Unfinished.

Everything I write here has been said before. Even that. Even that. Imagine our plight 2,000 years from now; not only will everything have been written, but it will have been written eight times over; it will be searchable, hyper-linked to the others, and tagged by thousands of strangers with meanings you never intended. Let’s take a moment to be thankful for the arcane times we live in.

Now is when we can pretend to be unique from time to time, as we hide our flashes of brilliance from the world for fear of being too honest, too insane, as we balance upon the dull edge of what we call the brink, as the gods note the standard refrain. Now.

Anxiety

Encircled by a mix of good friends and strangers, I'm alone, standing in the middle of the room. The lights are warm; music is blasting, smiles all around, hands are clapping, "dance!" is shouted into the air. I'm supposed to be dancing, and everyone is watching to see what I'll do. My palms begin to sweat, my back slowly follows in suit; my pulse quickens and my throat tightens; I look down, flushed and embarrassed, and walk outside. "I can't dance."

That's never happened; but, seven months ago, it was my largest social fear. I wasn't someone who was meant to dance, I would tell myself. "Just do what comes natural," friends would say; standing around seemed natural to me, or simply bobbing my head -- perhaps groping a nearby companion would come to mind, but that's not polite, and so I refrained.

I used to dance all the time. I remember it well: I was five or maybe four or three. Couches created for the sole purpose of jumping upon were mine; Chicago was the band of the hour, sharing time with the Fame soundtrack; jumping, spinning, closed eyes, smiling. Stop. Switch. Embarrassment begins, expression ends. What if someone sees me? How horrifying. I'll sit for a while. Prom comes and goes; no, not for me.

There are some things people don't teach us early enough in life; but, to be fair to our elders and our peers, perhaps we're all still searching. After all, with the possibilities of the world before us, why else would we instruct our children to kill -- because we have it all figured out? Perhaps not.

In light of this, I propose an incomplete set of rules for life:

1. Rules are for those who don't know what they're doing.
2. If you have no fear then you're not a human being.
3. There is a short list of things that matter. What happens on a dance floor isn't one of them.
4. No one knows what one's doing.
5. Expression is a duty, not a right.
6. Don't worry about combining rules 1 and 4; just go with it.

Fear is real. It's inside me, now, as I write. It's about an inch in diameter. It's exact position is unknown, but, often times it's a projection; it hovers just below the top of the back of my neck, outside my body yet still a part of me, or in the invisible sphere that extends from the curve below my Adam's apple to the base of my neck. There is a transparent, dark-blue-near-violet-tinged force field surrounding it, constraining its expanse; it's about the size of a grapefruit, pressing on the fear from all sides, forcing its shape and size; the fear is discrete, solid, dark purple, and cannot be made smaller.

I like to watch it; it oscillates sometimes, or moves by chance. Without the force field, the fear would fall and shatter like a glass ball dropped from 327 feet, cutting into me, into me, forcing me to sit. Sometimes I hold it with both hands, shaking it like a snow globe to see what it will do. It spins and sways, gurgles, bubbles. I put it in my pocket, and it's light. It's mine.

After a short tango on Wednesday, I was told that I was becoming quite a good dancer. I said thank you. Another said she loves dancing with me. Hil-arious. Not that I disagree; in fact I love dancing with her, too; it's a riot, and we know it.

I started to swing in late June, out of obligation to my self; I wasn't going to die without having danced, first. A wedding in September -- surely an opportunity to dance -- merely provided the excuse to go through with it.

I had no idea what I was doing, but that's part of the point. You're with someone, on the floor, and that's all there is. You can't mess up; just have fun. Just dance.

Energy

I'm teeming with potential at this moment. What do you want to do? Where do you want to go? Let's do it. Let's go. Let's fucking do something amazing and worthwhile, climbing out of this mud that we've been stuck in for years. These thoughts are fleeting, I know, but now they have a sense of permanence. I wish I could scream and all my passion would be conveyed -- a futile effort, likely.

We've given up everything, as if we held something at all. We're in China. Now what. The emptiness is there, the excitement of the moment gone, as we long nostalgically for yesterday, for what we felt in that moment. Daydreaming, we begin to sink again. There's a certain excitement about being homeless -- the feeling of being more alive; at least for a week. A warm bed is all we want, we say, to be happy, to keep us from the rain, hail, wind and loneliness. What better is it compared to what we have -- our passion and our courage, our lives.

Still, I am restless. If I think hard enough, there will be peace in the form of full-on, overwhelming life. As if this isn't life. As if there is something more real inside of me, trying (not very hard) to escape and exist. I hold on to the familiar, to my home, to my work, for no-more stronger a reason than why I like orange juice -- perhaps for a weaker reason.

Remember when we went to China? Wasn't it perfect?

