Lean, lean, lean deep
Touch the wet ground
Bounce, bounce, bounce high
Reach for the clouds
Lean, Bounce, Dip, Dive
Too fast, slow down
I hear your sinews groan
I see your branches flail
Lean, bounce, whoosh, whip
Cannot slip the wind’s grip
Lean, bounce, twist, turn
You learn to dance until it burns
You ever wonder what an adjective looks 
like? Well, you may not wonder but you’re certainly aware of adjectives. We use them all the time, except for Hemmingway, he really didn’t like them.
Some of them are much easier to imagine than others. The more visual ones you can see in your minds’ eye: blue, muddy, thin. Or auditory ones can be more obvious: squeaky, whiny, shrill.
Or some are attached to people we have seen or incidents that have occurred. Lethargic might bring to mind a lazy friend. Gruesome might recall a terrible accident. Dow e all imagine them the same way? Probably not.
So the other day I was looking for an image a blog entry I was writing. I was actually looking for pictures of ants. I went to Google Image search function. Now of course ant is a noun and Google brought back lots of images of ants. Good job Google.
Then for some strange reason I thought, I wonder what Google’s collective consciousness will think of something that’s not an object. What will the Borg think of an adjective? What do other people think of this adjective? yes, very curious. It’s a good way to expand your adjective horizons too. And we all need that, don’t we?
So I started typing in adjectives. I don’t remember the adjective I started with but for today’s experiment let’s start with squeaky, a more obvious example from above.
Hmm. What did we get? You can go see for yourself. It’s easy. But let’s see.
We have lots of mice, of course. Lots of yellow rubber duckies and some people taking baths. And cleaning services. Squeaky wheels. Squeaky animal toys. And Squeaky Fromme, but that’s a person with nickname of Squeaky. And of course, the obligatory random hottie. Interesting but fairly obvious.
Let’s try another one. Terrible. Let’s see. Pouty toddlers as Terrible Twos. Ivan the Terrible. Various monsters. The Terrible Towel. Images from horror movies and books. And some terrible hotties. Try it. It’s intriguing.
Of course, sometimes you are screwed by pop culture. Try searching for rancid. Which is great if you are a fan of the band Rancid. Tried all the search tricks I knew but couldn’t get rid of the band pictures. Apparently the collective Google conscience is a bit myopic at times. Only way around was to attach rancid to a noun, like butter. What fun is that? You know what you’re going to get.
Now, you have to be careful what adjectives you type in. Everybody doesn’t think the same way you do. As we know sex sells and it’s everywhere on the Net. So while it may not be sex per see, sexuality and nudity will be there. If these types of images bother you, you can try the Google SafeSearch filter. That mostly works. Mostly. So any word, and I mean any, that might remotely be used by someone to describe sex is going to do just that.
But this is an adventure, isn’t it? If we knew what we were going to come across, it wouldn’t be much fun.
So rancid didn’t work so well so I tried acrid. That was a good one. Or paltry. So many words so little time. Which is why it a great way to kill some time. Try it, you’ll like it.
They said they would appear,
The cracks that is,
Eventually, Inevitably,
Not hairline fractures
Not superficial scratches
But deep cracks, all the way
Down to the times of sand
That comprise the shifting
Moving underlayment.
Well come they did, they did.
The cracks that is.
And the ants, lots of ants.
They’ve taken up their residence
In the cracks, the many cracks.
Shuttling through the cracks between the
Times of sand and the surface.
They leave their grains in piles
For everyone to see.
But the rain comes and goes
Washes away the piles
Leaving the cracks clean, fresh.
The piles will return though,
Possessing perpetuality
Without the permanence.
Deeper down in the cracks
Organic matter finds its way
Decays, provides fertile
Bedding for seeds of weeds
To find a home and grow.
I cut them and pull them
Sometimes I poison them (I know).
I know the cracks come but do not go
With the unending tides
But I am not ready
For them to be wide.
Rumble, rattle and groan
The box cars and the bridge
Compose a symphony
Sweet reverberations
Echoing down the street
Canopied by the trees
Each box car plays its part
Wears anonymous art
From city to city
A free show on the go
Stop and smell the diesel
Paint fumes do not linger
Drip, drip, plunk
Drip, plunk, plunk
Full of junk
Full of gunk
The eaves are in strife
Full of last year’s life
Rain’s rhythm is playing
Plunking eaves are grating
Who will clean the eaves
Who will stop this please
Rain, rain please go away
Stop the noise before I fray
Seven leaves and two tendrils
Brave the fence line teeming with
Untamed vines, volunteer trees and
Voracious weeds. Beyond all conceivable
Reach, the summitted realm of the rusted fence
Barren and bitterly cold even in the morning
Sun waits for the winner who will take dominion
Over all the fence can provide.
