Tuesday, April 17, 2012

I Love Lavender Review, Short

This is my short film in support of Lavender Review and Mary Meriam (editor). Please check out LR at http://lavrev.net/ and support the e-zine so that lovely people like me can continue finding pleasure in it. To directly assist LR, visit http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1824827058/lavender-june-lavender-december

If you've got the financial goods, please give to Lavender Review and support the arts that are so near and dear to my/our heart/s. And there is something in it for you, too, as well. When you back the Lavender Review, you receive a poetic service in exchange. The service of enchantment. Go for it! You can have a sonnet written for you - by the professional and renowned romantic poet herself (Mary: http://home.earthlink.net/~marymeriam/vita/).  If you can't find a lover who will write one for you, pay to have one written for yourself. Or pay to have one written for someone else. Valentine's Day, that's just a throw away. TODAY is the day - get yourself a triolet (or a critique of one of your own poems - or of one of my poems that you feel is in need of assistance) now. Mary Meriam is someone whose sonnet I would swoon over, I'm quite sure. Time's a wastin'. The deadline for Mary's goal is May 4. She has to reach 2,000 by that time in order to KICKstart the longevity of a lesbian literary/art gem. Lavender Review is free to all - and, as such, provides a great service at preserving a rich lesbian literary tradition. Donations are necessary to grow and maintain the LR. Even the penniless can do her part to keep the love alive!

Thanks, my friends. Now watch me smell the basil and the Lavender.

Saturday, April 14, 2012

The Horrors of the Natural Born Whistle Blower

This morning, I woke from a dream. The fact that I had a dream at all suggests that I received enough sleep last night, which seems inaccurate given that I stayed up late and got up with the girls to either take them back to bed or tell them to go back to bed numerous time. Oh, and there was that chunk of sleep between 3 and 4 am that I missed because the girls surrounded us (surrounded our bed) in an effort to convince us that they needed to sleep in our bed. They began crying and not leaving our bedside. What I feel when they are distressed in the night is, perhaps, more than empathy. I feel their little kid anxiety like it was my own. I feel it as my own.  For some reason, it takes me to a place within myself that is anxious and desires comfort. It's torture for me to abstain from comforting them when they express anxiety because I am so much aware of my childhood and adulthood anxiety - and because it is hard for me to deny them what I would not deny myself: relief, warmth and comfort. The problem, though, is that I find myself projecting my own childhood anxiety onto them.

Emotionally, and in my head, I equate their current experience of anxiety with my childhood experiences of anxiety. Asking me to let my kids cry it out is, emotionally to me, like asking me to sit back and watch them be attacked by a rabid pit bull. There is nothing real there for them to fear - being alone together in a room without us is NOT something that is dangerous or should be fear-inducing. We are not in any kind of eminent danger (that we know of) and we are living in a world in which the odds are for us so, based on these assumptions, we are relatively safe at night. 
 
As a young child, I felt very insecure in my environment. I can't remember enough to accurately explain WHY I felt insecure. I think it has something to do with being exposed to images and ideas (mainly images!) that were beyond my childhood stage of comprehension. When children are exposed to images or experiences that they are psychologically incapable of understanding or putting into a realistic, adult context (because of the stage of their brain development), they will likely experience a great deal of anxiety and feelings of powerlessness. They might have information but they lack the tools to process that information and put it into the appropriate context psychologically.

When I was very young, I was exposed to violent and frightening images of violence and gore, mainly in movies. No one protected me from those images. No one CENSORED (!!!) the stimuli I was exposed to and, worse than that, no one explained it to me. No one talked to me about what I saw. I didn't have the tools in myself and I did not have anyone providing me with the tools. I needed someone, first of all, to turn off the television and prevent me from seeing traumatic images that should not be seen by children. And, secondly, I needed someone to talk to me about what I saw: to explain the images, to explain that they weren't real. I remember seeing parts of movies, like "Cape Fear" and "Basic Instinct" and "The Hand that Rocks the Cradle" and "Rambo" and "Kindergarten Cop" and "Nightmare on Elm Street" and "Jaws" and "Friday the 13th," that traumatized me deeply. I'm not being dramatic, here. As a kid, I was tormented by the images I saw in those movies. I did not want to see the films, and I would demand that the television be turned off in almost every instance but I was too young to know to look away. In time I learned to look away. I remember seeing a film, I don't know what it was, in which a group of people were at a camp site. One woman fell or was pushed into a fire pit and burned to death while the others ran away frantically and tried to get into a van to get away - in the process one of the women could not get into the van and, then, trying to get in it and not be left behind, she was run over by the van. Of course add in all the screaming and the music. I was horrified. Every time we went to visit my Aunt Sharon's trailer in Sherkeston Shores (Ontario), I would think of that movie while we toasted marshmallows by the fire at night. I was fine camping during the day, but between the bugs and my fear of campfires/camping at night, I was an emotional mess at night. I knew that adults were unhelpful while they were sleeping during the night and I did not trust any adult to make it better since adults were the ones who had exposed me to the images to begin with. I can remember burning up, and tossing and turning all night long in the tiny bunk bed of the trailer - just waaaaitng for morning.

