He considers himself permanently five years old. Eccentrics rock.
I've -- of course -- also seen a few films, last week:
i am thirty-two flavors and then some | and i'm beyond your peripheral vision | so you might want to turn your head | cause someday you're going to get hungry | and eat most of the words you just said. - DiFranco, thirty two flavors
I'm amazed by how well my intuitions of people are. In a recent relationship, I got a call from the femme who was away on a business trip. She called just to say hi, a totally nice and friendly gesture, but when I got off the phone, I knew things were different. When I finally brought myself to call her the next Sunday evening (the time when we usually talked on the phone) she was on the line with someone else as I had feared she would be. I think she only told me about it two weeks later, after I broke because of the lack of openness and honesty I had hoped was part of our relationship.
So I got a call last night, I was expecting it. I was right yesterday, I am fucked. Though it could be worse. I played the positive and supportive friend through-out. Didn't leak any need, didn't weep -- in front of her. But it's still hard. Some people say hope can be so strong, you can taste the sweetness. They say it can sustain you when famished.
I don't know about any of that, but I need to get to making that lemonade...
the minute that it's born | it begins to die | I'd love to just give in, | I'd love to live this lie | I've been to black and back | I've whited out my name | a lack of pain, a lack of hope | a lack of anything to say | there is no cure for what is killing me | I'm on my way down | I've looked ahead and saw a | world that's dead | I guess that I am too - Manson, Minute of Decay
I haven't written much recently. I'm used up and spent. The writing I've sent to friends is sparse and raw. I have no strength to craft generalized principles of life. No desire to anonymize the characters and plot of my life. I'm afraid there will be no lemonade from lemons this week. The little bit of pain I allow to seep out is carefully sealed and ported to friends far away. This isn't purposeful, usually I do write to get it all out. But it already is and I have nothing coming in. So what is there to say? I think I am fucked.
In my sleep I imagined I was among the damned who sired the world's dreams. The world's nightly escape from reality was played from our drained souls. I remember trudging through the Alienesque depths of this world with the others, punching in at the clock -- weird, but such is the sand man -- and preceding to the narco phagi. While my companions dreaded entrance to the chamber, I was glad to slip away from my self, to play in the thought-streams of others. I hoped this would be the last dream, that my strength would finally fail and I could fall into the dreamless sleep. Immortality -- in Heaven or Hell -- always frightened me.
Why a letter that speaks of love but is addressed to me? If your journal demands honesty, does it also demand you hurt me? Leave it all unsaid and I want no apologies. I don't want you ... to want to be the girl for me; I need it unsaid or you to be a reality.
Such a letter is like a rusty blade given to a child. I am that child, trapped in a room whose corners are gone and there is no place to rest my head. I play with the words, the knife incites my mind to run down alleys of happy potential that dead-end. And now, again, I stand still and alone in my room without corners. My lungs have collapsed from the chase. Breathless; though my breast trembles with the turbulence of the storm that tears inside me.
I'm a pseudo-academic. I don't need to publish to go anywhere in this job. But it is a privilege afforded to me and I enjoy thinking about the bigger picture and interacting with thoughtful colleagues. As these pages demonstrate, I write in order to understand, and hopefully that serves as an explanation for someone else. Same thing in the professional domain. However, there are differences. Here I can publish to the Web within minutes; my peer review are emails from friends and strangers; my stature is determined by the number of other zinesters who read and link to this site. Not surprisingly, there are also similarities. As you will find in these entries, I do not seek out attention for these pages. I don't have a Web counter or guest book; not even my email address is on this page. I haven't gone around dropping my URL into the guest books of other journals, I'm not part of a Webring, I have no banners! (Though I am toying with the idea of a banner, just for fun.) The similarity between these two domains is that I'm not terribly good at self-promotion, and in the professional realm, I'm even more crabby about it.
When at Harvard, I wrote a bunch of papers which elicited very rewarding comments. Writing the papers was critical for me and they've served as an excellent way to exchange thoughts with my colleagues, but I haven't done that much with respect to getting them formally published. I did manage to beef up my CV a little, but not as much as I could. One colleague suggested I submit the abstract of Eskimo Snow to SSRN's legal abstracts. I did, today I got an email:
Dear ...: Your paper entitled "Eskimo Snow and Scottish Rain: Legal Considerations of Schema Design" was recently listed on SSRN's Top Ten download list for The Legal Scholarship Network Recent Hits (for abstracts published in the last 60 days)
That's cool, the W3C is also interested in publishing it as a NOTE if I get off my bum and do it. So that's something, it's out there getting read, which is the important thing. But both of these options don't amount to much more to CV filler in terms of prestigious publication.
Another colleague wrote, "I'm starting to do some thinking about the nature of 'consensus' in connection with the ICANN thing, and reread your ' Why The Internet is Good' piece -- which I continue to think is a most interesting treatment of this and related issues." When I brought up its lack of publication, I wrote:
Honestly, I submitted the paper to a few conferences with little success, and looked at the law review journals and thought my paper would stand out like a sore thumb given its lack of footnotes and formality. So my lack of publication success on this paper should be restated as "I've been too busy/lazy/un-interested to rewrite/format the paper to comply with needless hassle." This is my fault. I've realized I've become extremely intolerant and spoiled using the Web and my experiences with traditional publishing make me shy of investing time there.