Armed with two hands, a sharp clipper and
Borrowed willpower, I hack and pull a raggedly
Clear path to the fence top. My gift to you, my
Young hop plant, the subtle smile of fortune that
passes by us so precariously, clears a path and is
Gone, leaving a lingering liberation for those who
Reach into the unknown and grasp for the link they
Believe is waiting just for them.
Waking in the Dark. I awoke and as usual grabbed a pair of black shorts in the dark. No one could see me fumbling around naked in the dark looking for the black shorts. I clumsily put them on and burst out into the light.
You see the dark is my friend. I can’t see it. It can’t see me. I can’t see me. No one can see me. I’m free.
Except when I leave the dark I apparently still can’t see very well, at least myself anyway. Or perhaps I selectively see and selectively don’t see. I presume others can see me, which I can’t really know for certain though and haven’t really bothered testing the theory.
I made some coffee, did some stretching, put some shoes on, sat down at my desk and did some work. Then it was time for a break. I stood up and saw something strange hanging from the sides of my shorts. Oh, it’s my pockets. The insides of my pockets. And what are those seams? Ah, I have my shorts on inside out. Very nice. How oblivious is that?
This would have all been very acceptable if I had remained in the dark. That I had put my black shorts on inside out in the dark was not disturbing. That seemed reasonable giving the dark environment. What was disturbing was that I had walked around in the light for an hour and not noticed.
This is not a sight issue at all. This is not a light or dark issue. This is something else. Something deeper.
Deep in my psyche where there lies a significant lack of physical self-awareness. An interesting hypothesis since I have previously diagnosed myself with a lack of personal spatial awareness, manifested by an ongoing pattern of bashing my head into anything and everything, and which I’ve always found strange since I have a pretty good feel for spatiality around me.
I suspect that lack of personal spatial awareness and physical self-awareness have the same root cause. I thought briefly the root cause might be a blissful ignorance of physicality, an indifference to physicality rooted in a focus on the spirit instead. But there’s no way I’m that deep so there must be a better root cause based more on who I actually am.
Then I remembered I’m an Introvert. Introverts as a rule don’t like to be the center of attention. It’s uncomfortable and to be avoided.
Is the root cause then a desire to not be noticed, even by one self? What would Freud do with that? What would you call that? Willful self-obliviation?
My, my. That opens up a whole new theme to explore about myself. That is if I am willing to be uncomfortable enough to notice myself for a little while. That might be asking a bit much, attempting a greater degree of self-awareness would be a leap of faith. Well, it’s important to continue to grow so it is worth the consideration.
Clumped at the bottom of the rusty
Sieve, next to the unwashed cleaver,
deprived of life affirming
Collagen, the declawed chicken feet
Linger limply on, the last of their
Pungent poultry odor clinging closely by.
Reminiscences of chicken soup for someone
Else’s soul, the souring, fading smells
Do not bring sweet succor to the
Owners of feet that no more will walk
About scratching the scarred ground for
Life giving, gizzard loving stones.
“I know you struggle with your Introversion.”
What?
Someone said that to me the other day. And I thought hmm, and being a good Introvert I mulled it over for a while to pin down what I thought about that. I certainly had a lot of thoughts about that. The next logical step was to figure out what I had to say about that. Here are some things I have to say about that.
I don’t struggle with my Introversion. Other people struggle with my Introversion. And it is specifically Extroverts who struggle with my Introversion. They struggle because they don’t understand. Now whether they don’t understand from a lack of awareness or ignorance or from a psychological make-up that precludes understanding, I don’t know. I just now that it’s their struggle to understand, not mine.
What I struggle with is Extroverts who treat my Introversion like a disease or a condition to be cured. As if I really try or get therapy I can be like them. Seriously? The last thing in the world I want is to be like them.