After I saw "Friday the 13th," I would not take a shower without the bathroom door open. This lasted two years, at least. I was a hypervigilant four-five-six-and-seven year old. (And I'm still a hyper-aware adult: hence my ability and desire to wake up at the tiniest sound coming from my daughters' room.) I'm a light sleeper. I haven't slept deeply since the girls were born. Only in the morning, usually when the girls are either in our bed or are up, do I sleep soundly. That's probably why I find it difficult to wake up in the morning. The worst childhood horror-image trauma that I experienced happened when I was five and was in Florida for Spring Break. Since I was two years old, I would visit Florida - usually without my parents and traveling with my great grandmother to stay at my Grandma Mel's condo for two weeks. When I was five, I traveled with my cousin, Carolyn, who was a few years older than me. I swear, for the weeks that we were there, all she and my cousin, Matthew (just a year older than me), did was watch horror films. They were expected to take care of me and we were all expected to entertain each other. They had a film fest and I had nothing to do but protest and try to distract myself (by hanging out with my great grandmother in the other room). I did a lot of protesting, and Matthew called me names and made fun of me. I ended up seeing more than I should have seen.

If I tried to protest to Grandma Mel, which I am sure I did, she would have said to me, "Stop being such a baby. Your cousins are having fun. Go and have fun with them. Don't be such a tattle-tale." During the two nights that I stayed at Matthew's parents' house, he and Carolyn watched numerous horror films. I walked into and out of the television room and stood in the doorway, with my hands on my hips, resentfully watching what I was unsuccessfully demanding they turn off. One of the images I remember was seeing this little alien creature in the air vent of a school bathroom. He climbed out of it, and killed and ate a schoolgirl who was using the bathroom. Then, later, as I was sitting on the couch by the window, my older cousins played a trick on me (remember: I was five). It was foggy outside. Matthew jumped up and said, "Oh my god, there's a man out there, Jessy. It's Jason. AHHHHH..." or something like that. I turned around and saw what I thought was a man in the fog in the distance. I ran away, crying. It was Carolyn with a hood or hat on. 
 
There were no adults to tell and no adults who would have cared or understood even if they were there to tell. And I was a big "teller," telling was like a twenty-four hour job for me when I was young. My siblings and cousins can attest to this. Of course it never produced any effect, so I guess I wasn't very good at the job. After that incident, I would not sit on the couch in front of the window and I would not go in the television room with my cousins and I could not sleep at night while the images replayed over and over in my head for months to come. Over time, I learned to avoid the unpleasant stimuli. At sleepovers, I would cover myself up with my sleeping bag and plug my ears, for hours if necessary, in order to avoid seeing images, like the one I saw in "The Postman" in which an elderly woman was suffocated with a plastic bag by the Postman in her living room. I learned to stay out of rooms with scary movies playing in them. I learned to avoid rather than rant and rave to no effect. Even today, as an adult, if I walk into a room in which there is a film on that I don't want to see, I will leave or distract myself with something else. Leaving, I find, is the best solution.

It shouldn't surprise you that I am protective of the images seen by my children. Hypersensitive about it, yes. If we are watching a show and it is followed by some kind of crime show (and as the formula for such shows go: there is usually a gory crime committed at the very beginning of the show), I am quick to grab the remote or command someone to change the channel. I don't find it at all entertaining to watch someone fighting for their survival or to watch someone or something torment someone with fear or to watch someone be hacked at (just for the sake of being hacked at). I appreciate thought-provoking, intellectual work and I can handle some stuff: "The Twilight Zone, "Poltergeist" and maybe even "The Shining."  I do not understand the draw toward violence for the sake of violence. I would never want something horrific to happen in real life - not even as a fantasy. A couple of years ago, I watched a documentary on Dennis Rader. I learned how he tied up a whole family in chairs and then suffocated them one by one while the ones who were still alive had to watch and wait to be next. Rader, himself, described how he suffocated the mother early on but that she was still alive after everyone else had died. He went back to her, to suffocate her some more - and she (according to his account) seemed calm and told him she forgave him. Just hearing the details of that was counterproductive. I felt disgusted, depressed, terrified and horrified (for what each family member might have experienced before they were killed). I thought it was one of the worst things I had ever heard in my life, but, no, I have heard of other things that have happened in real life that are just as terrible.

