Thank you so much for reading. The effort and time I invest in these endeavors is completely reader supported. If you enjoy what I have shared here please consider a one time donation at Buy Me a Coffee, if you wish. I truly appreciate you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. https://buymeacoffee.com/auxinherof
The task is endless, it’s true. But we are here to pursue It. I do not have enough faith in reason to subscribe to a belief in progress or to any philosophy of history. I do believe at least that man’s awareness of his destiny has never ceased to advance. We have not overcome our condition, and yet we know it better. We know that we live in contradiction, but we also know that we must refuse this contradiction and do what is needed to reduce it. Our task as men is to find the few principles that will calm the infinite anguish of free souls. We must mend what has been torn apart, make justice imaginable again In a world so obviously unjust, give happiness a meaning once more to peoples poisoned by the misery of the century. Naturally, It is a superhuman task. But superhuman is the term for tasks men take a long time to accomplish, that’s all. ~Albert Camus
We can never know what to want, because, living only one life, we can neither compare it with our previous lives nor perfect it in our lives to come. […] We live everything as it comes, without warning, like an actor going on cold. And what can life be worth if the first rehearsal for life is life itself? That is why life is always like a sketch. No, “sketch” is not quite the word, because a sketch is an outline of something, the groundwork for a picture, whereas the sketch that is our life is a sketch for nothing, an outline with no picture. – Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being
justing n. The habit telling yourself that just one tweak could solve all of your problems – if only you had the right haircut, if only you found the right group of friends, if only you made a little more money, if only he noticed you, if only she loved you back, if only you could find the time, if only y0u were confident – which leaves you feeling perpetually on the cusp of a better life, hanging around the top of the slide waiting for one little push. From just, only, simply, merely + jousting, a sport won by positioning the tip of your lance at just the right spot, at just the right second. John Koenig, The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows
Editor’s note – If there is one piece of advice I might be so bold as to pass on: If you make your own code it is imperative you follow it. Seven times down, eight times up. If you practice this, you too, will push your boulders.
Susan knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Even at ten years old the child was…she did not know what she was. She was simply like no other child she had ever seen. She had a way of looking at you. It was equal parts knowing contempt, mischief, and…love. There was no other word for it.
When she wasn’t being a weretiger, the child could purr in a way that most eventually found endearing. Except Dickens. She got a sour twist in her stomach whenever she thought of that man. He got his position by being able to keep a school slightly below budget.
He did this by cutting wherever he could. The music department had held on at Koenig High longer than at most. It was her pet department. She held on as long as she could.
Until Dickens. She thought the job was hers. And by all rights it ought to be. Dickens knew it too. He liked to do little power plays like this morning – just to show he was the man. She tried not to enjoy the warm feeling that came over her whenever she thought about how effectively she had surgically removed and served him his own testicles.
She just wasn’t that good of a human being. She laughed. She wondered when they would grow back to a sufficiently large enough size to call her into his office again. He couldn’t get rid of her and they both knew it.
She figured two weeks.
And she didn’t know if she could do it. Mathilda had an unerring knack to see what might bother you the most – and then delighted in stabbing you with it if you crossed her. Susan wondered what kind of home life she might have. It was difficult for her to believe she had parents that knew how to control her either.
She would see. In the meantime, she had a field of battle to prepare. The kid was smart but inexperienced. And after all these years of teaching and the few short years she was in administration she had a rule that was seldom broken.
Youth and wisdom are rarely seen together. She would use this to her benefit.
Susan grinned, undid her bra, fished it out with one hand, tossed it onto the couch. It had been a long time since she tutored a child.
This was going to be fun. If the damn thing didn’t eat her in her own home.
She figured she had better than even odds. After all:
“Alright, I’m ready now. Come in.” “What can I do for you?” “We need to talk.” “You’re right. And the first thing I have to say is you don’t talk to me that way.” “Excuse me?” “No.” “EXCUSE ME?” Laughter. “You heard me. I said no. You don’t tell someone ‘We need to talk’ It’s offering and taking away a false choice all in the same four word sentence.” He glowered at her and narrowed his eyes. “I suppose you’d like a gilded invitation?” “No. I want you to stop living up to your name.” “What’s THAT supposed to mean?” “You suggested canceling Christmas vacation,” “We have mandatory teaching hours we have to hit to keep federal funding. You know this.” “That doesn’t give you permission to act like a….Dick..ens.”
“You know what. I don’t fucking like you.” “Good. I would be worried if you did. What do you want?” “The Shelley kid. I can’t handle another pissed off parent. I’m transferring her out.” “The fuck you are.” “EXCUSE ME?”
