mark Jabbour's Blog
August 26, 2019
March 26, 2019
February 11, 2019
January 11, 2019
Wake up?
DENVER – Mark Jabbour is an atheist, a former democrat, progressive, feminist, former President Barack Obama delegate and a President Donald Trump voter. His book titled “Election 2016: The Great Divide, the Great Debate” (published by Xlibris) is his story, a personal account of how and why he became a vocal supporter of Donald Trump and the costs of that choice. It is also the story of humankind and how and why the species became “who we are” and why the American people have come to be so divided and on the verge of a catastrophic situation whi ch can lead to war.
The book shares a collection of essays written in real time, reacting to and predicting the emergence of Donald Trump as a viable, then winning candidate — interrupted periodically by fictional analysis from the author and fictional characters, demonstrating the psychological aspects of the campaign regarding the American psyche. In addition, there are fictional futuristic happenings and speculations about what could happen. There are a number of footnotes, some cite sources, some are explanatory and some are updates of relevant subject matter. Taken as a whole, it is a story about an unprecedented event in American and world history.
“It tells the story of a world-changing event with far-reaching consequences that should be of concern to everyone. In addition, it will enable the reader to explain how and why Trump won as well as how anyone in his or her right, smart mind could vote for him,” Jabbour says. “Its approach is from a psychological, evolutionary, historical perspective.”
“Election 2016: The Great Divide, the Great Debate” aims to give an accurate, entertaining analysis and accounting of unprecedented events from a unique perspective, and hopefully will help readers bridge “The Great Divide.” “Trump’s win was earned fairly without Russian collusion. He, and it, should be celebrated and he be given the opportunity to govern according to his platform,” Jabbour concludes.
“Election 2016: The Great Divide, the Great Debate”
By Mark Jabbour
Hardcover | 6 x 9in | 358 pages | ISBN 9781984564733 Softcover | 6 x 9in | 358 pages | ISBN 9781984564726 E-Book | 358 pages | ISBN 9781984564719
Available at Amazon and Barnes & Noble
About the Author
Mark Edward Jabbour is 68 years old, born of a military family, with a bachelor’s degree in psychology and anthropology, cum laude (1996), with graduate studies in social work. He has lived in four countries and nine states. In his life, he has owned, built, sold and/or given away possessions, equities, businesses and homes. He is curious, open-minded, creative, adventurous, risk-taking and free-spirited. He has tended minds — young and old, male and female, watched loved ones be born and die, wrote and had published novels and nonfiction essays and recently helped others to write at Front Range Community College, Colorado. This is his fourth book.
The book shares a collection of essays written in real time, reacting to and predicting the emergence of Donald Trump as a viable, then winning candidate — interrupted periodically by fictional analysis from the author and fictional characters, demonstrating the psychological aspects of the campaign regarding the American psyche. In addition, there are fictional futuristic happenings and speculations about what could happen. There are a number of footnotes, some cite sources, some are explanatory and some are updates of relevant subject matter. Taken as a whole, it is a story about an unprecedented event in American and world history.
“It tells the story of a world-changing event with far-reaching consequences that should be of concern to everyone. In addition, it will enable the reader to explain how and why Trump won as well as how anyone in his or her right, smart mind could vote for him,” Jabbour says. “Its approach is from a psychological, evolutionary, historical perspective.”
“Election 2016: The Great Divide, the Great Debate” aims to give an accurate, entertaining analysis and accounting of unprecedented events from a unique perspective, and hopefully will help readers bridge “The Great Divide.” “Trump’s win was earned fairly without Russian collusion. He, and it, should be celebrated and he be given the opportunity to govern according to his platform,” Jabbour concludes.
“Election 2016: The Great Divide, the Great Debate”
By Mark Jabbour
Hardcover | 6 x 9in | 358 pages | ISBN 9781984564733 Softcover | 6 x 9in | 358 pages | ISBN 9781984564726 E-Book | 358 pages | ISBN 9781984564719
Available at Amazon and Barnes & Noble
About the Author
Mark Edward Jabbour is 68 years old, born of a military family, with a bachelor’s degree in psychology and anthropology, cum laude (1996), with graduate studies in social work. He has lived in four countries and nine states. In his life, he has owned, built, sold and/or given away possessions, equities, businesses and homes. He is curious, open-minded, creative, adventurous, risk-taking and free-spirited. He has tended minds — young and old, male and female, watched loved ones be born and die, wrote and had published novels and nonfiction essays and recently helped others to write at Front Range Community College, Colorado. This is his fourth book.
April 13, 2014
Louis C K & the fiction writer
What do Louis C. K., stand up comic, & The Fiction Writer have in common? I just watched LCK's latest stand up show: "Live at the Beacon Theater" via my MacBook, in my own home, Saturday night, for five bucks, and I was grinning from ear to ear even before he got into the part about smoking the new, not the old, weed, which made me, that's right! Right as rain, you bet, made me - pause the show - reach over to the end of my desk and open up my little stash box and get out my little gray pipe and slide into its little bowl a pinch of Purple Haze, and then ... find and strike a match and put the fire to the pot and then ... breathe in slowly and then ... I unpaused the show and laughed until my cheeks hurt.
