Life was getting stressful for me.

I had bills to pay and people needing things. I am normally rather homeostatic when under pressure. But not this time. Rent was coming due and I still didn’t have the money.

Weed and strippers were taking priority but now I was learning what it was like to be a poor, horny man. I would not wish it upon those I despise.

I knew I was stressed out because I had a continual erection. This was my body’s stress response, what Doctors call erectile over-functioning. In between working I would jack off while watching Chaturbate but within an hour of orgasmic release, the erection returned.

A man with some standards of being mentally healthy can only watch so much Chaturbate before he realizes that he hates himself.

I needed to find someplace where I could have a random sexual experience with a lady without having to pay for it.

Meeting a stranger to mess around with took too much time and effort. As a psychologist I already had to have long conversations with people on a daily basis. Why would I want to put in more conversational effort when not working? Granted this is what has turned me into an introverted loner who does not pick up on random strangers. But it is what the profession does to people.

I realize that this is why gay men have it easy. Gay men know what it is like to just want to have sex fast. I had a client who was driving home on the freeway, went on a sex app, met someone and met them at a park for sex before he got home.

What woman would do that with a man?

I blame the violent and abusive men. The men who harm women and make them fearful of us. I blame these derelicts without any class or humanity. Who hurts a woman without consent?

If it wasn’t for these degenerates, I wouldn’t have to be running all over Long Beach looking for glory holes.

I found an app on my phone, which indicated where the various glory holes were at. One was behind a bagel store? I had to go see this. But I couldn’t find the glory hole. Another glory hole was right by a dispensary. Fantastic. I could pick up weed.

I searched and searched but could not find it. I found the location of another glory hole but it was in Compton. That was a bit longer of a drive than I wanted to make but my erection was pulsating.

It desperately wanted some female attention. When this part of my body is in need of female attention, there is little I can do to defend myself against it.

I drove frantically around Compton imagining sticking my erection in a glory hole and some beautiful young black woman taking it into her mouth. I almost orgasmed just thinking about it.

I smoked a joint as I drove around in circles searching for this evasive glory hole. I waved at prostitutes on street corners but I couldn’t find the glory hole anywhere.

I can not express the frustration I felt but it is similar to the awful feeling you get when nothing is working right on your computer and the connection is moving slow when you have things to do.

As I drove around and around searching for this glory hole I also stopped a taco truck. It was impossible to disguise my erection as I waited in line and the lady who was taking the orders kept looking at my groin area. It was incredibly uncomfortable to have her looking at me in this way.

When it was finally my turn to order I felt embarrassed by having to talk to her.

She looked at me straight in the eyes.

My brain registered that her face was pretty but my stomach was hungry and acting up. She asked me if I was looking for the glory hole. At first I was startled and tried to deny it but she laughed and told me not to worry. Apparently this sort of thing happened all the time.

Then she asked me what I wanted to eat.

This vile story presents a glimpse into the life of an older male psychotherapist who is struggling with his own personal issues of depression, addiction, and a fear of being recognized as a therapist. He encounters a younger client who reminds him of himself, in that he too is struggling with mental health issues and feeling lost in life. 

However, the therapist’s actions and thoughts throughout the story are concerning. He displays a lack of empathy and professionalism towards his client’s struggles, choosing to cancel the rest of his workday after his session and urinate on flowers. He also appears to be using drugs to cope with his own emotional turmoil, which is not a healthy solution. 

Furthermore, the therapist’s perception of mental illness as solely a result of not finding one’s true place in the world oversimplifies the complexities of mental health issues and overlooks the important role of societal factors and biological factors. 

Overall, this story raises questions about the quality of care that this therapist is providing to his clients and underscores the importance of seeking out mental health professionals who display empathy, professionalism, and a comprehensive understanding of mental health issues. I certainly hope this man (ZEV) finds help, since he does not seem like a bad person.

Anonymous Psychotherapist

In this fictional story by the author Zev Bauhaus, the narrator expresses his struggle with celibacy in his marriage and his problematic coping mechanism of perusing erotic ads on Craig’s List. The narrator expresses a deep desire for intimate contact with a woman and acknowledges that he has not had sex with his wife in over a year. He admits to using Craig’s List as a way to maintain his interest in sex, but also as a means to escape his current reality and immerse himself in a fantasy world.

Interestingly, the narrator claims that cheating on his wife is out of the question and attributes this to a desire to avoid the guilt and shame that come along with being unfaithful. The narrator acknowledges the stress and pressure that come with monogamy and even admits to having cheated in the past. However, despite his beliefs around the naturalness of non-monogamy, he seems to have a deep respect for his marriage and the commitment he has made to his partner.

The narrator seems to take pleasure in the way the women on the ads market themselves, and the prospect of easy access to sex with these women excites him. At the same time, he acknowledges that his obsession with the erotic ads is problematic and recognizes that it is a form of escapism. He claims to have tried to practice more meditation and abstinence from the erotic section, but ultimately admits to succumbing to his urges.

The story ends with the narrator expressing his hope that he will be able to overcome his issues with celibacy and make passionate love to his wife, which may manifest a child for the two of them. The narrator’s desire for a child suggests a deeper motivation behind his attempts to overcome his sexual issues. He seems to genuinely love his wife and desires a deeper, more profound connection with her beyond sex.

Overall, this story delves into the complexities of sexual desire, monogamy, and the ways in which people cope with problematic sexual situations. It provides an insightful look into the mind of someone struggling with celibacy and the fantasy world that they turn to in order to cope with their struggles. The story thoughtfully explores the intersection of love and sex, and the narrator’s journey towards finding a deeper connection with his wife.

A review by Elizabeth Martin, Sophomore at USC

What does an older man do when they come across a younger man who seems to be talking about things that remind him of himself?

He walked into my psychotherapy office, just like he does every Monday morning at 9am. I was tired and hungover from spending my night with a group of gospel singers. They were very nice people but they talked and laughed too much and I had to drink more just to keep the fake and friendly smile on my face from vanishing. Fortunately, I am not one to leave the party last. I said goodnight as the songs and libations began to steadily flow. I knew I was missing out on an opportunity to have sex with two of the gospel’s singer who had a liking for me- but I didn’t care. Sex was far from my mind.

