Sunday, May 6, 2012
It’s stuff like this that makes me an existentialist. (From February 2nd, 2011)
Last night’s blizzard was probably the most surreal thing I may have ever experienced. To anyone who didn’t at least step outside, you missed out. My roommate Lauren tells me around 12:30 last night, “Matt and I are going outside to play in the snow. You’re welcome to join us!” Initially, I was gonna turn the invite down. I mean, it was a blizzard…
And then, I realized it’s a fucking blizzard! Who would turn down something like that? So we got bundled and headed to Matt's room. Matt was microwaving water to put in a thermos. Apparently he had much bigger plans for us than just playing in the snow.
“We’re walking to the lake. You guys cool with that?” he said. I was waiting until we got outside to determine whether or not I’d be up for it, but it sounded like quite the undertaking.
While it may not seem very far, and under normal circumstances it isn’t, surrounded by flashes of lightning, claps of thunder, and a whirlwind of ice, it feels like miles. We walked through the lobby of the dorms, hearing warnings like, “Don’t go out there!” “Don’t do it!” and “Are you crazy?” From inside we could see the wind doing some damage on the trees right out front, and honestly, it was pretty intimidating. But we had come this far…
We get outside, and it’s surprisingly warm. The wind was rough, but it was probably about 30 degrees outside— very tolerable. There wasn’t a soul on the walkways or in the streets. We didn’t see a single car, parked or driving. The snow wasn’t very deep at this point, maybe 4 inches or so. We walked through the street because it was the closest thing to a path we could find. Keep in mind, usually there are city buses running, college students mingling, police patrolling, etc. The best way it can be described is like the end of the world, and we were the last three people roaming around. We pushed against the wind for a little while, and then huddled between buildings to catch a break. “You sure you wanna go all the way to lake,” Matt asked. And I nodded. Well, we made it that far…
It was impossible to see more than 100 ft in front of us at any given time. We couldn’t see the houses on either side of the street or campus buildings that usually fill the scene. Instead we were staring into a white abyss, our path laid out by street lamps. The seven blocks or so to the lake was a breeze, but once we hit Lincoln Memorial Dr. our experience changed quite a bit. This wind was forcing us towards the lake as if we were being sucked in. Lake Michigan is expansive and typically would be in plain sight in all its ocean-like glory, but last night, maybe 200 ft from it, I could only hear it.
We followed street lamps and trees until we saw the rocks of the lake shore. We were standing at the shore and hadn’t a clue a lake was in front of us. Staring straight ahead, not a thing was visible. Someone could have been holding a blank white sheet of paper in front of my face, because that’s all I saw. Gazing into absolute nothingness filled me with the most remarkable feeling. I made a comment about how annoyed I was that our senses rely on light, because I wondered what we were truly looking at. And Matt said, “Well, not all our senses; can’t you hear that?” So we all shut up and stood on these rocks along the shore, letting ice crystals hit our faces and collect on our eye lashes, probably the coldest we’ve ever been in our lives, but not noticing because the roar of the waves completely overwhelmed any other sensory perceptions.
It took me a lot to step away from that, a feeling better than any high I can imagine.
The trip back, while eventful, isn’t nearly as fun to recollect. The brutal wind pushed us back faster than we could run forward. Realizing we were getting nowhere, we decided to head up the steep hill between Lake Dr. and Lincoln Memorial (The map doesn’t show, but Lake Dr. extends further south). There are stairs all along this massive hill that lead to downtown, which amazingly, we couldn’t see— not lights from the offices, museums, homes, restaurants— nothing. So we found a monstrous set of stairs, that we were hoping would lead to a break from the wind. The snow was deeper than the steps at this point, so it looked like a snow slide. Umm, awesome!
Anyway, when we finally reached the top, we were on the patio of a restaurant, so we sat under the building for a little while, drinking water from Matt’s thermos, warming our hands, melting the ice off our eye lashes, etc. We continued across bridges and streets, occasionally stepping into waist-high snow drifts, but for the most part, having a peaceful walk. Eventually, a little more than an hour since leaving the dorms, we were back on campus. A jeep drove past us, a drunk asshole hanging out the driver’s window. As most would assume, we caught up to them a block later when they were stuck in a snowdrift on the side of the road. We attempted to help them out, but the engine was already shot— the tires wouldn’t even spin when he hit the accelerator. A block farther, we saw a graffiti artist marking up some bus stops. Hell, why not?
I wish my body would have let me stand on those rocks for hours. Human limitation is one of the hardest things for me to cope with. It just blows my mind that some people think this earth was designed for humans. Clearly, we were designed to survive on this indifferent planet. Whether we were trekking the Milwaukee streets last night or not, those winds still would have been blowing and the lake still have been roaring. Our existence is minuscule compared to the power of the storm last night.
And then, I realized it’s a fucking blizzard! Who would turn down something like that? So we got bundled and headed to Matt's room. Matt was microwaving water to put in a thermos. Apparently he had much bigger plans for us than just playing in the snow.
“We’re walking to the lake. You guys cool with that?” he said. I was waiting until we got outside to determine whether or not I’d be up for it, but it sounded like quite the undertaking.
 |
| Campus Map for Reference |
We get outside, and it’s surprisingly warm. The wind was rough, but it was probably about 30 degrees outside— very tolerable. There wasn’t a soul on the walkways or in the streets. We didn’t see a single car, parked or driving. The snow wasn’t very deep at this point, maybe 4 inches or so. We walked through the street because it was the closest thing to a path we could find. Keep in mind, usually there are city buses running, college students mingling, police patrolling, etc. The best way it can be described is like the end of the world, and we were the last three people roaming around. We pushed against the wind for a little while, and then huddled between buildings to catch a break. “You sure you wanna go all the way to lake,” Matt asked. And I nodded. Well, we made it that far…
It was impossible to see more than 100 ft in front of us at any given time. We couldn’t see the houses on either side of the street or campus buildings that usually fill the scene. Instead we were staring into a white abyss, our path laid out by street lamps. The seven blocks or so to the lake was a breeze, but once we hit Lincoln Memorial Dr. our experience changed quite a bit. This wind was forcing us towards the lake as if we were being sucked in. Lake Michigan is expansive and typically would be in plain sight in all its ocean-like glory, but last night, maybe 200 ft from it, I could only hear it.
 |
| Lake normally looks like this |
 |
| I saw this. |
It took me a lot to step away from that, a feeling better than any high I can imagine.
