On the musical liberation of the pineal gland

Ok.
So.
Apparently.
Apparently there is a genre of music on youtube, new-agey yogish, acupuncture-therapist-waiting-room-sounding meditative drony recordings, hours long, centering on one of a number of frequencies promising to help you release negative energy, liberate your pineal gland, or third eye, chakra healing, Kundalini something, increase brain power, attain divinity, and so on, depending on the frequency.
I’ve been listening to them at work because they are relaxing and don’t irritate my office-mate.
Today was pineal liberation day.
Pineal gland liberated, I went for my lunchtime stroll.
Report:
Three cars nearly hit me
and the crows shunned me (most of them).
A liberated pineal gland seems to create a force field that distracts drivers.
Or renders them homicidal.
And corvids are like,
Watch out! Kundalini energy! Forget this guy!
Hypothesis: the pineal gland was subjugated for a reason.
In the early days of human evolution
the forces of evolution gathered in the darkness
one said, we have to do something. About the pineus.
But they look so happy and relaxed and ten years younger, said another.
Yeah but they’re eventually going to invent cars and they’ll exterminate themselves, said the first.
(the forces of evolution looked like crows)
So, boom, subjugation of the pineal gland.

Family history

The quick, brown fox could no longer remember whether it had already written a post on a certain topic, or not, but figured if that was the case (that it had forgotten) then anyone else potentially out there in the aether reading this couldn’t either, so why worry?

Alpha, as you know, is looking into family history. We are slowly, as in a couple years down the road, lining up trips to Ireland and Scotland (near the single-malt whisky trail, apparently) to look at where some of my people are from, but for now she is concentrating on her side of the family.

Her father’s people were miners. They worked in an iron mine that dates back to Celts and Romans. She has spent time in archives and churches going through centuries’ worth of birth and death records.

I have already written about this, haven’t I? It feels so familiar.

Miners were the first workers to unionize in Austria (I think). And there were times when the unions were strong, and wages were okay, and living conditions were relatively healthy. And there were times when the unions got busted, and new workers imported from somewhere else, and pages and pages of death records were full of whole families all dying of the same disease at the same time because people were malnourished and crammed into crowded housing.

There was no endless progress from darkness and misery to light and prosperity. Prosperity and health of these ancestors depended on how strong their union was, because the natural tendency of the mine owners, whether church or state or someone else, was to squeeze as much as possible out of them; they had no interest in the welfare of the miners, and revoked what prosperity the miners had once achieved whenever possible.

Pages and pages of people dying at the same time as some sanitation-based epidemic or another burned through the village.

PS break up Facebook, google, Apple, Twitter, all those guys.

figurehead

does anyone else get the feeling
lately that the current president
of the usa is less a leader and more
one of those living figureheads strapped
to the front of one of those spikey,
flamey trucks in road warrior
hollering and spittle/snot-dripping through
his hammered mask? his typos and
brain-damage english distracting
us from the stabby, shooty,
burney nazi caravan behind him, seeking valhalla
but just bootlicker dogs of
the wheezer gods back at the cave
doling out water by the drop
or is it just me?
and of those, how many have the sneaking
feeling it has always been thus
and something just can’t be
arsed to apply its mask in the morning
anymore?

The best moment of the day

You read this post at Whiskey River so you are on the lookout.
Say you are putting on your pants and trying not to step on a cat that likes your feet in the morning.
The bed is already made, underwear is already on, and pants are next.
Gray pants, part of the gray suit because there are no holes in the pockets of the gray suit yet, unlike most of the black suits, and you are not in the mood to chase keys and hearing aid batteries around the lining of your suit jacket today.
You remember pissing your pants in your mom’s car when you were a little boy.
On the way to the train station, you tell your grown kid about it.
It was hot in the car, and I had to pee bad, you tell her. I thought, if I just let out a drop or two, maybe it will cool me off.
Your mom often drove all over town, what she called running errands, and took you with her.
It was hot, your bladder was full, and when you finally let a drop out there was no stopping.
Imagine your relief when she didn’t spank you. You had thought you were going to get it.
Your kid says, huh.
Imagine it had taken you all the years since then (even though you almost never remembered that event) to realize she had locked a little boy in a car on a hot day, and had not bothered to consider whether he might have a full bladder, and he was not to blame.
Huh.

On memory and reality

My little brother sent me some short videos this week.
It went like this: he transferred VHS tapes to a DVD. Then he played the videos from the DVD on his computer, and filmed the monitor with his iPhone. Then he sent me the iPhone videos via a social media site, and I forwarded them to my family.
The quality of the videos was of course poor; not only were the original tapes nearly 30 years old, each step transferring, copying and refilming degraded them further.
And yet: they were still superior to my own memories of the events — a visit we paid to my family in the United States when our oldest daughter was one year old.
Alpha and I are now older than my parents are in the videos.
The house in which we sing Happy Birthday has since burned in an arson fire, and then been torn down to make way for a mall parking lot.
Some details were only slightly surprising: Beta is a serious baby in the video. I remember that she was a serious baby, but she was even more serious than I recall.
Some details contradicted our memories entirely: for 30 years, we have told Beta she never crawled, just went straight from rolling to walking. But in the video she crawls just fine. She was a fast crawler, chasing my parents’ wiener dog all over the living room.
To be honest, the videos freaked me out a little.
The speed at which time passes, for one thing. How people just die, two people from the video, for example, but time just keeps going.
But we know that. What really freaked me out was how the evidence contradicted our memories. I know I forget things. We all forget things. I know I have forgotten most of my life, when it comes down to it. But to see blurry, grainy but genuine evidence that even the little bit I remember is false, that’s freaky.
It’s one thing to read somewhere that memory is nothing but stories we tell ourselves, and that any particular memory is altered to a greater or lesser extent with each re-telling, but to actually see the proof like that makes you wonder what else you’re wrong about.
What grudges you’d be better off dropping.
What pain you could let go.

Judging

Standing somewhere, let’s say train station, I caught myself judging a man by the cover of the book he was reading.

A couple hours ago, in a bookstore, I was attracted to a book by it’s snazzy cover. I opened it to the sentence, “But her oneiric world could be intuited; it grew into a city around her bed.” Due to that sentence, I bought the book, “The Heavens”. Waiting at the cash register, I saw the author is Sandra Newman, whom I follow on Twitter and whose tweets generally get a Like from me.

So far the book has been delightful. But I am on page 25, 90% of the book remains to be read so a lot can still go wrong. But on the basis of the cover and that sentence I am optimistic.

Made for walking

As an experiment (to determine the effects, if any, on my health, weight and mind), I am maximizing my daily walking and using two different apps to monitor my steps and am battling someone named Inga for first place among the (10) commuters to Vienna using one of the apps. I generally now get off the subway a stop or two early and walk the rest of the way, depending on weather. Or eschew public transport entirely and just walk, depending on available time and distance.

Also, this morning, in order to save the environment, I got dressed in the dark and put on my squeaky shoes by accident.