For instance, even at a fairly "Webbish" level (the SSRN's legal abstracts) I think it is amusing that there are HTML-to-Word-to-PDF errors in the PDF file. I think it is absurd that I have to use a proprietary OS and install a proprietary application with a proprietary data format, to convert an open-hypertextual document to a binary non-hypertextual document! They told me the errors were in there, but I'm not cleaning up any of it -- though I will of course validate my HTML and CSS. <smile>
However, in the end I decided to bite the bullet and submit it to the law review journals. I was alarmed at all the conditions (what format you had to submit it in, restrictions on the copyright and prior publishing, etc.) so I thought I'd kill a bunch of birds with one stone and state my policies up front in the submission:
I would like to electronically submit the following paper for your consideration. The paper is written in English and its data format is conformant HTML/CSS. I will not convert it to a proprietary format. Since the references are to technical standards and not to legal materials, they are not formatted according to Blue Book production rules. This hyper-textual document is available on the Web. I've also attached a copy. This paper is being submitted to numerous journals and is already available on the Web. Consequently, this submission does not grant rights of publication, it is only a request for consideration. If accepted, I will then agree with the editors regarding the terms of publication in paper form. I own the copyright and will not remove the paper from the Web for the purposes of paper publication; I am willing to restrict subsequent paper publication. I may be willing to assign copyright to a third party provided that those terms does not affect the availability of the paper on-line.
I look forward to your comments.
My colleague astutely commented:
Joe, You're toeing a hard line -- which is sometimes great, sometimes not, depends where you're coming from. Believe me, I have *no deep love* for journal editors as a class, or for this ridiculous and archaic publication system whose death I really look forward to.... But -- there's a bit of a 'fuck you' tone to the above that I suspect pisses people off and will cause them not to give your stuff the attention I think it deserves. That may be ok with you -- you have to figure out whether you give a damn about publishing with these folks or not. If you don't, then give em a take it or leave it and see what happens. But if you do, I'd hit them with your conditions *after* they've read, and even accepted, your article -- it won't seem so weird at that point, and they'll really need to be cooperative then, too. Just a thought
And he's right. I probably screwed myself. But I couldn't help myself. Pushback is one of the ways you make the world better. One of the benefits of having a co-author (other than the very rewarding interaction) is that the they probably do need publications for their job, and they're willing to deal with this junk. But, I should've just sent it, and then dealt with these issues. So far I've received -- count them -- one response to my submissions, and even then I couldn't get off my high horse:
>... is an academically refereed electronic law journal with no
>paper edition. As such, care has to be taken with the articles we
>publish and as this paper is currently being considered by other
>journals and indeed has already been published online, it is not
>something we can use in the present state.
To be clear, I've submitted it to numerous places, just as I did to your publication. I've had no response yet other than your own. I've made no commitments towards anyone. If its prior availability on the Web removes it from your scope of interest, then you are correct in that it would not be appropriate. However, I believe the functions of content provision and peer-review selection are distinct services and I'd ask that you reconsider your policies.
Thank you for your prompt response.
All this relates to a core frustration of mine. Improving the world should be like shooting fish in a barrel -- but it isn't. There are so many stupid fucked up things out there, its plain to the eye. In this case, the Web is here, open standards are good, hypertext is cool. I do not dispute peer review is a critical aspect of publication, but what has that to do with its prior availability? If from their home page, they point to some other URL (or even a local copy) they are still providing the value-added feature that will drive people to their page. Even if this was a paper version, I don't think the fact that a draft is on the Web is going to stop the institutional and professional subscribers from purchasing paper copies. I prefer to read paper and the archival stability of paper is much higher than most URLs!
Next week I'll call the various editors and see if at least they noticed the submission and if I didn't piss them off too badly.
Life is captured between the polarities of cling and fling, strength and weakness, acceptance and guilt. I've had a few femme friends that are fairly dominant. I have another female friend who doesn't get off unless she is treated quite roughly, and yet another who has had occasional "rape" fantasies. The dominant ones seem proud of their qualities. The second friend doesn't worry about the rough treatment; she knows what she likes -- that's the way it is. A few in the later category do feel guilty in a "feminist" context. What does it mean to have such a fantasy? In no way would anyone condone rape, but policing fantasy is tricky. One of the few things I liked about " Bound and Gagged : Pornography and the Politics of Fantasy in America" was that Kipnis drew a necessary distinction between reality and fantasy.
In the end, I figure "whatever floats your boat." In disucssion after my visceral entry, I perhaps responded a little too harshly to my friend by saying she "seems to be like a person who protests the inequity of a relationship, not because you are against the inequity, but because you are not the power." She responded:
don't forget that you're talking from a very different position. i believe it's easier for a guy to consequently disapprove of power games, but as a girl having to interact with guys who much too often play them i have to have strategies to handle them. if i didn't i wouldn't hold the job i'm having.
