Point Doom

Point Dume State Beach, north of Malibu

My visitor and I went to Point Dume yesterday, which, thanks to the pandemic, was comparatively unpopulated, for a Saturday in October. I remember when I moved to Los Angeles the last time, back in 2002, and hearing people talk about "Point Doom," and wondering why it had such a dastardly name. it turns out that the beach was named in honor of someone named Dumetz, but the name on the map was misspelled "Dume," and that was never corrected. 

It was a glorious beach day, the perfect temperature, a great onshore breeze, and lots of happy people everywhere, but all masked and distanced. The visit was low key, social, relaxing and with zero anything weird. She and I are both late September Virgos and we see the world in a ton of similar ways, even with the age difference of 32 years. She got some time to work out some clarity around how and why her relationship ended. It seemed helpful to run things by me and get that outside perspective. For example, she has to have a difficult conversation with the guy who broke up with her via text, because now he wants to get back together, and she definitely is not into it. She was wondering if she should text him and tell him to be sober for the conversation or she won't come over. I get it, but it struck me that a). let him do what he always does and see, b). it wouldn't change that she doesn't want to be with him romantically, and c). if she feels she has to warn him to be sober, isn't that just even more clear info that this thing is not going to work? These are the kinds of clear thoughts that people outside of a situation can be capable of. 

Mostly, for me, it was astonishing to realize that, apart from a new faculty orientation day that was in person on August 5, and the CPR training that I did in September, and brief interactions to get takeout or groceries, I have not socialized with anyone since May. She and I were sitting across from each other talking and I was feeling that it was super awkward. Just doing this normal thing, having a conversation. I felt very out of practice. It is also the case that, even before the pandemic, I had entered full hermit mode. I think the last real social engagement with a friend was when I defended my dissertation and one of my most long term brother-friends made the trip out and we hung out. February 29. But, even before that, hardly any social time for so long. The PhD process enforced a ton of solitude. Being in a long distance romance enforced solitude. Being myself enforced solitude. For months. 

The visitor with her meme mask

The interesting thing about the visit, also, was that it reminded me to carve out the time to get out into the great places that are not very far from where I live, and that, oddly, the pandemic is the perfect time to do so. Since California is relatively sane and everyone is masking up, for the most part, and traffic is lighter than it otherwise would be, it makes for good timing. Even so, traffic was very slow coming back down the PCH, after we took a short drive up into Ventura County for me to revisit some beaches I used to go to with my dog back in 2002/2003. But it's not an unpleasant slow down along the ocean.

Toward the end of the afternoon at Point Dume, a dense fog bank rolled in. I love the Pacific fogs. This morning it was thick as "pea soup," as the saying goes. Probably a sign of the weather turning toward winter. 

 

Beach Day

 A friend and former student, who was just dumped by a long term boyfriend via text message, is visiting, and we are headed up through Malibu to Point Dume. I wonder how crowded it will be on a pandemic Saturday in October. It's one of those blue sky, clear October days, made even more so by the usual clearing effect of fall winds (which, sadly, also lead to fires). 

I always mark Miles Davis's beachfront condo when I drive through Malibu. I forget exactly how I found out the address. But it's right along the PCH. 

This past week teaching was nuts. If I didn't have a visitor, I would probably just sleep all day today. It was just one of those huge tidal wave weeks of being very busy. Even after 33 years of teaching, I don't fully understand why some weeks come along that are like that, and others are very chill. 

Anyway, a series of Cylindropuntia acanthocarpa flower pics, all from the same hillside, near Florence, showing the incredible variety of flower color morphs. And a few scenic shots of Florence AZ. Go easy on your eyes. Walk in beauty. Look both ways, though. 

When she came into her power

 Some good new This is the Kit, coming out October 23. 

Haiku

 

From last year in AZ. I keep wanting to buy sunflowers here, but all the ones I have seen look awful

A sort of amusing meme resurfaced thanks to FB memories, this morning. 

And this reminded me of someone I knew whose partner didn't know what haiku was, and they had this visceral reaction that, really, they just needed to get out of the partnership. Some of you instantly know this moment, and it makes perfect sense. Others might find it weird, or an overreaction, or perhaps fundamentally unkind. Why not just explain to one's partner what a haiku is? 