The trip back, while eventful, isn’t nearly as fun to recollect. The brutal wind pushed us back faster than we could run forward. Realizing we were getting nowhere, we decided to head up the steep hill between Lake Dr. and Lincoln Memorial (The map doesn’t show, but Lake Dr. extends further south). There are stairs all along this massive hill that lead to downtown, which amazingly, we couldn’t see— not lights from the offices, museums, homes, restaurants— nothing. So we found a monstrous set of stairs, that we were hoping would lead to a break from the wind. The snow was deeper than the steps at this point, so it looked like a snow slide. Umm, awesome!
Anyway, when we finally reached the top, we were on the patio of a restaurant, so we sat under the building for a little while, drinking water from Matt’s thermos, warming our hands, melting the ice off our eye lashes, etc. We continued across bridges and streets, occasionally stepping into waist-high snow drifts, but for the most part, having a peaceful walk. Eventually, a little more than an hour since leaving the dorms, we were back on campus. A jeep drove past us, a drunk asshole hanging out the driver’s window. As most would assume, we caught up to them a block later when they were stuck in a snowdrift on the side of the road. We attempted to help them out, but the engine was already shot— the tires wouldn’t even spin when he hit the accelerator. A block farther, we saw a graffiti artist marking up some bus stops. Hell, why not?
I wish my body would have let me stand on those rocks for hours. Human limitation is one of the hardest things for me to cope with. It just blows my mind that some people think this earth was designed for humans. Clearly, we were designed to survive on this indifferent planet. Whether we were trekking the Milwaukee streets last night or not, those winds still would have been blowing and the lake still have been roaring. Our existence is minuscule compared to the power of the storm last night.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
This couldn't be more true.
It’s a funny thing coming home. Nothing changes. Everything looks the same, feels the same, even smells the same. You realize what’s changed is you.
F. Scott Fitzgerald
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Part 2
(go here for part 1)
She put up a fight getting into the car, wondering where we were going and why. I couldn’t tell her, of course, that we were taking her into the emergency room for an overdose. She’d probably get violent. She was coherent enough to walk herself to the car, but she mumbled bullshit about not wanting to leave the house the whole while. I helped her light a cig once we were headed down Lake Dr. to Columbia St. Mary’s. She passed out, letting it burn to a stick of ash, and woke up once we pulled into the emergency lane of the hospital.
She put up a fight getting into the car, wondering where we were going and why. I couldn’t tell her, of course, that we were taking her into the emergency room for an overdose. She’d probably get violent. She was coherent enough to walk herself to the car, but she mumbled bullshit about not wanting to leave the house the whole while. I helped her light a cig once we were headed down Lake Dr. to Columbia St. Mary’s. She passed out, letting it burn to a stick of ash, and woke up once we pulled into the emergency lane of the hospital.
“oh no. no. no. no. no.”
“C’mon, Nat, get outta the car.”
“i don’t… i don’t need to go to a hospital”
Her face shrunk and her eyes pinched shut as she gasped for air. Her red, snot-covered face became drenched in tears as she begged us not to make her go. She clutched Hubert’s journal at her chest and tears drip-dropped onto the binding.
“i told you…. i did not do that much…. let’s go home”
“Get out of this car. Do this for me.”
“i’m fine. this is fucking stupid”
Matt and Tom walked around the outside of the car having a cigarette, peering in at me, waiting for me to open the door. I didn’t know what to do. What if I was completely overreacting and she was totally fine?
Earlier in the week, I had tried to get ahold of Natalie. I was calling a guy I knew she was staying with, but often the calls would go to voicemail. I think it was the Tuesday before all this when the stranger finally answered his phone.
“Hey, can I talk to Natalie?”
“Naw I’m at work. She’ll call you back tonight.”
“Great, tell her it was Sarah calling!”
“Oh, Sarah? She was talking about you. Did you hear what happened?”
“No.” I got chills.
“Hubert’s dead. Killed himself.”
Hubert, Natalie’s everything, just no longer existed. I knew what this meant. Natalie was devastated, and if I’m lucky, still breathing. I awaited her call like my own life depended on it, ill with anxiety. Natalie and Hubert had only stayed with me two days before he was arrested for shoplifting a few blocks from my house. There was a warrant out for him in Illinois, so he was shipped back as fast as he got here. I did all I could to keep her spirits up while he was gone with beers and parties, but I didn’t know the person he’d left with me in Milwaukee. She wasn’t the Natbat I’d grown up with. We didn’t have a thing in common, and she was hopelessly dope sick the whole time she was here. It was almost a relief when she’d gone back to Illinois. And now, Hubert’s dead. How? I hadn’t a clue, but I assumed he’d overdosed once they let him out of jail. Natalie didn’t even get to say goodbye, the stranger told me.
Finally, I said it.
“Do it for Hubert, Natalie. Get out of this goddamn car.”
She sobbed. Matt opened the door of the car and I pushed her out, picking up her things as they hit the pavement. I held her at the elbow like I was escorting her to the dance floor at prom as the automatic ER doors slid open. I took her to sit down and watched as Matt and Tom explained the situation. She was coming in and out again, being conscious just long enough to ask me for a cigarette and for me to explain that we were in a hospital. People stared and I wanted to cry.
“So Natalie, you took some drugs?” The nurse said in the high pitched tone one uses to speak to a toddler.
“yeaaa so?”
“Well, why did your friends bring ya here, Natalie?”
“they said i took too much”
“We’re gonna check on that, alright?”
