Saturday, February 27, 2010

death spiral

.you know, this blog is as much for myself as for anyone else. It's useful, as an easily accesible journal, that creates it's own dates, and won't get lost, and never runs out of pages.

So this is just a note to my self, chronologically, so I can remember my last major down point/death-spiral.

cause: a mixture of Tales of Phantasia and shame.


I don't have control over my addictions.
I'm addicted to story, really hard-core.
Loneliness and Porn are connected intimately.

When I hurt myself, it is non-logical. And when I shame myself for my not in control actions, it sends me far deeper into depression.

Staying up really late makes me spacy, brain doesn't function well, and feel depressed and low energy. Also equal contributors to this state are lots of computer and no exercise.

The death spiral happened shortly after I did something I thought was very productive.

I use porn as a release, so I don't have to live with the un-ending antsy energy that is there otherwise. If I didn't have porn, I wouldn't mastrubate nearly as much, and I wouldn't... brain fuzzy.

hate myself for hurting myself, so that's hurting myself more, and I know if I go out and walk it will make it better, but I don't want to.. why? I've decided to punish myself, or is it like when I don't go to bed on time, no, like when I eat, instead of meditate or something and it gets timred. fuck this post . death

Sunday, February 21, 2010

If you want to do something you love but can't get yourself to:

I've finally started hanging out with one of the members of my primitive skills apprenticeship. It is great fun and I am finally doing all the stuff I was picturing myself doing out here, but haven't actually been doing, the last few months.

This is the absolute diamond key: friends.

or community. whatever you want to call it. Someone else, who also likes doing what you like doing, and getting together. Some of the time we are doing cools stuff, some of the time we are talking and laughing, usually both. But that is a huge, huge lesson I have just learned.

What I was trying to do was: I was trying to find a way to get myself to do it, alone. But the doesn't fucking work. Not at all.

But this different approach, this works like magic, this works in a very familiar way. And yes, it means I'm dependent on someone, not necessarily in specific, but with some specifications, that is, they like the same things I do.

I think this is/was a case of trying to run before you learn to crawl. I was trying to be independently motivated before even learning how to be dependently motivated. Doing what you love at school is the easiest step, but then, once your not paying someone for it, the next step is doing something you love, with a friend.


It certainly is for me. I suppose I'll have to test it, to see if it continues to work, but as far as I can tell, it will continue to work as long as we continue to meet. Fuck all the self-help books trying to teach you how to be proactive. I tried them and they gave mediocre results at best. Find a friend to share your passion, and meet and do it. That actually works. Also, I suppose, having a good teacher is really nice and useful for moving forward with whatever your doing. But for the times when you don't have a teacher, have a friend.

We've done more stuff in the last two weekends than I've probably done in the whole of the rest of my time here, in terms of working on primitive skills outside of class. This weekend, we went out and harvested coltsfoot and baked it with asparagus and squash and made pasta with nettle tomato sauce. I finished making my own hand forged --and painstakingly sharpened from dime thickness. believe me, this takes a loooooooong time-- knife.

I fletched an arrow, I learned a new form of reverse wrap, I learned new plants and tracking (because my friend is quite a bit more experienced than me) and I'm going to be starting a garden out back. I finished my bow string, I finished my probably twenty meters of cordage, I learned how to carve a notch for hand-drill with a rock, rather than a knife.

And I joked and laughed and forgot for a short time how damn much I miss home.

There's more, but it's hard to talk about. Little and big wonders of nature we saw in our hikes and expeditions.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010


this is actually something old (as will become apparent) that I found in the "drafts" folder of my email, and wanted to move somewhere Permanent, aside from Facebook (which will probably be gone in a few years. So, here it is:

When I was young, I had a super hero. No, I was a super hero. Isaac was my secret identity. but really, I was, "Super-Can-Do-Anything-Man-Isaac." I spent a long time thinking up what my super hero should be. I wanted to be the best, I wanted the best selection of super powers, and I didn't want to worry about being killed by arch Nemesis's (how many esses should there be there?). So finally I decided on all of them. Quite simply, as the name states, SuperCanDoAnythingManIsaac, can do, anything. Anything he can imagine, he can make so. Often, when I was having a nightmare (and I often had nightmare's as a child) I would call on the power of SCDAMI (that's an abbreviation for the name, fyi) and perhaps, if it was really dire, my sidekick, to save the day, or at least save my skin. You'd think it would be easy, beating villains with the power to do anything, but the problem was, my dreams didn't always play by the rules. There I'd be, at the exit to some giant labyrinthine lair of evil, the dark figure catching up to me, and I was jumping and trying to call on my power of flight, and only getting ten, twenty feet off the ground, as the enemy drew closer. Sometimes I would find myself completely powerless to turn into SCDAMI at all, as some dark terror lurched towards me, fangs glistening with threads of saliva.

These dreams would particularly terrify me, and as I lay in bed, heart racing, after one of those nightmares, I would cry in frustration: why wasn't SCDAMI there? Why wouldn't my dream play by my rules? Almost never, would my dream give me full access to my powers. Why?

It's now coming upon my twenty third birthday. For a while the nightmares have receded. And now, the occasional nightmares are usually more like interesting action movies. I don't have an alter ego who I transform into to gain access to my powers, I just use them. I am just Isaac, the badass monster-slayer. Usually. I wish I knew how it happened. I wish I knew how it could be applied to life.

I've got one clue: Sometimes, transformation into SCDAMI wouldn't work no matter what. But always, when I doubted my abilities, they failed me. The main difference now, in my dreams, and I suppose in my life, is I have painstakingly inched my way towards self-confidence over the years. Like Superman is powered by the Sun or the Green Lantern by his alien doo-hicky, the source of power of Super Can Do Anything Man Isaac, is Belief. Belief that I can do anything. When that faltered, I would fall from the sky, I would loose my strength. When I became scared for my life, the monsters moved in.

I think perhaps, it is time to bring my Superhero self into the light of day. Perhaps I need a secret identity, something bigger than life to transform into in times of need. But above all, what I need for sure is a heroic belief in myself.
Belief that I can do anything.

happy birthday.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

I have magic beans

I was digging through my box of not often used toiletries I keep in my closet, looking for deodorant. I recalled having some of the natural stuff that was just salt, nothing chemical-y.

A girl had just told me, point blank, that if I wanted to date, I should really wear deodorant. Finally, it appeared my mother had been proven right.

I am vehemently against deodorant. It's a philosophical thing. I believe that the human body should be sufficient unto its self, for being able to appear attractive to the opposite sex. I think if you just take care of yourself and keep your self clean, you shouldn't have to worry about smelling bad. I still may feel that way, but I was willing to try it for a bit and see how I felt about using deodorant. The other objection I had was I had heard, and it sounded reasonable, that the body would grow dependant on the deodorant, and stop being able to take care of it's oder itself. Adaption based on imposed demands (or lack thereof).

I didn't find any deodorant, but I found some other treasures: bug spray/suntan lotion (probably don't want that in with consumables), cardamom pods (a natural breath mint and more importantly anti-bacterial and digestive aid.) and a bag of old chia seeds (they are considered by some to be a super-food).

When I lifted up the bag of chia-seeds, they started jumping like teeny Mexican jumping beans. I immediately froze and stared at the little Ziploc baggie full of bouncing, vibrating seeds, looking for signs of bug life. None so far. Some of the seeds were stuck to the sides of the Ziploc bag, but not from moisture. Perhaps from static electricity? but why had it never done this before? It was pretty extreme. And only happened when I held it. I then moved my finger close to, but not touching the bag, and felt a tingling of energy, in the same ball park as static cling energy, but it only was felt in pulses, like the beat of my heart. And it was very pointed, localized to just a small point on the end of my finger. Not at all the way static charge has felt in the past. And the beans seemed to react to the energy around my finger, getting more jumpy.

So, anyways, I have a bag of magic beans now. Anybody wanna trade for something?

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Belize: enter the country


I've got my micro laptop, I've got my illicit feeling but completely legit internet hookup from Tully's (apparently the best coffee in Seattle area, better than starbucks, which is so ubiquitous now that they are starting to open small shops that look like independent coffee shops, because people are getting tired of them ruling the world, and want to feel like they are supporting local business.)
And I've got my journal with the notes and scrawlings from my Belize trip.