So returning to a floating boat in a sea of social context: some fight the tide, others go with it, I pretend it isn't there.
My friend's reaction is upsetting to me, I want to plead that she not let the world taint who she is! Often the injustices of the world become ingrained in their victims. This gender issue is similar to my desire to be "color blind." I personally try not to see color, I don't want to look at the world through lenses of race, gender, or class. Some black people respond they live in a racist world, it's escapist and irresponsible for me to ignore it. They are black, that is who they are. I (as a white person) didn't encounter the racism at every stage of my life. Consequently, I can't understand; when they interact with me they are going to see me as "white."
Now apply this to every characteristic that I am not.
(Admittedly, the terms I use to make distinctions are based on
color which is a poor means of distinguishing between ethnicities.
However, other formulations of the text above are more awkward and
even the most policitcally correct term, "people of color", is
predicated on pigment.)
I don't want to ignore inequities, but if we allow the external
system to become part of our internal framework of relationships we
are perpetuating that system! It's like a non-overt racist being
afraid of black people moving into the neighborhood because it'll
lower the property prices. It's this very idea/fear that
perpetuates the evil! The only way to attack this fear is to
refuse to entertain it.
Obviously, i'm open to different points of view; I read all kinds
of radical shit. However, I don't want to relate to people based on
these distinctions. I want a much more gender/racial/whatever blind
society where eccentricity/diversity is appreciated by choice, not
because it is associated with some characteristic of your physical
body.
So when I wrote to my friend "everyone should take and be taken"
I'm not stating this is the way the world is, but it's the way I
want it to be. I am going to see it that way, and if enough people
see it that way, maybe it will happen. Its my form of advocacy.
Look all around you and notice you're not alone. | We want to give you the courage to | Go in a different way. | Think of the love and attention we all have shown. | What did we do when we heard, well, we | All came right away.
I know what you need | This will really work. | In ancient times, if you were sick | They make you bleed. | Oh honey, I know it hurts. - Rasputina, Sign of the Zodiac.
Travelling is harsh. My flight to Phoenix, which connected to my flight to Orange County, was late. I got to Phoenix three hour late, missing all flights to OC, meaning I had to fly to LA and pick up the car there. I got into LAX past midnight (3a.m. Boston time) and drove the hour to my hotel. During most of my idleness I was in a real pissy mood. I couldn't stop thinking about the end of last week, alternatively lost to broodings of disappointment, lust, loneliness, anger, and frustration. Mostly frustration. Fortunately, I was tired enough I slept most of the air time, but even my dreams above the clouds were troubled.
The car ride wasn't bad. A rare chance to be behind the wheel; the roads were empty (past midnight) and I screaming down freeway 405 listening to Dead Can Dance on the radio -- a program called soundstreams. About 15 minutes into the ride I approached a power plant with a thousand lights and towers capped in flames while the radio played a Mediterranean chant with beatz. I felt as if I was in a scene from Blade Runner and I was filled with this sense of well being and protection ... difficult to describe.
Today, the meeting went well, but it's a long day, very long. Tomorrow I leave at 9pm and get in Wednesday at 7am! And I'm tired ... of everything. I ain't sad, but I ain't happy. I guess I'm ok, but I want better than ok. I want to do something, anything -- but the lack of control over matters of the heart infuriates me. I could write huge letters, I could call, I could cry. But what's the point, what's the fucking point?
Calm down my heart... don't be so fast...
Don't be afraid, just once in a life time. - Wolfsheim, Once in a Lifetime
Friday I managed to find both the Wolfsheim and Rasputina CDs. I love them. I immediately placed my favorite songs on a minidisk and headed out for Larisa's going-away/birthday loft party in Chinatown. Walking to the T, I was radiating happiness. No one was safe from my smile, the whole world was aglow in my love. I was King of the black clad penguins, my castle is built upon German-pop-cycles floating amidst an ocean of blue kool-aid.
Perhaps it was the music. I was aglow in pop-Goth-happiness. Perhaps it was my haircut; I had Gary prune that whigged out blond surfer boy mess and I felt like a new man. (A punk friend of mine called me a hippie on Tuesday!) Perhaps it was the nice packages I got in the mail this week, including one from my mom. I could power a lover's full moon with the manic joy that I sometimes experience. It isn't a bi-polar thing either -- if that's what your thinking!
Saturday I worked on these pages, talked a little with my new roommate, hung out with Ann and Linda in 1369 and then moved on to the parties. Sue's party was pretty quiet but a femme punk rock band played a quick set at the moving party upstairs, I should get out to some shows! Sue's moving because the rent is going up, she's headed over to Davis Square. Then I headed over to the shelter for yet another moving party (because of rent) and they are landing in Davis Square too! I now know at least five people that have moved there in the past three months, and I'd like to as well -- I'm sick of this place. But prices are going up everywhere.