I have been watching, and listening to, Louis C. K. for exactly a year. Ever since Jake turned me on to him on a road trip across the high desert and I remember saying to Jake, "No way that dude stays married," and Jake says, "He's not. He got divorced last year." And you know how I knew? Because this guy, Louis C. K., was speaking truth to power--the power of pussy. And I know that sounds crude but if you watch LCK's routines you'll know exactly what I mean. There just isn't any way a woman is going to be/remain with that man because when he's on stage, and also now in his serial TV show on FX, he says things about men and women and children that nobody has dared say out loud before but are mostly true and because it's Comedy he can deny it and say "just kidding." Which Freud discovered was never true - that a person is kidding when they say 'just kidding.' It is the same with the best fiction writers, who can tell the way things really are, because it is only Fiction. Hunter Thompson said, "Fiction is a bridge to the truth that journalism can't reach." He said that a long time ago, knew it, and that probably launched his, at the time, ground breaking "Gonzo Journalism." Which blew the lid off the lies that politicians have had to push to please the people that profess they want the truth - but everyone knows - not really, because reality and honesty isn't flattering. That it's not really feel-good, I'm-looking-out-for-you, I love you actual fact and it's often better to lie if you can get away with it than not. Which puts some of us "folks" who are cursed/blessed with the ability to see things the way they really are, and whose denial and self-deception mechanism came somehow unhooked, in a bind. Because, believe it or not, we "folks" still get lonely and need a little nooky so have had to come up with ways we can get some, and also - some respect and some money so ... we write comedy and stories about what we see and tell everyone, "It's Not True. I just made that shit up. You didn't think I was talking about You. Did you? Nooo, no. I was just kidding." So LCK puts up the disclaimer that his TV show, which stars a character named Louis C. K. played by him, is not him, and any resemblance to him, or anyone else also, is merely coincidence. And David Foster Wallace writes in The Pale King: "The Pale King is basically a nonfiction memoir, with additional elements of reconstructive journalism, organizational psychology, elementary civics and tax theory, ..." (pg. 73) and " ... this right here is me as a real person, David Wallace, age forty, ... . All of this is true. This book is really true." (pg. 66-67) " The only bona fide 'fiction' here is the copyright page's disclaimer-- ... ." But of course, no one believes him and then they ask: "Why did he kill himself, when he had a wife who loved him, and so many friends, and money and success, and, and ... ?" Watch the episode of Louis with Eddie, where Eddie is a failed stand-up comic off on a final binge before offing himself and tell me if you think it's funny, or not true, and LCK is just kidding. Seriously, this guy is funny and dead on.
But like Wallace, he's not for everyone, because, like Wallace his fiction tells his story truthfully and for most people - that's just too much truth to take.
December 14, 2011
I have been watching, and listening to, Louis C. K. for exactly a year. Ever since Jake turned me on to him on a road trip across the high desert and I remember saying to Jake, "No way that dude stays married," and Jake says, "He's not. He got divorced last year." And you know how I knew? Because this guy, Louis C. K., was speaking truth to power--the power of pussy. And I know that sounds crude but if you watch LCK's routines you'll know exactly what I mean. There just isn't any way a woman is going to be/remain with that man because when he's on stage, and also now in his serial TV show on FX, he says things about men and women and children that nobody has dared say out loud before but are mostly true and because it's Comedy he can deny it and say "just kidding." Which Freud discovered was never true - that a person is kidding when they say 'just kidding.' It is the same with the best fiction writers, who can tell the way things really are, because it is only Fiction. Hunter Thompson said, "Fiction is a bridge to the truth that journalism can't reach." He said that a long time ago, knew it, and that probably launched his, at the time, ground breaking "Gonzo Journalism." Which blew the lid off the lies that politicians have had to push to please the people that profess they want the truth - but everyone knows - not really, because reality and honesty isn't flattering. That it's not really feel-good, I'm-looking-out-for-you, I love you actual fact and it's often better to lie if you can get away with it than not. Which puts some of us "folks" who are cursed/blessed with the ability to see things the way they really are, and whose denial and self-deception mechanism came somehow unhooked, in a bind. Because, believe it or not, we "folks" still get lonely and need a little nooky so have had to come up with ways we can get some, and also - some respect and some money so ... we write comedy and stories about what we see and tell everyone, "It's Not True. I just made that shit up. You didn't think I was talking about You. Did you? Nooo, no. I was just kidding." So LCK puts up the disclaimer that his TV show, which stars a character named Louis C. K. played by him, is not him, and any resemblance to him, or anyone else also, is merely coincidence. And David Foster Wallace writes in The Pale King: "The Pale King is basically a nonfiction memoir, with additional elements of reconstructive journalism, organizational psychology, elementary civics and tax theory, ..." (pg. 73) and " ... this right here is me as a real person, David Wallace, age forty, ... . All of this is true. This book is really true." (pg. 66-67) " The only bona fide 'fiction' here is the copyright page's disclaimer-- ... ." But of course, no one believes him and then they ask: "Why did he kill himself, when he had a wife who loved him, and so many friends, and money and success, and, and ... ?" Watch the episode of Louis with Eddie, where Eddie is a failed stand-up comic off on a final binge before offing himself and tell me if you think it's funny, or not true, and LCK is just kidding. Seriously, this guy is funny and dead on.