I don't know how other people can learn about and not be affected deeply by such things - and it makes me angry that people entertain such ideas in fantasy, that people find movies that depict such horror entertaining. I may be somewhat of a prude or a puritan, but I just don't get it. I know we all have to move on with living, recognizing the unlikeliness of events like this occurring in (or ending) our own lives. It all sort of stays with me, to some degree. There is the woman who was in a limo accident (cause by a DRUNK driver) with her daughter, and who held her daughter's decapitated head on the side of the highway for an hour after the accident. Then there is the man who accidentally backed his car up over his toddler, killing his own precious child. (And don't get me started on Shanda Sharer's horrific murder...) I saw both of these suffering individuals tell their stories on Oprah. Oprah at least lets the victims tell their real life stories. There is enough horror in reality: THAT is what I believe. (I am, at the same time, all for freedom in art. I just don't "get" the "art" of horror films...but that's just me.)

Oh, horror, where was I. Yes, last night. Last night I felt a strong irrational urge to go and ease my girls' anxiety with my presence - which I am told would have been bad because it would have reinforced the anxiety (and the expression of the anxiety - and the repeated WAKING behaviors). I'm told it also would have contributed to their inability to feel like they can cope with their own discomforts and anxiety without my assistance. We want them to be empowered with information, comfort at appropriate times and life skills so that they feel and be competent in the world. Sometimes I am able to provide them with empowerment and sometimes I am not. We WANT them to stay in their own bed all night on most nights, with the exception of Saturday Night Special - in which they sleep in our room and I tell them "Stories from Mouth" before they fall asleep. We do not have room in our full size bed and we want them to be able to sleep through the night without anxiety in their own bed. We share the same goal, in this regard.

I may not be able to make them sleep apart from me, but I am very good at helping to put complex and scary ideas and images into context for them. I am good at explaining rationally, in a way that they  understand, some of the adult issues they encounter. I am good at protecting them from images they are not equipped to handle. I am good at withholding some of my gut reactions (of horror) in their presence...during the day. At night, I am not so good at turning them away. I just want to run to them and wrap my arms around them and ease their anxieties with my presence, though I'm told that I am creating dependency in them that is probably unnecessary and not beneficial. I don't want to project my fears and anxieties onto them. I don't want them to see sleeping alone as an unpleasant experience JUST because I do.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Ashley Judd on Body Image: The Gender Focus Conversation

Conversations with Ashley Judd

Take a moment to check out my contribution to the conversation started on Monday (April 9) by Ashley Judd on the objectification of women. This morning, Gender Focus, a Canadian Feminist Blog, published an article I wrote in response to Ashley Judd's "Conversation" piece. If you have a voice and want to use it, please join in this important conversation so that it will receive the attention and have the global impact it warrants. Also, consider supporting Gender Focus by liking their page on Facebook and/or subscribing.

Sunday, April 8, 2012

If I Were to Tell You I'm a Liar, I Would Be Lying: The Abnormal Psychology of the Pathological Truth-Telling Liar

What might be the difference between “normal” and “pathological” lying? How do the various institutions of our society (business, government, academia, science, and religion) view lying, and how might these views affect the prevalence and nature of individual lies? Why do people often admire someone who deceives, a flatterer, an art forger, a jewel thief?

When "normal" is used in relation to lying, I assume there must also be an "abnormal." Normal and pathological are not antithetical, although pathological lying may be abnormal. Pathological lying is, definitionally, compulsive or obsessional lying - when lying is pathologized for medical or criminal purposes linguistically, it is considered lying that occurs in relation to a condition of psychological disturbance. Pathology, to my mind (!), is a method of separating normal from abnormal  (or majority from minority) for medical or clinical purposes. The question Dr. H-R poses assumes that normal lying is not pathological. I tend to see lying as being a very core and common human behavior. I consider myself a highly aware and brutally honest person, and I am aware of how hard it is for me to be honest sometimes about small or large things. I actually think most humans are habitual liars - lying seems to be somewhat of an innate self-protective and self-advantageous behavior and is also reinforced early on in life. It's no wonder that lying is (has been, is, will be) an essential part of the human psyche.

Whether it's predominantly innate or learned; it's an automatic process in humans - and it's difficult to challenge that process, even for the most self-conscious and aware of humans. We cannot go beyond our own perception, no matter how hard we try (damn it). I think people lie for two reasons - to avoid unpleasant consequences and to gain pleasant consequences (to avoid getting what we don't want and to get what we want, from moment to moment). Most people lie out of fear (to avoid unpleasant consequences). I think in certain contexts, culturally and historically, lying is very advantageous to humans and IS required for survival. If I were a Palestinian homosexual woman living TODAY, I would likely live a life of lying and denial in order to SURVIVE. If I were to openly admit my lesbian identity, it is likely that I would have a lot to lose. Mainly, my life. My lying would be the key to my survival. If I were a teacher living in the southern United States sixty or so years ago (or maybe even today) and I fell in love with another female person, especially one of a non-European American ethnicity - lying would very likely be the key to my survival. I would need to lie in order to survive. I would either be forced to lie about my identity as a lesbian - to DENY my self and my desire and my identity, OR I would have to lie about my lifestyle - to HIDE my self, my desire, my identity and my love-relationship in order to survive (and to exist with a sense of security...although to what extent, I cannot say).