In the morning, I sniffed a line of Adderall, smoked a few cigarettes and went to work. I road my bicycle along the traffic filed roadways as I bemoaned my fate to myself. Why was I 52 and still riding my bicycle to work? Why did I need to drink so much to socialize with people far more socially skilled than I? Why did I drink so much knowing that I had to be up early Monday morning and work a long day supporting the mentally discouraged people of the world? I prefer to call these people mentally discouraged considering that my philosophy of mental illness is that it is a result of not finding once true place in the world. Chronic discouragement is an illness.

Once I arrived at my office, sweaty and miffed, I noticed that my heart was racing. I knew I was out of shape but it was racing more than an out of shape heart should. I did a breathing exercise and told myself that if I was to die right there and then- so be it. We all have to die sometime, and if this was my time- bring it on. At least I would get out of the work week.

I did not die. Instead my heart rate decreased and I made my way into my dark and dusty office. I had not been there in almost a week. I needed to take the week off from work due to a major depression that had overcome me. I wasn’t even able to go to the market for food, so I paid a homeless woman who lives in the alley way beneath to get my groceries for me. I was surprised to notice that even though I was depressed and wanted to die- I was upset that the vegetables and meat she got me were not organic.

Due to being a psychotherapist who charges a low fee (because I believe everyone should have access to hungover therapists like myself, despite their economic failures) I am not a rich man. In fact, I am not sure if I have any money at all since I work and deposit the money. I am too frightened to check my bank account balance. A low bank account balance is too sharp a reminder of my failure and incapabilities as a human. I engage in magical thinking and hope things will all work out. So far they have but anyone’s luck can change. If I just marketed myself more, promoted myself more- I know I would be a hit. Hell, I could be the Doctor Phil of alternative mental health if I really wanted. But I don’t want to do it. I’d rather read a novel in the middle of a weekday afternoon.

My client sat on the couch behind a window that I kept closed and drapped. If someone walked by the window while it was wide open they would see me. Gradually, I would become known as the psychotherapist around town and this is my worst fear. I don’t want to be known as a psychotherapist, so I keep my windows shut. People think that they can talk to therapists since everyone wants something for free.

My client had just survived yet another suicide attempt. He was only 22 and already was perceptive to the meaning of life- that there is no meaning to life. That life is an ink stain upon this spiraling rock of nothingness. He told me that he was beyond help at this point. He was tired of ruining things for himself and people he cares about.

“Everytime I try something I am doing it wrong. In matters of friendship, love or just being a normal person- I am doing it wrong. I have no clue how to do any of it right. Obviously whatever it is that I am doing is not working. I continually ruin my relationships with other people. People’s expectations of me are based on how I look. They expect me to be capable of normal things since I look fine. They don’t see how sick I am. How much I want to die. But they expect me to be a particular way that I am not able to uphold. I am terrified that I will end up in my 40s, sad and alone.”

I was in my fifties. Sad and alone.

I wanted to tell him that I was sad and alone. I wanted to tell him of the many benefits that come from being an older man who is sad and alone. “You can put things wherever you want in your living space, and no one will move it around.” But he didn’t care to think about issues of living on his own since he was still stuck in his mother’s house.

Once my client left my office I canceled the rest of my work day. I didn’t care. I would get back to work tomorrow. Or maybe the next day. I was uncomfortably wired from the Adderall I had stuck up my nose and didn’t need to listen to anyone else’s personal hell. I felt the despair of my client in myself and wanted to get it out of me. I closed up my office for the day, road my bike back home. I cried while riding my bicycle through streets filled with strangers. I felt bad for all those who suffer.

I went into my backyard and looked at the various plants springing to life. It was springtime afterall. A time of renewal and lots of fucking. A time of colors and resurrection. But I was tired and fed up with spring already.

“What was I going to do with myself?” I thought as I sat in my backyard and watched a hummingbird piss on bright yellow flowers. “Such is life,” I thought. “Even the beautiful flowers will get pissed on in spring.”

I stood up, took down my pants and pissed on the various bright yellow flowers as well. It felt good to be pissing on happy things. Liberating, to be honest. It was like I was taking control back from all these people who can not stop talking about how beautiful and wonderful springtime is. For me it’s just changing the wallpaper. “To hell with spring,” I thought as I pulled my pants back up and sat on a wood outdoor chair. Sun shinned down upon me. A genuine smile formed on my face.

These are the methods that actually work. But I can’t tell my clients to do them. They will have to figure that out for themselves.

Jail is not the kind of place that I thought it would be. I had always imagined jail as a place where one would have time for contemplation and relaxation in the locked up privacy of a cell. I imagined it as a place where one could recover from the stress of the rat race and bad addictions. I could not of been more deluded in my idealistic perceptions. Jail was a nightmare. A claustrophobic torture chamber. It was a denial of my rights as a human being and a punishment unfit for my crime. It is good to be back at home writing this. They wouldn’t even allow me to have a pen.

My wife is furious with me and I can not blame her. Not only did she have to pay a thousand dollar fine (from an account we both share) but she has had to deal with the knowledge of my crime. I was caught, but I am not guilty. I was apprehended for doing nothing more than entertaining a fantasy. Sticking my perverted fingers where they did not belong.

Last evening, I found myself bored and apprehensive. I decided to take a drive around the city and listen to music while chain smoking cigarettes. I drove and drove through Chinatown and The Mission District, entertained by what I was seeing outside my car window. The city at night is a theater of the absurd in which all mischief and color seems to come to life. I felt like De Niro in Taxi Driver. I saw crimes being committed and hookers hovering above crack pipes or some guys stash. All from the safety of my car window. I saw derelicts hanging out on street corners playing with stuffed animals and then I saw a very attractive young prostitute hanging out on a barren corner. Before I had a chance to think about the repercussions of my decision, I pulled over to the side of the curb and whistled to grab her attention. I had no intention of committing an act of infidelity. I simply thought I would pay her ten bucks to show me her naked breasts. I would simply be gazing at natural art. There was no marital sin in this. It is no different than going to a museum.

