... Said the Born Loser to the Wall

"Humiliation - the harder you try, the dumber you look." ~ Larry Kersten

   Pride, in the purest sense, is no evil, and it is an unnatural state of being to be without pride. Pride is a good, healthy feeling. Pride in one's self, one's family, one's accomplishments, or one's values. But when we strike the reverse sideof pride, shame, we nearly always shrink from the confrontation. To be humiliated - by one's self or by others, we are knocked down, and beaten into timid submission by unrelenting shame.

   There is no simpler or more invasive pain than shame. And it is so easy to bring down upon ourselves, we are virtually predestined to shame ourselves repeatedly through our journey across the years. And sadly enough, a great number of these blows will fall on our love lives and sex lives.

   It is humiliating to find that you have mistaken the discourse between yourself and a friend of the opposite sex as flirting, and painfully humiliating to have made a sexual advance as a result of this, and been denied by your confused and shocked friend. And what perhaps is worse than the deep personal sense of embarassment is the fear that the friendship is now doomed. What can we do in such an awkward predicament?

   I would be a fool if I imagined that anyone reading this believed I wasn't writing about myself, so I will take direct credit for my foolishness. I honestly don't understand. I have thought for a long time that I was in fact being flirted with, and when what I thought was a sexual inflection in the conversation appeared to surpass mere suggestion and take the shape of an open proposition, I was sure that this was no longer a platonic dynamic. But today, much to my shame, I find that I have been entirely wrong in my interpretation.

   I am left frustrated, confused, and supremely embarassed. Furthermore, I am unable to draw from this fiasco any sensible pearl of wisdom, or any benefit at all. I fear I have alienated a valued friend, and also ruined my chances of knowing her as more, if I ever had any.    

To Wake, Perchance to Dream

"A daydream is a meal at which images are eaten. Some of us are gourmets, some gourmands, and a good many take their images precooked out of a can and swallow them down whole, absent-mindedly and with little relish" ~ W.H. Auden

      Dreams are your mind's way of telling you something - of shocking or scaring you, or delivering an encrypted message to you. But daydreams are your mind's way of giving itself whatever it wants. Daydreams are like our own personal movies, where we are the screenwriting, director, producer, and often the star. I think I'm safe in assuming that everyone indulges in fantasy from time to time, and I think it's because of this that we are able to survive the slow, humdrum spells of our lives and not go mad. We rarely get what we want in reality, but in our minds, even while we're carrying out a very real day's business, unbeknownst to those around us, we can always get exactly what we want.

   A particular day dream has occupied me quite often and for great lengths of time since I reached the thinking age, and I would like to share it with you, being generous with detail:

  

    It's early morning, sometime in my late twenties. The sun is still breaking the horizon, but is obscured by the hazy green of the willows surrounding my cozy house. My wife and I live in a quiet community, on the banks of a sleepy river, which rolls silently by as I sip my coffee and look out my back door. It's a grand morning, cool and humid with the breath of the river and the rain.

    I turn back to the room behind me, a little living room with an old, comfortable couch and a couple chairs. On the wall are photos of my beautiful wife, and my two beautiful daughters, and of our old labrador. I pick up a newspaper and see a picture of my new restaurant on the front page of the Life section.

    Walking down the shadowy hall, just barely illuminated in the twilight of the house, I crack open my bedroom door and look inside. I can see my wife's curly brown hair resting on the pillow where I left it. She is fast asleep. I look down and sniff my t-shirt - the front of it still smells like her shampoo, because she slept on my chest like she always does.

   The next door is the girls' room. My eleven-year-old looks serene, an unusual condition for her. She has her mother's hair, and in its curly glory it lies in chaos across the pillow. My seven-year-old is in the most uncomfortable-looking position you can imagine, but sleeps completely still, with a hint of a smile on her face.

  Finally is my office, and there on the loveseat where he is frequently to be found is my ridiculous, absurd dog. I think about how he makes me laugh when he follows my wife everywhere. And when he falls asleep in the oddest places and at the oddest hours. And I think about how grateful I am that he scared away the man who broke into my house last summer when my oldest was home alone. I walk in quietly, sit down next to him, and with a groan he wakes up and leans his head against my leg. As I scratch his cheek, I say, "You know, we have it pretty good, don't we?"

    Perhaps I have described it with more of a literary charm than I ever actually imagined it, but that's the virtue of writing, isn't it? And this is just an old daydream, one that I know like the back of my hand, I have dreamt it so many times. But the most wonderful and exciting daydreams are the ones we are having now, that we have at the spur of the moment.

    The funny thing about daydreams is, some of them are just real enough to come true. I know that recently, I have daydreamed quite often about a woman I know, and find myself unable to determine if this is purely a fantasy or if it may come true. To her I say this:

   I don't know what it means. But I know that you awaken me.

