pantoum's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- SMART BRAIN, OR, SEE BRAIN RUN. RUN BRAIN RUN! 317. The philosopher Umberto Eco, who taught himself to eat and walk and shave and live and write faster in order to get more work done, once said I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth. I share this suspicion yet obsess about meaning, ask myself why it is that Pottergrrrl really distanced herself from me, where Tree�s diagnosis falls in all this, if the two of them are involved again (which I believe in my gut is true), if Pottergrrrl just needed space and I was her Reboundgrrrl, if she really did hate my body all these months and how this reality could possibly coexist with her obvious attraction to me, if she really does love me, as she says, but is unwilling to live with an �unhealthy meat-eater� who won�t change to suit her demands. My own mad attempts to interpret her actions underlie most of my activities right now, even though I just want to move on. Eco studied semiotics, a relatively new field in which philosophers analyze the complex meanings of cultural, and especially pop, products: Michael Jordan bobbleheads and the bucking chicken commercial and Mr. Bill and Bond. James Bond and Brangelina and the American Idol phenomenon and Superman comic books and that vapid Barbara Walters television show in which seemingly intelligent women speak simultaneously and loudly, saying such things as �Well, I call other women bitch, sure I do, and don�t tell me you don�t either��a show that MUST be some male producer�s idea of what women do when we are alone together (besides, of course, tie each other up ad fist-fuck each other to earth-trembling orgasms). So what is it about Americans and our cultural products, our stuff, that makes us max out our credit cards and pay exorbitant interest rates just to garner more stuff? Are commercials really that persuasive or do we lack some core meaning and so go on mad spending frenzies in an effort to feel meaningful? Why would we rather be consumers than citizen activists? On tonight�s Daily Show Jon Stewart riffed on the genetically altered �healthy� omega-3 hogs�which BTW scientists have altered to match naturally healthier but rare Iber�co hogs (which one of my friends raises to mostly sell to expensive organic NYC restaurants, although I can occasionally purchase some of the good stuff too). Stewart asked �Why should we eat in moderation when a scientist can just change an entire species� genetic make-up to benefit our fat asses?� or something along those lines. Why indeed. And why do we prefer poison to spots on our apples? I have another question. Why do so many Americans prefer Disney�s sanitized re-creation of foreign lands to the real thing, step boldly into Epcot�s France, where people smell good and smile at us even when we ask for ketchup? Why do we prefer Epcot to the real thing? Don�t we want to know why so many foreigners despise Americans, how other cultures live? (Wait. I know the answer to that.) Why do we lock ourselves in gated communities and walk around convinced that mass murderers lurk just outside our double-dead-bolted doors, yet continue to watch sensationalized news reports and gory crime shows that create this landscape in our imaginations? And could our greediness for consumer products and our isolationism tendencies and religious strictures mask our own desperate need for authentic expression, our fear of our own emptiness in a culture that insists that we be workaholics? What would help us find meaning? Eco says I'm not saying there's no difference between Homer and Walt Disney. But Mickey Mouse can be perfect in the sense that a Japanese haiku is. � On the other hand, Tom Robbins (in Still Life with Woodpecker) writes
and yeah, oh yeah, enough already about sexual innuendo and sexual attraction and my dumb dumb dump Spanish eyes that always turn toward beauty while my brain ignores just about any dysfunction so long as we are making each other scream into the night. Another question. Why don�t we learn? � Now it�s 10 PM and Southpark is experiencing a SMUG ALERT, induced by too many smug hybrid drivers (and perhaps a smug potter who thinks she can dictate how others live their lives). The smug people fart, then bend down to smell themselves, say ah. A nice detail. The smug Southparkians and smug San Franciscans are threatened by a Perfect Storm of self-satisfaction though, since a smug cloud that has been floating across the country since George Clooney gave his Academy Award acceptance speech is on a course to collide with their smog er smug. OMG I love this show. � Happiness is to know my savior Pottergrrrl grew up singing that in her Seventh Day Adventist church and I grew up reluctantly singing it in my Southern (twitch) Baptist church. Our common cultural icons that color our worlds (and now that old Chicago song is stuck in my head. It�s that easy). We were taught that it�s sinful to follow our impulses, to �trust the sanity of our vessel� (to use a wonderful Frank O�Hara line), to change our behavior to appease someone else, even a mythical someone else. And I can�t do it. My pal Computergrrl said today that she is certain that Pottergrrrl is involved with Tree again, that this is the only thing that makes sense. Shakespeare and Filmgrrl say so too. As for me, I�m just trying to breathe in and out and accept What Is while resisting the urge to attach projected meanings to what is, essentially, a mystery break-up without much notice. And remember that Tree�s third chemo treatment is tomorrow. And remember that both Pottergrrrl and Tree described themselves as each other�s soul mates ... only Tree is involved with Holly too�who, conveniently, lives here during the week. But here I am working, building a mystery. Uh huh. When I should just close with a poem: THE RIDER
LISTENING TO: Alison Krauss�s �Maybe� (yesterday the odds were stacked in favor of my expectations....) READING: The Epoch Times, which someone tossed in my driveway and which appears to be a Falun Gong publication. BEST-OF SPAM: Smart brain: the subliminal software they tried to ban! 11:27 p.m. - 2006-4-4 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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