All well and good. But some know the beleaguered experience of having to explain jokes to the person with whom one spends the majority of one's time. My own long term thing with A that ended in 2017 was characterized by these missed references, tiresome moments where she "just didn't get it," and me telling myself it was okay, it wasn't that big of a deal, but feeling more and more lonely. 

The plain truth is that there's a real fundamental benefit to two people sharing common cultural knowledge. There's no imperative to be with people who don't know what we know, who don't "get it." Preferences are very real and completely indifferent to ethics. I agree that this person could have just educated their partner as to what haiku is. But there's also just that resonance that two people have. I think the moment for this person was more of a final straw kind of thing. There are these huge abysses that open up between two unsuitable partners sometimes where it suddenly becomes very very clear just how unsuited they are, and sometimes it is some of these seemingly "small" things. 

Also, as Carl Jung and others have pointed out, erotic and romantic love plays a cruel joke on us, as it presents the beloved in an idealized form, where we find even their most glaring deficiencies and actual character flaws, let alone the weird ways in which they are just annoying, to be charming and attractive, or at least we think we can overlook these realities. When the charged atmosphere of eros wears off, what we start to long for, in addition to continued passion, is a more authentic friendship connection with our beloved, and there's a deeper kind of resonance that becomes more important. I think most of us if not all have had the utterly astonishing experience of "waking up next to someone" and suddenly feeling that surreal tumble into the dread of knowing with absolute certainty that we feel like can't bear another day with them, in spite of the fact that, early on, they were our raison d'etre and our delight. This goes to the core of the unethical and even cruel nature of eros, as it has been so accurately depicted in all stories and tales. Sometimes these moments of astonishing clarity, and that sudden truth of the fundamental unsuitability of someone with whom we have thrown in our lot, are the worst moments of our lives. I think this may be especially true for women in cis het relationships, as the patriarchy enforces "commitments" more severely for women in a wide variety of ways. 

Sometimes it is some odd thing, like a person saying "I don't get it," and the entire abyss of loneliness, unsuitability, longing, anger, resentment, annoyance, bewilderment, and  the terror of being "trapped" all come tumbling in. For a few months with A, I didn't even know what was going on, consciously, but I do recall trying to take a nap one afternoon and lying there in bed, thinking to myself, "this can't go on. I cannot keep doing this. This can't go on." I didn't even know what "this" was referring to. My denial was thick. 

The pier in Ocean Beach, three years ago

The person whose exasperation reached some kind of inscrutable limit found ways to continue the partnership, and I think many people do. There are all sorts of ways people rediscover things they initially appreciated, bathed in that weird numinous glow of eros, and those qualities are still there, and still admirable. Forgiveness is huge. A friend of mine says, "The only healthy relationship is reciprocal mercy." I appreciate that. I have never been the recipient, nor the practitioner, at least not for more than about five years. 

Another pic of the pier in Ocean Beach from 2017

Being sort of demisexual (? semi-demisexual?), I am usually not even capable of feeling sexual attraction, let alone flat out heart squashing, bone powdering eros, if the fundamental connections are not present. Similar sense of humor, getting it without explaining, friendly likes and dislikes (within reason), that resonance energy. Very important. It is what turns me on. Then I fall in love. Then the problems start, because, it turns out, I was maybe ignoring some of the lack of resonance. I think my denial around this is fiercely low right now. I am not ignoring anything. But in the past, I used to imagine all sorts of connection when it was not there. How do I know it was not there? When the charge of eros wore off, it turned out that basic abysses were indeed present.

CW: trite analogy. It's as if the heart has a blind spot, like the optic disc, and when we are in love, we perform a ton of optical filling, but when things get more real or familiar and less charged, we stop doing so much optical filling. The only difference in this analogy is that instead of seeing that annoying blind spot everywhere, we see more clearly. Nothing new here. Just the usual meditation on the disillusionment that is somewhere at the core of every human relationship that's worth having. How people navigate that disillusionment is what stories get a lot of juice from. 

I have also been made aware over the past decade or so tha not everyone really gives a shit, so much. For me, losing a partnership is like a death. I feel similar ways to when someone dies. I used to think this was universally the case, but I have learned it is not, not at all. Many people wear their connections with others much more lightly. I am wired for a heavier experience. 

