A Love Letter to Yonder

Dear yonder,

Anticipating the goings on at the hill beyond yond hill is usually better than being there. Yonder. Yonder yonder yonder yonder. Good word, yonder.

In case you didn't know, I quit my job back in July and then drove around the country for a month. I spent a lot of time studying state maps, memorizing the major highways and then avoiding them as much as possible, fanning off in every direction with a loose plan and no schedule.

I ministered the marriage of two of my friends on a mountain in Colorado. Hit up a rodeo. Then I hit a deer in Utah and was stranded while I waited for shiny new bumper. I finished a case of High Life on a motel porch with a couple of sixty year old Hells Angels in Greybull, Wyoming. I worked at a sheep farm in Montana for board and I camped alone for the first time. Many times. Camping alone is relaxing. I drank wine at Hemingway's grave, hiked a few miles of the Oregon trail, took way too many pictures on the Enchanted Highway, gambled poorly in Deadwood and tailgated the sunset every night I could. 

Good country, this.

On a trip like that, there's always something over yonder. Nothing here? How 'bout over yonder? Yep, sure enough, something's yonder. But then once I got to one yonder, THERE WAS ANOTHER THING OVER YONDER.

And I couldn't fucking wait. I wanted all of it. Couldn't wait til I crossed yonder mountain, hiked yonder trail, wandered the town over yonder. Everything looked like this:

All yonder. Distant, but within sight. Possible.Yonder yonder yonder.

I do not miss my job. It was an amazing nonprofit with wonderful humans, but I had a shit job with shit responsibilities. Daily dread. Eventually I started showing up at 11am, daring them to fire me. I just started doing shit without asking. Because fuck off, that's why.

Honestly, they treated me well. Over seven years there were two promotions and seven significant pay raises. But my responsibilities never really changed. Every year the higher ups learned more about my workload, but they never had a clear picture until I left. They split parts of my job between two existing coworkers, hired two people to replace me for day-to-day stuff and then outsourced my event and fundraising responsibilities. If they had doubled my salary I still would have left.

Working in a job absent of variation, growth, and advancement can really murder your outlook on the future. My imagination couldn't take me far. I basically decided that I had to keep earning money so I could survive, sustain, and take care of my parents eventually.

A lot of wanting is involved in that. A lot of self-reflection and inaction, a lot of realizations that zero in on one thing, like the point of a dagger: if I follow this road, there isn't anything over yonder. I had to quit.

Right now I'm scrambling around looking for writing gigs. It's hard. I'm not making much money and I'm burning through savings. I'm inspired, hopeful, worried, restless, daunted, eager, and fucking terrified. IT IS WONDERFUL. There are so many things over yonder, just littering up and down my timeline, and none of it is dreadful. I could move to Ireland! I could get married! I could die alone! I could publish a book! I could start a business! I could fail goddamn miserably! I could get a dog! I could declare bankruptcy! Isn't that brilliant?

Everything over yonder, some of it's good, and some of it is not so good. But all of it is vivid and possible. Distant, but within sight. It's not a stiletto. It's a feather. Yonder yonder yonder yonder.

Love,
Me

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A Love Letter to Preposterous

Dear preposterous,

Of all the words that mean "contrary to common sense," including but not limited to:

1) ridiculous       2) absurd       3) foolish       4) silly       5) etc.

You are the best.

I'm predisposed towards the preposterous automatically, but only in a very specific way. I like my preposterousness to have intent, somehow. I think it's because preposterous things are best when they veer swiftly from a serious something. When they have a reason and that reason is, itself, preposterous.  All that is probably rooted somehow in absurdism, right?

Still, I'm not directly talking absurdism, here - like the disharmony created by humanity's continuous search for meaning in a meaninglessness universe -  for example: mathematicians rummaging for the secrets of pi, or people who do the "paleo diet" (which is worst name ever, and here's a tip if you want to lose weight: exercise (yes, fine, pots and kettles and their inherent blackness, whatever, but at least I'm not jumping on fads)) because, you guys, we have no way of knowing that Paleolithic humans refrained from starch.  Or Catholicism. Pi, paleo diets, Catholicism. All the same thing. Everything is the same thing, nothing is different, everything is different, everything is absurd, but omg, why? So obviously I agree with absurdism, pretty much, but I don't like the fact that I do. Which is, of course, fucking absurd.