I'm at a dilemma though: I'm not sure whether to just tell the whole story in as much detail as I can remember, or snippets that are interesting, or spend a lot of time putting together the most interesting bits in the best flow said the best way, creating something completely different from the truth of the experience and perhaps more interesting to read. Which is what I suppose most writers do. Except most writers have an agenda, like, "prove that abortion is a good thing" or "get the editor to buy my story" whereas my main motivation is, "create something that keeps me from having to repeat my stories umpteen times to everyone I know."

In which case, I suppose that answers my question: I will do what I always do on this blog, what I enjoy doing the most, and shoot entirely from the hip. There is a reason I like Improve dance more than any other form.

So: you've already got the beginning of the journey, back in the archives, as I was waiting for my plane, at SeaTac airport. SeaTac is weird, in that it is more expensive to drive to the airport yourself, because of the cost of airport parking. It's like twenty-five dollars a day. holy fuck! erm.. I was trying to swear less. anyways:

the longest leg of the journey was actually within the united states, down to Houston-Bush international airport, which I hope is named for senior, not junior, because I don't think junior deserves anything useful named after him.

Next, was a flight to belize international airport, the smallest international airport I have ever been too. It's smaller than the teeny airport I'm used to flying out of from iowa. There are five gates total, and one security line. The flight there is... I think under three hours. From there I got on a teeny prop plane, with room for maybe ten not too heavy people, which picked up and dropped of people like a bus, as it flew deeper and deeper into the jungle. Every ten or fifteen minutes, it would land at a single runway in the middle of jungle, with a single room building next to it, which was the "airport" and a few people would get on, a few off. I was heading to Punta Gorda, the final stop.

Looking down from the plane as we flew along the coast, I saw some farms, a few red lines cutting through the green, which I assumed were unpaved roads connecting distant villages (later this was confirmed. there are very few paved roads in Belize.) And a few houses. Belize City, which I flew into, was a fair size (and I would not recommend anyone stay there any longer than nessiary.) but aside from that, most of the stops didn't seem to have much human habitation, which was more than fine with me.

I got off at Punta Gorda, which the locals refer to as PG (which confused me at first, because I thought they were saying they were "going to fiji" when they meant pee-gee) and met with a car of Tracker students, heading off to the Cotton Tree Lodge. Including Roxanne, the woman responsible for finding and informing me of Reef CI, the diving expedition company I spent the last five days in Belize with. (fuck you, proper english :D ! ) And Sara, a girl about my age, who I met up with at Bush International, since we were taking the same flight.

Roxanne is a nice, vibrant middle aged woman who is part of an aroma therapy business, and is going down to Egypt soon, to peruse one of the oldest sources of perfumes and incenses in the world, and has done close to 400 dives. You'll see these people when I get my pictures up, (hopefully I remembered to get some head shots.)

Sara is a little older than me, and more experienced with primitive skills than I will probably ever be, barring my going down in a plane crash and having to survive for a year before making my escape via home-made sail boat. Which Sara, by the way, is working on right now. No, seriously, she's building a boat in her back yard, by hand. A sail boat. shit these people make me feel lazy. I met sara at Scout Class this summer. She was volunteering, since she had already taken the class. She likes Ren-Fair type stuff, and, if I heard correctly, likes making medieval armor replica's. When I was with her on the plane in, she was reading a book with a black cover written by guy from the military, called something like, "The Psychology of Battle." that was all about the psychological effects of actually killing someone, what that did to people, and how to cope and get yourself to a place where you can function when you are in a life and death battle situation.

She was very kind, sweet, and spiritual, in the earthy way that people interested in nature and the ways of the earth, are. So don’t get a mistaken idea about her personality, but I would definitely choose here over me in the event of zombie apocalypse.