Matt, Tom and I stood outside the room speaking with some other nurses in the ER. I dug through Natalie’s purse to find her ID so we could check her in. It was coated in clumpy tan lumps of powder. Again, I wanted to cry. Matt quickly wiped it off with a tissue and soaked it in hand sanitizer.
Matt and Tom are cousins, the Schweitzer boys. Originally hailing from Neenah, Wisconsin, they are the nicest guys I’ve ever met. I’m in love with both of them. I recognize, of course, that doesn’t sit well with people. Matt and I have been dating for a few months now.
As I had searched through Nat’s fiery red leather tote, I happened upon a spoon, some bags and needles. I nudged Matt and opened the bag.
“What are we supposed to do with that?” he spit out, annoyed.
“Like I know?”
“Ask a nurse if there’s a drop box or something,” Tom suggested.
There wasn’t. And the nurse wasn’t nice about it. Now we were stuck with this stuff, and the hospital staff knew. My only hope was that they didn’t pin us all as dope fiends. We walked around this seemingly vacant hospital, Natalie’s purse hanging off Matt’s shoulder. I told him I’d hold it, but apparently it complimented his tall and slender physique.
The doctor left Natalie’s room.
“She’s stable, just really high. Here’s a prescription for an antibiotic for that infection on her hand. We cleaned and wrapped it up. She’ll be free to go in 20 minutes or so when we finish this paperwork. You can see her if you’d like.”
I left the boys in the hall and slid into the room. I picked her hand up from the bed.
“i told you. i’m fine. let’s go.”
“I just wanted to be sure, Nat.”
She stared at the white wall in front of her.
“Nat?”
She squeezed my hand and her glossy eyes let a few tears fall.
“did i… tell you… how Hubert died?” she asked me.
“I assumed overdose.”
“No. he hung himself….we had a pact. A FUCKING PACT. we were going to die together. i tried. i fucking tried the other day, but i didnt do enough. fuck.”
She paused to wipe her nose.
“i did 12 bags, Sarah, i should be dead!” snot and tears flew from her face as she passionately spoke and sobbed, “i [breath] cant [sob] believe [snot] i [gasp] woke uuuuuuup,” she wailed.
I couldn’t say a word; I was absolutely stunned. She said too much at once. I was already crying. Now I wanted to throw up.
“Baby, he hung himself?” was all I could squeak out of my lungs.
“…in…jail,” she clarified, “i didnt even get to say bye. and i missed his service. it was fucking today.”
We were released, and we headed back to my house. Natalie made us stop to get cigarettes from Walgreens since we “took all her drugs.”
“those were worth 200 dollaaaars” she cried and whined the whole way home as she banged her head on the car window.
“Honestly, Natalie. I don’t give a fuck.”
Monday, January 23, 2012
Perfectly put.
“Something has happened
To my understanding of existence
That now makes my heart always full of wonder
And kindness.”
To my understanding of existence
That now makes my heart always full of wonder
And kindness.”
| — | Hafez “Today” |
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
I decided to write about this, if only for the sake of my mental health. Part 1.
It was almost a month ago now, and I still randomly get upset about the ordeal. And where do I even begin? I don't know what amount of back story would instill enough emotion to feel compassion for this girl. I don't know if in all of this, I am the selfish one. I don't know if I've been duped by a dope head, just looking for the attention she always needed, and the money she could use to prolong her addiction a little longer.
It was a Friday night. Natalie called me in a panic. I hadn't spoken to her in a few days. Previously she had been squatting at my place with her boyfriend Hubert, but one day she took off for a "doctor appointment" and didn't come back. She cried on the phone to me that she had no where to go again, and asked if I'd buy her a bus ticket back to Milwaukee. Wanting her away from Chicago and the drug scene, I gave in. I expected her to arrive at my place about one a.m.. I went out that night to film for a horror movie project, leaving notes on the doors (since she had no cell phone) about making herself comfortable, and I went off to Matt's.
After falling asleep at Matt's, I made it back to my house around noon on Saturday. Immediately I noticed the Newport aroma-- Natalie was definitely here. And despite my earlier scoldings, she had smoked in the house. Oh well. She was fast asleep on the couch, and she surely looked like she needed it. I had never seen her in such a horrible condition. She had scratches and sores all over her face, a crater-like infection on the back of her hand, and her skin was ghostly white.
Then I noticed the bags. There were probably twenty tiny bags, shredded open, still lightly dusted in a white/tan powder. She didn't. She did not do all those drugs. I looked around frantically. On the coffee table, on a photo of a couple people I've never seen, she had piled a hefty mound of heroin.
Gah I was so angry. I let her into my home and she brings this shit, this vile, life-ruining, home-wrecking, mind-destroying substance. I left her to her dreams and got in the shower. I did not want to start my day like that, I could at least be clean first. I deeply regretted this, however, once I was fresh.
Natalie was face down in the mountain of H. She had organized lines and attempted to do them all in the 10 minutes I had been preoccupied. Now she was in a pool of her own snot, unconscious. I ripped her head up from the table and tried to look into her eyes. They rolled around in the sockets and then locked on mine.
"How much did you do?"
"not even that much"
"Like enough to kill a person?"
"no, i'm not fucking stupid."
"You should see yourself right now."
"why? what do I look like?"
"Seriously? You used to hide this shit from me. You're not doing this to me today. How much did you do?"
I went into the kitchen to start coffee and wet a rag. If she hadn't done that much, I'd just try to sober her up and let her mellow. At this point, I had some hope that I'd help her get clean. I thought, this would be the last of this. And if she doesn't like it, we'll check her into detox. When I came back into the living room, she was face down in the fluffy stuff again, snot and all. She had tried to do more.
"Oh fuck you. Pick up your goddamn head."
"whaaaa?"
"Let me wipe your nose. Do you want coffee?"
"yeaaa"
I let her slink into the couch. I picked up the photograph and moved it into the kitchen. There was still a decent amount left, but I had no idea how much she did. She couldn't form sentences anymore. Her nose was a goopy waterfall and she'd fall asleep halfway through a gulp of coffee, letting it dribble down her powder frosted Chicago sweatshirt and black leggings. I had no phone. No computer. I left it all at Matt's. Was this girl overdosing? I threw my shit together and ran three blocks to his house.