Depending on the context, forms of lying and degrees of lying can be negotiated. If I don't want my mother to know that I just spent an hour editing a you tube video instead of doing my homework - I have a choice about whether or not to be honest. I have the ability to weigh the consequences. Obviously I will not lose my life if I tell her the truth about what I was doing. Isn't it interesting that even though my survival is not at stake, I might still choose to lie. If I tell my mother what I was really doing, then she will likely act annoyed, impatient or disappointed. Is that a consequence I can live with? Sure. Is that a consequence I would rather avoid? Of course. If I have the ability to choose how my mother is going to FEEL about me or act in response to me, will I choose to have her feel happy and proud of me or annoyed and disappointed in me? The choice seems clear. That is, until you consider that the happy and proud feelings are false - are created from an untruth. How good will it feel to have my mother be proud of me for doing something I did not do? To me, it would not feel good at all. I would not reap any of the benefits of her happiness or pride because I would know it was based on falseness. So then it just becomes a matter of how unpleasant it is for ME to have my mother be annoyed with and disappointed in me. For me, those are very unpleasant emotions and so I would be tempted to lie. When this actually happened in real life last week, I told her the truth. I said, "No, I haven't done it yet. I was doing other stuff." She acted annoyed but became distracted moments later with the television show she was watching so my anxiety at having her feel negatively about me was alleviated.

Either way, whether I lie to gain or to avoid, I experience the guilt of lying... because I am lying. If I lie to avoid: I only experience the benefit of avoidance of truth, I do not receive the benefit of the lie (the promise of the lie). As a teenage, I wanted to be as honest as possible because I felt terribly guilty whenever I lied. I thought "God" was watching everything I did, and so I thought I always had a witness to every lie I told. I tried my hardest to tell the truth at all times. I confessed the smallest things to my priest during confession and relieved myself of the great pressure of the guilt. I was able to confess in MOST cases during my childhood because in most cases I was doing things that others approved of (or that others did not strongly DISapprove of). It was only in the cases in which I feared deeply the disapproval of others that I withstood painful guilt in order to lie. In those instances, I told myself that I would just pray later to God that he could forgive me. When I stared at photos of Angela Lansbury before bed when I was six years old, I did so privately and with the understanding that others would not be accepting of my desire to stare adoringly at the photos. If anyone noticed my excessive fondness for her or questioned it, I would have turned beet red and either started laughing or getting angry in self-defense. In such instances, I would have lied to protect myself from the humiliation of being discovered to be some kind of weirdo or pervert (or sinner!) or I would have lied in order to maintain the acceptance and love of the people most central to my life, my security and my sense of self.

Now that I am an adult and I can THINK about those moments in which I am tempted to hide and lie, I am able to tell the truth and face the consequences of my behaviors in most instances. Still, even as highly aware and conscious as I am, I am tempted at times to hide and lie. Sometimes trying to be honest can become an anxiety-provoking, consuming and compulsive act itself. Because lying is SO habitual for most people (so HUMAN for most people), NOT-lying can become its own form of self-imposed torture or form of pathology. Maybe lying is not as bad as we think it is. Maybe we should just stop thinking so much about the fact that we lie. Every word that comes out of our mouth (yes, our collective human mouth of bull shit) is a story coming from the brain-mouth of human perception. In a way, every story is a lie (and every word is a lie). If lying is so human and, therefore, SO common; then perhaps pathological lying is only a form of lying that falls along one of the far ends on the continuum of lying. I, personally, fall pretty far along the OTHER end of the continuum of honesty. I fall into the extreme honesty end of the continuum of lying - but no one, as far as I know, has yet labeled my level of honesty as "Pathological Honesty."

How can I judge a pathological liar when I am a pathological truth-teller (and occasional liar)? I think humans are in MAJOR denial of their lying (of the habitual nature of their lying). I guess a normal liar WOULD be almost completely unaware of his lying; whereas a pathological truth-teller (and maybe even a pathological liar) would be much more aware of her lying. I guess I just don't trust what any "normal liar" has to say about lying because a "normal liar" is in major denial of his lying. As such, I think the worlds of business, academia, government, science and religion - as institutions of normalized lying - are simply the products of their parts: amassments, or bodies, of fiction. They are all micro parts of the macro of the fiction of humanity. Views of lying in the major institutions are simply large-scale reflections of the views of lying in the people within those institutions. The institutions have no effect on the prevalence and nature of the lying - they are the products of the lying. If anything, they simply perpetuate and continue the lies that already exist. I am not sure that anyone admirers lying itself. It seems that they admire the contents or forms of the lying - the manner of the lying or the results of the lying. If the manner of lying is unusual, it is attention worthy. If the lying achieves some shocking or astonishing result, it is attention worthy. When people praise a liar, they are praising the finesse or cleverness of the act of lying - not of the act of lying in and of itself. Is there an Art of Lying? I suppose lying can be an art - an art that mocks its subject (lying) or an art that renders its subject more or less attractive than it is (which is both lying and art).