The shelter is a pretty nice apartment with access to the roof over looking the Charles; there were probably 50 black clad people about: the Goth regulars. I've realized with all these moves, my access to populist turn-tables has probably decreased. With the shelter folks, Sal would lend his tables and spin some Goth and break beat. Since I didn't go to many shelter parties, its discontinuation won't have a big affect on my dancing life. But trouble's move to London might (and she's taking her tables!), though I'll still follow toneburst events. Time will tell.
It's there that no one will stare | At your jaws and your long fur | The claws in your fingers. | It's in the past when the passerby laughed | At your strange way of speaking | Your batteries leaking, oh no! - Rasputina, The New Zero.
I've been telling a couple people that I'd scan in the labels of the vegan dairy substitutes that I eat, but I never get around to it. A recent prodding from my brother prompted me to get on the ball, and turns out all of the companies are on the Web!
And while it isn't a dairy substitute (good in its own right) I eat tons of Cedar's humus. I still can't find a rice or soy milk comparable to dairy, but I'm ok. I've been of the white sauce for over a month now! <smile> Aside from yogurt, I'm an in-home non-dairy vegetarian. Also, I often do end up eating things with dairy in them when I'm out. I'm considering checking out organic free roaming dairy products, mostly for curiosity, since I'm not necessarily opposed to animal products, but the ways in which animals are pained and exploited.
[000108 Revision: This entry used to point to SoyCo's veggie slices, but they contain casein, I've as yet to find their Vegan Singles though I'm looking forward to finding them. Also, I've found a fairly good milk subsitute: EdenBlend Rice and Soy Beverage from Eden Foods.]
you can have my isolation | you can have the hate that it brings | you can have my absence of faith | you can have my everything | help me tear down my reason | help me its' your sex i can smell | help me you make me perfect | help me become somebody else | i want to fuck you like an animal - NIN, closer
Recently, a friend of mine emailed me the following:
"but somehow this issue of *who's topping whom* had become really big and unsolvable. guess he is a _100%_ top, and i have only fun being bottom with submissive people i like and trust"
While I'm an addict of feminist, gender, power, and sexual theory, I frequently get confused. Maybe I'm just rather simple, but I know a couple basic things about myself: (1) I am a man; I have a penis, (2) I like both sides of the power/trust exchange, (3) I like attractive people regardless of gender, and (4) I like being attractive and playing with it in different ways/styles: 50" black raver baggies and tank top, DK business suit, or a flowing black skirt and painted nails. Pretty straight forward -- no pun intended. Fortunately, I am not trying to be anything that I am not. Just me in different guises expressing different facets.
But I find it difficult to speak to my friend's angst about interactions with a (post-op?) (trans-gendered?) girl (who used to be a boy?) with issues of who's topping whom and who's fucking whom? What does all of this mean physically? I suspect that's a crude way to approach issues of gender and power, but that is what I am reduced to. Of course, most of those labels are immaterial, but they aren't really! I think it is ironic that the people closest to these issues get lost in all the distinctions, no? I guess its like the mythology that anyone builds up around herself. Life is actually simple, and we build complex rationales to try to have it make sense. These are the complexities that make people interesting. And my friend is interesting! Yesterday I finally got her package through MIT mail with a nifty post card, a copy of a bitchy bitch comic, and a purple thingie. I've always been afraid of these things, and the anatomic ones freak me out, but what the heck... I could tick off one of my Top 10 Web Zournal Topics and tell you want it was like, but I'm still too modest.
| This morning I had angry, sex filled dreams. I woke up, put on my headphones and listened to NIN and Manson while kicking and clawing at the air. I wonder what the neighbors think if they see a boy in headphones and tank-girl plaid boxers dancing in his bedroom at 8 a.m. |  |
Anger: the Queen of Tease sucks-off Guilt while
on her knees, but gags before its complete.
If you don't want me to plead then fucking leave
or I will consume your soul, fill you in an orgy of need. And when
you leave, don't worry, I can take care of myself, I'm practiced.
It's been so long since someone felt the same towards me.
"Ah my Nicholas, how you love your hair shirt, your whip of the flagellant, how you love your own heavy cross and cherish every splinter that drives pain into your soul... Nicholas, my child, give up this pain." -- Valentinus.
Crash. ... In other news, I have a splinter in my hand that hurts when I wrest my palm on the keyboard. Silly, but I think maybe the fates are trying to tell me something.
Last night I wore my large metal cross affixed to my spiked collar. I remember why I don't wear it: when I dance it leaves a bruise above my collar bone. Last night it served a purpose, a point of focus and a reminder that with pain comes life -- or is it the other way round? So it hurts, but people don't look for tears on a dance floor.
