On The World (And Writing) While Watching Son’s Basketball Practice

We’re on the hunt for an adventure vehicle. The 1997 Honda Odyssey we bought after a bear obliterated our shiny and paid off 2009 Honda Civic, has treated us very well so far, almost 20k miles on about atwo thousands dollar investment (not including gas of course). We’d like a 90’s Ford Econoline, maybe with a raised roof. Don’t care at all how pretty it is, just that it can get us somewhere.

We realized that the thrill of the Great Christmas Squat of 2016 had worn off. The drudgery of routine, and rational thinking lead again to more stupid, pointless fighting. The sickness that when boredom and depression take over toxic fighting feels better; is better. And for us, for anyone really with this condition, the only option is to keep jumping without a net. If you don’t face a new fear, you will have to deal with the old fear.

We’re gonna find that adventure vehicle. Pimp it out with all the gear and basics our gang of five needs, take a month off a work and go drive around. Colorado. Wyoming. Oregon. Northern California (once it stops burning). Anywhere there is something new and special for our teeth to sink into. And when we are done, sick of the road, the new things, we’ll come home to our old shack, and beds, and be happy again.

Organized sports, like school itself (all Babylon really) bring out such conflicted feelings in me. On one hand, I love seeing my dude learning, working, getting skills, proud in his effort. The seriousness the other adults put into it all, I both respect and scoff at. I know you need to push. But the attitudes and the sort of nonsensical, nonreflective way sports-kids parents cling to the activities. I can just imagine the deep fear, shock, horror, they would experience if all that time they were forced to just BE with their kids. Why can’t they just be?

And then you remember all those sports kids and how fucked up most of them end up. Unable to escape the “glory days” of the sports, unable to find any other atta boys from their parents, once the game is over.

Little league baseball was the worst. I couldn’t believe the assholes I saw there…Basketball is chiller, maybe cause it doesnt hold such a foundational place in our culture.

I’m currently reading Process: The Writing Lives of Great Authors by Sarah Stodor. I’m enjoying that. I’ve always enjoyed learning about other authors, their process. Recognizing the craziness in my colleagues makes me feel better about myself. Like Franz Kafka, learned his work was received no attention or acclaim until after his early death. There’s something so punk, or rock and roll in that. Spitting into the abyss. Not giving a fuck (an ironical statement about obsessive, neurotic Kafka of course). But it makes you think. What is so valuable in the writing process, that people forfeit all normality to sit in a room and bang their head against the wall all day, to create something that likely no one will ever read or appreciate. It the process of self-discovery, discovery of the world, but something else though too.

I think the truth is in the aspect of ourselves which is God-like. In the New Testament, Book of John says, In the Beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The Word was God. That’s it. That’s the power of writing, language, ideas, that does seperate us from the rest of the animal kingdom, and dare I say, raises us above them…further, gives us dominion over them.

You realize that training a puppy. You words command and control the beast. The treats help, but only initially to trick the beast. Then the words work. Just like the Bible stories again. In the beginning, we had peace in Garden of Eden, the treat, but eventually we needed Knowledge of Good and Evil, the word, and it ruined us…and saves us.

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