Recalibrating mood is much like choosing to be merciful.

Since my sadfest yesterday, I realized that I could spy a bit on some of my job applications, and so learned that they are still in review.  Though January, the prime time for academic interviews, careens to a close, I shall be honest in acknowledging that it isn’t yet official that I haven’t been selected…

Disappointment is a low energy response to thwarted hopes.

So far as courting positivity and welcoming wisdom as regards a lifetime of poverty line, I must say that I am feeling a bit over it today.  While I do believe I have safely left behind temptations to enter into the abysmal abyss of self-loathing, it is a blue thing to repeatedly monitor and vigilantly…

Heroism connects emotion to action.

I love to cry. “Water is life” as a movement and phrase gained recognition largely through the overlapping occurrences of the Standing Rock, anti-DAPL protests and the Flint water crisis.  Among indigenous nations, there are also important teachings about how “water is medicine.”  This conviction interestingly finds considerable back-up through scientific observations and experiments related…

Free thought is prime target for commodification and exploitation.

Admittedly I am in ranting mode, though my stated intention is to conjure forth insight.  I will rectify the lapse by saying perhaps unmitigated outrage itself provides a path toward wisdom.  Once the synapses settle. So, on to the rant. I’ve taken a few semesters off from teaching, per the impossibility of finding feasibly affordable…

Censorship is an internal nuisance.

I wrote a rhyme about the tendency to speak out loud any manner of the floating bits of inner commentary that baseline attend to nonsense , to censor the insistent call succinctly declaring truths of spirit and soul.  Crystal clear in formation, rhythms composed of speech, languishing bereft of audial heft.  I’m sure I’m not…

Written words are useless until the closing of the inspiration loop.

In L.A. on Skid Row, a project called Street Symphony, composed of homeless musicians alongside professional players, has developed a tradition of playing Handel’s Messiah around the holidays.  In the article I read (New Yorker, Jan 1 issue), the author muses about how the language surrounding spiritual epiphany and redemption can so often sound corny…

Casting

As is congruent with my somewhat involuntary, ongoing hobby of writing a perhaps endless stream of cover letters from a place of cheerful detachment, I finished up another one today! This university position is particularly appealing in its adherence to the liberal arts tradition as a bastion of positive social change, and so inspired a…

return greetings

The snow came back today. Earlier this week when all our snow melted away into a brownish sludge with branches bared, I directed myself to focus on the reality of my influential psychic energies upon my family, and mostly resisted a bout of depression and malaise. So today, when the snowfall arrived anew with all…

Out loud

I enjoy performing at open mic nights, perhaps even more so than when I used to set up actual shows.  Though being in a proper band did include the fun of making fliers and crafting merchandise (usually finger puppets and gingerbread men each adorned with the band name), the featured-act quality of enterprise didn’t quite…