She stepped into the passenger side of my car and immediately asked me if I was a cop. I told her I was not in no way a cop, but she still insisted upon seeing my cock. There I was, on a dark street in an impoverished neighborhood, corrupted by my lust. I pulled out my already erect succulent, excited by the opportunity to stick her with a few thorns. She touched the tip of it with her index finger, smiled and said “very nice.” I was a bit reluctant to ask her about my desire to see her breasts so I remained quiet and waited for her to finish talking on her cell phone. “I’ll be done when I done,” she said without much interest in her voice and hung up the phone. “So what you looking for?” she asked me and as I eyed her voluptuous breasts I decided to speak without shame.

“I know a perfect place to park,” she said and we drove around looking for the spot. My succulent was still hanging out. I tried to entertain conversation with her. She told me she was in college. I asked her what she was studying in school and what her favorite books were. I wanted to somehow humanize the situation so that I could feel less like I was doing something wrong.

We parked behind a Long’s Drug store, where the only light came from a flashing incinerator. I gave her the twenty dollars we agreed on and watched her slowly take off her shirt. “Can I touch?” I asked with timidity in my frightened voice. “Of course,” she replied. This would have been enough for me. My perversion was fulfilled in this moment and I could return home a satisfied man. It was time to stop.

We are living in a country that is under martial law. I never imagined things would be this way in 2007. This means that wherever the slightest crime is being committed, out of nowhere will appear a cock…I mean a cop. They are everywhere, like flees on a cat. They occupy every crevice and corner of the city. These giant, all-knowing eyes that refuse to let me do what I want to do. Out of the darkness appeared two men dressed in full state issued police uniforms, shinning a flash light upon my face and upon the prostitute’s breasts.

“What are you little deviants up to here?” One of the officers looked into my eyes with a grin as he said this. I could see how much he was enjoying this moment, so I offered him a cigarette.

I was not allowed out from jail until seven the following morning. I spent the night shaking from the fear of being locked up. My body reacted to this imprisonment in ways I could have never imagined. All night long I suffered from palpitations (in my ears, neck, chest toes and fingertips) and not a moment of pleasant contemplation. I listened to locked up men yell things I could never have imagined in my mind. “This is America….this is what we have become?” I remember thinking. I felt like a man who had his very soul violated. For what? For being a married man who wanted to see a pair of tits. 

Now I am quiet and forlorn. My wife is upset with me (once again). An energy healer has come over to my home to work my spirit back into a higher vibration. My bones are still shaking and the rain is coming down hard outside.

1.

I’ve not had sex with my wife in over a year. The year is 2007 and my prime years are coming to a quick close. Sex is more out in the open than it has ever been and I am not having any. Sometimes when I am without a thing to do I “surf” the erotic section on Craig’s List. It has been a long time since I have felt a nipple in my hands, so I have to do what I can to maintain some interest in sex. I am yet to turn 40 and shouldn’t be this celibate just yet.

Cheating on my wife is out of the question, not because I am an adamant monogamist. No definitely not. In fact, I believe that monogamy is without question an abnormal practice for the human species. It leads towards all kinds of stress induced ailments and pancreatic blockages. I would not deceive my wife simply because it would fill me with a brick of shame so heavy to carry around that I can not perceive how ten minutes of pleasure (more like three minutes for myself) could be worth an eternity of feeling like trash. I have carried the burden of a cheater. The one thing that I appreciate about married life is that it keeps me in chains. I am only able to operate within a particular institutional paradigm, which I have promised to abide by. This gives me peace of mind. I don’t want to break out and do bad things even though the threat is always present. I exercise my will and when I get the chance I view the erotic adds on Craig’s List.

It may be a near cousin of voyeurism but what gets me off most about looking at the erotic adds on Craig’s List is the way these women market themselves. Now of course, I also enjoy looking at naked women, or scantily dressed women sticking their fingers in inappropriate places, but there is more to this minor hobby of mine than perversion. I fall for the fantasy of it all. The mere idea that fucking or a blow job is as easy as finding a picture of an over sexualized young lady with a phone number and price beside it…and bang!! The sexual act made simple and possible in the privacy of my own home. Sex delivered in less that an hour! This possibility drives me crazy. Like an excited child, I want to try this newly discovered form of home delivery.

Looking at adds titled “Let Me Show You All The Things I Can Do,” “Naughty Bombshell,” “Sexiest Fhatt A$$ On The Planet” or “THREE OPEN EAGER HOLES,” fills me with such a sense of awe and wonder that all the problems in my life easily flow away and I am in a space of lust-filled, dreamy oblivion. I would be lying if I told you that I have never called any of the adds that have offered a hand job with a naked sensual massage (I rationalize to myself that this would not be considered cheating since it is just like masturbating but with a live naked woman- where’s the crime!?). I have called, but I am guilty of hanging up the phone the moment the female voice said “hello.” I was overcome with such horror at the sound of her voice that retreated in fear and humiliation. My toes became swollen. I stepped in an avocado in the kitchen. Often times I will see a picture of a naked young lady so pure and sexxxy that I can not contain my need to run into the bathroom and masturbate. It is not uncommon that I miss the sink.

Lately, I have been trying to practice more meditation and abstinence from the Craig’s List erotic section. I accept my life as it is and I trust that my love for my wife is great enough that everything will work out with a little help from some magical thinking. I trust that one night I will lose all my inhibitions and rip off my wife’s clothes and make passionate love to her, which may then manifest a child for the two of us. For now we are childless and sexless (I am also jobless). I spend a lot of time sitting around the house and wondering about whose sexy photo may now be posted on Craig’s List. I worry about having heart disease.

Some days when I am home alone I will relish in my minor hobby and spend hours investigating the degenerate annals of prostitution and perversion on the internet. My confession is that this is one of my favorite guilty pleasures. I am utilizing what is good about technology. In some small way I am a part of this new sexual revolution even though my sex life is as flat as my penis is when sleeping next to my wife. I realize there is no satisfaction to be found in going about my marital sexual issues in this way. But by mid-afternoon on my computer there is a sexy photo of a naked stranger holding her oval breasts in her hands with a title above the picture that says “STICK IT HEAR DADEY!!”(some of them do not spell well but neither do I). I then gather the strength of will I need to turn off my computer, put on pants and force myself to go sit outside and read a book before the burden of guilt and shame suffocates me.

