ham on rye

today my dad met and loves charles bukowski
and I just love that so much.
"I was just a 50-cent turd floating around in the green ocean of life."

dreamy

What function do dreams serve in evolutionary terms?

a warning
a reminder
a stubborn refusal to forget
a way of keeping past fear close?

terrible, terrible dreams.

http://www.epjournal.net/filestore/ep035978.pdf

"Threat Rehearsal
    When awoken abruptly from a terrifying nightmare, it is easy to understand the strength dream imagery has in generating both physiological and cognitive responses. In the case of a nightmare, heart rate is accelerated, sweating occurs, and a general feeling of fear and anxiety can extend for some time after the dream has finished (Mellman et al., 1985). Even though dreams are a form of mental representation, in the sense that perception is not tied to stimuli in the environment, they are generally experienced as real and the content is perceptually indistinguishable from waking perception (Freud, 1900).
     If merely imagining an event has the power to better prepare us for an actual event by physically activating comparable brain regions, then it should follow that the more realistic the simulation of events, the more the brain treats the information as real. Also, if this capacity to simulate an environment allows us to be optimally prepared to deal with challenges in a real environment, it should affect fitness and be naturally selected for across generations (Darwin, 1995). The threat-simulation hypothesis of dreaming argues that this is the purpose of dreams and the reason why dreaming has evolved (Revonsuo, 2000). It is suggested by this theory that dreams serve the purpose of allowing for the rehearsal of threatening scenarios in order to better prepare an individual for real-life."

peace in the middle west

life is blinders and distractions.
tonight,
tonight i am choosing well.

and then you do

backdated from June 8:
I feel like this hiking log may be of use to anyone planning to hike Mount San Gorgonio- Vivian Creek Trail in the near future.

5 something a.m.: Apple Jacks & 7-ll coffee breakfast

7:20: not an alpine, but an early start.

every 5 minutes or so: "look, a beautiful tree! i will take a beautiful picture." "look, a beautiful rock! i will take a beautiful picture."

a few hours in: fantasizing about cheeseburgers (pickles, crunch, heavy mayo) and nachos (guac, sour cream, some real mexican cheese)

a few hours later: i notice the uncomfortable presence of an unwelcome companion. he goes by the name of poop.

on and on: the mind goes to funny places after a few miles. serious places. light places. strange places. for a good stretch of the path, i was trying to remember if my cousin/uncle/relative Tom was alive anymore or not. then brevity. legacy. what matters (the usual). then back to cheeseburgers. then some random church songs from elementary school.

a few miles from summit: run out of water

3:22 p.m.: i can see the top, but it is impossible to reach. my legs are angry. i sit on a rock and pout for awhile "i am overwhelmed. i can't conceive of how this is possible." it has taken us over 8 hours, and we aren't even to summit. we are out of water. i have to poop. so many overwhelming things. in these situations, j become optimistic. in these situations, i become angry.

4:30 p.m.: summit. turns out, it was possible. you can't always believe your legs. or your mind. or your wants. sometimes you just say, "quiet, you." and those things you didn't think could be done... sometimes you just do.

somewhere on the descent: once my body realizes it isn't going to get what it thinks it wants or needs, it takes on this superhuman kind of ability. i can walk for the rest of my life. i can lift cars off small trapped babies. i can go for months without cheeseburgers. or pooping. i am not thinking of anything, and still i have found a cure for cancer and am close to understanding the language of the trees.

sometime estimated around 8:43 p.m. (no watch, both phone batteries dead at summit): headlamp. dark. blister on the back of my heel bursts. shooting pain. slow to a crawl. superhuman powers brought down by a blister.

20 minutes later: adrenaline or some mysterious body hormone kicks in. heel tolerable.
the stars are out. by the light of the moon. so quiet. so still.

9:50 p.m. THE CAR.

helen, hear our prayer

talk soup
and i happen to dislike every single person on tv.
summer threatens to bring out naked tan backs and
legs that do not end.
parade.
navigating west coast sidewalks in hiking boots
breaking them in
breaking in
and thinking about sustainability.
we are missing so much at any given time
singing with choir
"dear jesus, please bless those whose homes were destroyed by the tornados"
but heaven forbid he actually do anything about the tornado.
mysterious ways.
we say "lord hear our prayer"
we say "lord hear our prayer"
not deaf. no ears.
helen keller would do better to respond.
92% of people that seem intriguing at first are, in fact, not.

a series of small yesses is worse thanpretty much a no.

how is your father? how is your heart?
he was a baby once and no one really thought much about the fact that he might die. not then.

and what now? but what now?

how is your father? how is your heart?