I've been crazy busy. The family visit went well, I particularly enjoyed hanging with my brothers at Diesel in Davis Square. My mom made me yummy oatmeal cookies, and I took the whole family to Asian vegan at Grasshopper. At work, I hardly have a chance to come up for air. Sunday I have to fly to Irvine for two days; I think the meeting will be productive though. Otherwise, this week, I have at least one social engagement every night. Friday, I'm saying another goodbye: trouble's heading off to London. But that gives me another excuse to visit there. On the media front, I'm looking in the stores for a good Wolfsheim CD. I haven't had enough time to read but I picked up Wolf's " Promiscuities : The Secret Struggle for Womanhood" for cheap at Harvard Book Store. I finally made it over to Lucy Parson's Bookstore (with my family) where I picked up a long sought copy of "Best of Temp Slave" and a couple of punk rags. I've been reading from the Best of Zine Year Book #3 every night before bed. I saw South Park (ok) with my youngest brother on Saturday, saw American Pie (ok) with Nils last night.
My hands/arms could be better. Working late, giving too many massages to friends, and then getting home and cruising the Web. Last night while I was making a tape, I was checking out all these Goth sites -- Goth babes and erotica! I found some really neat photos, though most of the stuff out there is crap of course. I also found a couple new photographers in addition to Ken Marcus whom I really like. Also found two very creative Webcam sites: isa and bad-kitty.
It all makes me want to go shopping! First, maybe the autumn is making me feel more gothy, I've been wanting to go to Manray more often and start wearing hotter things than the summer permits. Plus, I want to get the digital camera all the more and take vampy photos of people and myself. Many of the sites out there, they include a stupid bio and 30 Goth pictures. Then then they get these stupid awards from horny guys. I could do better than most.
Think I'm going for a walk now. I feel a little unsteady. Don't want nobody to follow me 'cept maybe you. I could make you happy if you weren't already. I could do a lot of things, and I do. Tell you the truth, I prefer the worst of you. Too bad you had to have a better half. She's not really my type, but I think you two are forever. And I hate to say it, but you look perfect together. So fuck you and your untouchable face. And fuck you for existing in the first place. Who am I that I should be vying for your touch? Who am I? Bet you can't even tell me that much. - DiFranco, Untouchable Face.
My family is visiting this weekend; they will arrive any minute now I figure. I have no idea what we will do. I hope it doesn't stress me out. I've been busy the last two days with work during the day, and dancing at night. No time for brooding, except in dreams.
Tuesday I had my farewell hang-out with Katie, she's off to SanFran. She was psyched/amused because her GeekGirl write-up prompted interest from playboy.com -- though she says she'll still be clothed! I'm sad she's leaving. Though I've only known her this summer, she made a massive difference in my emotional stability. I'm completely comfortable around her and when we talk, it gets the nasties out and puts me on the upswing if I'm down. It was convenient that we hung out on Tuesday given I was ... discombobulated. I made my case to a femme, and I've probably never been so blunt, but she said no. Obvious, given her situation, but still, it was an ordeal. But when I think about it, I figure she got a little tension from which to forge strength and pride in her pre-existing though temporarily long-distance relationship: that which does not kill only makes it stronger; adversity refreshes the amour; and absence makes the heart fonder. All that stuff, good for her. I got an excuse to feel like a human again, albeit a broken one.
Well, I'm looking for a roommate yet again. <sigh> Check out the apartment description for the reason why.
I'm a train car that's de-coupled and seeking a mate. If I don't clasp hands for this journey, I fear I'm going to crash. Last time I visited my grandmother in the home a woman strapped to her wheelchair hooked my arm and held tight. Her grip on my wrist was steel; she stared silently into me for something she couldn't recall but missed.
I'm so famished I fear I haven't the strength -- even if the reward is just on the other side. I fear I'm going to cling to impossibilities, like that old lady held on to me. But I know this isn't just a stranger's arm, it's potential helped keep me propped up; I can name what I see in your eyes -- or at least what are aflame in mine.
Unfortunate timing. I should be stronger, a better friend. And I don't know if the famine welcomes the oncoming storm, or if it precedes it as a warning. But I'm leaking metaphors, and my mind is writing copy for self malediction. Sorry, fuck, sorry: the lines of need and fulfillment are obviously orthogonal, but get twisted when my mind's geometry ain't right.
Sometimes people ask me how I am, and it's hard to answer. It's like describing tears of joy: seemingly contrary, intermixed and layered. Sometimes I feel pathetic, my loneliness shames me. However, at other times I'm happy and proud of the contentment I've found which requires no one but myself. This weekend I cried alone in my room and smiled at strangers on the street. I brooded in my mind and laughed aloud with friends.
I used to dream of a back porch in prairie country draped in muted wind chimes. A rubber band was carefully wrapped around each cylinder. On the horizon lightning danced and thunder would tumble and smash against the distant columns holding up the sky, trying to bring it down. The wet wind smelt of copper and ran its hand along the chimes like a boy dragging a stick against a picket fence. The chimes would hum a deep bass, as if sound could glow. I'd sit alone on the porch and watch the storm approach with a mixture of idleness, excitement and fear. That's how I am.