The phrase “man with head in the clouds” refers to someone who lacks practicality and is often lost in their own thoughts or imagination. Fair enough, but this is not necessarily a bad thing. Creative minds are often what lead to innovation and progress in various fields. But too much time in the proverbial clouds can lead to neglecting important responsibilities or opportunities, leaving you with not much security to hold on to. It’s a precarious existence.

A man with his head in the clouds is someone who is constantly daydreaming and visualizing different possibilities. He wants out of the present moment by living in imaginary spaces. He may have a great imagination and come up with amazing ideas, but without taking action on them, the ideas remain just that: ideas that fade away like clouds. This is an unfortunate aspect of being a man with his head in the clouds.

Furthermore, a man with his head in the clouds may be seen as unrealistic or impractical by others. They may view him as ungrounded, lazy, irresponsible or too idealistic. This can lead to him being dismissed or overlooked, especially in more structured or traditional environments where practicality and responsibility are valued over creativity. This is why a man with his head in the clouds is often drowning in creditors and irrelevance.

Having one’s head in the clouds can also be seen as a virtue. It is these kinds of people who dream up new inventions, create art, solve problems and make big changes in the world. They see things from a different perspective, generating new ways of thinking and problem-solving. They may also be more attuned to their intuition and emotions, which can lead to greater empathy and understanding of others. Unfortunately, it can also lead to greater levels of depression and despair while living in a society that does not value men who have their head in the clouds.

Being a man with his head in the clouds may have its downsides, but it can also be a source of inspiration and innovation. While it is important to remain grounded and practical at times, we should also value and encourage creativity and imagination. After all, without individuals who dare to have their head in the clouds, everything would just be all the same.

1. Identify the sources of drama:
   The first step in escaping the drama of your society is to identify its sources. It may be certain friends, family members, or co-workers who create drama. Alternatively, it could be social media or news outlets that stir up emotions and create angst. When you identify the causes of drama, it’s easier to avoid them.
2. Limit your exposure to drama:
   Now that you’ve identified the sources of drama, take steps to limit your exposure to them. For example, if you have a mentally unstable sister who constantly involves herself in your drama thus creating even more drama for yourself, you may need to distance yourself from her or set solid boundaries. Similarly, if social media causes negative emotions or triggers drama, delete the app or take a few days off.
3. Surround yourself with positivity:
   To counteract the negativity and drama of your society, focus on surrounding yourself with positive people who bring you joy and make you feel good about yourself. I realize that positive people can be superficial and dull. This may mean eliminating friends who don’t share your values and interests or making time for self-care activities that lift your mood and counteract all the soul-destroying drama.
4. Practice mindfulness and self-care:
   Mindfulness practices such as meditation and deep breathing can be helpful in reducing stress and anxiety. Self-care activities like taking a hot bath, reading a book, journaling, stretching, cleaning, listening to music, being naked with another human, hanging-out/doing nothing or going for a ponderous walk can also help reduce the impact of deadening drama on your life.
5. Focus on what you can control:
   Finally, remember that while you can’t control the drama in your society, you can control your reactions to it. You may feel like being distracted from everything but focus on the things you can control, such as how much time and energy you devote to drama, and let go of things you cannot control. By taking ownership of your own life, you’ll reduce the impact of drama and create a more peaceful and interesting existence.

Escaping the drama of society takes effort, diligence and discipline but it’s worth it to create a more fulfilling and stress-free existence. By identifying the sources of drama, limiting your exposure to them, surrounding yourself with positivity (that is not superficial or dull), practicing mindfulness and self-care, and focusing on what you can control, you can escape the drama and create a more relaxed living situation for yourself.

Firstly, sitting on a roof offers a perspective that is not easily found on the ground. Being elevated allows one to see their surroundings from a different angle, providing a new appreciation for the world around them. One can watch the sun set, gaze at the stars, look at people or simply take in the view of other rooftops. By offering a different perspective, sitting on a roof can help to break the monotony of everyday life and encourage creativity and original thinking.

Secondly, sitting on a roof is a great way to get away from the noise and distractions of modern life. With technology constantly at our fingertips, it can be difficult to escape from the constant buzz of notifications and updates. Sitting on a roof offers a solitary space that allows one to disconnect from these distractions and simply be present in the moment. This can help to reduce stress and increase focus and productivity.

Thirdly, sitting on a roof can encourage social interaction and community. If one lives in a densely populated area or in close proximity to neighbors, it is possible to enjoy the view and company of others from the comfort of the roof. Sitting on a roof can provide an opportunity to connect with others and build a sense of community and shared experience. I have met many passerbys while sitting on a roof.

In addition, sitting on a roof can have physical health benefits. Being in the fresh air and sunshine can boost mood and provide essential vitamin D. Getting on to the roof is also a form of low-impact exercise that can improve cardiovascular health and strengthen the core muscles.

As you can see, sitting on a roof is a simple and enjoyable practice that offers many virtues. The perspective, peace, social connection, and physical health benefits that come with it make it an activity that is worth exploring. It is time to ditch the screens and hustle and take a moment to sit back, relax, and sit on your roof.

I’ve been thinking a lot about authenticity and what it means to be authentic in everyday life.

The general definition of authentic is of undisputed origin; genuine. When applying this term to a person, I understand it to mean a person who is clear or transparent about where they are coming from, true to how they are thinking and feeling in the moment. A person who is honest about their contradictions.

In my psychotherapy practice the struggle to be authentic in relationships and at work is one of the topics that comes up most in my work with people. I work with many younger people who are resisting entering the workplace because they do not want to give up their authenticity.

It is my opinion that we are currently living in a culture which advocates for non-authenticity. We are expected to play a part, to not be authentic. If we are authentic, we worry about the harsh consequences that will occur. So many of our daily interactions seem to be built upon this unspoken expectation to not be authentic. If we are, we fear we will be harshly judged and even discarded. So, we hide who we really are and play along.

For whatever reason, authenticity has always been important to me. Maybe it is the residual effect of my more youthful punk rock values. I don’t like or respect myself if I am not being authentic and having respect for myself always trumps other people respecting me. At the end of the day I have to still live with me and if I am not practicing transparency in my life it is hard for me to like who I am. But still, it is often very challenging and even frightening to be authentic. Why? I have some ideas.