"I don't know what to do. Nat's at my house. She did a lot of drugs. I guess I don't really know what a lot of heroin is... any is too much. It looks like a lot."
"Should I get my car?" Matt spits out, but Tom interrupts, "Get your car, dude. We'll take her to the hospital."
(Part 2)
It was a Friday night. Natalie called me in a panic. I hadn't spoken to her in a few days. Previously she had been squatting at my place with her boyfriend Hubert, but one day she took off for a "doctor appointment" and didn't come back. She cried on the phone to me that she had no where to go again, and asked if I'd buy her a bus ticket back to Milwaukee. Wanting her away from Chicago and the drug scene, I gave in. I expected her to arrive at my place about one a.m.. I went out that night to film for a horror movie project, leaving notes on the doors (since she had no cell phone) about making herself comfortable, and I went off to Matt's.
After falling asleep at Matt's, I made it back to my house around noon on Saturday. Immediately I noticed the Newport aroma-- Natalie was definitely here. And despite my earlier scoldings, she had smoked in the house. Oh well. She was fast asleep on the couch, and she surely looked like she needed it. I had never seen her in such a horrible condition. She had scratches and sores all over her face, a crater-like infection on the back of her hand, and her skin was ghostly white.
Then I noticed the bags. There were probably twenty tiny bags, shredded open, still lightly dusted in a white/tan powder. She didn't. She did not do all those drugs. I looked around frantically. On the coffee table, on a photo of a couple people I've never seen, she had piled a hefty mound of heroin.
Gah I was so angry. I let her into my home and she brings this shit, this vile, life-ruining, home-wrecking, mind-destroying substance. I left her to her dreams and got in the shower. I did not want to start my day like that, I could at least be clean first. I deeply regretted this, however, once I was fresh.
Natalie was face down in the mountain of H. She had organized lines and attempted to do them all in the 10 minutes I had been preoccupied. Now she was in a pool of her own snot, unconscious. I ripped her head up from the table and tried to look into her eyes. They rolled around in the sockets and then locked on mine.
"How much did you do?"
"not even that much"
"Like enough to kill a person?"
"no, i'm not fucking stupid."
"You should see yourself right now."
"why? what do I look like?"
"Seriously? You used to hide this shit from me. You're not doing this to me today. How much did you do?"
I went into the kitchen to start coffee and wet a rag. If she hadn't done that much, I'd just try to sober her up and let her mellow. At this point, I had some hope that I'd help her get clean. I thought, this would be the last of this. And if she doesn't like it, we'll check her into detox. When I came back into the living room, she was face down in the fluffy stuff again, snot and all. She had tried to do more.
"Oh fuck you. Pick up your goddamn head."
"whaaaa?"
"Let me wipe your nose. Do you want coffee?"
"yeaaa"
I let her slink into the couch. I picked up the photograph and moved it into the kitchen. There was still a decent amount left, but I had no idea how much she did. She couldn't form sentences anymore. Her nose was a goopy waterfall and she'd fall asleep halfway through a gulp of coffee, letting it dribble down her powder frosted Chicago sweatshirt and black leggings. I had no phone. No computer. I left it all at Matt's. Was this girl overdosing? I threw my shit together and ran three blocks to his house.
"I don't know what to do. Nat's at my house. She did a lot of drugs. I guess I don't really know what a lot of heroin is... any is too much. It looks like a lot."
"Should I get my car?" Matt spits out, but Tom interrupts, "Get your car, dude. We'll take her to the hospital."
(Part 2)
Monday, December 19, 2011
I'm aware that there's already a drug nicknamed "Soma;" however, if you ask me, MDMA is the soma Huxley was talking about.
ESPECIALLY with the news that the U.K. is experimenting with MDMA in patients with PTSD.
“There’s always soma to calm your anger, to reconcile you to your enemies, to make you patient and long-suffering. In the past you could only accomplish these things by making a great effort and after years of hard moral training. Now, you swallow two or three half-gramme tablets, and there you are. Anybody can be virtuous now. You can carry at least half your morality about in a bottle. Christianity without tears-that’s what soma is.”
-Aldous Huxley, Brave New World
(I’m not making an opinion on the use of MDMA to aid PTSD patients— I think everyone has a right to be happy. I’m merely drawing parallels. I think Huxley was far beyond his time.)
“There’s always soma to calm your anger, to reconcile you to your enemies, to make you patient and long-suffering. In the past you could only accomplish these things by making a great effort and after years of hard moral training. Now, you swallow two or three half-gramme tablets, and there you are. Anybody can be virtuous now. You can carry at least half your morality about in a bottle. Christianity without tears-that’s what soma is.”
-Aldous Huxley, Brave New World
(I’m not making an opinion on the use of MDMA to aid PTSD patients— I think everyone has a right to be happy. I’m merely drawing parallels. I think Huxley was far beyond his time.)
Monday, July 18, 2011
And I continue to feel like I'm living in a dream.
I can’t read a damn train schedule. I fumble around the station with my things, rushing to make the 11 a.m. out of Chicago to Milwaukee, only to realize there isn’t an 11 a.m. In fact, there isn’t a train for two hours so it looks like I’m going to need to kill time. First instinct: get coffee. Second move: start reading in the most beautiful location in proximity—the Great Hall of Chicago’s Union Station. I decide to check my internet feed quickly when I notice that Natalie’s status from just moments ago announces her arrival in Chicago, so I call her. Not only are we in transit through the same city, but we’re both at Union Station. I run outside to find her getting her nicotine fix with her latest boy toy, so unfortunately named, Hubert. I almost don’t recognize her along the river walkway. She’s dressed the same as always, the latest rebel fashion, but she's thin, much thinner than Nat had ever been. Her hair looks great, a reddish brown, with natural waves and a swoop bang. I just can't get over how tiny she is.
