axia

There are many oft-quoted phrases in the book Alcoholics Anonymous. One of my faves: "It is a spiritual axiom that every time we are disturbed, no matter what the cause, there is something wrong with us." I don't like the term "spiritual axiom" (there's no such thing), but I do applaud what I take to be the idea, and it is true by definition, so in a retarded way kind of "axiomatic." And AA folks like to talk about spirit a lot, so there you go. But to remove the gratuitous "spirit" from the equation (it is an equation): When we are disturbed,
we are in disarray, feel icky, could probably use some help -- we are disturbed. This is what philosophers call an analytic truth, a truth by definition. True beyond any need for evidence.

As a corollary....I am taking this thing to the hilt: When everyone in my life seems to be screwing up -- especially in their interactions with me --, and I feel blocked at every turn from achieving or helping with the achievement of what I believe to be the best outcomes for every situation in my life and theirs, then My Life is a mess. And/or so am I. And their lives may only be messed up to the extent that they intersect mine. Or maybe they're not messed up at all. They just have a touch of the flu, and the flu is me. I am resistant to anti-biotics. They phase me not at all. I smile when I get paid. I try to be helpful, but I meet suspicion often, nervousness.
Shellax everybody!

my journal

A real journalist never reveals his psoriasis. Many of them work at home now, which can be a site for psoriasis. They also meet in cafes, secreted away. Over orange juice. Or perhaps with a homely wife in tow, as a disguys. My journal is completely private, although it does dwell on matters corporeal, and contains references to colonial times, generally available promotional material, and pure unadulterated hatred of the stupid things I've done. Both of them. Which I do daily. Like a real journalist.
This justin.

I saw a woman in the street this evening. Her dog barked continuously for a dog week. For a weak dog, it was impressive. There was no stopping this dog. Except the fence did. Imagine if all you could do was bark. (Perhaps you don't have to imagine) What a treet that would be. Stick to your gums! I'd say. Then I'd suggest opening a new branch. No, I will never reveal my sorcerers.

epistemology

Years ago I wrote about Gilbert Ryle, and my son responded with a lengthy quote from Wikipeedonya.

Just be glad I didn't do it again. Oh well, since I'm here....What is Knowledge? Hmmm?

Knowledge is justified true belief.

That was easy. (til you get down to cases)

I knew it! She never really loved me. (I was justified in my deeply held belief, but foo, it was not true)

so far under the radar

I spent a jurassic park ton of energy this week helping prep a "show" in a chichi venue in the new Austin Town with, really, a bunch of friends of mine, who were at the very least cooperative. Some were diligent. Some were inspiring. The whole thing was a blast really, replete with Roy Boy Benet, bona fide star, who was charming, and rockin triple fiddles, and probably the most exciting lapsteel player living, and some great singers, great rhythm section and on and on. There were 4 rehearsals and then a show. Which received a standing ovation (I think the chichi people who could afford it were glad to get on their feet after 90 minutes of unrelenting western swing). Here's the thing. At no portion of this was there a videographer, photographer, nor was there even any audio recording (who wants that??). I screwed up. And afterwards, I slept like a rock for 10 solid hours. And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming, which included, yesterday, a single cello overdub session on an interesting record by a youngish new artist. The photographer must have snapped a hundred shots of just me. Then the camera broke. No one can see me. No one must see me.
I must move deeper underground. And write better.