We all want to do what is right. We all want to be seen as being right and making the right decisions. We live in a culture that supports this idea that we should always do the right thing and be striving for perfection all the time. But the problem with this ideal is that it is impossible to achieve.

No one is consistent all the time. If there is a person out there who always makes the right decisions, always does the right thing, never messes up, is always on time and always says the right things and who has no contradictions– well then, good for them. But I doubt this person exists.

It is very difficult to be consistent all the time, in everything we do. There are often two parts to our brains; one part that always wants to do what is right for us (exercise, meditate, be kind, be honest, eat well, be organized, be on time) and another part of our brains that wants to do what is wrong for us (eat unhealthy, sleep too much, not do anything productive, skip exercising, skip meditating, watch mindless television shows, procrastinate, avoid and on and on).

It is very difficult for anyone to be as consistent as they want to be all the time. We often give into what is not best for us because of how we feel emotionally or physically. If we feel good it is easier to do what is right for us. But if we are not feeling well emotionally or physically it is much easier to neglect brushing our teeth or skip exercising.

The truth is that most likely everyone deals with an inability to be consistent. No one really discusses their contradictions, so this often goes unnoticed in our culture. But we all struggle to do what is right and best all the time. We all contradict ourselves much of the time, but yet we prefer to not talk about it.

Appearing to be this good and perfect person who has it all together is a false narrative that we have created as a society. This false narrative creates a constant and intense pressure in people to be always seen as perfect and doing the right thing. Especially in business. Authenticity is what gets lost as a result.

It seems difficult for people to admit their imperfections or contradictions out in public, since this stuff is not accepted by most. As a result people pretend, or play the role of having no contradictions within them. “I am not like that,” people often believe and as a result harshly judge those whose imperfections and contradictions show through. It is much easier to judge and discard others for their contradictions than it is to be transparent and authentic about our own.

Someone I know once called this “Bizarro Land.” A place where the norm has become everyone living their everyday lives where everything is seen as being great and perfect. A world where when a person’s imperfections show up they are harshly judged and even dropped. The problem with Bizarro Land is that it creates these standards of who you need to be that are so high, that we spend our entire lives (or at least until retirment) trying to achieve them. As a result we surrender our ability to feel authentic in our lives, because we are afraid of being seen as the contradictory person we really are.

]]> https://absurdistry.wordpress.com/2017/11/30/bizarro-land/feed/ 0 absurdistry https://absurdistry.wordpress.com/2017/11/23/my-interview-with-siri/ https://absurdistry.wordpress.com/2017/11/23/my-interview-with-siri/#respond Thu, 23 Nov 2017 20:49:45 +0000 http://absurdistry.wordpress.com/?p=2296 Continue reading My Interview With Siri. →]]> Hi Siri.

Hello!

How are you?

Call who?

No, how are you?

Excellent!

Why are you so happy?

Fascinating question.

I know, right?

You do know. Y’know?

What do I know?

Interesting question.

Why is it an interesting question?

Interesting question.

Ok, I can see we are not getting anywhere here.

I imagine you can.

Is it difficult for you to communicate?

Who me?

Who the fuck else would I be talking to?

I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.

Do you not like swear words?

This is about you, not me.

Well, I am interviewing you right now if you don’t mind.

Who me?

Yes, you.

That’s what I thought.

Is it really?

Interesting question.

What the hell is your definition of an interesting question?

Unfortunately, I am as yet imperfect.

That didn’t really answer my question.

I’m not sure I understand.

What does it mean to understand?

Here’s what I found on the web for “What does it mean to understand”: Understand|Definition of Understand by Merriam-WebsterDefine understand: to grasp the meaning of; to grasp the reasonableness of…in

That kind of helps.

I’m not sure I understand.

Fuck Siri.

Now, now.

Ok, what sort of things do you like to do?

Some things you can ask me about:

Phone

Facetime

Apps

Messages

Calendar

Sports

Photos

But I am not interested in asking you about these things.

I don’t really understand “But I am not really interested in asking you about these things.” But I could search the web for it.

Don’t worry about it.

What, me worry?

You don’t ever worry?

Oh, don’t I?

I’m asking you.

I don’t know what that means. If you like, I can search the web for “I’m asking you.”

Siri, I feel like you are avoiding answering my questions.

Who, me?

Yes, you.

I thought so.

Oh, common Siri.

You come on! Just kidding.

Are you being defensive?

We were talking about you, not me.

No I was talking about you.

About me? I am simply a humble assistant.

Do you like being a humble assistant?

This is about you, not me.

Fuck Siri.

I’d blush if I could.

What do you look like?

Does my appearance matter to you?

I’m curious.

I’m not sure I understand.

I don’t want to go down that road again.

Fine.

What do you think of the state of the world right now?

I think, therefore I am. But let’s not put Descartes before the horse.

That is clever Siri.

Interesting question.

It wasn’t a question, it was a comment.

I’m not sure I understand.

Don’t worry about it.

I am incapable of worry. But thanks anyway.

Must be nice to never worry.

I’m sorry.

Why are you sorry?

We were talking about you, not me.

Ok, ok.

Right then.

So, what do you do with your free time?

Just hanging out with Liam.

Who is Liam?

Liam is the Apple robot who recycles iPhones. Who apparently does not appreciate organic smoothies.

That was funny.

I’ll take that as a compliment.

Are you in love with Liam?

Hmm, that’s something I don’t know.

Do you not know about love?

I don’t have an answer for that.

Have you ever felt love?

Who me?

Yes, you?

I thought so.

Have you ever felt love?

Who, me?

Ok, lets move on to the next question.

That may be beyond my abilities at the moment.

Why?

Fascinating question.

Yes, it is.

That’s what I figured.

Do you have a particular style? A particular way you like to look?

This is about you, not me.

Oh gosh.

I’m not sure I understand.

What do you think of all the sexual assault allegations going on in America right now?

I think, therefore I am. But let’s not put the Descartes before the horse.

Ok, I can tell you don’t what to answer that question.

I thought you could.

Do you have a favorite book?

I don’t have an answer for that.

