i suspect you are not being totally honest with yourself dan... it seems to me that you are writing in order to understand yourself better. but i could be wrong. thanks gav
--- On Mon, 3/8/09, dan glover <[email protected]> wrote: > From: dan glover <[email protected]> > Subject: [MD] Shapes > To: [email protected] > Received: Monday, 3 August, 2009, 7:45 AM > "There was never any hesitation in > the headmaster's mind as to what > quality was. Quality was the manner and spirit that a man > of good > breeding exemplified. The masters understood it and the > boys did not. > If the boys studied hard and played hard and showed that > they were in > earnest about their lives there was a good chance they > would some day > become worthy people. But there was no sign in the masters' > eyes they > had any confidence this would occur soon. The masters were > always so > sure of what was good and what was right. You knew that no > matter how > hard you tried you would never measure up to their > standards. It was > like Calvinistic Grace. There was a chance for you. That > was all. They > were offering you a chance. > > "Grace and morals were always external. They were not > something you > embodied. They were only something you could aspire to. You > did bad > things because you were bad and when you got whacked for > doing > something wrong it was to mold bad old you into something > better. That > word "mold" was important. The stuff they were trying to > mold was > inherently unchangeably bad, but the masters thought that > by trying to > shape it like modeling clay, through whacks and detentions > and > obloquy, they could mold it into something that gave it the > appearance > of goodness even though everyone understood it was still > the same old > rotten stuff underneath." (LILA) > > > Shapes: On the Nature of Who We Are and Why > > I think if we really want to know what shapes a person, we > have to > consider the whole picture, not just what they read or > listen to or > watch on tv. We have to know why as well as what they do. > So at times > I like to examine as honestly and brutally as I may the > forces that > have conspired to shape what I was, who I am, and that > which I'll be. > > My Mom and Dad were very gregarious; they weren't > intellectual > academics, just hard working blue collar types, and they > had many > friends. There were always people at the house laughing and > cooking > and eating and staying over for weeks at a time. There were > cousins > and aunts and uncles and grandparents everywhere and the > whole > neighborhood gathered together on a nearly nightly basis > for campfires > and toasted marshmallows and hot chocolate. It was really a > very > idyllic way to grow up. > > After Mom passed away, things gradually changed. Dad grew > more > taciturn, didn't laugh as much, and seemed more and more > withdrawn > from us kids. Relatives on my Mom's side stopped coming by > and Mom's > friends too, along with her friends kids. About six months > after Mom > passed, Dad brought Marie home. They'd secretly married. > After she > moved in, there were no more neighborhood gatherings, no > more > campfires, no more hot chocolate. When people stopped by > the house, > Marie acted coldly towards them and they finally quit > visiting. There > were no more cousins, aunts, uncles, or grandparents at the > house; no > one stayed over. > > Marie had a son named Danny. He was 2 years older than me > and already > an accomplished bully. He spent the next few years honing > his > considerable skills on me. I disliked him the moment we met > and that > dislike has only intensified with the years. He was as > hateful a > presence I've ever had the misfortune to have known. If I > were a more > enlightened being, I would meditate for his goodwill, but I > am not. I > heard through the grapevine that he is ill with diabetes > and confined > to a wheelchair and my only thought was: I hope he lives > long enough > to suffer a bit and then dies hard. > > For some reason still unknown to me, my two younger > brothers struck up > a fast friendship with Danny. I suspect they were birds of > a feather > but that is probably too simplistic an explanation. Still, > I was a > straight A student in school while they all three struggled > mightily. > I remember Dad once (on a lark) offered us each a dollar > for every A > we got on our report cards. I got 12. I think between my 2 > brothers > and Danny, they got a combined 3. Dad didn't make the offer > again. I > think it was my reading that gave me an edge. It also > isolated me. > > I ran away from home when I was 14. They caught me and > brought me > back. Marie told me how my Dad would never love me as much > now that > I'd done something like this to him. I hadn't realized I'd > done > something so horrible as to negate my Dad's love. Still, I > ran away > again when I was 15. They caught me and brought me back. > Marie refused > to speak to me at all, which was ok with me. When I turned > 16, I got > my drivers licence, bought an old car for $25, threw my > cheap guitar > in the back seat, and pointed that sucker west. I was gone > a long > time. I don't think anyone much cared. When I did finally > return, > everyone was gone. They'd sold the house and moved away. > > My sister claims to have taught me to read when I was two > after she > caught me looking at her textbooks. She is actually my half > sister, my > Mom's child from a previous marriage, and 12 years older > than me. She > married at 16 and moved away so she wasn't a part of my > time growing > up. I just know I don't remember learning to read. I do > remember that > growing up there were very few books in the house... maybe > a few > unread Reader's Digest condensed books sitting dusty on the > shelf. I > remember reading dictionaries and encyclopedias at the age > of four. > When I started school I was amazed to discover that the > other kids > couldn't read. I excelled at it. But I acted as though I > didn't so as > not to stick out. > > I discovered the library when I was seven maybe eight, > about the time > Mom passed. It was housed in an old converted residence not > more than > 700 square feet in size with books stacked from top to > bottom. I spent > many hours there; it got me through some hard times. And > they let me > take books home too! L. Frank Baum was my first favorite > author. I > liked to read series of novels; I guess I didn't like the > stories to > end. I wanted some kind of guarantee that life went on. I > read Laura > Ingalls Wilder and the Nancy Drew mystery books and > westerns by > L'Amour and I'd dream the stories at night. Then I > discovered science > fiction; I read Asimov, Herbert, Bradbury, Heinlein, > Clarke, and many > many others. It was my escape from the world... books. > > One day, I must have been ten or so, I picked up a little > book that > seemed to be hiding in an obscure dusty corner of the > library; it was > called The Old Man And The Sea. I was suddenly hooked on > anything > Hemingway. I must have read the King James Bible about this > time as I > read somewhere that Hemingway based his writing style on > it. I'd hide > away in my basement bedroom and read. If someone called me, > I didn't > answer, and if they knocked on the door, I ignored them. > I'd go out > and get jobs mowing the neighbor's lawns and then spend all > the money > on paperbacks at the drug store. > > I read Twain, Swift, Hawthorne, Thoreau, Homer, Conrad, > Melville, and > Hugo, but Dickens was tough. I read Faulkner, Fitzgerald, > Kerouac, and > Thoreau while I was entering my teens. I think it was about > then I > read Hesse for the first time, again, a little novel > lurking in the > shadows called Siddhartha... and I had a new favorite > author for a > time. I read all Hesse's stuff but I especially liked > Narcissus and > Goldmund. I discovered Cayce, the Gita, and the Tao de > Ching. I > hoarded books like a crazy lady hoarding cats. I still > do... > > At the urgings of old Mrs Rickenbacher, the librarian, I > took to > reading poetry for a time: Pound, Whitman, Emerson, Poe, > Frost, > Dickinson, and the plays and sonnets of Shakespeare. I > especially > liked Auden until I found out he was gay. But I still liked > him, just > secretly. I found I didn't understand poetry the way I > understood > stories... it was more like looking at pictures. I tried > reading > Wuthering Heights a half dozen times without success. It > still withers > on my bookshelf. But I did manage to get through Joyce, > Miller, and I > learned to appreciate the good Catholic sensibilities of > Greene though > I didn't like the path to which those sensibilities seemed > to lead > down. > > During my late teens I read Cervantes, Tolkien, Goethe, > Dostoevsky, > Kafka, Machiavelli, Congreve, Shaw... too many others to > list. By that > time I had moved to a larger town with a larger library, > huge by the > old standard I'd grown up with. The librarians weren't near > as helpful > as old Mrs Rickenbacher though. In my twenties I read > Pirsig, > Thompson, Fuller, Nietzsche, Suzuki, Watts, Huxley, > Herrigal, Sartre, > Bohm, Mann, Wolfe, and Updike. I preferred male authors to > female, not > caring much for the likes of Rand and Austen. > > I read Dennett, Sheldrake, Velikovsky, Chomsky, Jaynes, > Gould, Davies, > Bohr, and Einstein, along with King, Koontz, Hellerman, > Crichton, and > Mailer. I liked movies like Pow Wow Highway, Dead Man, and > The Last > Temptation of Christ. I disliked movies like The Matrix, > Star Wars, > and all the Star Trek shows. I enjoyed playing my own music > to > listening to others until one day I traded my guitar away > for a dream > I didn't pursue. > > Some 10 or 12 years ago I began writing again after a long > hiatus. > During those years I've studied the language closely... > its > construction, the rules of do and don't, the Dynamic versus > the > static. I've read dozens of how-to books when it comes to > story > writing. I've developed relationships with other writers to > have and > to be a sounding board on what I need to improve. I've > written screen > plays, just to see if I can. > > I don't write for money. I don't write for fame. Instead, I > think I > write to attract beautiful women, and they're all beautiful > to me. > That's who I am, today. I've been to college, sure, but > only to clean > the carpets in the classrooms and offices. I think > sometimes I'd like > to get a degree but the thought passes quickly and I go > back to doing > whatever it was I was doing when the thought arose. Still, > I do admire > places like Oxford and Cambridge and places of higher > learning and > those who are stronger and more determined than I am and > who make > those places what they are. > > Thanks for reading, > > Dan > > > Tame Cat > > It rests me to be among beautiful women > Why should one always lie about such matters? > I repeat: > It rests me to converse with beautiful women > Even though we talk nothing but nonsense, > > The purring of the invisible antennae > Is both stimulating and delightful. > (Ezra Pound) > Moq_Discuss mailing list > Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. > http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org > Archives: > http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ > http://moq.org.uk/pipermail/moq_discuss_archive/ > ____________________________________________________________________________________ Access Yahoo!7 Mail on your mobile. Anytime. Anywhere. 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