She’s been out of rehab for about a week now, and we’ve been in contact since. As of the 9th, she’d been a month clean of dope. Within 2 minutes of me sitting beside her, she exchanges a few words over the phone. Key words—$20 bucks a bag, dubs, pick-up, good shit. I knew it. I should’ve fucking known better. In Chicago to see her Hubey?? It's more like a flock to the heroin epicenter of the U.S. because she can't lay off the dope. Most people don’t know this, but heroin has never been such a problem—it’s the new hip thing to do in the Chicago suburbs. It’s already taken lives around me, I had to watch a friend seizure over a Skype conversation from an overdose, and now, my best friend since our awkward middle school years, can’t get clean. I’ve never heard a heroin success story, and I know very few people who’ve made it out of addiction successfully. Do I begin disconnecting myself from the emotional attachment I have to her? Or do I become proactive? I want to expose this very serious problem for exactly what it is: a destroyer of families, friendships, a person’s happiness, and ultimately their life. If anything happened to Natalie, I’d absolutely die.
Now I sit and wait for the train. Maybe I’ll get another coffee. I don’t really have the stomach for food right now.
Monday, July 11, 2011
THIS THIS THIS
Our reason is quite satisfied in nine hundred and ninety-nine cases out of every thousand of us, if it can find a few arguments that will do to recite in case our credulity is criticised by some one else. Our faith is faith in some one else’s faith, and in the greatest matters this is most the case. Our belief in truth itself, for instance, that there is a truth, and that our minds and it are made for each other,—what is it but a passionate affirmation of desire, in which our social system backs us up? We want to have a truth; we want to believe that our experiments and studies and discussions must put us in a continually better and better position towards it; and on this line we agree to fight out our thinking lives.--William James (from The Will to Believe)
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Drain City
Matt took me and T.J. into the ghetto last night. We all hopped out of the Lexus, stepped around to the trunk, took our backpacks out, put them on and strode down Capitol as if all in one motion.
Matt, looking serious as ever and staring straight ahead said, “On three, you’re following me over this wall. One, two… whoa shit that’s higher than I expected,” and yet, he still leaped over the concrete barrier.
I didn’t hesitate to follow him over, and T.J. immediately behind me. Instantly upon hitting the grassy riverbed, we heard sirens. Not one of us thought we were in trouble. We’re in the ghetto— the last of their worries should be a couple Upper East Side kids trespassing. And we we’re right. An ambulance pulled up right where we had jumped over. It seemed the perfect distraction; no one would notice the three of us slinking away into the Milwaukee drain system.
With boots on and lamps in hand, we quickly tagged and entered one of the 8 by 10 foot rectangle drains. After miles, we came across a knife here, some spoons there, a Walmart gift card, and some guy named Rashid’s driver’s license. It’s seemed this drain was a bummer; we hadn’t intersected with any others or found anything worthwhile. Matt flashed his bright light one last time before we turned around, and both Matt and T.J. let out an excited giggle (what we refer to as “geeking out”).
It was an intersection where three drains united. We chose the route down the 12-footer, and by this I mean a round pipe 12 feet in diameter. It wasn’t as big as the drain we refer to as “Pillar” but it was still breathtaking. Within minutes of walking we could hear the roar of another drain emptying into ours. Sure enough, a few pipes were emptying into the 12-footer and in one of the rarest, most “gnarly” forms.
It was a drop shaft, made entirely of brick, and at the very top near the manhole, it was cream city brick, the oldest in Milwaukee. We climbed the service ladder up into another drain about 10 feet above. We reached similar shafts 3 more times before the higher drains were too small to explore.
Of all events last night, the most exhilaration I experienced was from the tallest drop shaft we climbed. Heading back out, it’s like shimmying down next to a man-made waterfall. Ya know, the beauty of drains is that it’s always between 60 and 70 degrees. It doesn’t smell like some might think; in fact, for a stretch of drain I was overwhelmed with the scent of laundry detergent. And lastly, there’s no one around; at least, no one but whom you invite. And while you’re down there, you feel like the only people in the world.
It’s utter darkness, black nothingness, that we walk through and leave behind as we stroll with our lamps. It’s as if these places don’t exist until we decide to invade them.
I ought not glamorize this too much. It’d take away from the sanctuary it is if people began flocking to all the city’s drains at night. I’ll just make the safe bet that this doesn’t sound as nice to all of you as it does to me.
Matt, looking serious as ever and staring straight ahead said, “On three, you’re following me over this wall. One, two… whoa shit that’s higher than I expected,” and yet, he still leaped over the concrete barrier.
I didn’t hesitate to follow him over, and T.J. immediately behind me. Instantly upon hitting the grassy riverbed, we heard sirens. Not one of us thought we were in trouble. We’re in the ghetto— the last of their worries should be a couple Upper East Side kids trespassing. And we we’re right. An ambulance pulled up right where we had jumped over. It seemed the perfect distraction; no one would notice the three of us slinking away into the Milwaukee drain system.
With boots on and lamps in hand, we quickly tagged and entered one of the 8 by 10 foot rectangle drains. After miles, we came across a knife here, some spoons there, a Walmart gift card, and some guy named Rashid’s driver’s license. It’s seemed this drain was a bummer; we hadn’t intersected with any others or found anything worthwhile. Matt flashed his bright light one last time before we turned around, and both Matt and T.J. let out an excited giggle (what we refer to as “geeking out”).
It was an intersection where three drains united. We chose the route down the 12-footer, and by this I mean a round pipe 12 feet in diameter. It wasn’t as big as the drain we refer to as “Pillar” but it was still breathtaking. Within minutes of walking we could hear the roar of another drain emptying into ours. Sure enough, a few pipes were emptying into the 12-footer and in one of the rarest, most “gnarly” forms.
It was a drop shaft, made entirely of brick, and at the very top near the manhole, it was cream city brick, the oldest in Milwaukee. We climbed the service ladder up into another drain about 10 feet above. We reached similar shafts 3 more times before the higher drains were too small to explore.