"Every sad ending will become a happy one; the author just stopped telling the story and the rest goes untold." — Francis Falls, Twin Falls Idaho
I just finished typing in my Hawaii journal entries while listening to This American Life about Niagra Falls. I tried to find a NPR station on my hotel radio, but I couldn't. Regardless, if you want to read the entries in the proper order, you might want to start with Thursday's entry and scroll up instead of down. It's typical that I starting having fun, when my time was running short. When I got back to Cambridge, I thought, "It's so beautiful there, I want to go back!" But I don't regret my decision to return early, I was crawling with frustration and boredom in Waikiki. At that point, I couldn't do anything else but plan to come back.
I saw Nina on Thursday. <sigh>
Friday evening Nils, Eve, and I saw Twin Falls Idaho at the Kendall. Beautiful. I expect it will be one of my favorite movies of the year. The actress Michele Hicks played to my fancy for pale gothy brunettes, and femme vulnerability and kindness. Plus, the brothers ... the movie focussed my loneliness into a sharp pain. I definitely had tears in my eyes, Nils said that he feared he'd start balling.
I got up early this morning to go snorkeling at Hanauma Bay Beach Park. Unfortunately, and contrary to my Lonely Planet, the park was closed today, not tomorrow. A friendly local at the bus stop recommended I take the bus out to the beach by Sea Life Park. I had a wonderful time! The beach looked a bit rough for snorkeling and there were warnings and red flags alerting simmers to dangerous conditions. It looked just right for body surfing, but it wasn't what I wanted for snorkeling. The life guard directed me to a beach 15 minutes down the road near an oceanic research pier. It is really beautiful, the road winds about the hills often clinging to a cliff a hundred feet above the beach and emerald waters. I walked along the beach towards the pier; at points the beach was white sand, corral, or what looked liked flows of ancient lava, initially frozen in place and then etched and eroded by the ocean.
I stopped at a point midway when I saw a large sea turtle poke his head from the water 20 feet away. The area looked good for snorkeling (enough sand to get out and enough corral to look at). I wasn't able to chase the turtle, but I did swim among the corral, striped fish, and schools of tiny silver darts. However, the water was a bit sandy from the surf so I continued my walk down to the pier; I could now see people fishing from it.
I arrived at a spot where Japanese scuba tourists were preparing to swim out to a marker. I put on my mask and snorkel and swam about and out to the marker. It was relaxing: I'd fold my legs into my chest and hug my knees, a floating ball bobbing above the sea floor that moved with the current and life. The Japanese scuba people paddled by, led by their instructor who gave me the ok thumbs up. The scuba gear was total over-kill, I could easily swim on the bottom by holding my breath, but playing with the gear would probably be fun too.
After snorkeling I walked back to the beach for playing in the waves — Waikiki's waves are pallid. Bodysurfing was so fun; the waves were perfect, they didn't tumble me and the fine wet sand always provided a soft landing. Unlike a pool, I don't sink in sea water. I love to float feet first up the wave and watch my feet soar off and over the crest and then thrill as my body slides down the wave's back side.
I was really happy, this was not a crowded tourist beach, it was beautiful. On the right was a massive black cliff with green moss, behind me was a brown hill with burnt brush and grass. I was floating on crystal Pacific waves looking out at the massive brown island of Makapuu rising from the Ocean.
When I visit Hawaii again, which I very much want to do, I'd like to visit with friends and rent a car or go to the other islands and simply explore nature, stop in the parks, jungles, and beaches. Avoid Waikiki all-together.
I'm heading back to Boston Wednesday evening. If I had to stay any longer, I'd probably lose it. When I looked at the conference agenda I realized not only was the CFP and resulting papers not what I would expect given the quality of the program committee, but that many of the authors of the accepted papers didn't show.
Plus, I've swum all I can swim; the loneliness is preying on me and I feel nauseous. I'm not sure if it's because of the already stated reasons (loneliness and sea-water) or if it's because I'm slowly starving.
So, I've decided to cut my losses and compress my schedule into three days. The keynote and the first session of the conference were this afternoon and I had no interest — tomorrow's morning session likewise.So I decided to call one of these days a holiday, go play in a waterfall today, snorkel tomorrow morning, and attend the interestesting sessions otherwise. That means I can catch up at work Friday and chill in Cambridge this weekend — I need to store up psych-energy for my family's visit next weekend.
Once I figured all this out and set the plan in motion I felt much better. I was in charge of my life and with lots to do in little time. I'm not good at lazing if I'm by myself, I've got to be engaged.
So this morning I went out to Manoa Falls Trail and it is beautiful. [see someone's pictures] The obvious trick to an enjoyable time here is to stay as far from Waikiki as possible and go see nature! The falls aren't that far away, I even remembered seeing them on Hawaii Real World — but for the time you are there, you feel as if you are in a rain forest. Once I hiked to the falls and pool, I naturally plunked right in — it was the perfect chilled temperature. A few others did as well but most people just looked and I heard one kid say he'd do the same except he didn't want to get <something> that they talked about at the info booth. What info booth? There was a sign warning of falling rocks, but now I probably have worms or leaches or something. Even so, it was worth it.
