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.

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.

Adulthood, part 239897490780981234

You may recall the Microsoft 3-D pipes screensaver. If you imagine that leaking uncontrollably from every joint, you have an approximate idea of what it looked like under my kitchen sink last week after I tried to fix a leak and then, as a test I guess? turned the dishwasher on.
I had two buckets under there catching the water, and still had to hold a dish to catch what they missed.
On the bright side our ant infestation is slightly better, maybe they had been taking a short cut under the sink.
I called a plumber and told the woman who answered the phone, I would try to fix it myself but my wife has forbidden that. She LOL’ed.
She said the earliest someone could come was the following day. I said, I’ll take it. Then I called a second plumber, and when he miraculously was able to come the SAME day, by NOON, I called the first plumber and cancelled (as I had warned them I might), AFTER the other plumber had finished and I was satisfied everything was okay.
“Two gaskets were in backwards,” said the plumber’s helper, when he presented me with the bill for signature. “That may have been me, but it may have been someone else,” I said, and signed.
When I checked under the sink, everything had new gaskets AND they had rearranged the pipes in a more rational order. I don’t recall who did the original plumbing, but it looked somewhat random, where the sink trap had been placed and the angles of the pipes. It looks better now.
My wife was impressed that I managed to get a plumber to come on short notice, and says I may deal with plumbers from now on.
I guess it was the desperation in my voice, combined with my generally jolly yet panicky nature.