The end of the world is near. It always is. Such are the times we live in, the same as our friends of the past have contemplated, have shared with their old friends. It's our turn to share what they've thought, through our mouths. Perhaps I love you. Perhaps it doesn't matter. Perhaps we're all that is beautiful in this world and poets of the future and poets of the past will write of us while clutching their hearts, cursing their useless pens.

Let's just keep singing.

Transparency

I believe the kindest thing you can do for a human being is to be honest with him. Be honest, be transparent and share your opinion. In my experience, people usually take honesty well -- they can handle it, despite my reservations. When I withhold honesty, it's because I don't trust my audience's judgment.

To paraphrase Camus, every dishonest act, every misleading or false opinion, over time, leads to death; in order to minimize the cruelty of this world, to refuse adding to the sum of all evil things, it is our duty to be honest.

I can write those words, and in most cases I believe in them. However, there are many times when I refuse to offer the truth, despite my conscious efforts to expose the truth. Ironically, this refusal occurs in my most-treasured relationships -- or, rather, in my relationships that are on the cusp between treasured and congenial. The word for that is cowardly, and today I am a coward.

In all cases, or if not all then most, once I open my mouth to speak, I am no longer a coward, before I even articulate my intent. In my view, this simple act of deciding to speak is the widest chasm to cross. It is also the most noble, the most courageous, and the most reasonable act. Although, I write this without justifiable reason; I take Camus' word for it -- a crime of philosophy, perhaps, but a practical starting point; Camus spent untold days grappling with such views, and it will take me untold more to form a basis upon which I can stand with my own novel (should I be so fortunate!) viewpoint.

I am committing such a non-transparent act in this mere blog entry. I am not mentioning a specific instance where I've been too cowardly to speak my mind. On the other hand, it is not my position to broadcast a person's name over the Internet (or upon whatever medium this is published in the future (ha!)). This blog is my own, and it is my public forum for associating thoughts with my name, but others' thoughts are their own, and they can decide whether they want to claim them by name. I am comfortable should you, dear reader, choose to broadcast my name in any honest fashion.

So, is there a limit to transparency? I'm forced to say yes, as evidenced by what I said above. However, this will eventually lead to death, apparently -- I don't see how. I can say for myself that I choose openness, that what encapsulates my thoughts is transparent, and that the curious need only to inquire. But, I believe everyone must make a similar choice for himself, and to choose openness for another human being is a way of force that I cannot justify (as force can so very rarely be justified).

But, when I am asked for my opinion, you will receive it, in kind. To sugarcoat it or make it politically correct is only to disrespect. At the same time, vulgarity and sarcasm are not the same as honesty; to be honest one must articulate unambiguously (which may involve ambiguity), and this takes many iterations and concentrated work. Because of this inherent difficulty, I hold it to be the greatest compliment one can give.

Can't think of a title

Creativity. "I am not creative." I'm not sure where that came from. I can recall as far back as first and second grade, regarding creativity.

In first grade, we had an assignment to make a drawing depicting what would happen if our heart were broken -- or what would cause our heart to be broken. I forget the occasion, but in the end we taped them up on our lockers, facing the known world. I told myself I knew well what the teacher had in mind -- we were supposed to conjure sketches of lost puppies, sick family members, and the like. I was uninspired by the assignment, so I took the question literally and stated, "If my heart were broken, I would be dead," and colored a picture of a cemetery -- I had seen a national cemetery from the Civil War on television, with its straight rows of crosses and stars of David, and that's what I drew.

In second grade, we were tasked with crafting a short story. It was to be at least a hand-written, grammar-school-lined page -- maybe more -- which was really long at the time. It could be on anything of our choosing. But, "I wasn't creative," so I said I couldn't come up with anything. After some prodding, I eventually wrote about some tigers and a waterfall, I believe, and, as a seven-year-old, considered the story trite and uninspiring. I probably got an A, which is usually what happened when I did anything in elementary school.

This pattern has continued through to the present day, and I think it is a manifestation of "I'm not good enough," my companion. What is creativity if not expression of opinion? It's saying, "this is where I stand, and this is how I'm expressing that stance." Creativity just happens as we exist. I have a history of believing my opinion has little -- if any -- worth. And as my position changes, as expression of opinion becomes a duty, creativity becomes possible -- or, more accurately, I recognize that creativity has always been there. When we are honest with ourselves, and when we share that without reservation or regret, we create works (and relationships) that perhaps remind us, with a greater clarity, why we love to live in the first place.

An introduction

A friend of mine once wrote, "No great work has ever been based on hatred or contempt. On the contrary, there is not a single true work of art that has not in the end added to the inner freedom of each person who has known and loved it. Yes, that is the freedom I am extolling, and it is what helps me through life. An artist may make a success or a failure of his work. He may make a success or a failure of his life. But if he can tell himself that, finally, as a result of his long effort, he has eased or decreased the various forms of bondage weighing upon men, then in a sense he is justified and, to some extent, he can forgive himself."