But like Wallace, he's not for everyone, because, like Wallace his fiction tells his story truthfully and for most people - that's just too much truth to take.
December 14, 2011
September 27, 2013
Sunsets & Vistas
I'm reading "Gone With the Wind" & was struck by Mitchell's wonderful writing of the setting, setting the tone for the story, a word lyric, if you will. And that reminded me of other authors' writing (and yes, myself included) so I put together this page. Enjoy!
SUNSETS/vistas
Gone with the wind (1936) Margaret Mitchell
Here in north Georgia was a rugged section held by a hardy people. High upon the plateau at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains, she saw rolling hills wherever she looked, with huge outcroppings of the underlying granite and gaunt pines towering somberly everywhere. It all seemed wild and untamed to her coast-bred eyes accustomed to the quiet jungle beauty of the sea islands draped in their gray moss and tangled green, the white stretches of beach hot beneath a semitropic sun, the long flat vistas of sandy land studded with palmetto and palm. (72)
Centennial (1974) James Michener
It was at sunset that the mountains came into their own, for on some days clouds would rest over them like a bright blanket and reflect the dying sun. Then the mountains would be bathed in splendor: gold and red and soft radiant browns and deep blues would color the underside of the clouds and frame the mountains in a celestial light, so that even the most stolid Indiana immigrant would have to halt his oxen and look in amazement at a setting so grand that it seemed to have been ordained solely for the stupefaction of mankind. (104)
Infinite Jest (1996) David Foster Wallace
And as well the sunset over the foothills and mountains behind him: such a difference from the watery and somehow sad spring sunsets of southwestern Québec’s Papineau regions, where his wife had need of care. This (the sunset) more resembled an explosion. It took place above and behind him, and he turned some of the time to regard it: it (the sunset) was swollen and perfectly round, and large, radiating knives of light when he squinted. It hung and trembled slightly like a viscous drop about to fall. It hung just above the peaks of the Tortolia foothills behind him (Marathe), and slowly was sinking. (88)
Attachment (2006) Mark Jabbour
The next day, the ocean was nearly flat. Catching the sun’s rays were small, rolling one-way mirrors masquerading as breakers. Dark clouds collected on the horizon. North, fog draped the Cascade Head. (203)
I looked out to the edge of the earth, and beneath the black clouds a partial rainbow appeared. Purple, blue, green, and yellow arched, one end stuck into the flat, gray sea, the other disappearing in the dark, threatening sky. It was incredibly beautiful, but short-lived. The rainbow disappeared—the ominous clouds swallowed it. Is that you, God? (225)
SUNSETS/vistas
Gone with the wind (1936) Margaret Mitchell
Here in north Georgia was a rugged section held by a hardy people. High upon the plateau at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains, she saw rolling hills wherever she looked, with huge outcroppings of the underlying granite and gaunt pines towering somberly everywhere. It all seemed wild and untamed to her coast-bred eyes accustomed to the quiet jungle beauty of the sea islands draped in their gray moss and tangled green, the white stretches of beach hot beneath a semitropic sun, the long flat vistas of sandy land studded with palmetto and palm. (72)
Centennial (1974) James Michener
It was at sunset that the mountains came into their own, for on some days clouds would rest over them like a bright blanket and reflect the dying sun. Then the mountains would be bathed in splendor: gold and red and soft radiant browns and deep blues would color the underside of the clouds and frame the mountains in a celestial light, so that even the most stolid Indiana immigrant would have to halt his oxen and look in amazement at a setting so grand that it seemed to have been ordained solely for the stupefaction of mankind. (104)
Infinite Jest (1996) David Foster Wallace
And as well the sunset over the foothills and mountains behind him: such a difference from the watery and somehow sad spring sunsets of southwestern Québec’s Papineau regions, where his wife had need of care. This (the sunset) more resembled an explosion. It took place above and behind him, and he turned some of the time to regard it: it (the sunset) was swollen and perfectly round, and large, radiating knives of light when he squinted. It hung and trembled slightly like a viscous drop about to fall. It hung just above the peaks of the Tortolia foothills behind him (Marathe), and slowly was sinking. (88)
Attachment (2006) Mark Jabbour
The next day, the ocean was nearly flat. Catching the sun’s rays were small, rolling one-way mirrors masquerading as breakers. Dark clouds collected on the horizon. North, fog draped the Cascade Head. (203)
