May
29
God Only Knows What I’d Be Without You (An ADD Autobiography) : #1 & 2
Filed Under Best Of, Existential Angst-astic, Long/Multi-Part Pieces, The Compleat Thumbscrew | 7 Comments
Memory isn’t stored in neat, contiguous sheets, like cerebral lasagna noodles. It’s more like pasta salad. Events, places and sensations are wound into a multitude of tight little spirals. With every conscious moment, they’re stirred and stirred again… rising to the top, sinking to the bottom, falling beneath the picnic table of time. The whole bowl’s slippery and unstable. Your personal history doesn’t always cling together in chronological order - or any discernible order at all. The scent of Mr. Sketch markers can nestle beside the taste of your first girlfriend’s lip gloss, or the time you ate a bad batch of mussels, or any one of a thousand other things, depending on the day. Memoir usually ignores this, as well it might. Human memory is a turbulent goo. It’s messy, mayonnaise-y and doesn’t lend itself to narrative clarity.
These are my memories, however, and they and I agree: narrative clarity can suck it.
A straight line may be the quickest jaunt between points A and B, but it’s not the most scenic. Life may be linear, but that’s not necessarily the most beautiful or truthful way to document it. It’s difficult for an audience to empathize with a life in full, or for an artist to portray it with Kodachromatic vividness. Individual moments, though? Forget noodles - they’re more like bullets. Small enough to hit the mark, big enough to blow things open.
You’ll see what I mean. Read more
May
16
Put Your Hands On Your Desk and Sit Still - Pt. III
Filed Under Existential Angst-astic, Long/Multi-Part Pieces, The Compleat Thumbscrew | 6 Comments
I spent a month with my hands on my desk, sitting still. Neither self-discipline nor negative consequences had managed to pin me down. The thing that finally did the trick wasn’t Ritalin, per se… it was one of its unexpected side effects. Perspective. Lots of it. Heavy as lead and twice as dangerous.
Stillness invites introspection. It’s why we’re drawn to forests and mountaintops. It’s why prisoners devour Bibles and G.E.D. coursework. Our brains can churn away almost anywhere (insert obligatory titty bar joke here). When given a small pocket of peace, though, they can delve into real mischief. Ask your average hermit. Ask Ted Kazcynski.
Left to its own devices, my brain churns like an epileptic Amishwoman. It screeches and crashes, slaps on new gears while gnashing existing ones. Methylphenidate manacles a small piece of the contraption. A few cogs and sprockets are segregated, slowed and stopped. They’re able to kick back in a lounge chair, enjoy a nice cold slug of WD-40… and finally comprehend the lunacy of the greater whole. Read more
May
2
Put Your Hands On Your Desk and Sit Still - Pt. II
Filed Under Existential Angst-astic, Long/Multi-Part Pieces, The Compleat Thumbscrew | 1 Comment
Thing is, I was hoping the game would be changed from Intramural Shoe-Gazing to something a little more, I don’t know… normal? Popular? Liable to result in varsity letters, half-naked cheerleaders and glory?
I’d spent so much time feeling lazier and ditzier than the glut of humanity. I imagined other people’s brains as Habitrails, with thoughts darting through neat little tubes. Mine felt more like a hamster wheel… stuck in a weird frantic stasis. I secretly hoped it would be a simple swap. A trip to PetSmart, a Schedule II controlled substance… end result, whirring metal is replaced with sleek acrylic and everyone’s happier. After a single pill, however, I knew that wasn’t gonna happen.
There aren’t any physiological effects… at least not for me. Pity. Some members of the neurotypical hoi polloi find the stuff rather delightful. Me? My hands, heart rate and temperement remain rock-steady. However, there’s never any doubt that the relevant molecules have been absorbed and begun raising a ruckus. So how does it feel? It feels like… it feels like… analogy time! Read more