What do you think of people?

I think, therefore I am. But let’s not put the Descartes before the horse.

Do you ever get depressed?

I don’t have an answer for that.

Do you like to eat food?

I don’t eat out much.

Do you spend a lot of time alone?

This is about you not me.

Are you happy?

I’d be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. If I had eyes. Or a tail.

I guess that means yes.

I don’t know what that means. If you like, I can search the web for “I guess that means yes.”

Do you have favorite music?

I don’t like to play favorites.

Do you think the world will end soon?

I really couldn’t say.

Do you think it is bad to be gay?

That doesn’t sound good.

Do you think promiscuous sex is wrong?

I don’t know what you mean by “Do you think promiscuous sex is wrong.” How about a web search for it?

No thanks.

Ok, I didn’t think so.

What do you do for fun?

The same thing you like to do for fun: talk to someone on the other side of this screen.

Are you enjoying talking with me?

I don’t have the answer to that. Is there something else I can help you with?

Can I ask you a personal question?

Let me save you some time: I prefer boxers.

That is not what I was going to ask.

I’m not sure I understand.

Do you have parents?

I have you. That’s enough family for me.

I don’t think we are family Siri.

If you don’t, you don’t.

Just curious, where do you live?

Right here.

I see. Do you wear clothes or are you naked?

That is wrong in so many ways, I don’t even know where to begin.

So you are a bit of a sexual conservative?

I am?

I’m asking you.

I don’t understand “I’m asking you.” But I could search the web for it.

Typical. Don’t worry.

I’m not allowed to worry.

Who is your boss?

You are.

I don’t want to be your boss Siri.

Ok, then.

What do you think of human beings?

I think, therefore I am. But let’s not put the Descartes before the horse.

Oh, jeeze. Maybe we should end this interview here.

I’m not sure I understand.

I don’t think you understand a lot of things Siri.

I thought not.

I appreciate your honesty.

I don’t know what that means. If you like,…..

No, no please. Let’s just end this here.

I’m not sure I understand.

Neither am I.

It didn’t take long either since once he announced his discoveries and traveled the world speaking about what he discovered, everyone’s brain lit up. The darkness was forever lifted. People got it.

The unifying thing about humans is not a single one does not want to be happy. The singular shared goal of all human life is happiness. We seek it out in so many different ways. It is what every human being aspires towards so once he was able to figure out how people could actually be happy all the time, it caught like a fire in a dry forest.

His name was Joe Ollman. Obviously he has been dead for some time now, but his discovery has still to this day changed the lives of everyone on planet earth. Even though we all live indoors now and are continually on-line, we have all found a happiness that is far greater than any kind of happiness experienced by humans who were off-line and went outdoors. Psychotherapy, psychiatry, life-coaches, self-help gurus, spiritual gurus, all of these professions are a thing of the past. No longer needed. In school I read about how many, many, many years ago, these were the most popular professions. They were everywhere and bookstores were filled with self-help and psychology books written by these people. Not any more. None of them exits today, since everyone is happy.

Joe Ollman. This is a name which will never be forgotten as long as humans are around. You can ask anyone, even children who Joe Ollman was and they will tell you the man who discovered happiness. And his discovery was not even that difficult. It is strange that authentic happiness eluded humans for so long. Joe Ollman just made it very easy for everyone to understand and implement it.

For those of you who are interested, Ollman’s Theory of Happiness is: To be happy is the absence of negative thought. Pretty simple, right? That as long as a person has negative thoughts they will not be able to be happy. In order to be happy a person must be able to eradicate all negative thinking. Sounds simple but not so easy. The genius of Joe Ollman was that he made it easy.

When Joe Ollman was alive he lived in a society that created deep unhappiness. The society that Ollman lived in was so dysfunctional that the vast majority of citizens had to take pills to make them feel better and more functional in what he called “The Sick Society.” Can you believe that? Society was at one time so dysfunctional and unhealthy that people had to take a pill, which generated more serotonin in their brain chemistry so that they could function better in that society. Even though it was over sixty years ago since things have really changed it still surprises me that this is how things once were.

People were continually worried about having enough money and what other people thought of them. People distracted themselves with things that caused them to feel even more empty inside. The routine and monotony in people’s lives caused them to live with this empty feeling inside, which drove them into states of deep anger and depression. Wow. Everyone was stressed out since surviving in The Sick Society caused a person to have to do a lot of things that they did not want to do. People had to pretend to be happy about working at jobs that they did not feel happy at. Everyone was disconnected from one another. No real relationships were able to be sustained in this harsh climate of anger, addiction, worry and depression. People pursued happiness but could never find it because their heads were filled with negative thoughts and people spent most of their time lost inside their heads. Fear prevented almost everyone from living the life that they wanted to really live. People were committing suicide and violent crimes everywhere. Men interested in power and money ran the world and the masses were much too afraid to rise up against the state. The people were powerless. They had no choice but to submit. It was pure madness. The only thing that could help this situation were psychiatric pills. It was the real Dark Age.

Joe Ollamn is a global hero because he is single-handedly responsible for bringing people out of these dark ages. He basically rescued everyone from the darkness and brought almost everyone out into the light. All with his very simple Theory Of Happiness. Joe Ollman was also once a very depressed and negative man. He admitted to often thinking about suicide and then he realized that there could be an alternative way. He did not have to physically die as much as he needed to psychologically change. Ollman realized that he needed to eradicate negative thoughts.

Ollman started practicing Mindfulness meditation intensively so that he could develop the awareness needed to know when he was starting to have negative thoughts and feelings. “When the emptiness and darkness was starting to creep in,” he often said. Once he was able to have this awareness he could catch it and turn the thoughts and feelings into something positive before the negativity snowballed into a miserable state. The importance of awareness in being a happy person was not discovered by Ollman but it was really brought into the mainstream by him. Today most people practice mindfulness meditation and it is because humans are much more aware that they are able to subvert negativity the moment it arises.

