This quote speaks to me. As I walked through today’s heat, I thought about writing, and my continuous and contentious effort to fit words together, to better understand their meanings, and how they modulate one another and harmonize to establish structures and scenes. As I’ve explored first, writers, and then writing, genres, and words, I’ve turned more to punctuation, and their impact.
Google Search Image Tumblecat
Tumblecat (Catfinition): Feline that drifts lazily around, laying, sitting, washing, grooming, and watching, apparently without any intention in the world except to be.
In Use: “Princess progressed like a tumblecat being blown by a cosmic wind that only she felt, drifting through poses and activities without urgency or plan.”
Today’s Bumper Sticker
“Just think about how AMAZING you can be!”
The Meaning
Does forty-two give your life meaning, or is that just the meaning of life?
Fiction writing gives my life meaning. I don’t know if others actively contemplate what gives their life meaning. Surveying an array of friends of family, I can hazard guesses. What gives their life meaning stimulates them. But I can be wrong. Others would have been wrong in the past, guessing what gave my life meaning.
Some, I think, will answer, living gives my life meaning. By that, they mean, being alive and doing the activities of a living human gives their life meaning. The ends and the means are the same. It’s a simple, inviting approach.
I was raised to follow that working, marrying, and raising a family was what life was about. Extending the thinking behind that, it seems that trinity would give our lives meaning. I attempted to follow the precept, and succeeded to some degree. Aging, and becoming more exposed to the world, I grew disenchanted with that trinity as the reasons that gave my life meaning. I questioned what it meant, to have something that has meaning in my life, or to do, or follow something, that gives my life meaning, and perceived many didn’t have one, and substituted activities and goals to give their lives meaning. Some pursue working and making money; others pursue power, politics, social justice, science, or excellence in some area in their lives. For a few, watching and rooting for their sports teams seem, sadly, to five their lives meaning.
I write, “sadly”, with judgmental thoughts, as though I have the answers and absolutely know what’s going on. I don’t. Watching and rooting for sports teams might seem shallow, but if it rewards and satisfies them as much as my fiction writing, are they wrong? Is fiction writing really a greater calling than watching sports?
I know, I’m becoming muddled here. I read the book, “War Is A Force that Gives Us Meaning,” by Chris Hedges, over a decade again. I thought he was on to something there, that war gives many meaning. So do sports, acting, reading…and writing. It’s something to stake as a passion and focus that drives us.
Oddly, I started thinking of Hedges’ book while watching “Foyle’s War” last night. I’ve seen the entire series once, and have viewed many of the episodes twice. I enjoy and admire much in the series, including the acting, writing and production values. Set in England, the backdrop to “Foyle’s War” is World War II. I always enjoyed the sly reference to Foyle’s war as his resolute approach to solving crimes and pursuing justice, no matter where the evidence leads him. This happened in last night’s show; the killer confessed to Foyle after Foyle confronted him with the man’s lies. The man’s response was to ask Foyle to let him go, arguing that his role in the war would save lives.
Foyle was tempted but did not abandon his over-arching principle. He states it at least once in the series, to my memory. I’ll paraphrase as, “If we surrender our basic principles of law and justice to win the war, then haven’t we lost?”
It’s a great part of why I watch. Foyle continually encounters that wall of reasoning that winning the war at all costs is paramount. Foyle doesn’t accept that. When that reasoning falls to sway him, he’s often threatened by the powers of government. He doesn’t allow that to sway him, either, but I always watch to see if he’ll surrender his principles and betray his values.
Which, I supposed, completes the lap of reasoning about meaning. When you find the meaning to your life, it becomes your rock. You stand on it and gain strength. Without it, you’re lost to the currents of madness and fashion.
Time to write like crazy, or edit, one more time.
***
Forty-two, of course, is from “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” proving that I’m not the first fiction writer to wonder, what’s it all about? Right, Alfie?
Omichi Dream
I don’t know what omichi means. I dreamed of it, though, using it myself throughout the dream, and spelled it for others’ edification during the dream.
Succinctly, I was in school. I was by far the oldest student. I didn’t see or hear of any teachers, professors, or instructors. What I remember is that the other students were teenagers or younger. They were rude, and they deliberately ignored me even as they sometimes discussed me. It vexed me that I would attempt to explain things to them, and they wouldn’t hear – or pretend to not hear – and go on, even as my explanations would help them. Kids, right.
One particular problem or issue was bothering many of them. That’s when omichi struck me as an idea. “You can use omichi,” I told them, spelling it. “Use omichi.” I spelled it, and then explained what it was, apparently showing them a small device that eludes description for me.