But I'm talking about artistically preposterous, or personally preposterous, or professionally preposterous. The kind of preposterousness that springs from the cracks of too much seriousness rather than a lack of understanding, of the willing neglect of things that are sensible in order to embrace the nonsense, because of the nonsense. It's just more fun that way.

In light of disappearing flights, I'm going to use LOST as an example here: LOST excelled at characterization. Each person portrayed on that show was pompously elaborate, fat with memories and glaring idiosyncrasies.

The plot to LOST was developed, but shittingly preposterous, and that made me love it more. The more entangled and irrational each story became, a pervasive concern arose among viewers: the scriptwriters wrote themselves into fallacy. But then instead of writing themselves out of it they just said, "Eh, fuck it. Let's do this instead: EVERYTHING IS MAGIC."

Look at that foot. Why is the foot there? Because it used to be a statue of Taweret. Why was there a statue? Because someone built it. Probably an Egyptian. Why Taweret? Because she was the goddess of makin' babies, and no one could have babies on the island so the statue was an appeal for fertility. Why? Because some people like babies and the island is magic.

That is my idea of a good time. Instead of solving our problems, let's just use magic.

pre·pos·ter·ous
[pri-pos-ter-us s, -truh s]
adjective
completely contrary to nature, reason, or common sense; absurd; senseless; utterly foolish: a preposterous tale.
Origin: 1535-45; from Latin praeposterus with the the hinder part foremost. See pre-, posterior, -ous.

Synonyms
unreasonable, excessive, ridiculous. See absurd.

Sure, saying that using magic is better could be utterly foolish. Why? Number one, magic isn't real. Two, it's cheating. But most importantly it means taking that thing that we were all wondering: is there a fucking logical explanation for all this? No. There isn't. There is only magic.

But how, do you ask, is that putting the hinder part foremost? That which defines preposterous, which is why this is preposterous and not absurd? Literally, "pre-" meaning before; part of "posterior" meaning subsequent, followed by, hinder; and "-ous" meaning...you know...the part of the word that makes this an adjective. Either way, preposterous magic is the driving purpose. We're well aware of what should be done, if things were right and proper, and we just...do it differently for no goddamn reason.

Things that are literally backwards and preposterous, just off the top of my head: 

• Looking-Glass magic plum-cakes (hand it round first, then cut it after)
• “We should forgive our enemies, but not before they are hanged.”
• Put your thing down, flip it, and reverse it 
• posting something on Facebook just to see different sidebar ads
• butt chugging

The obvious preposterous thing to list is "don't put the cart before the horse." But what people always forget is this: horses can push, too. 

Do horses dream of hauling booze or is the very notion of this preposterous?

Love,
Rassles

...

So I guess I have a Love Letters series now.  I mean, I do. Click here for the list so far.

A Love Letter to Clever

Dear clever,

You are just a great word, did you know that?  Ticklish and vague, with a hint of spiritual association that slides across the spectrum of emotion.  We know what you are, but we don't all agree on you.  You're so fucking...subjective.

Say 'cle' over and over. kleklekleklekleklekleklekleklekleklekle.  It feels like pieces falling into place, like a Rube Goldberg device at the climax of brewing a pot of coffee, or clanking gears of an astronomical clock. 

Say 'ver' over and over.  verververververververververververver.  It sounds like beginnings.  A throttle, an engine, an action about to occur. 

Clever holds the promise of the truly awesome discoveries to come.

But there's a darkness to you, clever.

There's a darkness to "smart" as well, but that darkness is leaking out of a word that masks itself with a sharp bite and sudden stings.  Smart is painful.  And honestly, clever is just more phonetically pleasing (see sentences five through ten, thank you), and that's why I love it more. 

Clever can be negative, as if someone is a wee bit too mentally nimble for their own good.  Should there really be such a thing as too clever?  Too good at cleverness?  We don't say a person is "too good" at basketball or painting or playing the violin.  I mean, we do, but it's figurative, like "OMG, that Picasso guy is just tooooo good."  We don't insinuate their talents are for evil. 