As for me, I might admire the work of the art forger but not the act of forging the art. I might admire the cleverness of the jewel thief but not the act of thievery. I would prefer that the art forger create art for selfish purposes that do not involve stealing and I would prefer that the jewel thief put her cleverness into an endeavor that benefits the common good. As for the flatterer, I will not criticize his lying but that is not to say I will fall for his lies. As a person who knows lying pretty well (i.e., is conscious of the processes of lying within my own mind), flattery might just be the best kind of lie there is...yet I am the least likely to fall for totally false flattery. I tend to want flattery the most from people who are the most incapable of giving others genuine or false flattery - those are just incapable of flattery period. For a person from whom I would sincerely (and not falsely) fall for flattery, I would not care whether or not it was a lie. The cleverness and aptness of the flattery (aptness of the delusion of flattery?) would be pleasure enough for me to look past its inevitable falseness. Sometimes we liars, I mean humans, know it best: we know it's best to let a lie that does no harm go unharmed. Now, I must end this diatribe of lies immediately so I can go pluck my belly button hair. Am I lying? Come on now, would I ever lie to YOU?

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Love Today: Finding Love in Anything

Just quickly, since this is the new Facebook (Jessbook?), my sister reminded me of something I did in the past that she remembers vividly. Tonight while we were eating Mighty Taco (it was not mighty, but it involved a goodly glob of sour cream and I consumed my share), she said, "Remember the time you were crying to Snoopers about how lonely you were?" I started to laugh, delightedly, because I love when she remembers idosyncratic things about me that I have forgotten (okay, okay, she wins: she generally has a better memory than I do...but not ALWAYS). I said, "What? I did that? That's so funny." She said, "Yeah. One time I came down the stairs and you were sitting on the kitchen floor holding Snoopers and crying. You were like, 'I'm all alone, Snoopers, you're the only one who loves me.'"

I vaguely remember having one or two bonding moments on the floor with our stinky little makeup-eating beagle, Snoopers, during his lifetime. Both, I believe, involved the themes of crying and loneliness - yes, times of desperation when the smell and grease of beagle on my hands failed to faze me. Rare moments. It's too bad I couldn't have shown Snoopers affection when I was feeling happy. Selfish adolescent. God I hope I'm doing better as an adult. Let this be a reminder and a lesson to myself. Show love to the ones who are yours, the ones who need you, the ones who are there WITH you NOW. And with that, I will bid the threats of unworthiness adieu and go to sleep with love close to my body and love in my heart...the love in proximity, the love of now - the only kind of love there is.

If you are a person out there who is without that kind of love, you probably are not actually without that kind of love. You're probably just focusing on the love that's out of sight and out of reach. What's in your midst right now? Whatever it is, try to take a moment to love it and to be in the presence of love with it. Don't wait until tomorrow, love today.

The Delusion of Life: An Abnormally Normal Psychology

What kinds of reality testing, or behavioral experiments, would you suggest for a client that believed he was Jesus Christ? How might you go about weakening his delusions?

If I were working with a client who believed he was Jesus Christ, I would try to go into it without immediately labeling his state of mind as being delusional. If millions of people believe that there will be a second coming of Christ, then is it all that abnormal for someone to think that they might be it? If the second coming of Christ is viable, then someone's gotta be her/him/it. Consider the first discussion question this week (about insanity): Is it any more or less delusional for a mass of people to believe in Christ than it is for an individual to believe he is the second coming of Christ? I wouldn’t buy it (believe in the claim) but I also would not see the person’s belief/claim to be any more delusional than the belief in God or the belief in an idea (or any other unscientific, unverifiable belief). And I would not find the individual any more or less acceptable because of their unfounded belief than I would an individual who believes in God.

Is it fair or accurate to discriminate between two unprovable suppositions on the basis that one has social affirmation and the other does not? In order to differentiate and evaluate the individual, I would be interested in his beliefs about a WIDE range of other areas of life. If a delusional pattern emerged across all areas, then the delusional quality would be more evident. If I were working with a client who believed in God or who believed he was God but whose beliefs across all or most other areas and subjects were not abnormal or delusional, I would not immediately put the label of delusional on him. Instead, I would try to delve deeper into the contents and origins of his belief in order to understand how it formed and how it functions in his mind and life. I would be interested in knowing what kind of reactions the man gets (if and) when he tells people he is Jesus and how he feels about those reactions.

If his social and emotional life were deteriorating because of the belief, then I would focus on that as reason for using cognitive-behavioral methods to handle the abnormal belief. I would not refute the belief itself, but rather I would focus on ways that he could manage the belief so that it would not have such a negative effect on his social life and mental well-being. By not fearing that I am trying to cure him of his identity, he might be more willing to consider alternatives and psychotherapy.