“Your problem is you keep forcing your blunt insistence against the rotation of the galaxy.” “And what the FUCK is that supposed to mean?” Laughter. “As soon as you figure that out you’ll be a much happier man.” “I’m the principal. You are the vice principal. My say goes.” “Sayeth the dictator.” She admired how he was able to turn an even darker shade of red. “I suppose you have a better idea?” “Of course I do. You are both a fool and an idiot. That girl is a genius. We aren’t shipping her off because no one can deal with her.” “And you do?” “I tell you what. Give me two weeks. If her behavior hasn’t dramatically improved, I’ll drive her to the new school myself.” Dickens glared at her. Then a crafty look stole over his unimpressive features. It didn’t take a psychologist to figure out he had calculated she was going to fail.
The world’s biggest shit eating grin stole over Dicken’s face.
los vidados n. the half remembered acquaintances you knew years ago, who you might have forgotten completely if someone hadn’t happened to mention them again – friends of friends, people you once shared classes with, people you heard stories about, who you didn’t know well but who still made up the fabric or your intense little community – making you wonder who else might be out there somewhere, only just remembering you exist. Spanish los olvidados, “the forgotten” – but not completely. pronounced “lohs vee-dah-dohs” The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows John Koenig
Understanding dependent arising.
Your notion of what constitutes the fundamental ignorance at the root of cyclic existence depends on your view of reality. In the case of Nagurjuna, his final position appears in the Seventy Stanzas on Emptiness, where he writes that while phenomena arise from causes and conditions, ignorance grasps at phenomena as possessing final existence. Ignorance is a mental state that conceives of dependently originating phenomena as having a final reality of their own. To make this clearer, Aryadeva’s Four Hundred teaches that just as the sense of touch pervades the body, including the other sense faculties, delusion (ignorance) permeates all the afflictions. – From Here to Enlightenment, The Dalai Lama
Therefore I should wish our courtier to bolster up his inherent worth with skill and cunning, and ensure that whenever he has to go where he is a stranger, he is preceded by a good reputation. . . For the fame which appears to rest on the opinions of many fosters a certain unshakeable belief in a man’s worth which is then easily strengthened in minds already thus disposed and prepared. – Baldassare Castiglione, 1478 – 1529
(It’s the sound) Uh, yeah, gather round ’cause— (It’s the sound) Uh, got’s get down because (It’s the sound) Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce to this because— (It’s the sound) Check it out, check it out, we gonna rock it like this Headphones carry the groove Like electricity you move Rising amps to carry the groove Man, I bet you didn’t know it was better for you Check it out now Can I do it for the right side? Imma do it for the left side Altogether in the middle, altogether in the middle Let me bring it back a little, let me bring it back
{Verse 1} Headphones carry the groove Electricity you move Rising amps to carry the groove Merry to move Falling out of the sky with a feudal sound (“Turn it up for a second and get down”) Give it to me, another record please I’m hooked to the music with a certain glean A head of steam, stage is a diamond ring Altogether with no effort I sing From an underworld coming baby do my thing When the lights come on it’s the shock we bring Rock the rhythm, with methods that he be livin’ The manifestation you are now witnessin’
{Chorus} (It’s the sound) Vibe, vibe, vibe gather round ’cause— (It’s the sound) You right there get down because (It’s the sound) Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce to this because— (It’s the sound) Check it out, check it out, we gonna rock it like this Headphones carry the groove Like electricity you move Rising amps to carry the groove Man, I bet you didn’t know it was better for you Check it out now
{Verse 2} Elevation how we do it with a jam Your shirt get wet and we entertain the fans Hands up if you’ve seen a lot of land Keep your arms out, please develop with your plan The turntable and the mic be the tools Coach up your rappers when we take over your castle All the king’s women and all the king’s men Couldn’t bring the melody together again, I said His back pops wings like warren worthington X-many things, like a hand grenade Light a stick of dynamite and lay down in the bed Put it in your mouth, educate your head Is it graphic like an animal in traffic Roadside kill when I activate the skill All my BPMs will start until you break the limbs We build it to the top, getting news of this hip-hop
{Chorus} (It’s the sound) So profound and bound, gather round ’cause— (It’s the sound) You right there, you will get down because (It’s the sound) Preparation of the jam make ya bounce to this because— (It’s the sound) Check it out, we gonna rock it like this and we gon’ end it like this Headphones carry the groove Like electricity you move Rising amps to carry the groove Man, I bet you didn’t know it was better for you Talk to ’em now
The King (Louis XIV) maintains the most impenetrable secrecy about matters of state. The ministers attend council meetings, but he confides his plans to them only when he has reflected at length upon them and has come to a definite decision.
I wish you might see the King. His expression is inscrutable; his eyes like those of a fox. He never discusses state affairs except with his ministers in Council. When he speaks to courtiers, he refers only to their respective prerogatives or duties.
Primi Visconti, Quoted in Louis XIV, Louis Bertrand – 1928
Truly, it was to our amazement that the ailing said they were well. Being Europeans, we thought we had given away to doctors and priests our ability to heal. But here it was, still in our possession. . . .It was ours after all, we were more than we had thought we were.
– Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca to the king of Spain, early sixteenth century
My grandfather has been on my mind much lately. Or should I say, in it.
I never met my grandfather. He died at the age of 41 from radiation sickness. He was a lifelong Navy man and a golden gloves boxer. His name was Jones Savage.
Doc. Jones “Doc” Savage. He held that nickname until he died. So yes, I am the grandson of Doc Savage. I swear you can’t make this shit up.
If you are curious about his role in the war, I have already written about that in “I’m thinking Gordon-Levitt for Doc.” He was a world war 2…I don’t know if hero is the right word…you know what, it is. Anyone who fought in or helped us win that war was and is a hero. Full stop. No more qualifiers needed.
There is an old saying – never meet your heroes. And there is a reason for this. Because there is no such thing as a pure hero. And sooner or later, meaning often, they will prove that to you.
My grandfather is no different. For all he did during that war and what he survived, twice -he was mean, tough, and impossible to kill – he was also a fucking asshole.
A very specific kind of fucking asshole. He was a racist asshole. A bad one, from what my mother tells me. He grew up in the south during the time he did. He did not know any better although he should have. All racist assholes should know better, regardless of the age in which they find themselves. But we are human and we often don’t.
My mother’s parents did their best to make my mother into them. Just another racist asshole. She didn’t let them. She saw they were wrong and didn’t care what they said. Good on you mom!
Unfortunately…. There was a slew of bad behavior she did adopt. Her parents kindly requested she remove herself from the family residence on her 18th birthday. I was born just over a year later. For some reason she saw some sort of wisdom in this and made this policy her own. She did warn me since I was 12.
I chose not to believe her. This was a mistake and one I should have known better about making. My mother is a force of nature. When she says she is going to do something you can damn well believe it.
I once weaponized my mother against the Army.
And won.
I know where I come from. I am a Savage first and foremost and I have never forgotten it. As are we all.
I have been taking a class on writing lately. I am finding it very satisfying and fruitful. My first assignment was to transform ten clichés (euphemisms as well, or at least, I took that liberty) – say it in a different way, make it your own. Here are my efforts in that regard.
1.) Puppy love – the bang and clatter when an angel hits the ground. 2.) Vegas wedding – the victory of hope over experience. 2a.) Vegas divorce – the victory of hope over experience. (I don’t think I should get credit for the same gag twice, much like the person who went to Vegas) 3.) Shotgun wedding -the victory of experience over youth. 4.) Better safe than sorry – the thinking ahead you do that keeps you from thinking of your behind. 5.) To be read pile – the reconciliation of infinite hope with limited means. 6.) Your worst nightmare – the dream you never have if your dreams aren’t big enough. 7.) Carts. Horses. Order is pair a mount. (I recycled this one, it’s in Aphorisms and Apothegms) 8.) An Assembly of Congress (if this isn’t a cliché what is?) – the proof and cure of Plato’s curse. (The curse of abstaining from politics is to be ruled by lesser men – updated to include women in a process dubiously known as progress.) Also known as preaching to the choir. 9.) Preaching to the choir – spoon feeding the cabinet. Also known as taking a leak. 10.) Day late and a dollar short – the carrot at the end of the stick.
Now, I like extra credit! It’s always good to have a little extra in the bank. Here are a few more. I learned these from trying to get my way (usually with women). As a policy I don’t argue with women. Better to go with the rotation.
Ax to grind – Forcing your blunt insistence against the rotation of the galaxy. The delicate dance of pissing against the wind. Shaving granddad’s mustache with the dull razor grandma uses to shave her ass. (I was cranky when I wrote this next one – I would never fire this at a specific person… ready?) a pet peccadillo prissy prancing a pent-up practiced preening perfunctorily performed perched precariously poised, perchance phlegmatically, in pursuit of a piteous pittance pledged to a pointless poison.
Grandfather had control of the keyboard when I wrote that last one, lol. I have to watch out for him, he likes to scrap and he doesn’t like to lose.
And he is a fucking asshole. Not a racist one though. Grandfather was forced to leave that at the door if he wants residence in this mind.
I like the idea of mottoes. They are akin to a cliché. A motto is a personal cliché! Families can have mottoes as well. I have thought of one for myself and my family. If I ever have a family crest made it will be two carrots crossed on a sylvan field – heraldry is a fascinating topic. My motto?
House Lannister – We always pay our debts.
House Stark – Always warning of the weather.
Chateaux Hero Nyaaah…What’s up Doc?
After I posted this, I recalled. From Hero’s Dictionary:
White Supremacy; n. That part of the pimple indicative of trouble below; just prior to a certain future – the only thing worse than a racist asshole is the letter p.
