Pragmatic junk


Let’s go. Interaction. Pithy comment, baby. You know you’ve got it in you! When I get back on my desktop, I do have designs to get more connected and all that. For the fun of it. Whatever my niche is here. I try not to demand much. Scratch that, I demand nothing. I expect a bit of respect–“just a little bit, just a little bit*”–but that’s just because that’s what I insist on dishing out to others. What’s nice though, and you know it… You know, just toss a little crumb, a little catalyst, and the little ham in me gets back in the spotlight. I’m glad she’s still part of me. There’s nothing more than this. Chime in. No need to be shy! Meaning’s in the response. And you’re in more control than you realize.

Things don’t even have to make sense all the time. Blame the drugs. Everything’s always changing. Adapt and improvise. The way of the future. Communitarian project.

My muscle movements feel endowed with some extra phantom power kick. Yet, I still can’t wiggle my ears, using only facial and head muscles. I have seen a few men who have this amazing talent. I don’t know if there are any women who can wiggle their ears. Have you seen any?

My dad is a master ear wiggler, but he doesn’t tend to publicize the fact. Come to think of it, that would make a great YouTube video! Is wiggling your ears something you learn, or just something you can do, or do not? “There is no try.” (Kind of reminds me of when I tried to learn to spit lougies, or whatever–what’s the spelling?!–, WAY back. Just no go. I am content that greater peace exists in the world thanks to that failing. And yeah, since I couldn’t retaliate, the thrill of targeting me got old fast. Ah, the art of passive resistance. Wisdom?)

I was studying my youngest nephew, L.’S, facial expressions tonight. He’s well advanced to where’s he’s generating his own things, and not just imitative of others’ expressions. (Although he has developed a great base repertoire, thanks to abundant comically emotive influences.) With my facial weakness, and especially some of the recent med-induced muted twitching in my cheeks and nose, it’s a real relief and treat to be playing around and interactively, equally, eliciting such animated expressions. His eyes light up as if the energy of the whole world, or even universe, fills his head. Plus, reading about how physically affecting various expressions elicit those chemicals to change the emotions linked to different areas of our brains that are aroused, prompts me to visualize and enhance all the beneficial stuff that can be going on in my amygdala and prefrontal cortex. It’s only natural for me to empathize and attempt a greater understanding of brain functioning, right? I probably should’ve been a neuroscientist. I’ve got the humor. Ah, and that leads us back into cognitive sociology. Perceptions. Bridge those disciplines, baby. I will totally love it, here, if my synthesizing brain works are re-emerging. I’ve missed the relational and manifestly interdependent process by which I so long enjoyed my brain working.

Wakefulness. Marvelous.

What is cool, though, is in the merging of empathy and clinical distance. I have always identified with it, and located consistency in deliberate balance. The detachment there that arises precisely because a scientist cares so much about accuracy and validity. When my work started going more towards what I judged as half-arsed, there was no satisfaction. Even at the same time I realized the futility of beating myself up about it. I know enough to set about changing, or at least refrain from whining, to spare my own self-recriminations. (Regular scholarly trajectories, isn’t it? Although I suppose a survival function was kicked-in all along. But you want it without the excuse, the footnote, the exception. Well, I do. Because there’s gonna be a cool story there, no doubt. And it’s the anecdotes that inspire creativity.) Now, in whatever transformation comes, what may the brain in my head possibly contribute to the world? It’s nice to get back to the terrain of the possible; that I may live up to a hype I felt long ago, in the days of “diagnosis to float.” (Indebtednesses still to be rightfully acknowleddged!) The mental landscape map was clear at one time. And I’m now, apparently in a hypergraphic sort of stint. Why not ride it? I hope I can put the pieces together. Cool stuff, really. Truly.

* Erasure, End of Innocents, #2 on Official Przybysz ABI cassette series, sound and musical appreciation and discrimination training list, with primary fondness for the awesomely energizing and rhythmically distinctive, multi-layering, pitches scales, heights, dimensions, transcending theory and practice instrumental composition: “Pennsylvania Sixty-five Thousand!”

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Yes, it took decades of practice, but when I really needed it, I found I could count on it.

Skinning and slicing onions. I always seem to mess it up, and end up taking forever, while making a huge mess.

Not this time! I got it, baby!

What can I say?

It was a slow day, and the sun was beating…

Too hilarious to even attempt putting in words! I’d muck it up.

It’s a Guinness day. Be sure to, “Refresh Your Spirit!”

(The second’s an afterthought, and should the originators of the popularity of the second quote read this, they’ll know they are only linked to the dating terrain of Przybysz’s brain via the HUMOR pathway.)

You know how you’ll usually write a letter, not think a whole lot of it, and maybe not even date it–or think that putting the day of the week is sufficient? (Maybe that was an 80s — er, 1980s — phenomenon?)

<>Friends and parents: If you’re going to write a letter to a kid at camp, a kid who’s somewhat likely to save that letter but not it’s post-marked/dated envelope, then please include a bit more than just the day of the week. I think this falls under the, “teach the children well,” category.
At least I know it was between June and August. I suppose I may be able to narrow it down if the perpetual calendar is on my side.

“The 21st century’s yesterday.”

“Today is tomorrow.”