I have thought about this kind of subject before, and I feel quite conflicted about it. I have actually met a few people in my life who have either directly stated or insinuated that they believed they were the second coming and/or an important prophet with a message for the people or that they believed I was.  Jesus Christ thought he was the Son of God and he was met with contention. How can so many people believe in the existence of the religious and/or historical and/or mythical Jesus Christ as a divine savior and deny another person who claims that he is Jesus Christ (or that he is the “second coming”)? Why is it so implausible given that belief in Jesus # 1 is so common? How can someone believe in one Christ and not another, especially if both proclaim, teach and enact the same values and principles? If I believe in one Christ, how can I deny another? It seems much easier to believe in a Christ that is not a sentient living being than it is to believe in a Christ that is living today. If I recall correctly, one of the stories of Christ suggests that he was a human being who was crucified and resurrected to save mankind from original sin. He was a HUMAN being, and yet his connection to “God” gives him divine status in the minds of religiously and spiritually devout followers today. If there were a second coming, then the second coming would also be human. It’s hard for me to imagine anyone who claims to be Christ being believed or being believable today. But why not? I wonder if the brain scans of the original Jesus Christ would be similar to or different than the brain scans of the Christs of today.

Poem about POW-er with a Chorus and a Bridge

(A poem inspired by Nina Simone's "Sinnerman")

The man had the power
of his motor
and he ran it over
the same patch
of grass forty or fifty
times. The woman
had the power of her
music, and she played it over
eighty or ninety times.
He ran his mower
over cement. She played the music
at its greatest decibel. He ran
his mower in circles
and back and forth, he mowed the streets,
he thought he saw
grass there, he could not leave
the middle of the road,
he did not know
why he could not leave.

Go to the devil, he said
Go to the devil, she said
Run it to the devil, she said
Raise it to the heaven, she said
Go to the devil, he said
Go to the devil, he said
Go to the devil, he said
This is mine, he said
This is mine, he said
Go to yourself, she said
Go to yourself, she said
Go to yourself, she said
This is mine, too, she said
This is mine, too, she said
Power : Power
He fell asleep - POWer
She cried - POWer
He snored - POWer
She sighed - POWer
For his land - POWer
For her right – POWer
POW-er, POW-er:

She ran her radio
on repeat again
and again, again; she filled the space,
she thought she heard life
there, she thought she knew why
she would not leave.
The man got stuck
on the edge of his own
driveway and he did not know
where he was. The woman got stuck on the step
of her parents’ porch
and knew just where
she was, she was waiting for him
to turn it off. He was waiting for her
to turn it down:
he ran out of gas, she ran
out of batteries.

Go to the devil, he said
Go to the devil, she said
Run it to the devil, she said
Raise it to the heaven, she said
Go to the devil, he said
Go to the devil, he said
Go to the devil, he said
This is mine, he said
This is mine, he said
Go to yourself, she said
Go to yourself, she said
Go to yourself, she said
This is mine, too, she said
This is mine, too, she said
Power : Power
He fell asleep - POWer
She cried - POWer
He snored - POWer
She sighed - POWer
For his land - POWer
For her right – POWer
POW-er, POW-er:

He moved the mower
without an engine. She heard the music
without a player. He drove it
home, she sang it loud.
He didn’t know
his machine; she didn’t know
her machine. He cut the grass
down low, she raised the sound
so high: To the earth, To the sky.
Beat ‘em down, Raise ‘em up
Power : Power
He was feeble with age
She was fiery with youth
He was demented
She was touched
He ran it ‘til he ran himself
down to his knees, she raised it up
‘til she raised herself
up through the trees.

(CHORUS)

Go to the devil, he said
Go to the devil, she said
Run it to the devil, she said
Raise it to the heaven, she said
Go to the devil, he said
Go to the devil, he said
Go to the devil, he said
This is mine, he said
This is mine, he said
Go to yourself, she said
Go to yourself, she said
Go to yourself, she said
This is mine, too, she said
This is mine, too, she said
Power : Power
He fell asleep - POWer
She cried - POWer
He snored - POWer
She sighed - POWer
For his land - POWer
For her right – POWer
POW-er, POW-er:

(BRIDGE)

The refusal to leave
The voice against the machine
The birds to her side
The worms at his feet
They can never agree,
They can never leave


(CHORUS)


Go to the devil, he said
Go to the devil, she said
Run it to the devil, she said
Raise it to the heaven, she said
Go to the devil, he said
Go to the devil, he said
Go to the devil, he said
This is mine, he said
This is mine, he said
Go to yourself, she said
Go to yourself, she said
Go to yourself, she said
This is mine, too, she said
This is mine, too, she said
Power : Power
He fell asleep - POWer
She cried - POWer
He snored - POWer
She sighed - POWer
For his land - POWer
For her right – POWer
POW-er, POW-er:

Nietzsche's Onion of Insanity: Where is the Abnormal Psychologist inside it?

