Posts tagged ‘truth’

I’m more or less back…

I have a few programs back on this machine; I fought a virus for about six weeks.  I kept getting most of the programs back on and realizing that for sure the ghost in the machine was still there.  It turned out to apparently be a rootkit that was transmitted through USB media.  After I had MS repartition and reformat the hard drive it was gone on this machine.  On the 3020 Dell, I had to do it–in other words it had to be done with an OS that wasn’t hard-drive-based.   I’m still dealing with a version of Malwarebytes that doesn’t and will probably simply be abandoned due to lack of time.  I have Malwarebytes on an HP laptop that is doing admirably at combating the very same virus and I have another anti-virus suite that is not allowing it on the machine although it failed the very same test against the very same virus.  It’s possible I made a programmer angry, one who wouldn’t hesitate to hack and would be able to justify it in his own mind, just as he somehow managed to realize that the infant daughter he raped had actually been at fault somehow and had victimized him.  There are also my employers from a very long time ago who were very upset that I finally demanded payment.  In any case I’ve gotten it down to one machine that doesn’t currently have sufficient protection (not this) and then a machine most likely victimized by me.

 

I have been writing, but mostly on Twitter.  @oregonnerd is suprisingly enough my nom de la eh electric pen.  Tattoo pen? whatever.  [ref:  Alexander Graham Bell, as I recall.  Or just perhaps Ben Franklin.  One of those Good Old (Boy) Party (Members).

 

What initially prompted silence was the Advent of The Trumped Game.  And, of course, The Abominable Health Care Act.  I did not say Abdominal, thank you.  For some reason the current administration reminds me of a mix between The Three Stooges, Camp Concentration and Saturday Night Laugh-In…plus some really, really stoned high school kids.

July 24, 2017 at 6:20 pm Leave a comment

Two Studies

imaged reflections

delayed cascades
of shattered moments
eye-blurred                lens-caught
form fractal expressions
of beauty, made
by the shaping of near-molten metal,
there
are many forms of speech.

 

the image is of a smith at his (her) trade, hammering almost liquid metal

__________________________________________________________________

inflected experience*

the fragments of you i remember
i know are (half? mostly?)
certainly part self-perception

it is
like seeking true reflection
in the scattered bits
of a shattered mirror

but

frantically seeking that mirror’s repair
whether
symbol of my longlost soul
or your clear remembrance
(no matter the foreknown pain, i

struggle to recapture
that searing moment
that our meeting was

but as i struggle
to collect those fragments
somehow they cut free, and i bleed
once again
remembering you.

_____________________________________________________________________

These are both ‘studies’ in the sense that they are exercises of a kind–experiments might I suppose might be a better word–in styles and in one mixing of an experimental style I basically abandoned with my ‘normal’ style.  If there is a distinctive difference in much of my poetry and writing and general it probably results from the usage of more than one viewpoint or perspective.

*This in particular is a purely conceptual poem, the image created by a shattered mirror’s reflections (and the attempt to suggest that the apparent distortion may lend a kind of truth that may not be entirely specious). [There is also an echo of
‘sun on bright water
narcissus, shattered
by a pebble’
which was my landmark poem in that it represented a definitive step into my own style without any hint of apology.  Since I deliberately employed Grecian mythology in the poem to the extent that it is meaningless without its knowledge, it was a fairly brazen act.  I lived with and amongst Christian Reformed people–Calvinists, who abhorred idolatry.  But then my book report for the class for baptism was on Ship of Fools…  I couldn’t resist and no one called me on it.  In retrospect I still can’t believe it.  I’ll leave it to the reader to find out which particular book I mean, with the hint that popular literature was just beginning.

March 24, 2017 at 5:17 pm Leave a comment

truth

truth

it seems long since
i accosted the
strange-eyed god.
and, o, the gifts
that he gave me:
all
have brought some joy, and all some pain:

but the worst–the best–
is sight.
________________________________________________

This does seem strangely apropos to me in light of current events–as pure irony–but then I’m prejudiced, I wrote it.  It was written as irony in the first place.  Well, not pure; I try to cram as many meanings into each line and word as I can.

February 6, 2017 at 8:34 pm Leave a comment

A True Telling

December 29, 2016 2123
A True Telling (numbers are for the sayer’s sake, not the hearer’s)

these convergent lines
meaning
imply all, lend nothing.

these present shadows are cast
by past trees: fancy
does not replace reality.

a god dances,
the earth shakes.
four powers stand ready for war;
one welcomes it.

Unforeseen;
profits and losses
and final places.

No sums.
All blame.

__________________________________________________________

No comment save 2.  It is the title and it is about the present, not fictive.  I will not interpret this.  Feel free to distribute this if you see fit.  Samwise Davies wrote that and this.

December 29, 2016 at 3:39 pm Leave a comment

The Classical Blog, Starting With Meta

I find myself changing to just that; a diary rather than anything centered around a GRAND PURPOSE of (one presumes) imparting knowledge.  In fact, for one thing, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m if anything an idiot; born and years of practice and all that, you know.  This is variously inspired.  My wife engineered my meeting my erstwhile and presumable family, by which I mean the bastard–me–‘met’ [in Internet terms, no quotidian clasping of sweaty palms but rather the notional replacements for ‘RL’] was able to “meet” one, actually of my (presumable) half-siblings.  Whom I would guess I immediately and then variously disgusted.  I was a sailor and did what sailors did, yes; I was half or more than a spy and…yes, part of my life sounds like a rather bad novel.  When I said diary I didn’t mean easily penetrable by all, at least from what I’ve been repetitively told.