After a Death

by Tomas Tranströmer 

translated by Robert Bly

Once there was a shock

that left behind a long, shimmering comet tail.

It keeps us inside. It makes the TV pictures snowy.

It settles in cold drops on the telephone wires.

One can still go slowly on skis in the winter sun

through brush where a few leaves hang on.

They resemble pages torn from old telephone directories.

Names swallowed by the cold.

It is still beautiful to hear the heart beat

but often the shadow seems more real than the body.

The samurai looks insignificant

beside his armor of black dragon scales.

Haircut Adventure

 Los Angeles is a chaotic place. One of the ways this manifests is that everything one needs or wants is only blocks away, especially in my West LA neighborhood, and yet the simplest of excursions can sometimes take up a lot of time, be very complicated, and involve all sorts of weird and unplanned aspects. Spoon available last night for a haircut, I decided to go to the chain, Floyd's Barbershop, which I had spotted a couple weeks ago. It's down at Santa Monica and Butler, not even a mile away. 

But, in typical fashion, once I got there, it was at least an hour wait. I decided to put my name in and just walk around for an hour. And what one often finds in a lot of cities, as well as here, is that there is a whole new cultural zone within walking distance. In this case, down Sawtelle, to Japantown. This is a small cluster of restaurants and shops almost entirely focused on Japanese food and culture. Not Japanese American, so much. Traditional Japanese. I used to hang over there back in the early oughts and get the best noodles, sushi, etc. I'll have to pop over there, a mere five blocks from here, soon. 

Wandering around with a camera to try to capture not just what's noticeable but some aspect of the mundane, one of my favorite pastimes. 

So much empty real estate everywhere. 

Shops and restaurants along Sawtelle

Must return when it's open

Catastrophe and obscene wealth

? will see if this gallery is open sometime

Starbucks, Olympic and Sawtelle

Beloved Strelitzia, always love seeing it

The story of why some old buildings have not been razed interests me

I had no idea there was a golden age of hand painted movie posters in Ghana

bossy

blazing white flowers

not very nice

you know you're in a big city when there are veterinary specialists

always that warm and inviting architecture

I walked back to Floyd's and a barber gave me a pretty good haircut $50 (with a 50% tip; I'm tipping service people like mad these days), and we talked at length about the ins and outs of city life. He was that type of city guy who is always looking for a bargain, an angle, a way to *work* the city. It does get to be like a huge RPG, and one does start to think about all the ways to get the best of everything. It's a fascinating part of city culture. The best rent, the best rent control, the best routes to take to get from A to B at the best times, the best restaurants, the ones that are overpriced but used to be great, etc. The more complex a city is, the more avid people get about all of these strategies. All of these stories about this or that incredible deal, or weird situation that saved a lot of money, or ways neighborhoods have gone downhill (it's almost always that they have changed for the worse). 

I had left at 7:30 and didn't get home until 9. In spite of everything being close, sometimes it takes a ton of time to get something done. I think this contributes to the whole spoon issue. 

But a haircut was accomplished. And a reminder of the endless portals and surprises of the city was given. And more reminders of how much things will improve here when the city finally comes back to life for real, and the pandemic recedes, someday. 

Meanwhile, I do wonder how I survive, living in such close quarters with an abuser. I ought to just leave. But no matter where I go, there I am. 

Stochastic spoons

The white hot flame of burning magnesium, combining with oxygen to form magnesium oxide

Jung wrote: “The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.” This quotation has meant a lot to me over the past 25 years or so, and it occurs to me every now and then. Now that I'm teaching chemistry, it's possible to pursue the analogy in great depth, in a wide variety of detailed ways. 

A wondrous Mexican figurine given to me by my former stepson when he was 7

There's not much going on in my hermit cave, so there's sometimes a lot of presence from the past, or ways that I have been transformed by others, manifesting in all of this space. I had a weird dream last night where I was completely unprepared to teach today and ended up trying to teach out of a highly technical textbook, improvising and faking, pretending I knew a lot more than I actually did, and I sensed throughout the dream that the students knew full well that I was bullshitting. These teaching anxiety dreams are odd, and I have them often during the school year. 