I looked out to the edge of the earth, and beneath the black clouds a partial rainbow appeared. Purple, blue, green, and yellow arched, one end stuck into the flat, gray sea, the other disappearing in the dark, threatening sky. It was incredibly beautiful, but short-lived. The rainbow disappeared—the ominous clouds swallowed it. Is that you, God? (225)
July 7, 2013
Good fiction
Bloodmoney: A novel of espionage (2011) David Ignatius
Last night I wanted a good book to read – some fiction – I read a lot of non-fiction but I wasn’t in the mood. I wanted a good story with some bite to it, not fluff or fantasy. I tried a Nora Roberts novel but that bordered on pushing me towards the edge—and jumping. I think what I was wanting was another book like Bloodmoney. It’s topical and about big ideas. It’s about people—people not like me but who live in the world, too. It’s about the craziness that is “The War on Terror.” It’s about one of my favorite subjects— lying, and the professional liars, the intelligence services, that sneak around the world trying to manipulate people into coming around to their (= the people who are in power in a particular place) point of view, or belief – which is that what they believe is The Truth. Something like tolerance, truth, and science doesn’t have much respect in the world of professional liars. That world isn’t really much different from the world of non-professional liars except for this: Smart people (professionals) lie to others, and stupid people (most everyone else) lie to themselves. Stupid people are dupes and rubes and victims and happy idiots who are exploited by smart people; and also about the contrast between two very different POVs. One is old, pre-literate, & closed (Afghanistan/Pakistan and all the other Stans), and the other (The US or us) is new, literate, and open – you might say “post-modern.” So we’ve got this crazy mix of old & new weapons of war about the oldest of wars – who gets to dominate who, which is ultimately about sex, money, power & revenge, motives for murder – the ultimate expression of dominance.
Ignatius isn’t the greatest of writers, not close, but not so bad so as to not be readable. His characters are flat and stereotyped. (Maybe archetypal is kinder.) In fact the CIA AD was Russell Crowe from Body of Lies, Ignatius’ previous “War on Terror” novel/movie. I think he changed the guy’s first name but his surname was the same. But this time the protagonist is a female USA spy. Yay. But she’s not very interesting. None of the characters are. They are flat, boring, my least favorite type of people in books and in real life – be they smart or stupid. My problem is I just don’t like liars – got little tolerance for it (See Degrees of Lying).
But, but, but, Ignatius is digging into something important here. According to him in the notes at the end of the book – the big idea here is how to go about ending war. And guess what? Yep, there are two different approaches, to that end, expressed by the different cultures – the old and the new. The old demands a face-to-face tête-à-tête. An asking for forgiveness and a granting of such. The new believes that face-to-face is blasé. That is: That when someone doesn’t agree with you can destroy them from a distance by bomb or blog, or if that doesn’t work, you can bribe them with cash via an envelope in a clandestine meet with an anonymous currier. One approach is intimate, say by rape and blade, and the other dispassionate, by bribe and bomb. So we fight about how we fight. And this is true. What we have here folks, when we dig down deep to the root of the tree in the garden
– is a failure to communicate. Good fiction.
Last night I wanted a good book to read – some fiction – I read a lot of non-fiction but I wasn’t in the mood. I wanted a good story with some bite to it, not fluff or fantasy. I tried a Nora Roberts novel but that bordered on pushing me towards the edge—and jumping. I think what I was wanting was another book like Bloodmoney. It’s topical and about big ideas. It’s about people—people not like me but who live in the world, too. It’s about the craziness that is “The War on Terror.” It’s about one of my favorite subjects— lying, and the professional liars, the intelligence services, that sneak around the world trying to manipulate people into coming around to their (= the people who are in power in a particular place) point of view, or belief – which is that what they believe is The Truth. Something like tolerance, truth, and science doesn’t have much respect in the world of professional liars. That world isn’t really much different from the world of non-professional liars except for this: Smart people (professionals) lie to others, and stupid people (most everyone else) lie to themselves. Stupid people are dupes and rubes and victims and happy idiots who are exploited by smart people; and also about the contrast between two very different POVs. One is old, pre-literate, & closed (Afghanistan/Pakistan and all the other Stans), and the other (The US or us) is new, literate, and open – you might say “post-modern.” So we’ve got this crazy mix of old & new weapons of war about the oldest of wars – who gets to dominate who, which is ultimately about sex, money, power & revenge, motives for murder – the ultimate expression of dominance.