I'll be the first to note I have little experience with the harshness of this world. I've never walked the streets in poverty, gone hungry for a day, hid from the State, nor been forced to fight for my own survival. It has been a privilege to be in the position to share my thoughts.

On the other hand, I have about 24 years of experience with what I would describe as the mental anguish of being human -- something I believe we all have in common. Recently, I've stumbled upon a few things which have, in some ways, cut my angst deeper than usual.

First, let me say that I'm not sure of anything -- my arguments in general are weak, without substantial backing aside from my intellect, experience and feel on how things are going -- which in themselves are not very substantial; however, I think I'm intelligent, and that is good enough for me at this time.

I've been reading a lot of writings by Albert Camus, lately. Since late April, I've read The Rebel in its entirety, most of Resistance, Rebellion, and Death, and his essay, The Myth of Sisyphus. I had my reasons for being propelled into these works, and I'll get into that later.

For those who consider the contradictions of this world – for instance, that man strives for justice while acting with bountiful injustice; or, that we exalt freedom and liberty while building up the State, promoting methods of torture, fear and lies – I highly recommend his work. It resonates with who I am as a human being, and helps me articulate – at least mentally – a reasonable view of this world and an approach to living in its contradiction.

If societal life is a continuous fight for plain language, honesty and creation – which I believe it to be, then you've just read my introduction.

Honesty and integrity

Today we look at the work 'agreement' I signed about 18 months ago with Artech Information Systems LLC, which I find to be deserving of contempt and scorn. Concisely, I see it as an attack on human dignity.

7. Exclusivity. During the term of this Agreement, Employee will devote his/her full-time to providing services exclusively as directed by Employer and shall not perform services for others.

8. Non-Performance of Services and Non-recruitment. During the term of this Agreement and for 18 months after the end of the employment relationship (whether Employer or Employee initiated the termination), Employee agrees that he/she shall not in any individual or representative capacity (e.g. as a principal, employer, stockholder, partner, agent, consultant, independent contractor, or employee): (a) directly or indirectly provide, solicit or advise another of the opportunity to provide, any services to a client where Employe previously provided services to the client on behalf of the Employer or was otherwise introduced through Employer; or (b) directly or indirectly, retain or solicit for Employee or for another party, the services of any of the Employer's employees or others introduced through the Employer. For purposes of this paragraph, "introduced through Employer" means where a client, employee, contractor, other individual came to the attention of Employee in any manner through Employer, "Client" includes any affiliates, customers or clients of the Client.

16. Breach. In the event of the Employee's breach of paragraphs 7, 8, 12, 13, or 14, Employee acknowledges and agrees that Employer will suffer irreparable harm and money damages would be an inadequate remedy, entitling Employer to seek injunctive relief. Employer's right to seek injunctive relief is without waiver or limitation to any other remedies Employer has at law or in equity.

17. Arbitation [sic]. Except for monetary claims of $5,000.00 or less, Employee explicitly agrees that any dispute in any manner related to Employee's employment with ARTECH, which the parties are unable to resolve through direct discussion, regardless of the kind or type of dispute (excluding claims for unemployment insurance, worker's compensation, or any matter within the jurisdiction of the Labor Commissioner), shall be exclusively subject to final and binding arbitration pursuant to the provisions of New Jersey Permanent Statutes section 2A:24-1, et seq. Employee agrees to submit all such disputes in writing, specifically requesting arbitration, to ARTECH within one year of termination of Employee's employment with ARTECH. Any failure to so request arbitration in a timely manner shall constitute a waiver of all rights to raise any claims, in any forum, arising out of any dispute that was subject to arbitration. The limitation period set forth in this paragraph shall not be subject to tolling, equitable or otherwise. Subch arbitration shall be held in Morristown, New Jersey.

EMPLOYEE AGREES AND UNDERSTAND [sic] THAT BY AGREEING TO THIS BINDING ARBITRATION PROVISION, EMPLOYEE VOLUNTARY [sic] SURRENDER THEIR RIGHTS TO CIVIL LITIGATION, A TRIAL BY JURY AND ANY ASSOCIATED RIGHTS OF APPEAL.

17. Other Provisions. This Agreement and any attached exhibits, represent the entire agreement of the parties and supersedes and terminates all prior agreements. Any modification of this Agreement must be in writing and signed by both parties. No waiver of any provision of this Agreement shall be effective unless it is in writing and signed by the waiving party; a waiver on any one occasion shall not be effective as a waiver on future occasions. This Agreement shall inure to the benefit of and shall be binding on the parties, the successors and assigns of Employer and the heirs and personal representatives of Employee. Employee may not assign his rights or obligations under this Agreement. Paragraphs 8, 12, and 14 shall survive termination. If any provision of this Agreement is determined to be unenforceable in whole or in part, all remaining provisions shall be given full effect to the extent possible without the unenforceable provision. This Agreement shall be governed by the laws of the State of New Jersey without regard to choice of law principles.