The philosopher F. W. Nietzsche said: “Insanity in individuals is something rare - but in groups, parties, nations, and epochs, it is the rule.” What behaviors committed by groups might be considered psychotic if an individual were to perform them?

Nietzsche’s sentiment, if reversed, would suggest that in groups, parties, nations and epochs insanity is something rare but in individuals it is the rule. In my mind, human behavior is human behavior – insanity is one human perception and classification of certain types of human behavior. Insanity is as definable and concrete as is the essence of human life. If you think my behavior is insane, then I might think you insane for thinking so. I might even think your decision to not-practice my behavior is insane. If a group behaves one way and an individual behaves in an alternative manner or in opposition to the group, then the group might think the individual is insane and the individual might think the group is insane. The group has the power of its majority to, accurately or falsely, strengthen its claim of sanity; the individual has only the power of her ideas and the intensity of her devotion to her cause to strengthen her claim to sanity. Does it really matter what the behavior is if the group and the individual each believe wholeheartedly in its validity?

All ideas have the ability to be damaging or uplifting to society. Any idea in and of itself is just an idea. What gives an idea power? Consensus and action. The action of an individual is not as POWER-ful as the action of a collective, or mass, of individuals. The greater the POWER driving the idea into action, regardless of the idea, is what renders an idea transforming of (or potentially dangerous to) a society. I don’t know that I agree with Nietzsche’s comment on insanity in individuals versus groups, except in the sense that I think the power of the collective can be dangerous – and the power in and of itself can be a form of insanity and can give greater power to insanity. The individual and the commons are equally as capable of insanity, if insanity exists, but the power of the idea (or the insanity) in the hands of a mass is so much greater.

Nietzsche’s measurement of insanity is simple – one individual = 1 x insanity, 100 individuals = 100 x insanity, 666 666 666 individuals = 666 666 666 x insanity. The insanity of the masses is quantitatively greater than the insanity of the individual – but what about qualitatively. The qualitative dimension of what Nietzsche proposes is much more complicated. A dissection of the individual is a small-scale evaluation of the collective, but often the individual is a small version of the collective. One human is a microcosm of the whole of humanity. In that sense, the individual’s and collective’s insanities or sanities should consist of similar, mirroring content. Qualitatively, it would not seem that the insanity of the individual is any different than the insanity of the collective. Quantitatively, there is a difference. I cannot go beyond this without more information, though I imagine the social and environmental impact of quantitative versus qualitative differences would extend this analysis further. When you look at a mass from far away, its actions make sense and patterns seems fairy easy to draw out and interpret; yet you can only see the whole and not the parts of the whole. Only being able to see the whole provides a certain kind of picture. When you look a little closer, you get another picture – the picture of its parts. When you look even closer, you see another picture. It’s like peeling an onion.

When peeling the onion of insanity, the whole appears one way (like one powerful mass of insanity). The next layer of the onion of insanity looks less powerful but also looks different than the outside layer. With each layer you peel back of the onion of insanity, you learn more about the whole and about the layers that were peeled before – yet you still do not know about what lies in the next (yet unpeeled) layers. Within the onion of insanity are layers (not lawyers!) of insanity, and within the layers of insanity are particles of insanity. Within the particles of insanity are molecules of insanity. You can break it down until you cannot see, feel, know or understand it any longer. You can break it down until you are one with it.

This question posed requires us to look at the collectives as stereotypes. When people in a Sicilian household raise their voices, it might not be considered inappropriate to the people within the household; but outside of the household – perhaps in an English household – the behavior might be considered crude and obscene. Once I walked into a pizza shop in Northampton, Massachusetts and was startled by a man and his elderly mother throwing F-bombs (e.g., “FUCK YOU, MA”) at each other at a volume level that struck me as extreme. I felt uncomfortable and disturbed. The thought that went through my head when I walked in was that the son was some kind of psychopath. I stood in line not sure if he was crazy or if I was crazy – but I wanted to get out of that pizza shop as fast as I could. I kept picturing the guy pulling a gun out and shooting everyone in sight. I looked around to others in line and did not notice any fear on their faces so I decided to challenge myself and get the pizza despite my fear. I am Italian and I have relatives from Sicily (and I may be incorrectly stereotyping here, but I believe the pizza shop was Sicilian). My Sicilian relatives talk loudly, shout, swear in Italian and use incorrect English. I cannot generalize in good conscience and suggest that all people from Sicily are the same as my family members, especially given that the behavior in this restaurant was so disturbing and far outside of my comfort zone. I could judge and say the behavior was insane, but someone outside of my family might say the same about my family.