Of all events last night, the most exhilaration I experienced was from the tallest drop shaft we climbed. Heading back out, it’s like shimmying down next to a man-made waterfall. Ya know, the beauty of drains is that it’s always between 60 and 70 degrees. It doesn’t smell like some might think; in fact, for a stretch of drain I was overwhelmed with the scent of laundry detergent. And lastly, there’s no one around; at least, no one but whom you invite. And while you’re down there, you feel like the only people in the world.
It’s utter darkness, black nothingness, that we walk through and leave behind as we stroll with our lamps. It’s as if these places don’t exist until we decide to invade them.
I ought not glamorize this too much. It’d take away from the sanctuary it is if people began flocking to all the city’s drains at night. I’ll just make the safe bet that this doesn’t sound as nice to all of you as it does to me.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Go with the Flow
I've learned a lot during this first year of college. I don't necessarily mean in the classroom, because unfortunately I repeated a few high school courses, but I mean I've learned a lot about people.
I truly believe that there is a course to our lives, impossible to resist. And if we notice that life is getting too rough and there are too many obstacles, perhaps we're going the wrong way, and those difficulties are the universe's way of letting us know. For example, when I want something, not just kind of want it, but know that I must accomplish or have this thing, it happens. I decide that it will happen, and all my actions fall into place. When I am misled or with "the wrong crowd" I can feel it in the pit of my stomach. I know that I am not meant to be somewhere or with someone. I don't know if this is the feeling of intuition, but I feel like it's much stronger than that, as if more like an invisible hand guiding me along. Don't get me wrong, this is by no means "God's hand" or some sort of divine path because I find that faith and reason are enemies, and I am most definitely on the side of reason.
Examples might better explain what I mean. When I first applied for housing at UWM, I was offered a place in the engineering living learning community by multiple advisors, but I thought about how a lot of my friends are reason-minded engineer types. I felt the need to escape that for a while, so I turned down the LLC. After just a week in the dorm I chose to live in, RiverView, I knew it was too good to be true. My room was beautiful, the privacy wonderful, and the food mediocre, but the people were absolutely awful. There were few, if any, people like me around, and I felt like a snob in that place. I had no interest in being friends with any of those people just upon exchanging a smile or names. I made the best of my time there, but I was losing the little faith I had in humanity with each passing day. I became more and more of a hermit, staying up all night on the internet, and sleeping from 5am to 5pm. On occasion, I wouldn't see daylight. I felt sick, worn down and achy constantly. I worried that I was becoming depressed. It wasn't me, and I knew life shouldn't be that hard.
So I made a change. I made an appointment with my advisor, explaining to her that my grades were wonderful as always, but I felt my well-being deteriorating. I tried, without coming off as arrogant, to explain how the people in RiverView and I were not like-minded beings and that they were, in fact, dumb as hell. She was extremely sympathetic and knew exactly what I needed, and that was to move into the LLC. The mere idea of this sounded like an oasis in the dry desolate landscape that was my happiness.
The next day during chemistry, I mentioned to my friend Ryan that I was moving into the LLC, and to my surprise, he knew people who lived there already. Through these people, I was able to choose between a few possible rooms, and meet my new roommate. Everything flowed as if I didn't have to do a damn thing. One simple action of seeing my advisor and being upfront about how I felt, put me where I am today.
I live quite happily in the engineering LLC with a roommate who has become my friend. As a matter of fact, we get along so well, we're going to live together next year off campus. She thinks the way I do, and so does her boyfriend. We've introduced ideas to one another, discussed known philosophies and reinforced our collective atheism. I feel so at peace and in place. I attempted to resist the advisors in the beginning, only for the universe to direct me right back here.
Another good example comes from just two days ago. The story, however, will begin on the first day of my honors seminar last semester when I met Leopold Smith. He stopped me as I was walking out of Garland Hall to say that we should hang out. I took it as hitting on me, but I hadn't made any friends yet, so I agreed. Later he told me that he stopped me because I sounded smart in class, unlike the other girls, and he liked what I had to say. Anyway, we became close friends, and all of his friends became my close friends, one of them being my other roommate for next semester. Leo and I spoke recently about how my entire social life was based on him stopping me after that class, and he's absolutely right. Such a seemingly miniscule moment has had such an impact on my overall college experience.
And then, just earlier this week, a guy Jay from the dorms invited me to hang out at his buddy Nick's house. I hesitated because I had work to do, but something told me that I really ought to go. I had a good feeling about the energy of that night. Upon arriving at Nick's house, I realized that we were at my friend Byron's house-- because they're roommates! We laughed about the coincidence for some time, and proceeded to drink some coffee and watch a movie. And after a little while, others poured in to the apartment, all friends of mine and Leo's. It was in that instant I realized I was destined to meet these people, be friends with these people. This was the universe's fall back moment if I hadn't decided to hang out with Leo last semester. There's a comfort and camaraderie within this group that makes me feel so welcome and appreciated. It was no mistake that I met these folks.
What I'm discovering is that even though we feel that we have this freedom to do what we want, be who we want, in the end we search for what makes us happy. So if what we think we want ends up making us miserable, we will change what we want in order to find bliss. What I am trying to say is that there is a flow of energy that we can't fight, it may be down to the most finite quantum level which we don't understand, or maybe it's this so-called "soul" that embeds in our flesh, but either way, I say you should go with the flow; it hasn't yet steered me wrong.
Where I was going with this originally was a rant about how I have distanced myself from the negative energy of those who weren't meant to be my friends. They were left behind in RiverView, where they ask God to fix all that is wrong in their lives and continue to make poor decisions. May they find their right mind before it's too late to find their bliss.