In half an hour I'm going to venture out of Waikiki in search of a decent dinner. I should have at least one before I have to fly back, I'm hoping I return healthy.
Tonight I'll probably swim at the hotel beach and go to bed early so I can go snorkeling early and get back for the conference. Getting up early won't be that hard given the time lag.
The clouds lift. I went back out to University St. and I feel human again! Had one of the best vegetable pizzas ever. I ate at an Italian bar/restaraunt where people knew each other (even if not me), the staff was totally casual and informal (some might even say rude), but folks pitched in to help pull a tarp over the outside area when it looked like a storm was coming. There were even two Rasta dudes in there 40 with masses of dread locks. aaahhhh — real people. Not the walking wallets getting their ass kissed for the green back. I even went to a grocery store and boutgh Pita bread and humus (which is now sitting in my little padded hotel ice tub).
I'm so sleepy, I'm so lazy — that's what a full stomach can do — I can't even write this outside by the sea. I'm sitting in my room with Ally McBeal on. Wow, a guy just told her, "love is wasted on you." Ouch.
I'm going to sleep now. Bye bye.
I'm bored out of my mind. Yesterday I spent most of the day on the beach. The tan stripes from my sandals aren't as stark, but now my bum is looking pasty by comparison! Maybe I should find a nude beach?
Last night I desperately wanted to escape the tourist trap of Waikiki. Earlier in the day I went to Radio Free which Mary Ann recommended as a place to catch up on the local music scene. I picked up fliers (and saw the grouchy old woman as Mary Ann predicted) and I decided finding a Goth club would be more interesting and challenging than break-beat. At 10:30 I rode a bus well out of Waikiki and walked for about 20 minutes to get to Propaganda. It was lame. A $10 cover and the place probably had no more than 15 people, music was not that good, maybe 5 people danced. And this was a Saturday night! Half of the people were wearing baseball caps, jeans and t-shirts. I had to take a $15 taxi ride home. Depressing.
This morning I journeyed out to Diamond Head Crater and hiked up one side which provided an awesome view of the island. During the hike down I was in a good mood, finding a Zen groove in the starkness of the environs and the measured pace of my breathing and the deliberate but unfocussed choice of my next step. But other than this morning, I'm in a piss poor mood. Either bored, lonely, or craving Cambridge activity and food.
After the crater I head over to the Honolulu University where there LonelyPlanet said there were better Veggie options. This was also was where my hostel was located. The coffee house at the Uni was closed and the whole area generally felt deserted. Maybe because it was Sunday? I did manage to have a yummy sandwich at Ba Le and then headed back via bus to my hotel for swimming. I do have to recommend the bus system here. It's the only system I've used that I would not mind being dependent on.
Unfortunately, I'm realizing that this place is pretty much suburban — except for the tourist traps. I was surprised by my trip to the club and University, I expected more people and stuff. Not a haphazard and desolate suburbia. Where are the bookstores, coffee shops, and indie movie houses? My hopes of moving to the hostel and finding this type of environ are pretty low now.
Hawaii certainly is beautiful but I can only stay in a bullshit tourist environment without decent food, intellectual stimulation and companionship for so long. I'm thinking of leaving early. Hell, if it weren't for the fact that I haven't stood in a waterfall or snorkeled on a coral reef, I'd go home tomorrow. Of course, I also have to give a presentation on Wednesday, but I'd rather being doing real work at MIT.
Not that I'm eager to deal with some of the issues I left behind in Cambridge, this is supposed to give me some space. But ironically, I'd be in a better mood there because I'd have things to do, instead of brooding on the beaches of Waikiki.
At least one of the pool guys is nice to me now. Today and yesterday he approached and asked me, "Are you a guest here? Which room?" When I stated that I am a guest, he offered me towel as a face-saving gesture. After he hassled me today he remembered yesterday and apologized by saying people walk off the beach, scope the place out, and run off with bags. I replied, "Yea, I look suspicious." And I must! I've been offered all manner of drugs and fake IDs since I got here.
Tomorrow the conference begins, I wonder how boring it'll be?
___
"God, I can't stand any of it!"
"Any of what?"
"My whole damn life and all the people in it."
"Have you been handled a raw deal?"
"No of course not, I'm privileged and fortunate."
"Have people screwed you over?"
"No. To the degree that they bother with me they are kind.
Otherwise they seem to be doing a good job of living their lives in
a way that makes them happy."
"Then what's the problem?!"
"I am! I got no one to blame but myself."
It's 5:00 a.m. in Cambridge, 11:00 p.m. in Honolulu. I'm not tired regardless. Unfortunately the area around my hotel offers no diversion. I'm deep within a tourist ghetto. Skyscraper hotels crowd the water. The streets are filled with limos and Japanese tourists. Shoppers fill the streets carrying their Gucci and Channel bags from the thousand luxury boutiques integrated into the hotel plazas. Off the main drag there's fast food, restaurant chains and Japanese AV stores.