Let Not the Falling Whistles Go Unheard

My Friends, 

   

    This evening I once again wander from my usual format because I would like to tell my small audience about a very worthwhile and noble charity that I myself have donated to.

    The story begins with travelers, who when exploring the exotic and turmoiled nation of The Republic of Congo, discovered a tragic and atrocious crime against humanity taking place. It is common in the less-developed world for children, in times of war and civic unrest, to be forced into both state armies and paramilitary guerrilla forces. But in Congo, children too small to use a rifle are now also being exploited for martial utility - as an early warning mechanism.

    Children just old enough to walk in the fields and forests by themselves are given whistles, and sent forward into contested territory ahead of regular fighting parties, bidden to blow their whistles upon sighting the enemy. Hundreds and thousands of small children, not even old enough to attend school, are being killed and wounded in the war-ravaged land of Congo.

    These are the most profoundly disturbing casualties of the world's current deadliest civil war, and an organization called Falling Whistles, founded by those same travelers who first witnessed the monstrous sacrifice of tender youth for tactical advantage, is making a valiant effort to protest this atrocity, raise awareness, and aid in rescuing and healing the wounded and exploited children.

   On their website, you can read the story of the Falling Whistles, donate any amount you wish, and purchase your own whistle - to wear in protest and spread the word. Whistles are priced between $35 and $140, coming a variety of finishes. But the important fact is that 100% of proceeds go to helping to save the innocent victims of the Congo skirmishes, and to combat the practice politically, both in and out of Congo. 

   I strongly encourage - no - I beg all who read this to visit www.fallingwhistles.com and read the facts, and DONATE. Order your whistle, and wear it for the children. Wear it to speak for them. Wear it so that the world may not forget them. Even if you don't wear it, please give what you can spare to this admirable and important cause. 

Thank you for your time, my readers.

Joe Carpenter

http://www.fallingwhistles.com

"Hail Poetry"

"Although we live by strife, we're always sorry to begin it,

 For what, we ask, is life without a touch of Poetry in it?" 

~ W.S. Gilbert

"The  Pirates of Penzance"

   To speak is to release a little essence of yourself, which is a fine thing, if it is caught from the air and retained, but to write is to immortalize yourself. To leave that same piece of your mind, in a more succinct permutation, in perpetual existence, unchanged. 

   We who devote ourselves to this art, this religion, this love affair with language, are dreamers. We hope that our words will outlast the thoughts which produced them, and will be read by the masses, so that just a tiny part of us may live forever. Still more closer to our hearts is the desire to touch another person's heart - or soul. 

   I believe that for a writer, there is no greater pleasure than to know that we have touched someone. We may have a beloved friend who is our inspiration, and though we may have written something wonderful, that felt freeing to write and cleared our mind, a greater reward still is the pleasure that friend feels when she learns that she was your muse. For perhaps she holds a special place in your heart, and you do not know how else to express the way you love her. Perhaps few people really understand you as she does, and for this you desire to honor her in this timeless and far-reaching medium.

   Writing about someone, and knowing that they will read it is a peculiar ecstasy, for it allows us to be just as honest and also as poetic as we like, because it is easier to relate your feelings for someone when you don't have to worry about saying it right the first time. To be able to communicate the best way you know how that you respect someone - or that you love someone - is a blessing not even a god can give.

    Whether our aim is to wound or to woo, words are our weapon and our warmth. The power we sometimes have is an incredible gift, and it is one we have made ourselves. And whether the person we have touched is an old friend, a new love interest, or a unknown young woman in Missouri, it is our earnest hope that when our words were drawn into their mind, our spirits and our lives were for a moment united.  

Let Me Smush You!

“A hug is the perfect gift; one size fits all, and nobody minds if you exchange it.” ~ Unknown

   Have you ever needed a hug? All jokes aside, I believe there is really something to the idea. To be embraced by someone who cares about you and that you care about is probably one of the best feelings we get the chance to experience in our lives. To feel their person, their physical body so close to your own is, I believe, symbolic of spiritual unity. To draw someone to your breast and envelop them in your grasp is as close to becoming one being as is physically possible.

   Hugging is a sign of trust, and a language all its own between the lover and the beloved. The longer you hold them, the gentler or firmer the squeeze, the hand placement - all these and many more factors make up a very communicative body language. It's a way to show someone how much and in what way you care for them. In touching you make them feel tangibly your feelings for them.

   To tell the truth, I have needed a hug for quite a long time. The last good, honest hug I received was probably four months ago. I often experience a sort of empty sensation in my arms, as though they themselves yearn to wrap themselves around a familiar body. In particular, I ache to hug a woman. Not simply because I am heterosexual, but because there is something much more satisfying about hugging a woman - they are better at it. 