I truly believe that there is a course to our lives, impossible to resist. And if we notice that life is getting too rough and there are too many obstacles, perhaps we're going the wrong way, and those difficulties are the universe's way of letting us know. For example, when I want something, not just kind of want it, but know that I must accomplish or have this thing, it happens. I decide that it will happen, and all my actions fall into place. When I am misled or with "the wrong crowd" I can feel it in the pit of my stomach. I know that I am not meant to be somewhere or with someone. I don't know if this is the feeling of intuition, but I feel like it's much stronger than that, as if more like an invisible hand guiding me along. Don't get me wrong, this is by no means "God's hand" or some sort of divine path because I find that faith and reason are enemies, and I am most definitely on the side of reason.
Examples might better explain what I mean. When I first applied for housing at UWM, I was offered a place in the engineering living learning community by multiple advisors, but I thought about how a lot of my friends are reason-minded engineer types. I felt the need to escape that for a while, so I turned down the LLC. After just a week in the dorm I chose to live in, RiverView, I knew it was too good to be true. My room was beautiful, the privacy wonderful, and the food mediocre, but the people were absolutely awful. There were few, if any, people like me around, and I felt like a snob in that place. I had no interest in being friends with any of those people just upon exchanging a smile or names. I made the best of my time there, but I was losing the little faith I had in humanity with each passing day. I became more and more of a hermit, staying up all night on the internet, and sleeping from 5am to 5pm. On occasion, I wouldn't see daylight. I felt sick, worn down and achy constantly. I worried that I was becoming depressed. It wasn't me, and I knew life shouldn't be that hard.
So I made a change. I made an appointment with my advisor, explaining to her that my grades were wonderful as always, but I felt my well-being deteriorating. I tried, without coming off as arrogant, to explain how the people in RiverView and I were not like-minded beings and that they were, in fact, dumb as hell. She was extremely sympathetic and knew exactly what I needed, and that was to move into the LLC. The mere idea of this sounded like an oasis in the dry desolate landscape that was my happiness.
The next day during chemistry, I mentioned to my friend Ryan that I was moving into the LLC, and to my surprise, he knew people who lived there already. Through these people, I was able to choose between a few possible rooms, and meet my new roommate. Everything flowed as if I didn't have to do a damn thing. One simple action of seeing my advisor and being upfront about how I felt, put me where I am today.
I live quite happily in the engineering LLC with a roommate who has become my friend. As a matter of fact, we get along so well, we're going to live together next year off campus. She thinks the way I do, and so does her boyfriend. We've introduced ideas to one another, discussed known philosophies and reinforced our collective atheism. I feel so at peace and in place. I attempted to resist the advisors in the beginning, only for the universe to direct me right back here.
Another good example comes from just two days ago. The story, however, will begin on the first day of my honors seminar last semester when I met Leopold Smith. He stopped me as I was walking out of Garland Hall to say that we should hang out. I took it as hitting on me, but I hadn't made any friends yet, so I agreed. Later he told me that he stopped me because I sounded smart in class, unlike the other girls, and he liked what I had to say. Anyway, we became close friends, and all of his friends became my close friends, one of them being my other roommate for next semester. Leo and I spoke recently about how my entire social life was based on him stopping me after that class, and he's absolutely right. Such a seemingly miniscule moment has had such an impact on my overall college experience.
And then, just earlier this week, a guy Jay from the dorms invited me to hang out at his buddy Nick's house. I hesitated because I had work to do, but something told me that I really ought to go. I had a good feeling about the energy of that night. Upon arriving at Nick's house, I realized that we were at my friend Byron's house-- because they're roommates! We laughed about the coincidence for some time, and proceeded to drink some coffee and watch a movie. And after a little while, others poured in to the apartment, all friends of mine and Leo's. It was in that instant I realized I was destined to meet these people, be friends with these people. This was the universe's fall back moment if I hadn't decided to hang out with Leo last semester. There's a comfort and camaraderie within this group that makes me feel so welcome and appreciated. It was no mistake that I met these folks.
What I'm discovering is that even though we feel that we have this freedom to do what we want, be who we want, in the end we search for what makes us happy. So if what we think we want ends up making us miserable, we will change what we want in order to find bliss. What I am trying to say is that there is a flow of energy that we can't fight, it may be down to the most finite quantum level which we don't understand, or maybe it's this so-called "soul" that embeds in our flesh, but either way, I say you should go with the flow; it hasn't yet steered me wrong.
Where I was going with this originally was a rant about how I have distanced myself from the negative energy of those who weren't meant to be my friends. They were left behind in RiverView, where they ask God to fix all that is wrong in their lives and continue to make poor decisions. May they find their right mind before it's too late to find their bliss.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Biddies and Philosophy
Last night I was trying to watch a movie call "Waking Life," a cartoony mix of dreams and philosophies. It seemed like such a beautiful movie, but I was having trouble focusing on it because I was sitting between the two chattiest girls I have ever met. They wouldn't shut up. Perhaps Drunk Sarah would get along with them, but last night I wasn't drunk and wasn't amused with these chicks.
Anyway, they stopped talking for about a minute and a half to focus on the movie themselves, but after realizing there was no hope of picking up the plot line, they returned to gabbing. The brunette, Carly, turns her head towards me and says, "Ya know, this movie seems like it's pretty philosophical. It reminds me of when I learned about existentialism in class. Gosh, my mind was absolutely blown that day!"
I just nodded and smiled approvingly and then turned back to the movie, again having no idea what I missed and being quite angry about it.
Later, I thought about what Carly had said and about when I first learned of existentialism. I knew immediately after a quick journal excerpt that I was an existentialist. Things about existentialism have never "blown my mind" but instead reinforced things I've already thought or decided. So I wonder, is philosophy now some sort of fad? Are people who don't understand it dabbling in hopes of gaining some sort of intellectual cred? I've had "aha" moments after reading quotes or articles from more established and learned existentialists, and I often have dazed moments where I'm lost in thought, staring at a blank screen (or sometimes, awkwardly, another person), losing myself in my own existential thoughts, but I don't think the premise of the philosophy is capable of blowing anyone's mind.
Was it really groundbreaking for this girl to hear that she creates her own purpose for life? That the only purpose can be created by us, much like we've created God or authority? Did it short a fuse when someone told her that she was nothing greater than what she does, the decisions and impact she makes?