Cleverness, though, is slightly off-balance, elite, cunning, darkly and knowingly smart.  Wisdom is honest, cleverness involves manipulation.  It implies a confidence in ability that makes people somewhat uncomfortable.  Then again, anyone who is not overconfident in their ability to play violin probably shouldn't compete in the International Tchaikovsky Competition, anyone who is not overconfident in their athleticism shouldn't start on the Bulls.  But a violinist has clever fingers, and a basketball star has clever hands.  As long as their main trait is something other than cleverness we revere them.

So why do I (we? is this just me?) associate "clever" with a bit of wile? And why do I like the idea of being clever more than being intelligent because of it?

clev·er

[klev-er]
adjective, clev·er·er, clev·er·est

1. mentally bright; having sharp or quick intelligence; able.
2. superficially skillful, witty, or original in character or construction; facile; It was an musing, clever play, but of no lasting value. 
3. showing inventiveness or originality; ingenious: His clever device was the first to solve the problem. 
4. adroit with the hands or body; dexterous or nimble. 
5. Older Use
• suitable; convenient; satisfactory
• Good-natured
• handsome
• in good health

etymology: From East Anglian dialectal English cliver ("expert at seizing"), from Middle English cliver ("tenacious"), perhaps from Old English clifer, clibbor ("clinging"), or perhaps from East Frisian (compare Saterland Frisian kluftich), or dialectal Norwegian klover ("ready, skillful"); possibly influenced by Old English clifer ("claw, hand"). Related to cleave.

By the way, for some reason I read "cliver" as an expression unto itself, like cockney Michael Caine is bent over and sneering into my ear: "Fink yore cloiver, down' you? Wehw brayns is a bit more ven 'at, love."

Of course, dear clever, I don't want to associate with the superficiality represented in definition two, but we can't just ignore it.  I'm superficial all the time: I automatically assume anyone that's too pretty is a jackass.

Oh, see what I just did there?  Colon parentheses.

I love the idea of cleverness being rooted in clinging tenacity and the ability to cleave...like the dissection of an idea, splitting it in two and trying to sew the thought back together again in as many ways as possible. Taking the concept of cleverness and just ripping it to shreds for the goddamn sheer joy of destruction, and building it back up again for the sheer joy of creation. Destroy and create, vicious cycles of mentality, playing God.

God, by the way, is very clever.  Dexterity is clever.  Intuition is clever.  Clothing is clever. Dogs are clever. TV shows are clever, velociraptors are clever, sometimes, I think, I am clever.  As long as you'll have me, dear clever.  Will you have me?  Of course you will, I demand it.  I've always valued clever above nearly all else.  A clever person can make anything interesting.  With a little manipulation, of course.  It's the inventiveness that I love about it.

And I don't just mean "life hacks," like when you lather the old tiny sliver of soap on the fresh, sparkly bar of soap thus creating one piece of soap and eliminating that pesky little leftover guy (Someone took a picture of this and posted it on the internet?  And then someone shared it?  MILLIONS OF PEOPLE SHARED THIS?  Haven't you been doing that since you were a child? You haven't? What? No seriously, what?)

Cleverness involves not accepting things at face value, but most importantly, it involves knowing a reason.  Some things are unknowable, but I know there's a reason for loving people/things that are clever: because they value what I value in myself.

Whoa, that totally goes back to dogs.

I was raised to value cleverness.  Oddly, I think I was raised to do what I believed was right to the detriment of reputation and people's perceptions of me, but I think that's a good thing.  I think we should fight for what we believe, and we should have a reason to believe something. Cleverness is what gives me that reason.  Perhaps it might involve stretching things a bit, sometimes I'm missing a point here and there.  But if I'm clever enough I can provide a complete presentation in my brain.  To myself.

I love clever because I love the process of figuring out the why and how.  But most importantly, I love trying to figure it out more than actually figuring it out.  The conclusion is boring, usually.  The process is what makes it fun.

Honestly, I thought I might have arrived at something more meaningful by now.  Writing about clever.  I guess we'll see where the next one takes me. 

Love,
Rassles
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