Ignatius isn’t the greatest of writers, not close, but not so bad so as to not be readable. His characters are flat and stereotyped. (Maybe archetypal is kinder.) In fact the CIA AD was Russell Crowe from Body of Lies, Ignatius’ previous “War on Terror” novel/movie. I think he changed the guy’s first name but his surname was the same. But this time the protagonist is a female USA spy. Yay. But she’s not very interesting. None of the characters are. They are flat, boring, my least favorite type of people in books and in real life – be they smart or stupid. My problem is I just don’t like liars – got little tolerance for it (See Degrees of Lying).
But, but, but, Ignatius is digging into something important here. According to him in the notes at the end of the book – the big idea here is how to go about ending war. And guess what? Yep, there are two different approaches, to that end, expressed by the different cultures – the old and the new. The old demands a face-to-face tête-à-tête. An asking for forgiveness and a granting of such. The new believes that face-to-face is blasé. That is: That when someone doesn’t agree with you can destroy them from a distance by bomb or blog, or if that doesn’t work, you can bribe them with cash via an envelope in a clandestine meet with an anonymous currier. One approach is intimate, say by rape and blade, and the other dispassionate, by bribe and bomb. So we fight about how we fight. And this is true. What we have here folks, when we dig down deep to the root of the tree in the garden
– is a failure to communicate. Good fiction.
March 26, 2012
Books, 2012
Books, e-books, reading, bookstores, bookshelves & the Pointer World.
Stuffed and feeling as if I wasn’t doing my fair share of contributing to society, after lunch with a friend in Boulder, Colorado, I spied a Barnes & Noble across the lot and thought I could remedy both feelings by getting some much needed exercise for both my mind and body by browsing the bookstore’s aisles for thought provoking and informative literature; but that turned out not to be the case. That thought was a fool’s fantasy.
I write (obviously) and read – a lot. I also teach classes in creative writing, as well as having been the proud, very, very proud, owner and operator of “Stories: A Bookstore,” in Evergreen, Colorado, back-in-the-day (2001-2). But, the book and bookstore experience today can be frustrating and overwhelming, and even detrimental to one’s mental health if one isn’t careful, vigilant, and discerning. Yes.
Consider: What to read? I walked into the store, excited, with not a real sense of purpose as to what I wanted, other than “something good” – meaning well written and informative about a person, place, or thing. All. Some Thing to take home with me and spend time with, even in bed and/or to share a meal with – to assuage my aloneness instead of the talking, no not talking but shouting, heads on the TV or some “news” documentary, or some director’s and corporate sponsor’s idea of what is “entertaining,” or my “friends” Facebook posts’ or any of Youtube’s (Is it a person, or a program?) suggestions as to what I might want to watch. In other words, I wanted a book to be intimate with.
I stood, feeling lost, and slowly turned, back and forth, like Mitt Romney at a town hall meeting – trying to think clearly and connect. I thought, Too many books, too many choices. I need some help … and then a clerk appeared and asked if he could help. “Literature, essays, fiction …” I said, shrugging and pointing, as if I flipping pages on my smartphone. “Follow me,” he said, and took me to where I had thought I wanted to be. “Anything in particular?” he asked politely. “No, I’ll just browse,” then added as he seemingly vaporized, “thanks.” I recognized some authors, many, but no, no, no. Ahh, Fransen; How To Be Alone. I flipped to page 99 … What am I doing, I thought, I’m an expert on living alone. I don’t need more of that! Here’s one, Christopher Hitchens’ Arguably. I’d seen Hitchens on TV and thought him erudite and pompous. I read in his introduction referencing another writer and thinker, “… a serious person should try to write posthumously. By that I took her to mean that one should compose as if the usual constraints—of fashion, commerce, self-censorship, public, and perhaps, especially intellectual opinion—did not operate.” And I put the book back. Confirmed. Russell Banks, a truly great writer of fiction said it this way, “I write to my dogs.”
I tried a few other books, but was beginning to feel agoraphobic—too many books, too many unknown people, much too much anonymity in a crowd—increasing the feeling of aloneness, the exact opposite of that which I had hoped for. I decided then I’d go home, where I felt comfortable and was reading an e-book some stranger had sent me. The cyber person wanted me to review it because, she (?) said, “After reading your reviews, I think you will enjoy the read.” And the clincher, “Thanks for your wonderful work.” Nice, I thought. I read ‘her’ novel and then thought, what a mess. I had wanted to fuck the “heroine,” a loopy, over-sexed, rich, young, heiress, but that wasn’t enough to make it worth the ten hours I’d spent with it (‘her.’) I could get the same affect with a few minutes of porn on the Net.
I can’t ever get that time back. Does she know that, the e-book cyber author, who used a pen name. A “pen-name!” What an insult! You can’t trust anything about what a writer writes who writes under a false name. (And by extension - all of the new IT/pointer world must also be held suspect.)