I’m proud of my Introversion. I consider it a huge strength. It makes me who I am. And I like who I am. My Introversion gives me super powers I would not trade for all the awesome parties and endless small talk in the world. Am I still a wallflower at parties? Absolutely. But the thing, you see, about being a wallflower is that you are a flower. Flowers are pretty awesome. Time to stop and smell the roses.
Do I have weaknesses? Of course, everyone does. Introversion just isn’t one of mine.
I right up tell people I’m an Introvert. If they get one thing about me they need to get that. It’s not an apology. It’s not an Oh, you’ll have to excuse my Introversion. It’s a Samuel L. Jackson, I’m an Introvert, Mother Fucker! So take notice. Especially you Extroverts who may be missing the aforementioned lack of awareness.
If you take my reserved nature and proclivity to think before I speak as lack of surety or temerity, your interaction with me isn’t going to end well. I have opinions. They’re just not perpetually rattling out of my mouth.
If you think my intuitive opinions are less valuable because they aren’t backed up by facts and figures, you aren’t paying attention. There’s more to the world than facts and figures. There’s perceptions and emotions and attitudes. This is how Introverts think. These are the things that turn facts and figures into complex ideas. And they’re important. That’s why we think about them.
Why do I tell you these things? So you can be aware. Awareness is the beginning of understanding.
Am I trying to say my Introversion doesn’t cause me struggles? Of course not. But the struggle is with the world around me that I can’t control, not with my Introversion. Give me the strength to accept what I cannot control. That’s what they say. And that’s true for all of us.
Do some people struggle with their Introversion? Certainly. Does your trying to help fix their Introversion help? Certainly not. Like when you see an Introvert at a party and think you should help by introducing them to a circle of people so they can join the conversation. Wrong. You’re treating them like an Extrovert. You’ve just introduced them into a group dynamic they don’t like or feel comfortable with. Want to help? Remember what an Introvert is. Introverts like one on one conversation. Walk up to them and have a non-small talk conversation with them that lasts more than a minute. They’ll like that. Know your audience.
Want to help your struggle with Introverts? Educate yourself on Introvert traits. And then be aware. Even if you can’t fathom why they would be like that. I don’t know how or why a nuclear reactor works. But I know it can provide me with electricity and I know I shouldn’t stick my hand in it. My awareness allows me to interact meaningfully with it.
Shouldn’t Introverts educate themselves on Extroverts as well, you ask? Oh, but we are educated. We are immersed in the culture Extroverts have built from the day we are born. We are shamed and guilted for not participating in it. We pretend to accept it or we isolate ourselves from it. And of course when we isolate ourselves from it we are viewed as weird and anti-social. Nonconforming outcasts.
Our goal isn’t to be outcast though. It’s not a case of rebellion. It’s a case of survival. We isolate ourselves because we grow weary of being shamed. No one wants to be shamed. There’s no joy in that.
What we would like is to be integrated. But until the shaming goes, the integration isn’t going to happen. Unfortunately for Extrovert society the shaming is on it. That’s a tough pill to swallow, I know, but we have to acknowledge it to move forward.
And while the burden to change is certainly on Extrovert society, the burden to make it an issue is on Introverts. Yet getting up in people’s grills about things is not an Introvert tendency. We are not naturally militant. But some of us will have to be. I’ll volunteer to be a Militant Introvert. Will you?
It will be our Alter Ego fighting for the cause. Like masked super heroes. Sometimes we’ll have to be obnoxious and blunt. Sometimes we’ll have to be outrageous and far-fetched. We’ll make people uncomfortable. We’ll be uncomfortable.
Behaviors don’t change without discomfort. We’ll all need courage to be uncomfortable. I promise you it will be worth it.
As for those seeking more awareness or education here are some good sources:
Susan Cain, author of “Quiet”
“Introvert Advantage”, by Marti Olsen Laney
The Introverts Way by Sophia Dembling.
The ants don’t parade through the bathroom this
Summer in their annual, persistent passage to the
Kitchen Cabinets. Cabinets which have no discernible
Draw, no dietary possibilities, no holy grail of
Dirt or sugar or anything. Chemicals and pans
Reside at the journey’s end, poor quarters for the
Weary ant.
Like an abandoned spice route from the
East, the tiled bathroom floor seems lost in
Time, lessened for its decreased activity,
Yet no more nor less clean for the awkward
Paucity of unwelcome travelers. Expectations deeply
Rutted leave strange gaps when they
Are filled.
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Fortress of Dissolitude 