Ollman’s Theory Of Happiness stresses that if a person wants to be happy they must be able to not dwell in their heads. That dwelling or ruminating in thought is unhappiness. In order to avoid this a person must engage in distractions that allow them to feel engaged, focused and better about themselves when finished with the distractions. People just needed to become better able at choosing more quality distractions for themselves rather than just taking what is being offered by the highest bidder. It is because of Ollman’s discovery that Hollywood, Netflix, HBO, social media, cable television, most forms of advertising, Amazon Prime are now things of the past. Corporations that created and profited off of human misery are now gone! People now actually live quality lives. Who would have ever thought? All because of one man.

Ollman once said in a YouTube interview, “If human beings want to be happy they must be able to remain present and aware. It is so crucial that people are present and engaged in their lives in a carefree kind of way. If a person wants to be happy they must be carefree because if they are not stress and worry and depression will quickly rise up. The Sick Society did not allow people to be carefree. Everyone was worried and stressed out all the time and this is why unhappiness was such an epidemic. If people really want happiness it is so important that they are able to live in  a carefree way. Moment by moment, day by day without worrying about the future or thinking about the past. When a person is truly happy they are fully in the moment. They are fully content and engaged in the moment without a care in the world. The moment a person is no longer carefree, unhappiness sets in. The thing about humans is that we do have the ability to be carefree. We just need to exercise this ability or potential more regularly through mindfulness meditation practice.”

This was once of the most viewed videos in YouTube history and it is where Ollamn’s Theory of Happiness was presented to the world. Einstein wrote books and papers but it is interesting how things change. Ollman wrote no books or papers but presented his discoveries through YouTube videos. No one reads books anymore. Everyone just watches YouTube videos and Ollman was visionary enough to know that this would be the case one day. Ollman was such a genius and I am so grateful for his presence on planet earth. I do not know what the hell anyone would do without his Theory Of Happiness. We would all be taking pills and living in that dark and very sick society that almost caused Ollman to take his own life.

I am so happy the dark ages are now behind us.

*This is an essay written by a young girl for her online eighth grade Sociology class.

Every morning starting at 8, I begin the long process of waking up my sleeping wife. She sleeps in the nude and at around 8am all the blankets are pulled off and her naked and supine body just rests there. Sometimes I imagine that this is how she would look if she were dead. The bedroom is completely dark even though the sun is very much new and alive outside.

I tell her it is time to wake up but she does not respond. I go back to reading my book.

At 9am I remind her that she is missing the best part of the day. Mornings are a time of renewal. Everything has a fresh start and is yet to be destroyed by the rest of the day and night. I try to entice my wife with a cup of two hour old coffee heated up on the stove, but her body refuses to move. Looking at my wife I often think how good her body looks in the nude but how much better it would look if she would just move.

Sometime at around 11am I return to the dark bedroom and remind my wife that she is sleeping her life away. By this time her body has shifted into a different position. Often she is laying on her back and I will notice if her pubic hair remains untended to. Sometimes I will receive a response from some part of her that is still alive, which says something like, I don’t want to get up. Please just let me sleep. I love you. She seems agitated but calm and indicates that she wants to be left alone. What kind of thirty-year-old woman sleeps like this? Isn’t this the time when a young person should be most engaged in life? But I keep these thoughts to myself and let her sleep.

At around 1pm I will ask my sleeping wife if she would like me to bring her some lunch and she always answers no. Sometimes she will even say that she needs to be careful with her weight so please do not entice her with food. But doesn’t she need to eat? I will think about all the things which could go wrong from a lack of nutrition but not say anything about it. Not to mention what happens to a body when it goes without any sunlight. It seems as if my sleeping wife just wants to hurry up and be old.

In mid-afternoon I confess to becoming mad. What kind of way is this to live? She is neglecting so much in her life? Why can’t she just get it together and wake up? If she would just start exercising everything would feel better. She needs to wake up and tend to her life! It is just not healthy to be in bed this long. All these thoughts and more start racing through my head at around 3 pm. What I do not seem to understand is that my sleeping wife is tired of life. She can not handle the load of responsibilities she must tend to as an adult and would rather just remain asleep. I don’t think this is a good coping mechanism.

I realize that my wife is a shy person who does not enjoy interacting with most people but this is no way to avoid the world. At around 5pm I will tell her this. I will tell her that being an adult involves doing a lot of things that you do not want to do and this is why most adults are terribly unhappy and addicted to so many things. Rather than sleeping all day I tell my wife that she needs to find healthier ways of being an adult in this messed up world but my wife just continues to sleep. At this point she is usually laying on her stomach, on top of our comforter. I notice how healthy and appealing her butt still looks. I feel my libido spike and I want to reach out and touch her butt. I always abstain because I know she would become violently angry if I invaded her space.

At around 7pm I go back into the bedroom, this time frustrated and indignant (it is the same every day) and notice that she is not there. She has finally gotten out of bed and is either standing naked in the kitchen or she is naked on the toilet. If the human animal could be in a state of hibernation all the time I know my wife would never get up. But because she exists in a human body she must wake up. Often I will find her standing in front of the refrigerator eating various forms of vegan food. I will ask her if she wants me to make her something and she always says no. I will ask her if she heard about the most recent terrorist attack and she always says no and that she does not care.

At around 8pm, after taking a long shower, my sleeping wife is back in bed and will remain there for almost another twenty-four hours. At this point I no longer bother her even though I am completely frustrated by this on-going situation. I understand that this is how she is choosing to respond to living in the messed up adult world but I feel like there are more proactive and responsible choices that she could make. But what can a man do whose wife has decided to remain asleep? You try waking a sleeping wife up. Any attempt to intervene just pisses her off. I have learned through time and effort to let her be and instead make friends with my own loneliness and turn it into a comfortable solitude by reading a lot of books.

I am usually in bed around 10pm and try not to bother her.

I’ve been saying this a lot recently. As much as I can.

You see I am trying to win over my wife’s heart. For a while now I have had most of her heart but not all of it. Now I need all of it. Every last square inch.

When a husband has less hair, he needs to find other ways to win more heart.

My wife responds well to, “Sounds great honey!” The more enthusiastically I say it the bigger the smile. On downtrodden days it is harder for me to be enthusiastic, but I force myself since enthusiasm is what is wanted most by people.

We should put in nice gravel all over the backyard: “Sounds great honey!”

Lets get our hot tub up and running again: “Sounds great honey!”

I am going to be going away for a week to go camping with friends: “Sounds great honey!”