   When it comes to expressing affection through such gestures, I feel that women are so much more well-versed than we men are. A woman can melt a frozen heart with a tender embrace, and make their subject suddenly not want to let go. I must give credit to several women I know for being excellent huggers, for I find myself very often remembering vividly the good, nurtured feelings they have given me.

   Have you ever wondered what life would be like if humanity just stopped hugging? Stopped touching one another? Imagine never holding your girlfriend in your lap and just enjoying her warmth in complete stillness. Imagine never again picking up  a small child and holding them to your shoulder. Imagine how terrible saying goodbye would be. Imagine never slowdancing with your husband. Can you? 

Bad Day - and Another Girl

No quote today.

   I'm having a difficult time today, and I'll explain why. The first reason is that I have a headache that has been bothering me for about five hours. The second reason is that my depression symptoms are really getting to me today, and I feel like it would be awesome if I just lay down and went to sleep and never woke up.
   I work with a beautiful, funny, pleasant woman. She's really a lot more like me than any woman I've met in recent memory, and when I'm around her I don't feel as depressed, because I'm preoccupied with just watching her exist. Her voice is sweet and gentle, her sense of humor is excellent, and she is as playful as a child. She's wonderful. There is only one problem: she is happily married.
  I know that I can never have her, and that I should never entertain the thought of having her. And yet when she is near, my gaze is fixed on her. Today in the front seat of a crowded pickup truck, she sat immediately next to me. In this close proximity, I got a very clear sense of how perfectly sized she is - just the right height, and not a "Greek" figure but perfectly lovely nonetheless. I looked at her hands, perhaps long for a woman's hands but petite compared to mine. In this study I sat in content silence, enjoying being with her, in the small capacity that I was.
   I know I can never be more than a friend and co-worker, but is it wrong for me to admire her as I do? Is it immoral to look at her with the eyes of infatuation, and speak to her as if she were just another working stiff?
   What further complicates my predicament is that today at work there seemed, for a fraction of a second, to have been ... sexual tension? ... between us. We had been chatting a little as we worked, and a little joke about her posterior turned into an awkward moment, and unless I am mistaken, I thought I perceived a look of attraction in her eye for a brief instant.
   And so I am a mixture of sadness, annoyance, and suffering, because I like this woman very much but cannot even tell her so. On top of that there is another woman I know who I have begun to think of as a romantic object, whom I also cannot have. And, on top of that, there is as yet no sign of relief for the stress and depression I feel.
   My state of mind as I write this evening is tortured, and introspective, so I cannot write as I usually do. There is no seed of inspiration, no brilliant quote to set the theme, and no wisdom-seeking litany on topics human for me to offer you, my readers. I apologize for my woefully poor form in this installment, but ask for your understanding, as it has been a highly symptomatic day.
    What a beautiful sight is her delicate neck ...

Philios? Eros? Anguish!

"Its hard to pretend you love someone when you don't but its harder to pretend that you don't love someone when you really do" ~ Unknown 

    Love has become a common topic in this journal, but this evening I feel that I must discuss it once more, because I find myself again unable to think of anything else. I believe that we are sometimes caught in the most unfortunate of positions, caught between the love of friendship, and the love of ... love, and uncertain of which side of the line we fall on.

    We as human beings are naturally ignorant of the cosmic truth of things emotional, and sadly are doomed to wander in the fog below, trying to make sense of it all. We see only what is in front of us, and when the haze of circumstance clouds our view, it may lead us down a dangerous path. We may find ourselves thinking about a friend in more-than-friends terms. We will almost definitely desire what we cannot have. We may know that our life is not at all 'together', and that we are in no position to initiate a relationship, but ache to proceed anyway because the draw of attraction is stronger than our own sensibility.

    The heart wants what it wants. Even if we know it's not a good idea. And we cannot change what the heart wants. We cannot reason with it. We cannot tell it, "It could never work. She is there and I am here. I am a wreck and she has enough to think about." The heart will not hear, "I have nothing to offer her," or "I'm too much of a mess." Our inability to reason with our hearts is the great weakness of mankind. Our hearts lead us to dive headlong into almost certain failure because it refuses to rationalize.

   And when time, cruel time is a factor, the odds of hurting ourselves are dramatically increased. When we will only have a brief time with the object of our confusion before we are separated by circumstance, our prospects are dim indeed. The heart will start what it can't finish. And perhaps a connection will be made. Perhaps. Maybe there will be a day of closeness, a "conversation of a lifetime" a la Spanglish (incredible movie by the way), maybe even a fling, and that's where it will end. Wishful thinking on the heart's part, but a dangerous train of thought for us.

   There are questions - so many questions. If anything, we may only have a fling - is it worth it? What if she doesn't feel the same way? What if I alienate my friend? Such difficulty. What can we poor confused people do? I think we can only try to seek happiness, and come what may, we will at least grow.