There is a problem in publishing now. (Not that there wasn’t before.) There are too many books, and far too many not very good ones. Even if you allow for personal preferences. Consider a book like Franzen’s Freedom. It debuts as #1 on the New York Times bestseller list before it is even released, and then it is both loved and hated by professional critics. As for non-professionals: of 1,033 readers who bothered to review it on Amazon, 285 gave it five stars, and 298 gave it one star; and “2,862 of 3,260 people found the following review helpful,” says the bot-blurb at Amazon, and said review had just one star. What to make of all of that information? But I bought it anyway and read it, because I had to because of all the hype. Franzen was on the cover of Time! Before the release! I had read his earlier novel, The Corrections, and thought it was amazing but awful, despite it being named the best novel of the decade. (Which is why I thought I had to read it, too.) But none of that means anything because the money was already banked. The money was “in the bank” before Franzen even wrote one word of Freedom. Such is the publishing industry now. (You can read my review of Freedom here, as well as on Amazon and Goodreads.)
So we have strangers and bots and authors and “friends” recommending books for us to read, but the question remains unanswered. With “Stories,” as well as other small, local, independent bookstores, the owner and staff generally know all their customers personally. I knew every book in my store, as well as every customer (we called them “bookies”) and could match them up—book to bookie. I was a matchmaker. But times have changed. Now there are very few such bookstores, fewer serious readers, and more writers and books; and blogs and movies and Youtube videos and friends and tweets and texts and pictures, and e-books and “zines” … all competing for your time and attention … and less and less intimacy, honesty, and authenticity. And everyone complains as they immerse and surround their selves in “IT” — the pointer world.
Back-in-the-day, before IT and the Pointer World, one of the surest gateways to intimacy, and even to a person’s personality (beneath the mask you could say) was a person’s bookshelf. (Guess what it said if there was no bookshelf and no books, just magazines.) The bookshelf and its contents could tell you so much about a person. How many were there? In what rooms? Where in the room? What kind of wood was it, or was the bookshelf manufactured and made in China? Was it handcrafted? What books were on it? How were they ordered? Or not. Had they been read? Highlighted? Written in? In the margins? What did the reader say about what the writer said? None of these clues could be faked. A few minutes, a few hours – and you were intimates. You knew who you were sharing space with … and could decide if you wanted to continue … if you wanted more—more of that person’s time and attention, maybe even to become true mates—intimates. Friends. You might even fall in love.
Stuffed and feeling as if I wasn’t doing my fair share of contributing to society, after lunch with a friend in Boulder, Colorado, I spied a Barnes & Noble across the lot and thought I could remedy both feelings by getting some much needed exercise for both my mind and body by browsing the bookstore’s aisles for thought provoking and informative literature; but that turned out not to be the case. That thought was a fool’s fantasy.
I write (obviously) and read – a lot. I also teach classes in creative writing, as well as having been the proud, very, very proud, owner and operator of “Stories: A Bookstore,” in Evergreen, Colorado, back-in-the-day (2001-2). But, the book and bookstore experience today can be frustrating and overwhelming, and even detrimental to one’s mental health if one isn’t careful, vigilant, and discerning. Yes.
Consider: What to read? I walked into the store, excited, with not a real sense of purpose as to what I wanted, other than “something good” – meaning well written and informative about a person, place, or thing. All. Some Thing to take home with me and spend time with, even in bed and/or to share a meal with – to assuage my aloneness instead of the talking, no not talking but shouting, heads on the TV or some “news” documentary, or some director’s and corporate sponsor’s idea of what is “entertaining,” or my “friends” Facebook posts’ or any of Youtube’s (Is it a person, or a program?) suggestions as to what I might want to watch. In other words, I wanted a book to be intimate with.
I stood, feeling lost, and slowly turned, back and forth, like Mitt Romney at a town hall meeting – trying to think clearly and connect. I thought, Too many books, too many choices. I need some help … and then a clerk appeared and asked if he could help. “Literature, essays, fiction …” I said, shrugging and pointing, as if I flipping pages on my smartphone. “Follow me,” he said, and took me to where I had thought I wanted to be. “Anything in particular?” he asked politely. “No, I’ll just browse,” then added as he seemingly vaporized, “thanks.” I recognized some authors, many, but no, no, no. Ahh, Fransen; How To Be Alone. I flipped to page 99 … What am I doing, I thought, I’m an expert on living alone. I don’t need more of that! Here’s one, Christopher Hitchens’ Arguably. I’d seen Hitchens on TV and thought him erudite and pompous. I read in his introduction referencing another writer and thinker, “… a serious person should try to write posthumously. By that I took her to mean that one should compose as if the usual constraints—of fashion, commerce, self-censorship, public, and perhaps, especially intellectual opinion—did not operate.” And I put the book back. Confirmed. Russell Banks, a truly great writer of fiction said it this way, “I write to my dogs.”