If these concepts drove her crazy, imagine throwing determinism into the mix!
Anyway, they stopped talking for about a minute and a half to focus on the movie themselves, but after realizing there was no hope of picking up the plot line, they returned to gabbing. The brunette, Carly, turns her head towards me and says, "Ya know, this movie seems like it's pretty philosophical. It reminds me of when I learned about existentialism in class. Gosh, my mind was absolutely blown that day!"
I just nodded and smiled approvingly and then turned back to the movie, again having no idea what I missed and being quite angry about it.
Later, I thought about what Carly had said and about when I first learned of existentialism. I knew immediately after a quick journal excerpt that I was an existentialist. Things about existentialism have never "blown my mind" but instead reinforced things I've already thought or decided. So I wonder, is philosophy now some sort of fad? Are people who don't understand it dabbling in hopes of gaining some sort of intellectual cred? I've had "aha" moments after reading quotes or articles from more established and learned existentialists, and I often have dazed moments where I'm lost in thought, staring at a blank screen (or sometimes, awkwardly, another person), losing myself in my own existential thoughts, but I don't think the premise of the philosophy is capable of blowing anyone's mind.
Was it really groundbreaking for this girl to hear that she creates her own purpose for life? That the only purpose can be created by us, much like we've created God or authority? Did it short a fuse when someone told her that she was nothing greater than what she does, the decisions and impact she makes?
If these concepts drove her crazy, imagine throwing determinism into the mix!
Monday, May 2, 2011
Cult Films (Update from original post November 2010)
 |
| A Clockwork Orange |
 | |
| Reefer Madness |
 |
| SLC Punk! |
I used to have a list of must-see movies. Unfortunately for me, that was deleted along with lots of my contacts and other info on my phone. Now, I just do my best to watch obscure, gore-filled, and/or social commentary films. Lately, I've also been pretty fascinated with documentaries, but that's another post entirely. Anyway, what I have realized, thanks to stumbleupon, is that all my must-sees tend to be deemed cult films. So I wondered, why do I gravitate toward these notable oddities?
Cult films are plucked from all genres like sci-fi, comedy, musical, action, horror, etc. So it can't be narrowed down to my love of blood, guts, and zombies. Perhaps it's the underground, taboo factor that makes these films so appealing to me. While I do believe this is a large part their allure, I believe it's mostly that these films are misfits. They break rules and stereotypes of cinema, challenging (or maybe reinforcing) beliefs of societal norms, religion, art, language, etc. These films feel significant while you're watching, usually because of how real the character or message is in such a surreal environment.
Films to watch with my recommendation:
- A Clockwork Orange
- Rocky Horror Picture Show
- Resevoir Dogs
- Pulp Fiction
- The Wall
- The Evil Dead
- Donnie Darko
- Requiem for a Dream
- Reefer Madness
- (Romero's Living Dead Series)
- Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
- SLC Punk!
- 2001: A Space Odyssey
90's Alternative (November 2010)
I have a love/hate relationship with 90’s alternative. The music is wonderful, and growing up to it means I know all the lyrics and am just now taking the songs for what they mean. My issue is purely emotional, which is driving me up a wall. Why is it that every time Edwin McCain plays, I become a despondent, teary mess?? I have never been good at handling things like growing up, and reminders of my childhood make me extraordinarily sentimental. My stumbling blocks: fear of aging and distress over human limitations. When I’m on a high road, I’m far too logical to even notice these pathetic flaws, but they really have a way of kicking me when I’m down. I can’t say I’ve reached any conclusion here.
UChicago Trip (November 2010)
I’m already missing my weekend in the Windy City. Milwaukee doesn’t compare in height, sound, energy, or especially elegance— unfortunately, it does in smell. I wasn’t entirely enthused to return as soon as I did, but I will admit, that this little city has become home to me.
However, one thing that will always pain me is being separated from my guys. While, I may have been a bit cranky this past weekend from caffeine deficiency, it was, doubtlessly, one of the happiest times I’ve had in a while.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Down by the River
So my roommate Lauren and I decided to take advantage of the gorgeous weather by going for an adventure in the woods surrounding Hubbard Park in Milwaukee. Everything is still pretty gloomy, but branches are finally covered in buds, so I'm eager for those to bloom! The first thing I did was climb a hollowed out tree. I only climbed about 10 ft up, but there was still a nice sight of the river from it. We found a few toppled trees hanging out over the river which we carefully scaled.
What was so foreign to me had nothing to do with exploring or the terrain, I've always done things like this, it was this sensation I had in the pit of my stomach as we crossed these logs, or when I got to the top of that hollowed out tree. It was a nervousness I'd never experienced before. As a kid, exploring with my cousins, I was an absolute dare devil. I felt invincible, always. I wasn't afraid to climb anything, ride my bike off something. I had never been fearful of the injury that would almost certainly result, and for that matter, I don't think any negative thoughts ever crossed my mind. I LOVE that confidence, that genuine reckless explorer spirit that I had. Whatever happened to it, I won't know. I can't tell what in the world made me recognize my mortality, or make me question my safety enough to make my knees quiver. Maybe it's a part of maturing. Whatever it is, I don't like it. While I want to be conscious of my health and safety, I cannot let something like nervousness effect my exploration. It's too much fun.
Notable points of our adventure:
A message in a bottle!
Hobo Tent!
Some life in the gray woods!
Honorable Mentions:
We found a giant oar that has been dubbed apartment decor and a dead raccoon that scared the bahjesus out of us.
Notable points of our adventure:
A message in a bottle!
Some life in the gray woods!
We found a giant oar that has been dubbed apartment decor and a dead raccoon that scared the bahjesus out of us.
From tumblr to a real blog
I decided that tumblr isn't the proper outlet for the things I want to document. Sure it's a fun website, but I was using it for the wrong reasons. What I need is an actual blog. So here goes nothing, post #1. Warning-- I'm about to transfer my favorite tumblr posts to this here. And there may be quite a few.
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