Alright I have decided that this fairly political blog doesn't serve me unless I have been able to capture a bit of my own life into it. I have been inspired by other bloggers out there who've really been able to weave their work into the fabric of their life. This is what I tell myself, in terms of reason, for having abandoned this blog for two years at the base of mount tagaytus, if you will.
But I did name it and so it is my child. And so, again, to honor the person who inspired me to attempt to bring this little piece of nothing back to life.
We'll start with what the title means to me. Noam Chomsky was asked , at a conference, to give an example of a sentence that meant absolutely nothing. He said.
"Colorless green ideas sleep furiously".
"Colorless green ideas sleep furiously".- N. Chomsky
Alright, my goal is to mean absolutely nothing to anyone. I am completely without apology if anyone here thinks that I am going to tell them what to do , or how to live their life. If I strike a chord, then I am happy. But I'm not here to "defend liberty" or "express a viewpoint that needs to be expressed". I'm just here to be with you. Whomever you are.
Ok so here's a day in the life.. It starts off with church. Now, my wife got me to sing in the choir despite the fact that she's indian, can't sing, and doesn't even sing right when we're there. Being married for 12 years, and quite happily so - has taught me , if anything that when a lady sends you in a certain direction its probably for your own good. And always, I will be a bit afraid when she does. So there I am , standing in a long white gown, singing. And we did sing this really cool anthem, it was easy to kind of envision a rolling green farmland - it was an old south hymn. Desperate to get on key, I kept to the bass line. They say I do passably well. We have a strong soprano line I guess. And I'm thinking to myself... what if .. I could sing that cool song by U2 instead. "Still haven't found what I'm lookin' for." Of course I was really looking for the
bass line key. ..
We jet from there to a performance art installation where the point of it all was to sort of feel our way into a garden that was created by a woman who has a 32 year old daughter still living in the house , pursuing a career as a performance artist. The mother was just as much a part of the performance as the daughter. There was a chair bound into the dogwood by the door, a twisted wedding dress tied into knots. Without Art. We die.
I really enjoyed it. Performance art has an odd effect on me, it affects me directly = straight out art kind of takes an edge off my day - I say wow what a wonderful picture. But real performance art is very rare and beautiful and when I see it it reminds me of all kinds of neat things I did when I was a young punk rocker in college. At any rate, so off from there and onto the stables.
Two black horses, let out from their all day trip in a very sad and silly blue trailer - decided they were going to storm the pasture. I did not pick up on the fact that horses are much more cruel to each other than we ever are to them. So they are out there and we come out of the ring , and we're going in and I get the bright idea to send my daughter up the side of the hill for a wee bit ' o the pattern interruption and guess what.
The stormtroopers charge. Two horses black as night barreling full speed towards my paint mare. She bolts, splits the reins and does a flying kick that sends my daughter down into and then quicky away from her. Daughter lay bleeding on the ground. Stuff about it all happening in slow mo is not true. I made it there to her side. Wipe the blood away, little girl. Help her up. She is very strong. We get back on and ride straight over to the two stormtroopers and back them off the main herd before we walk straight down and into the stable. She cries on my shoulder. I told her I loved her. But we didn't back down that day. The horse learned to draw her courage from the rider. Even at the price of what she thinks is her own life.
The contract itself has no meaning - it is just a vehicle, a transaction medium in which two parties can lay out the means of mutual benefit. But it is one that neither side will break.
We lay our coordinate plane down within the very fabric of our lives - that aether that we can't quite define but that we know is real + pervades our existence. The sparkle in the parents eye. The life yet to come.
All of these pieces don't seem to make sense when I think of them and try to piece them together.
When I was in college I once made it with a girl who was only seventeen - she was really bright and had aced her way through school to get there. I was a physics major and even if I was only a B+ student somehow I got to hang with the elite. I think , looking back - I had a talent for being able to carry the arts in on the conversation - I really had to adapt to become strong in mathematics but I was strong in other fields as well so they enjoyed having me around. The gang was a grad student from william and mary, two prodigies - a nympho, and I. Just kinky sex. When your IQ tops 190 you figure out the exact synaptic neurochemical effect that ecstacy would play and you just go juggling in the front lawn and kick out stuff about TS Kuhn - and do someone's homework for them too while you were at it.
So. She said. "Are you a romantic or a sentimentalist?" I didn't know what to say at first. Then I said. "Tell me what that means to you." "It means, do you see the world, in a way that is abstract, or do you see the world as it is." I said. "A romantic." She said. "Why?" "I know that I am not completely objective. Nothing will ever change that. Everything I do in the lab will be to remove the bias that I would bring and try to report as factually and truthfully, without color - whatever I see." "Ok", she said. "Go on." "Right. Well, so thats a given. But . In everything I see, like in a garden for instance. I see just this amazing sense of creation. I've been blogging for nearly 3 years now I'm pretty sure that if this attracts any comments I'd better read them. Because after all this time I'm still not sure why she asked the question, or if I'd really answered it. I guess sometimes I wonder if maybe we're asking the right questions.. ? In the film, "The Inside Man" by spike lee, you start off with a guy who's sitting in a room. Our frame of reference is a room so we take it that, this is a room. It wasn't. But with a little one healed, and the mystery stable slave found (and a deal struck!) and all things in greased grooves - I would at least say that I have my axis pointed sternly at , within the next two months - being not here - but in a hot tub.