I tried a few other books, but was beginning to feel agoraphobic—too many books, too many unknown people, much too much anonymity in a crowd—increasing the feeling of aloneness, the exact opposite of that which I had hoped for. I decided then I’d go home, where I felt comfortable and was reading an e-book some stranger had sent me. The cyber person wanted me to review it because, she (?) said, “After reading your reviews, I think you will enjoy the read.” And the clincher, “Thanks for your wonderful work.” Nice, I thought. I read ‘her’ novel and then thought, what a mess. I had wanted to fuck the “heroine,” a loopy, over-sexed, rich, young, heiress, but that wasn’t enough to make it worth the ten hours I’d spent with it (‘her.’) I could get the same affect with a few minutes of porn on the Net.
I can’t ever get that time back. Does she know that, the e-book cyber author, who used a pen name. A “pen-name!” What an insult! You can’t trust anything about what a writer writes who writes under a false name. (And by extension - all of the new IT/pointer world must also be held suspect.)
There is a problem in publishing now. (Not that there wasn’t before.) There are too many books, and far too many not very good ones. Even if you allow for personal preferences. Consider a book like Franzen’s Freedom. It debuts as #1 on the New York Times bestseller list before it is even released, and then it is both loved and hated by professional critics. As for non-professionals: of 1,033 readers who bothered to review it on Amazon, 285 gave it five stars, and 298 gave it one star; and “2,862 of 3,260 people found the following review helpful,” says the bot-blurb at Amazon, and said review had just one star. What to make of all of that information? But I bought it anyway and read it, because I had to because of all the hype. Franzen was on the cover of Time! Before the release! I had read his earlier novel, The Corrections, and thought it was amazing but awful, despite it being named the best novel of the decade. (Which is why I thought I had to read it, too.) But none of that means anything because the money was already banked. The money was “in the bank” before Franzen even wrote one word of Freedom. Such is the publishing industry now. (You can read my review of Freedom here, as well as on Amazon and Goodreads.)
So we have strangers and bots and authors and “friends” recommending books for us to read, but the question remains unanswered. With “Stories,” as well as other small, local, independent bookstores, the owner and staff generally know all their customers personally. I knew every book in my store, as well as every customer (we called them “bookies”) and could match them up—book to bookie. I was a matchmaker. But times have changed. Now there are very few such bookstores, fewer serious readers, and more writers and books; and blogs and movies and Youtube videos and friends and tweets and texts and pictures, and e-books and “zines” … all competing for your time and attention … and less and less intimacy, honesty, and authenticity. And everyone complains as they immerse and surround their selves in “IT” — the pointer world.
Back-in-the-day, before IT and the Pointer World, one of the surest gateways to intimacy, and even to a person’s personality (beneath the mask you could say) was a person’s bookshelf. (Guess what it said if there was no bookshelf and no books, just magazines.) The bookshelf and its contents could tell you so much about a person. How many were there? In what rooms? Where in the room? What kind of wood was it, or was the bookshelf manufactured and made in China? Was it handcrafted? What books were on it? How were they ordered? Or not. Had they been read? Highlighted? Written in? In the margins? What did the reader say about what the writer said? None of these clues could be faked. A few minutes, a few hours – and you were intimates. You knew who you were sharing space with … and could decide if you wanted to continue … if you wanted more—more of that person’s time and attention, maybe even to become true mates—intimates. Friends. You might even fall in love.
October 9, 2009
Somebody to love - seriously, is there any other topic?
this is old but relevant
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Sigmund Freud believed that insight and interpretation were the keys to unlocking human potential, and freeing the mind from the restraints of hysteria and dementia praecox, what we now call neurosis and psychosis, that inhibit or prevent love and work. As a therapist he was mostly unsuccessful, not because he was wrong about the healing properties of insight and interpretation—but because of his intransigence regarding his theory of sexual energy, aka, The Oedipus Complex, as the sole cause of psychological and emotional problems. In short—his interpretations were often wrong. He was successful as a therapist when he abandoned his own doctrine of belief and methodology, and instead was open, warm, and affectionate with his patients. Of course, this behavior was predicated upon the person falling in love with him.
Love heals. Love is a natural state. We are all born with the capacity for, and indeed, the expectation of love. Healthy love is a behavior that engenders wellbeing. We all need it to thrive.
Everybody needs somebody to love.
The problem is, as with many things,iiiiiiiiiiikiu99999999999 [the cat on the keyboard:] is that love is conditional—meaning it can be unlearned. And instead of being reciprocal, can be replaced by an abusive, self-serving hierarchy. This distortion of love sucks love from those below, passes on through the subject, and then is deposited (in the form of worship) to those above. Sound familiar?
Let me clarify who I am. I am a fiction writer—writing about the human condition. In the writing of fiction I am subservient to no one's interpretation (including the Authority) of the "facts." I am free to put forth my own interpretation of truth and let that stand, or fall, on its own validity. I am formally educated in Anthropology, Psychology, and Social Work. I have worked in the Field with abandoned, neglected, and/or abused children and young adults, all of them hostile, some aggressive, and some violent. And, I have never ceased learning. My curiosity is almost infinite.
I think I know what love is.