A woman who poses nude for an art class probably would not be considered abnormal within an art class or art department. A woman who undresses and holds the same pose in front of a grocery store, like Wegmans, would likely be arrested for the same behavior. Context is everything (and nothing). Is the naked woman posing a threat to a given society in the art classroom? How is it different in front of the grocery store? Perhaps the behavior is not different (or any more or less insane/inappropriate) in and of itself, but the way in which it is interpreted and perceived will differ depending on the context. The behaviors of people at a music concert with a pop icon in America might seem normal to those at the concert. If an individual woman were doing all of the things she did at the concert, but alone in a parking lot, it is likely that people might think she was insane. If the woman not-at-the-concert were dancing down the streets, singing to the song in her head or in her earphones, hugging and holding hands with everyone in sight, lying down on the pavement and lifting her lighter in the air –seeming to lack self-consciousness and be in a state of bliss – would you find her to be unacceptable or insane? I wouldn’t, but that’s because I’m insane! 

Sunday, April 1, 2012

My Little Brother's Scholarship Essay

Here is an essay that Joey wrote with the help of a secret assistant editor:
 
Over the last decade, I have witnessed the way in which technology has drastically taken on an elastic quality, at times expanding seemingly beyond itself and, then, retracting and maintaining its body of expandability. In its dynamic state, technology has blended every electronic system into one another. In the same way, it has blended virtually every individual body of knowledge and thought into a collective of knowledge and thought. The consequences of its dynamism are twofold: in one regard, its expansiveness is divisive and increases separatism and individualism in society; and in another regard, its inclusivity creates a communal environment, in terms of our virtual connections to each other and every thing.

Today, the device in your pocket can hold all of the intersecting bodies of knowledge and technological applications. An ipod can be a phone as well as a camera, a USB port, a DVD player, and or a GPS. These mutli-functional devices were not part of my early development; however, I know that I was affected by the latest technologies of my time. Whatever devices dominate the technological landscape of one's childhood have the great power to impact not only his social life but also his internal existence. Just as in the past, when we became physically dependent on the technological advances of the day (i.e. when we moved from a washtub to a laundry machine), we are now becoming psychologically dependent on information and social technologies.

Every year that passes, the chance for youth to develop interpersonal skills diminishes. Electronic devices are highly accessible now, and that makes it hard to differentiate individuals as well as difficult to see oneself as a physical entity in a world of physical beings. Psychologically, the consequences of social technologies are profound. We now have three dimensions: physical self (the self that goes out into the world, acting on his own behalf and interacting with others), psychological self (the self that we most identify with, the self that presents itself through our thoughts), and, now, virtual self (the virtual self that we create and present to others).

In a way, people on the Internet lose their tangible significance because they are a virtual commodity: in cyberspace, people, especially teens, seem to be carbon copies of one another-- labeling themselves by the groups they join and walls they write on. Teens who watch "The Jersey Shore," listens to techno / dub step, and join the wave of provocative texting and sexting are a dime a dozen. It become more and more difficult to develop a sense of autonomy and to separate oneself from others, both externally and internally. I do not believe technology has limited our intelligence, by any means; it has just, by virtue of the sameness and the environment of sharing, created a glass ceiling on the most relevant root of intelligence: the root of creativity. It has made it more difficult to develop a sense of autonomy through discovery, because what you discover becomes what everyone around you discovers.

Creativity is one thing that is powerful enough to differentiate individuals. Any one can use garage band to make an artificial tune, but creativity separates the open minds from the closed ones. Especially in today’s music scene, the bands that are rising to the surface are the ones that have something different and unique to offer. Creativity gives one an autonomous voice. In my own experience, I have had, at times, to separate myself from the social technologies in order to create autonomously.

Frank Zappa, a creative artist with an open mind, battled in front of congress to keep art from being tampered by censorship: he believed in the importance of creativity, and in its ability to promote human progress, so he fought to preserve the ability for artists to maintain their creative autonomy. Throughout history, the status of the world’s faults or weak points has been expressed deeply through art. Wars have been protested, rights have been demanded and propositions have been achieved as well as overturned. Today, it seems that our autonomy as creative artists, and as individuals, lies in our ability to separate ourselves from the one-dimensionality of creative expression that lurks in the dark side of easily accessible information and technology.

Autonomy, and true creative strength, lie in our efforts to express our own, new ideas in the midst and despite the element of standardization that abounds. Almost every thought in a conscience person is a variation of an already existing thought. Some people can see the world differently just by trying to refrain from adopting one or a group of popular beliefs. There is a new value in limiting the "creation" of oneself in cyberspace, and that is in maintaining a sense of oneself and, more importantly, a sense of one's adaptability.

If we label ourselves, on the Internet or otherwise, we are hindering our ability to change and evolve. The key of creativity is to be able to openly interpret any idea before deciding whether you agree or not. As ever-evolving artists and creators, we need to maintain the power to change. I believe that artists who hold the gift of creative autonomy will be the ones at the forefront when it comes to solving the world's most complex problems.