I'm starving. The best I can do it seems is french fries from Burger King, and $2.50 bagels from a fake coffee shop. On the upside there's lots of cuties in bikinis, — be they Anglo, Polynesian, or Japanese — but then again how's that help me? A friend jokingly emailed me before I left, "get laid!" Yea, like that'd happen.
There are 16 hours worth of air-born brooding between between me and the beaches of Hawaii. I have plenty of interesting reading (two issues of the Economist, Anarchy, State and Utopia, LonelyPlanet Hawaii, and the sci-fi Fallen Angels) but I didn't feel up to the trip — not that I won't be very happy to get there. Wednesday night I wore my new punk/goth outfit with a shorter skirt, tube top, collars/belts/chains, and my hair up in 10 little pig-tails — the long roots capped with bleached twirls of hair. But the smoke makes my throat slimy for a couple days and the week had been sort of rough.
It's been a long time since anyone focussed on me. Where I wasn't filler or rebound; where I was not listening about arguments of on-going fights with an ex — or anything about an ex regardless of when it happened; where I wasn't feeling like left-overs only attended to once the taste has been satiated for a new dish. A window of time where it was just us, no one else.
But this is all ok. Really. I want to be understanding and kind. I am nothing if not patient. Even so, I feel like a lone boy amongst a swarm of gnats. He can't scratch cause he'll draw blood, so he continues to stand tall, the tears at least keep the gnats from his eye. But I so want to shut them out, fall and know that someone will catch me.
I'm thinking that even if Hawaii is beautiful, it still might be lonely.
You won't hear much from me for the next week or so, I'll be in Hawaii without a computer! I'm giving a presentation, but it'll be on the Web, on some slides, and a floppy; that's the closest I'm getting to porting data. I hope these hands will touch nothing more high-tech than that which our silicon masters are derived from: sand.
Next year I want to go to the Webzine conference, looks very nifty. Phil Agre wrote a piece on WebZine'99 and the importance of everyone finding a "public voice". I liked the following particularly:
In order to have a public voice, you have to care about something. So figure out what you care about. A provisional guess will do, since your interests and identity can only be discovered as your voice starts to grow. Caring about something is a big deal, and it's hard for some people. It's not just being against something, and it's not just wanting to have a community. It means having values that make the world make sense. Once you know what you care about, then you can hunt for a community. Maybe that community already exists, or maybe you have to build it. The point is that your voice is not just your own voice — it is also the voice of a community.
That is the key: you are not alone. You may feel alone, but that just means that you haven't found your community yet. Although you are surely unique in many ways, you are also human, and you are a product of places and times. Whatever you care about, no matter how personal it feels, lots of other people care about it too. Your job is to imagine that community of practice out there, its members all thinking together, however quietly, about the topic that most concerns you. Your community needs a language, it needs an association, it needs a clubhouse, and it needs a voice. Your voice. That's how it works. Your zine is your hook in the ocean, your magnet attracting all of the other people who share your values. As you hear from them, you will have the interlocutors you need to develop your voice. You'll never hear from most of them, but you can imagine them. Imagining your community also prevents burnout: your community's members are all out there doing great things, and so the whole weight of the world is not on your shoulders. Burnout helps no one.
Last week I went to an interesting meeting about censorship and book programs in prisons. I was interested because many good people are put in jail by the state: Jesus, Gandhi, King, Mandela; they all spent time in jail! While I'm obviously not opposed to prisons in general, America seems to be prison (and gun happy) state. And I'm sure the gentle reader knows I distrust any system that prevents the truth from being known. For instance, if prisons are censoring the books and letters prisoners send or receive, why not keep a log? What but evil would be countered through mechanisms of trust and accountability? The speaker at the meeting gave plenty of evidence of wrongs committed by the jails, and frequently the jails are corrected by the courts when challenged by activists, but return to their practices after a few months. These small grass roots organizations then again must marshall their meager resources to stand for those imprisoned.
This weekend I had an interesting discussion with Dave that led to a theory I bounced off some other folks. Dave and I were trying to figure out what other methods could one use to define a scope of moral action? Singer suggests we treat things equally with respect to that which they have in common. Dave and I considered the common social Darwinist position that one should define one's scope of empathy by genetic similarity. There's a theory that you protect your offspring to guard your genetic investment, as well as others close to your blood-line. The interesting part of this discussion was a thread that characterized symbiotic relationships that result in a "super-organism." To be a super-organism subject to its own evolutionary process the following requirements over symbiosis must be met:
Finally, an interesting characteristic of symbiotic relationships that meet this definition is that they may damage the survivability of the constituent organism. For instance, now that the Dodo bird is dead, its calvaria tree symbiot is no longer reproducing; they became co-dependent. This characteristic derives from the fact that the originally advantageous symbiotic relationship lessens the selective pressure from the environment, rendering it non-competitive without its partner. The tree no longer has to produce "soft" nuts, since the Dodo can crack and digest hard ones. Since the Dodo bird has an adapted beak and digestive system, it has a source of nuts all to itself and need not be adaptive/competitive for other sources of food.
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