I was ignored. Exasperated, I tried leaving the place and found I couldn’t. The next best thing of the activities available was to sleep and wait. Finding a place on a white concrete bench, I stripped down, tucked my items around me, and attempted to sleep. I experienced mixed results. Despite sunshine, it was cold. The kids made too much noise, and again, would come up and start talking about me like I was there, but inorganic, which infuriated me.
Then, they became worried: someone was missing, or could be missing. They weren’t sure. Hearing of the problem, I rose and told them while dressing, “You can use the omichi. Set up the omichi as a spiral system to notify one another.”
Silence met this suggestion. I give up, I decided. As I decided that, a young boy said, “We can use the omichi.”
I turned on him. “That’s what I just said. Set it up as a spiral system.”
The boy, about eleven, white with brown hair and glasses, wearing a green striped shirt and pale shorts, said, “Set it up as a spiral system.”
They decided that’s what they would do, leaving me flabbergasted and dejected, which is how the dream ended.
Caft
Caft (Catfinition): A deceased creature brought in and left by a cat.
In Use: “Brenda and Jon found two cafts this week, a rat and a vole. The cafter preferred remaining anonymous. Perhaps more than one cafter was responsible. They would never know. The cafters weren’t talking.”
Supercatisopportunisticandexploitingnprecocious
Supercatisopportunisticandexploitingnprecocious (Catfinition): Supposedly the longest word in the world about a feline, the word means an amazing and clever cat who will take advantage of people and situations.
In Use: “Seeing the cat leap up onto the table, pick up the sandwich, give him a look and then jump down and race away, Michael laughed, saying, “Why, you little supercatisopportunisticnexploitingandprecocious.””
***
I hope I spelled it right. I couldn’t find it in any dictionary.
Today’s Bumper Sticker
“It’s beer thirty. Turn on your party light.”
Today’s Theme Music
To continue with the theme of dancing through the first week of the season change, I’ll continue with Don Henley. “All She Wants to Do Is Dance” is one of my favorite Henley offerings. Coming out in nineteen eighty-four, the song was written by Danny Kortchmar.
I enjoyed its tech sound and cynical lyrics. The song is like a war story being told in a bar about a serviceman’s experience fighting in another country. The impression is, the heavy-handed government is locking everyone up and bugging everywhere, battling “wild-eyed pistol wavers” in a long-going engagement. The rebels are using the weapon of revolutionaries before I.E.D.s, Molotov cocktails, mixed up in their kitchen sink. Meanwhile, the serviceman is coping with a local young women. All she wants to do is dance, make romance, and party. She seems oblivious to everything going on. It becomes clear by song’s end, who was oblivious.
I thought it was an apropos song for the time. It came before the Gulf Wars and after Vietnam, during the cold war era when the United States and U.S.S.R. were trying to align other countries, no matter who led them, with “their side,” propping up governments with money and weapons, enriching the countries’ power elite at the expanse of the poor. The Soviets were battling in Afghanistan against Osama Bin Laden as the U.S. armed and trained the revolutionary. Meanwhile, the U.S. buddied up to Saddam Hussein, arming him.
With its heavy beat, this is an excellent song for streaming and tramping around. It’s a bitter reminder, too, about how weapons and places have changed, but we’re still arming and aiding governments to fight rebels.
Currents
Lindsey, the smiling tech presenting my findings, had a beautiful round face, gorgeous blueberry eyes, and curly dark black hair that highlighted her dark skin. “Are you ready?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered, nodding. Ready? Fuck, yes.
“Are you excited?”
“I am so excited. You wouldn’t believe it. I’ve been waiting for this day for almost three years.”
True story. I’d heard about the currents on the same day that Melli broke up with me, June thirtieth. I’d seen that coming but had worked hard to convince myself I was wrong. Then she said all those things that burned down my soul. I didn’t know who the hell I was when she was done. Trashing myself with Miller’s finest and getting arrested for public urination was not very helpful. It was, literally, and I mean this in the truest sense, literally the next day after being fired that I saw the ad for currents and began planning to have my currents charted. It gave me a goal, man. It probably saved my life. I started pricing procedures, got a job and started saving my money.
Lindsey issued a blinding smile. “I can tell.” She turned toward a large screen. On it was my name and photo. My pulse accelerated. Despite the freezing a/c, sweat trickled down my back.
“Well,” Lindsey said, “here’s what everyone wants to know right away, so we’ll tell you right off, that you have sixteen currents affecting you.”
Sixteen. I held my breath, remembering from my reading, most people have nine. “That’s a lot, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. That places you in the top two percentile.”
I was nodding, listening, watching the screen and reading it as the information she shared came up, and thinking. Sixteen currents explained my mood swings. I was lucky to be functional. A schematic of my body emerged. The sixteen currents appeared and were named.
“Four are major currents,” she said.
