Freight: Day 3

window-closed-by-a-lattice_justice

It was this need to DO that drove me to think I wanted to be a lawyer. Law is a calling built on taking a stand. It is also built on a shit-ton of tuition debt and apparently dehumanizing work, and if you read One L by Scott Turow, more than a soupçon of  brainwashing . My two month dalliance with the law gave me the perspective that attorneys are an instrument of law, but not necessarily of justice.

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4 thoughts on “Freight: Day 3

  1. I’m glad you’re not going into law. It largely seems like an industry to me now. You could easily find yourself representing clients and causes you don’t believe in. As with so much else in society, the almighty dollar leads the way. I’m no lawyer, but my intuition tells me it would wring every last bit of creative juice out of you, though you’d make good money, and if you’re a misanthrope now, it will push you even further into it; either that or it will zombify you, buried under paperwork, and turn you into a machine. You have an artist’s soul with a remarkable grasp of language, and a logical mind too, indicated by your interest in mathematics.

    What do you mean by you want to DO? Is the impulse behind this altruistic or selfish? I myself am somewhat of a misanthrope too, though good-natured, tending toward being a loner. I’m probably something of a walking contradiction. Deep down I’m empathic and actually care, though much that I observe arouses misanthropic feelings in me.

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    1. Law wasn’t going to be a good fit, for so many reasons. You’ve asked me a very difficult question. What do i mean by DO? What are my motivations? I am not sure.

      And, ah – a fellow empathic misanthrope! I believe empathy is the precipitating factor for my misanthropy. I’m so attuned to the emotions of other people, its overwhelming, and I build walls for my own sanity … such as it is!

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      1. Walls up without being porous, no outside nourishment getting in, leads by the deprivation and impoverishment, quite logically, to the breaking down of the organism, to self-suffocation. Locking oneself in and shutting out all stimuli leads to loss of one’s mind and thrashing about and banging one’s head against a wall. In short, it leads to self-hurt, self-mutilation, en route perhaps to suicide.

        As much a loner as I am, as much as I treasure my solitude, I recognize that we human beings need each other for heart and spirit nourishment. And I like INDIVIDUALS, each different and distinct, for this is what creates the sparks and light in our interactions, the stimuli, for us to develop and grow. This is the way out of the convoluted self-circuitry, the agonized solipsism, tortuously tying oneself into knots.

        (I rather like your interest in mathematics and that I’m a dumbass, lost, when it comes to math. The difference, your strength and my deficiency, could cause me to try to compensate by flexing my muscles, so to speak, changing the subject or pretending to an ability I have not, but by remaining open to this difference between us and honest, this friction between knowledge and ignorance which has me in the humble position, I gather this fascination in and more appreciation for your poetry, which I recognize has something of a Euclidean sensibility to it. You do your poems in a sense like theorems, and they are elegant and beautiful. I remain open to your talking about it and exploring how your own mind works.)

        The idea of the Wall going on in public discourse presently is certainly something to consider. I’m personally disturbed by what’s going on. The sealing in, and shutting out, and stirring up of fear, creates this demonizing of “the other”. There’s a drive to fascistic unity in it, and elimination of all differences which make us individual. It ripens the ground for scapegoating, and drives individuals into mobs and hordes. By the same token, I don’t like all the politicizing I see going on with this. Ugly shit.

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      2. I’ve been wondering why I came back to blogging. Maybe this is why:to scale my own wall and to remember that I can use my voice. NOW is the time to have the courage to speak. You are right, there is such ugliness, frightening seas of it.

        You would laugh if you knew how much I was just now struggling to solve word problems intended for eleven year olds. SERIOUSLY, my poetry is far more fluent than my mathematics. 🙂

        Thank you for your kind words about the poems. I can feel when I’ve hit on a phrase or image that resonates with me, but I never know if it reaches beyond me. It was easier to understand the line between garbage and jewel in longer form fiction, but then again, that was by necessity less personal. Poems, true ones anyhow, always have a portion of their cipher locked in the person who wrote them, a secret only glimpsed by reflection.

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