Love cannot be faked, but it can be distorted, abused, and misrepresented. It is not possible to love fully and completely without being loved fully and completely. Love is reciprocal. If you, like I, have had it stolen from you—it is very difficult to get it back. To do so, you must enter into a non-abusive relationship, a loving one such as the therapeutic interaction that Freud sometimes, inadvertently, fell into with his patients and colleagues.
There are five elements to the successful recovery, or discovery, of your loving Self:
1) There must be collaboration between partners (not a hierarchy) to fight against anti-love.
2) Together you must identify unhealthy situations and patterns of behavior.
3) Together you must strive to stop and/or block those situations and behaviors.
4) Together you must make a commitment to change.
5) Together you must begin to practice new loving behaviors.
These five elements aren't necessarily, and probably never will be, in sequence, with the exception of the first one. They will develop within and as, a spiral. Some of you may recognize this as the ideal therapeutic relationship. It is, but it's truly hard to find. I think it is as likely as not to be found in the relation understood as friendship. Outside of the restrictions of the professional practitioner/client interaction, that partnership is free to advance to a sexual/romantic one. Within the pay-for-service relationship, the partnership must dissolve and a clean break be made. Unfortunately, this could cause a retraumatism, because of the separation and loss, and start the cycle over again.
So, who am I to say all this? I am not your therapist. I am not a man of faith. (I am an atheist.) I am not a self-help guru or a doctor. I am not your grandfather, father, or brother. I am simply a friend—who like you—is looking for somebody to love.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Sigmund Freud believed that insight and interpretation were the keys to unlocking human potential, and freeing the mind from the restraints of hysteria and dementia praecox, what we now call neurosis and psychosis, that inhibit or prevent love and work. As a therapist he was mostly unsuccessful, not because he was wrong about the healing properties of insight and interpretation—but because of his intransigence regarding his theory of sexual energy, aka, The Oedipus Complex, as the sole cause of psychological and emotional problems. In short—his interpretations were often wrong. He was successful as a therapist when he abandoned his own doctrine of belief and methodology, and instead was open, warm, and affectionate with his patients. Of course, this behavior was predicated upon the person falling in love with him.
Love heals. Love is a natural state. We are all born with the capacity for, and indeed, the expectation of love. Healthy love is a behavior that engenders wellbeing. We all need it to thrive.
Everybody needs somebody to love.
The problem is, as with many things,iiiiiiiiiiikiu99999999999 [the cat on the keyboard:] is that love is conditional—meaning it can be unlearned. And instead of being reciprocal, can be replaced by an abusive, self-serving hierarchy. This distortion of love sucks love from those below, passes on through the subject, and then is deposited (in the form of worship) to those above. Sound familiar?
Let me clarify who I am. I am a fiction writer—writing about the human condition. In the writing of fiction I am subservient to no one's interpretation (including the Authority) of the "facts." I am free to put forth my own interpretation of truth and let that stand, or fall, on its own validity. I am formally educated in Anthropology, Psychology, and Social Work. I have worked in the Field with abandoned, neglected, and/or abused children and young adults, all of them hostile, some aggressive, and some violent. And, I have never ceased learning. My curiosity is almost infinite.
I think I know what love is.
Love cannot be faked, but it can be distorted, abused, and misrepresented. It is not possible to love fully and completely without being loved fully and completely. Love is reciprocal. If you, like I, have had it stolen from you—it is very difficult to get it back. To do so, you must enter into a non-abusive relationship, a loving one such as the therapeutic interaction that Freud sometimes, inadvertently, fell into with his patients and colleagues.
There are five elements to the successful recovery, or discovery, of your loving Self:
1) There must be collaboration between partners (not a hierarchy) to fight against anti-love.
2) Together you must identify unhealthy situations and patterns of behavior.
3) Together you must strive to stop and/or block those situations and behaviors.
4) Together you must make a commitment to change.
5) Together you must begin to practice new loving behaviors.
These five elements aren't necessarily, and probably never will be, in sequence, with the exception of the first one. They will develop within and as, a spiral. Some of you may recognize this as the ideal therapeutic relationship. It is, but it's truly hard to find. I think it is as likely as not to be found in the relation understood as friendship. Outside of the restrictions of the professional practitioner/client interaction, that partnership is free to advance to a sexual/romantic one. Within the pay-for-service relationship, the partnership must dissolve and a clean break be made. Unfortunately, this could cause a retraumatism, because of the separation and loss, and start the cycle over again.
So, who am I to say all this? I am not your therapist. I am not a man of faith. (I am an atheist.) I am not a self-help guru or a doctor. I am not your grandfather, father, or brother. I am simply a friend—who like you—is looking for somebody to love.
September 23, 2009
future books
Patagonia ... I've entered a contest to win a 5-week adventure trip there ... great material (?) anyway - go to this link and vote for me.
http://www.unplugyourhead.com/votenow...
http://www.unplugyourhead.com/votenow...