And just in case anyone is trying to read too deeply, no – I have never sexually assaulted anyone. And I challenge you to find one of my past paramours who would say I was ever threatening or abusive in any way. The last time I was in a physical altercation was when I was in the military, which, if you think about it, is not that surprising.
Let me strive every moment of my life to make myself better and better, to the best of my ability, that all may profit by it. Let me think of the right and lend all my assistance to those who need it, with no regard for anything but justice. Let me take what comes with a smile, without loss of courage. Let me be considerate of my country, of my fellow citizens and my associates in everything I say and do. Let me do right to all, and wrong no man. – The oath of Doc Savage.
You have to possess a vein of icy blue steel to get through it though.
This helps too:
Whether love lasts but one brief span of time or for eternity, it is the only creative, inspiring, elevating basis for a new race, a new world.
In our present pygmy state, love is indeed a stranger to most people. Misunderstood and shunned, it rarely takes root; or if it does, it soon withers and dies. Its delicate fibre cannot endure the stress and strain of the daily grind. Its soul is too complex to adjust itself to the slimy woof of our social fabric. It weeps and moans and suffers with those who have need of it, yet lack the capacity to rise to love’s summit.
Some day, some day, men and women will rise, they will reach the mountain peak, they will meet big and strong and free, ready to receive, to partake, and to bask in the golden rays of love. What fancy, what imagination, what poetic genius can foresee even approximately the potentialities of such a force in the life of men and women. If the world is ever to give birth to true companionship and oneness, not marriage, but love will be the parent.
―Emma Goldman
Anarchism and Other Essays
(1910)
Puppy love – the bang and clatter when an angel hits the ground.
I used to get asked, back when I got asked about these things, how I liked being a teacher. I’ve thought of this question off and on since the last time I was asked it – some time ago.
And there was a time when I had a somewhat winsome outlook about it, back when I thought I wasn’t a teacher anymore. And being a writer, I use that word on purpose. It came to me that way because of the quality of that word, the essential nature of it, that word nerds like myself understand.
That quality here is childlike. And that is how I like to look back on it. And rightly so. I was teaching children. Teenage children, which is an odd mixture of snarling tiger, bewildered confusion, and blind optimism. A heady mix. And those are the more or less adjusted ones.
Now add in the really damaged. And that means…many. It is a difficult job. And that is true if you only see it as a job. Every teacher I came across during the short time I did this job did not see it only as a job.
It is a calling. Like the priesthood. Or caring for the terminally ill. Or anything where the point is not yourself. Any job can fit this category if you find a way to see it in this light. Any job. And the reason why is because you know the point is larger than yourself. It is not for me to say what those things are.
It is yours.
Kurt Vonnegut said there was no more noble job in a democracy than that of a teacher. Now, he used to teach, so we have to give a nod and a wink to the fact he might have been being a little cheeky. I don’t think so though, because he used to teach.
I have had many teachers in my life.
Damn good teachers.
Each had their own lessons to give.
It was the damn good ones that helped me decide to pursue that path. And the qualities of the extra damn special ones really stand out.
It is summed up in a warmth of spirit, a twinkle in the eye that said, “Wanna see something cool?” A willingness to make fun of themselves and you too but in a way that you could feel had no malice in it.
We all know it when we feel it. Don Rickles made a career of it. People paid for the experience. Because they knew there was no malice in it – well as much as any humor is free of malice – Mel Brooks said, comedy is when a man walks over an open manhole cover and dies, tragedy is when I have a hangnail.
The teachers with humor were the absolute best. And those were a real rarity. But the ability to be funny isn’t necessary to be a teacher. It doesn’t take much. Just everything. All your attention, all your skill, all your everything that makes you…you.
And every teacher I’ve known does this. It is an impossible task. Sooner or later, meaning often, they stumble and pick themselves up and try again. And they do it because they must. Because it is a calling.
All my favorite teachers gave me permission to give candid responses and I was careful not to disrespect them on purpose because I liked them so very much. These teachers always loved me right back. And when that happened, I blossomed. And when they saw that, I could see they were well pleased with their calling.
All my favorite teachers showed me respect and an honest consideration for my ideas, no matter how outlandish they might at first appear. They were experts at hiding what they knew. They were experts at providing a space where everyone felt comfortable and free to express themselves without fear of reprisal.
Unless rules were broken. Most students know what the rules are. Students who are eager to please are an expert at the rules. You have to watch out for those too! They are the dangerous ones. They are the ones who become lawyers.
Or teachers.
All my favorite teachers had a special quality that was unique to themselves and therefore inexpressible. They had a knack for making the student rise. Rise to above what they even thought they were capable of.
And we are all teachers. All of us. And we are all students. All of us. We give lessons without knowing and learn them the same way. We all have the ability to help each other rise! Seeing this is hard. It takes real effort. And life is hard enough as it is without someone coming along saying you are doing it wrong.