The meeting lasted a few days and then dwindled to silence, at first unendurable and then quite comfortable.  The parents I knew ensured variously that I couldn’t know or trust them, and when they professed love were about to perform cruelty.  My true mother’s last words to me were “Oh, Glenn, I’m so glad I couldn’t have you aborted,” repeating what she’d said just before being carted off to Montana.  My actual reactions were somewhere between “Oh, Mom, too bad you couldn’t have” and “Oh, Mom, how nice and how lovely that you’re leaving!”  Then about 4 years later the military decided I really did have the job I’d claimed, was a Vietnam (war, not era–it mattered very much to them, you see) veteran, really did see the sorts of [censored, so that I don’t pay for this later] I claimed because of the security clearance I so boringly babbled about–I was obviously narcissistic–but then again they weren’t quite sure about what I knew, they had to admit.  Which was sort of a hint to not babble too much more; in light of just that I won’t detail why.  Ask Snowden or someone knowledgeable.

I don’t know what the point of her–my notional half-sister–meeting me was.  I’m going to give an approximation of what we have in common besides some genes.  Nothing.  I’ve spent my entire life thinking about something relatively complicated which would be utterly meaningless to her.  That’s all.

Meta is or was my sister’s name.  For some reason I feel utterly sure I’ll never communicate with her again.  Oddly enough I regret having even wasted the time trying to communicate with her.  But then it was at my wife’s behest.  I’m not angry with her.  I have achieved forming a sort of necessary pattern.  That pattern is, by the way, absolutely not closure, whatever that is.  Whatever ‘it’ is, is open.  I have never made a pattern of this sort and had anyone else even give me the impression that they perceived it.

I got my precious damned Suburban back (the one that saved my life by being what I drove) and part of the body is loose.  I’m less than happy.  I am positive I have to take it back and let them fix it and that it will take a while to fix.

I am receiving steadily more braces which are steadily more constricting and also affect my balance (not my sense of balance) more and more, because managing one’s balance naturally involves the ankle muscles[/tendons] and the braces will obviate being able to use those muscles.  I am losing the struggle and it’s affecting me badly.  There is no escape from this.  That I can’t manage to stop fighting is either very good or ridiculous.  Go ahead and judge, for I cannot.

June 28, 2016 at 10:48 pm Leave a comment

The Courtroom Oath

I have sworn more than once to tell “the Truth, the whole Truth and nothing but the Truth…”  Gaud, Gode, Goode and a host of others were to assort me as I recall.

My true reply is as follows.

“Our personal perspective is formed through values and concepts.  This command [to tell the TRUTH] assumes all of them can be expressed in terms of words, and that simply isn’t so.  You know it isn’t; you’ve known it since you were a child, before you knew words.

“I cannot begin to approach saying what I perceive and feel each moment, nor can you.  To pretend to do so is itself a lie, and most of all to oneself–and leads only to being shackled by illusions.

“Nor can I set bounds around it.  I believe everything and nothing at all; I was trained to do so.  And belief must I think be the first defining characteristic of that very complex thing you would term simply truth.

“Do not at least as yet charge me with contempt, Your Honor.  I have spent my entire life, you see, in search of just that: Truth.

“And the closest I can come is…silence.‟

January 8, 2016 at 9:45 pm Leave a comment

On Truth

Before I could enter first grade at the age I did, I had to be tested.  Thoroughly.  Twice, once by a psychologist and once to ensure I could understand the teaching materials.  Remember, this is Oregon and that was the 1950s.

I already knew everything in first grade except math.  I had problems with dyslexia for the first three years of school, although I only mentioned it once.  [b:d, B:D, e, f and s are the ones I recall]  Math tied me in knots until I [the word does not exist, however it is something I learned to do then and now constantly do; it is very similar to using an abacus to do math; also some relationship to ‘haiku’ [:actually, words/ideas contracted as much as possible+1] and origami (as well as using fractals software).

By 3 years later, I had learned to lie about what I knew.  I had to claim to know less.  That was just after my adoption.

Two years later, I tested above high school graduate.

Two years later, I tested as being able to challenge any course in Bachelor-level college except math.  My parents wouldn’t allow it.  At fifteen I was offered a scholarship all the way through Dordt college.  My adopted parents wouldn’t allow it.

I needed one credit and one class to graduate when I entered my senior year of high school, and by the time I graduated from high school I had begun to live in rage.  I had been promised to graduate from bootcamp E3 rather than E2 with a guaranteed A school.  I would be able to become an officer (I turned that down, incidentally).

And in 1972 I was forced to become a ‘traffic checker’.  I was too young.  I wasn’t an E5 (I was a fucking E3).  I was on my first enlistment.  The DNC-5 said that all messages would be spelled correctly with correct punctuation and grammar.  I enforced that.  Someone pointed out to me I’d lose my privileged job if I kept on doing that with George Steele’s messages (look up Admiral, Commander Seventh Fleet, say, 1973).  They would start checking me for drugs, for instance, instead of warning me about tests.  I became more of a stickler.  They gave me a higher security clearance and for about three years I knew…EVERYTHING about the Vietnam war.  There was a minor addendum to that, no one else except the admiral did, which meant if I whispered one thing–if I screwed up once–if I ever lost control…why then, you see, they would know it was me.  Out of thousands of military personnel.  I had spies in foreign ports try to befriend me–I had our own spies test me.  I was warned I’d be followed and then I was.

And in 2012 they finally more or less admitted it.  “We don’t know precisely what Mr. [Charles] knew.”

By the way, Snowden is and was an idiot.

August 23, 2015 at 1:43 pm Leave a comment

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