Also in the car up to the Cotton Tree Lodge was Tom Brown Jr. himself, who I guess had arrived just before us, and was waiting to have a full car, to get shuttled out. That was cool. After reading Tom's books, and seeing him teach, it's hard not to get an image of him that is a cross between an action movie hero and Gandalf. But in person, up close and hanging out with him in the much less formal environment (there was, unlike most tracker classes, a lot of time to do your own thing, relax, enjoy the scenery) I got a bit more experience with his everyday persona. He's a New Jersey boy. He was a mischievous bastard as a kid. The kind that hid rotten opossums in the teachers desk drawer. He has an acerbic, hilarious wit, constantly teasing the people who know him well. Behind it all is an unmistakable caring, but he doesn't every try to appear in any way holy or saintly. He's just tom. Oh, and for anyone who's met him in a class and been ignored by him, and thus think he's an asshole, fyi: he is partially deaf in the vocal range of sound, so he probably just didn't hear you. He sometimes doesn't bother to correct these misperceptions, because he doesn't care what people think of him (this is unmistakable, observing him.) Anyways, It would take a good bit more description to give a good picture of what tom is actually like, as it would with anyone. Even reading all the books, when I finally met him in my standard class, he was different than I picture. And in subsequent classes, my image of him continued to change and refine, as new facets came out.

After an hour and a half of driving I arrived at the Cotton Tree Lodge. It gets it's name from an enormous cotton tree that grows up right near the entrance. This is not a cotton tree you have seen before. It is a jungle variety, and it is breathtaking. There must be some pictures in my soon to be album of it. It does on of those things where the roots start extending out, way up on it's trunk, and are solid going down into the earth, creating partitions around the trunk. Probably twenty people could hold hands around it. maybe ten, up around the trunk, where there are no roots. The walkway in has an assortment of rainforest greenery, including cacao tree's, with there odd purple fruits growing out of branches and trunk alike. The cotton tree lodge makes it's own chocolate, and it is delicious, though expensive, because everything is hand done, and no shortcuts are taken.

Apparently, Cacao was called "The food of the gods." by the Mayans, back when they were building temples and sacrificing people. They made chocolate back then too, but only the rulers where allowed to eat it.

(insert long rant about what assholes all those rulers who claimed special divinity and higher status than the people that served them, were.)

On the way in we passed Mennonites and Mayan villages. The Mayans lived here originally, but got driven out by whoever it was that concurred this region, but more recently they came back. And the Mennonites came with industrial machinery because the land had a lot of sun, rain, and nutrients, and so they could make a lot of money farming it, live in an idealic landscape, and convert the heathens, all in one stroke. There are a lot of schools, in Belize, and they all have crosses on them and christian denominations. In fact, on the plane ride back out of punta gorda, I was sitting next to a nice, clean-cut man who was in the process of setting up a nice christian high school somewhere. He had just flown in to meet with the government, who were more than happy to give him the land to build the school, and now he was going back to the US, to fundraise to get the money to build it.

I was torn, in how to feel: he's building a school for kids. That's supposed to be a good, empowering thing, right? But it was going to be a christian school. It would impose American and christian values both, on these kids. Was that even a good thing? I am so vehemently against prosthilitizing and converting people over to your religion. It makes me furious and sick to my stomach. It is the same force that drove the inquisition, that drove nazism, that drives the islamic extremists, that drives the american warmongers. It goes something like this:

these people are different. they must become like us, and give us there wealth, or die, and we will take it. some people are more interested in the wealth, some people are more interested in the differentness being eliminated, both are monstrous and against life, against the natural tendency towards diversity that exists in nature.

This thinking kills everything it comes in contact with.

And a reminder, to myself and others, that to fight the energy of destruction, with hate, anger, violence, is to fight the energy of destruction with the energy of destruction, and thus increase it. To effectively fight the energy of destruction, you must use the energy of creation. The energy of love.

ok, that's all for this installment. More as time allows.

(as a side fuck you: to google, and the blogger team, for once again making my spell check inoperable. you bastards, it's work to have to copy past/repast this into word. If I was paying you, I'd pay you less now.)

a part of me

I want to run away
I want to lash out
there is a part of me that hates me.
I want it to go away;
I hate it.
that's the same part.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

rustling of leaves

the air is fresh


hi everybody, I'm back. I'll write up a little thing on my adventure in belize, when I find time. I don't know when that will be. Things are picking up, in terms of busyness. I actually have quite a lot of things that need doing. Which mean the blog may fall by the wayside for a bit.
or not. We shall see.