Writing is different now. I think I have audience - the feedburner count. [Not displayed so I'm less affected by the numbers. Some attempt at writing something worthwhile is made. And I want that, different from when I've written to the void and to my future. Now, sometimes, people react and respond. I may think more carefully about how I wish this to affect us.]
Doing little today on sewing, so far. Many developmentally other-abled at the Kroc Center, as usual, this morning. I get to wonder how and to what degree I am other than they.
Some twitch, shout out, random. Another man, independent, speaks circular, somewhat angry, fearful thoughts out loud. Usually when no one is close by.
Stepping back, the hubub of everyone's thoughts can be sensed, imagined. And now, reading an old, chauvinist, sci fi text[& wondering what is the value in it--it was on McCafferey's syllabus] where this is the case (Bester, _Demolished Man_).
Listening to Verne's _Mysterious Island_ also raises questions of functioning. And how could one craft a mind-[/self-/identity-/life-/functioning-]expanding realm, what are the differences or possibilities most do not consider now? Where is the edge and how can it be explored?
One edge is staying still, and not moving. Not that I will never move, but to not move while everything and everyone except the very old or hurt or aboriginal or monastic is moving very far very often-- if you can hold to that non-moving edge, a near opposite to the edge Verne's world was exploring [and an opposite to much of what captures our imagination (a local who became famous for his expeditions to remotest Africa was recently eulogized in the local paper). Further, the more I walk around and explore, the more resources of a certain kind, such as fruit trees & neighbors, become available. The value of action and exploration is apparent on some level]--if I can hold to that non- or slow-moving edge, another realm is there.
Another edge in functioning must have to do with attention. As in _Mysterious Island_ and _Demolished Man_ there are grades. The developmentally other-abled, the ?-abled but forever reproducing thoughts and habits of others or old habits of their own, where I often am, and creatives who open, explore, and solidify new habits, thoughts, and realms entirely--all of us some of the time.
Jardine, Verne, Bester (<), have opened worlds for me. Lizzie Driver and Mark Smith, LibriVox readers, have done this for me with their voices, while reproducing others' thoughts. Typing here I do this too.
Decisional difficulty. Who has a vision she can act on?
Bewildered. I walk around for figs, and I feel fear[, I am the invader, the stealer of fruit meant to grow and drop but not be eaten by the people who drive cars]. Not sovereign.
Am I selling by writing here?
This does seem to be a question of function. Regardless of what we say or think we do, what is being done through us?
Here's a scifi edge. From seeking hypermobility, culture transitions to 'not moving' as status.
Only the robots, the slaves, the forever mindlessly running (cf. Ellison, _Invisible Man_) drive. S-
That only plays out well as long as moving is miserable, which, outside of the great footpaths and water routes, for me at least, is more or less true now.
The compelling edge-vision may need to say something about human/all existence growth and development.
How does the mind spend its time?
Tomorrow I expect I'll be cutting and sewing the Jardine ray-way quilt. Sewing is transformational and at least as interesting as TV, as Jardine offers in _Beyond Backpacking_. Now I've begun to think about all the things I can make and modify.
And listening to Lizzie Driver read more of Jonathan Swift.
The rest of the day today? Laying here under my shade tarps reading more to remind myself I still can read to myself?
Peace,
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