My old cat Anya looking cute, demonstrating the wonders of evolution

The basic fact is that peace is not a frequent experience these days. The past is too much with me? Yeah man. It's diffuse, a lot of the time, and includes all kinds of odd memories. The shame of motives late revealed. Cringe-worthy things I said or did. TS Eliot's outline of what old age is like settles in as a lot more realistic and less bitter and cynical than I used to think it was, when I was younger. Yeats comes to mind too, with his Among Schoolchildren. For the first time in my life, I am having experiences where I actually feel old. I have not felt old until now. It's very odd. Unexpected. "You're only as old as you feel!" Well, great. 

The big sage desert in Nevada along highway 50, "The Loneliest Road," a couple summers ago

I guess some would say, well, you are 59 buddy. You feel old because you are old. Welcome to reality. But it's interesting for a couple of experiences that are novel for me. For example, I am feeling age in my body a lot more. I am feeling some limitations I did not have before, or of which I was unaware. I am feeling mentally exhausted. I think the mental fuzziness has as much to do with being overwhelmed and stressed out as anything, of course, and the weird demands of the new job, and the pandemic, and the auditory distractions of living in LA. And. 

boo cat

This season is also the leading edge of a stretch from Halloween to New Year's that really has felt like it might just demolish me, the past two years or so. Two years ago, it roughly coincides with the detached retina and the diagnosis of prostate cancer, so there's that. It's time for me to get another biopsy on ye olde prostate, but how in hell am I supposed to schedule that exactly? Seems almost impossible. Can I get an evening drive-through biopsy at the drive through urologist? Probably not. 

An actual painting of what my life was like when I was getting the PhD

Anyway, I think there's two other priorities along with the biopsy. One is to get started on preparing my teeth for old age, so to speak. Back in 2011, I got an estimate on a bunch of work that could be done, and now I have dental insurance, so I should be in that damned chair for hours this year. I also need to get my dysfunctional butt into counseling therapy. Geez. These would all just be swell ways to take charge of my self care. However, the state of mind I am in is such that simply walking a block away from my apartment to get a fucking haircut feels altogether too daunting. None of the spoons needed to take care of all of the reasons I have no spoons. 

Spoonless in LA.  

 

Our Four Sacred Thunderbirds

 Celebrating Indigenous People's Day, on a day when the obelisk came down on the Santa Fe Plaza. 

\

Stay Positive!

 The sunflower said, "Stay positive! I'm a genetically engineered, disarticulated set of sex organs called a capitula with florets jammed into a jar of water, and I'm dying slowly, yet look how positive I am!"

Calling all angels

 Jane Siberry, 65 years old today. 

Santa Maria, Santa Teresa, Santa Anna, Santa Susannah

Santa Cecilia, Santa Copelia, Santa Domenica, Mary Angelica

Frater Achad, Frater Pietro, Julianus, Petronilla

Santa, Santos, Miroslaw, Vladimir and all the rest

A man is placed upon the steps and a baby cries

High above you can hear the church bells start to ring

And as the heaviness, oh, the heaviness, the body settles in

Somewhere you can hear a mother sing

Then it's one foot, then the other as you step out on the road

Step out on the road, how much weight, how much?

Then it's how long and how far and how many times

Oh, before it's too late?

Calling all angels, calling all angels

Walk me through this one, don't leave me alone

Calling all angels, calling all angels

We're tryin', we're hopin' but we're not sure how

Oh, and every day you gaze upon the sunset with such love and intensity

Why?

It's ah, it's almost as if you could only crack the code then you'd finally understand

What this all means

Oh, but if you could, do you think you would trade in all

All the pain and suffering?

Oh, but then you'd miss the beauty of the light upon this earth

And the, and the sweetness of the leaving

Calling all angels, calling all angels

Walk me through this one, don't leave me alone

Calling all angels, calling all angels

We're tryin', we're hopin' but we're not sure how

Calling all angels (calling all angels), calling all angels (calling all angels)

Walk me through this one, don't leave me alone (walk me through this one, don't leave me alone)

Calling all angels, calling all angels

We're tryin', we're hopin', we're hurtin', we're lovin'

We're cryin', we're callin' 'cause we're not sure how this goes