My respect for myself went up when I heard four. They were highlighted in bright red on my schematic. One was for Odin. Fat and red, his current flowed between my heard and brain. Wow, shot through me, wow. Almost as fat, but longer, Ra connected my heart and my feet, explaining why I loved the sun, and walking. Paired with Ra and flowing in parallel was a thin green line that represented Amun.
The minor currents, in blue, included America, Jesus Christ, and Rock. They circulated as a trio through my solar plexus, clear explanation for my indifference about those three realms. Money and Greed were both small currents in my chest. Neither touched my heart. That made me smile. Not being ambitious was one of the things that Melli speared me with as though it was a terrible attribute. My currents and their placing demonstrated exactly why I didn’t care about getting ahead as she wanted me to do. “With your brains and talents,” she’d shouted, “you can be so fucking rich, if you only cared.” Christ, I hear and see her shouting that at me almost every fucking night.
The screen was changing. Lindsey had been speaking, but stopped. I felt her watching me. “Sorry,” I said. “I stopped listening.”
“That’s all right, that’s okay. Most people do. This is about your soul and existence. It’s natural for you to get distracted by what you see. Take your time.” She brought the last screen back up, with all my currents. “It’s fascinating, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” That’s all I could say.
“When I saw your currents, I was blown away,” Lindsey said. “You have the most currents of anyone I’ve ever done.”
“How many currents do you have?”
“Oh, mine is boring.” She sighed. “Just two major currents, God and Sports, nine currents, total. I am so average, but it explained why I was always so good at every sport I ever tried.”
Nodding, I’d quit listening again. I wanted to start looking more in-depth at all of my currents. These were the key to understanding myself. I had Sports lowing in me as a moderate current. Odin, Odin lowed through me. Ra.
Those were two of the majors. I hunted the information for the other two red currents. My heart almost dropped out of my body when I saw the first.
“Hitler?” I asked, weak and sick. I wanted to throw up “Hitler is one of my major currents?”
Looking sorrowful, Lindsey replied, “I’m afraid so. It’s a current we’re seeing more of, more frequently.” She sounded so apologetic.
Odin, Ra and Hitler. The Hitler current started in my right hand and went up my arm to my heart. “You’re right-handed, aren’t you?” Lindsey asked.
I nodded.
“So, even though it’s not a large major current, Hitler’s current will dominate many of your actions because of where he’s located.”
Yes, I’d been reading about the Hitler current. I’d been startled that Hitler had been able to generate enough energy to create a lasting current through history.
What was the fourth current, then? Fat and red, it was the longest, going from my brain to my solar plexus. It apparently flowed through my heart, as well. “What’s my fourth major current?”
Looking happy, Lindsey said, “That’s the most interesting one. You want to see?” She laughed, already moving the mouse as I said, “Hell, yeah.”
“I thought you would,” she replied. “Your fourth major current is one that includes the nine muses. They’re not all equal, but they’re all apparently there, but flowing together as one major current.”
“What’s that mean?”
Laughing, Lindsey said, “It means you love art, literature, music and knowledge, and you’re probably impressively good at any of them, when you try.”
I’d never read about a current like that. Usually people had a few of the muses running as one current or another.
Lindsey was saying almost the same thing. “I was so jealous when I saw that. I have Terpsichore flowing in me as a strong minor current, so I’m a pretty good dancer, but so do most black women in America.”
“Yes, but I have that Hitler current.” Saying those words sickened me anew. Of all the currents to have….
Lindsey leaned forward in her chair. “You know, though, we’ve noticed that the Hitler current seems localized by regions.”
I grew still with the implications of her words.
“If you move away from its zones, it’ll diminish.”
“Really? That can happen?”
She nodded.
“But how do I know where to move?”
Smiling, Lindsey slipped a piece a brochure toward me. “We have another program that tells where the currents are strongest and weakest, and how where you live can affect your currents.”
I scanned the page, looking for a price. I didn’t see one. “How much is it?”
Lindsey’s apologetic expression re-appeared. “It’s very expensive. Six thousand dollars.”
I gasped. “Wow.” Six grand. I’d already spent nine to learn my currents, living almost like a monk to do it.
“Well,” I said. “Well.”
She wrapped up the session by presenting me with a booklet and DVD of me and my currents. “The DVD is tailored for your findings, and it goes into a lot of detail about how the currents interact and affect you. It’s really worth going through.” Then she told me about the website, and how to log onto it. “Your package includes a year of updates about your currents, so you can see how they change.”
I nodded, but I was already out of there in my mind. I could save money and try to find a place where the Hitler current was weaker. Whatever. I had a new goal, to minimize that damn Hitler current.
I’d worry about the details later. I wasn’t worried; the Muses would help.
That was amazing to know.
***
With thanks to Neil Gaiman.
Michael Seidel, writer 