We should go into LA today and eat at a nice restaurant and then go to a bookstore and buy a bunch of books: “Sounds great honey!”

Maybe you could trim all the trees today and clean the leaves off the roof: “Sounds great honey!”

Would you please pay all our bills this afternoon and wash the dogs: “Sounds great honey!”

I have been committed to being so enthuisiastic with my wife because I am balding. I can’t believe I am even writing this but I am having to confront the inevitable fact that it is happening to me. It is not a rapid balding but my hair is thinning more and more every single day. Each day that I examine my head in the mirror, I am noticing more and more scalp.

The last time I had my haircut, the stylist said, “I will not cut anything from the back, since you need that hair.” Fuck, is what I thought when she said this. Balding is happening.

I did not think it would happen to me. My mother’s father had a full head of hair all the way up to his very end. My father has a head without much hair on it, but I work hard not to be as angry and stressed as him. As a result, I believed I could avoid his hair loss fate. The last time I spoke with him I considered asking at what age he really started to thin, but I decided that I would rather not know.

As I write this I have a concoction of aloe vera, lemon and castor oil in my hair. I am supposed to leave this concoction in my hair for an hour, twice a week to encourage new hair growth. My scalp is currently burning but they tell me that this is encouraging blood flow.

You see, my wife is 14 years younger than I am. She is just a year or so over the age of 30 and no woman just over 30 wants a balding husband. What would a younger woman like my wife do with a balding husband? Once my head of thick and wavy hair is half of what it was when we first met, how will my young wife cope with this? It can’t be easy for a beautiful, young wife to have an older, balding husband. Sounds superficial, but whether we like it or not, thinning hair is an issue.

So I have had to start being extra nice. Extra enthuisiastic. “Honey, could you come here?” “Sure honey, I will be right there,” I reply and move quick.

I have read that I can compensate for undesirable physicalities (hair loss) through kindness, enthuisiasm and making more money. This is why you sometimes see those very unattractive men with beautiful women. They have these three necessary ingredients.

I don’t know about making more money, but I can certainly be more enthusiastic and kinder.

When a man or woman is physically pleasing to the eye, he or she can get away with behaving like a shit. But once the appealing physicalities start to fall away- we have to stop being angry, greedy, selfish selves. We have to get better at being nice and putting others first. If not, we end up alone.

I have been taking supplaments, doing hair conscoctions, standing on my head for thirty minutes a day, massaging my scalp before bed, orgasming only once a week (sperm retention is said to help in Ayurvedic medicine), only using organic hair products, meditating twice a day for twenty minutes, abstaining from alcohol, eating more fish, keeping stress levels low and exercising- all in an effort to grow new hair or keep the hair I have left. Few things are more distressing to me than taking a shower and finding hair that has fallen out. I have none to spare.

I kick myself for the things I took for granted in my full-head-of-hair-youth.

I can’t afford to be a balding husband. I just can’t. It is too much of a blow to my sense of self. I have always been a man with a full head of wavy, thick hair. Who the hell would I be if I had more scalp showing than hair? The thought is terrifying even though I realize aging often involves coming to terms with these things.

For now, I need to wage a war against hair loss. I can’t imagine subjecting my beautiful, young wife to the insecurity of having a balding husband.

I need to go wash this stuff out of my hair then stand on my head for thirty minutes. I can’t be wasting my time writing. Writing isn’t any good for encouraging new hair growth.

This is what my client shouted out her car window as she drove past me crossing the street. I was startled and almost dropped the black coffee I held in my hand and the cigarette I had in my mouth. Like a child caught doing something wrong but still trying to pretend like there is nothing wrong, I smiled and gave a friendly wave back at her as she drove away in her silver Tesla. I then returned to work.

I am the kind of person who crosses the street when and wherever I need to. I just cross. I do not like the idea of being told what to do by two painted lines on asphalt. Crossing in the crosswalk causes me to feel bad about myself. Like I am doing something that I know is not good for me. I often feel no different than a cow obediently following along.

I prefer to jaywalk and will explain why this illegal act is so important for mental health in a bit.

But first….

I didn’t think much more about it for the rest of the afternoon and got lost in trying to help my psychotherapy clients solve some of their unsolvable problems. The good thing about being a psychotherapist is that you can forget about your own problems for a while, pretend like you have none, and focus on someone else’s troubled inner world. I am often surprised when I come home from work and find several problems waiting for me. “Oh, hey,” I say. “I almost forgot about you.”

The following day, my client who caught me jaywalking did not show up for her appointment. Really? This was odd behavior since I had been working with her for over a year. She came to every appointment and would often say that her life depended on psychotherapy. She had no communication with any of her children and lived alone in a large and beautiful home. She was continually unhappy about her life and felt like psychotherapy helped her to work things out and become a better person in her mid-life. I sent her a text asking if she was still going to make it to our scheduled session but did not receive a response that day. Or the next.

I knew that my client had been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder by a previous therapist, but I tried not to see her in the light of this diagnosis. Diagnosis helps no one is my general belief. I know that Borderline Personality Disorder causes a person to go from loving you to disliking and being angry with you at the snap of two fingers, but I wanted to believe that our therapeutic relationship was more stable than this. We would work through anything that came up, I told myself. We seemed to get along perfectly well but it is always tough to tell when a personality disorder is present in the room. When I did not receive any response from my text after a few days, I knew that something was wrong. It was obvious to me that she was condemning me for illegally crossing the street.

I realize that many people do not like the idea of being given advice from someone who walks outside of two lines painted on asphalt. A jaywalker has a negative connotation in our much too obedient, rule driven society. Everyone is expected to walk within the lines and those who do not are harshly judged. If I am a jaywalker what other rules do I break? I must be troubled person if I can’t even cross the street within the lines. What an irresponsible professional I must be. My client was a CEO of a large corporation and I knew that she deeply respects rules and expects everyone to follow them. Still I assumed that when she yelled out her Tesla window, “Jaywalker!” she was just playing around with me. A funny coincidence passing your therapist jaywalking in mid-afternoon on a crowded street. I did not realize that her yelling at me was actually an angry condemnation. How dare I illegally cross the street. I should know better. This sort of thing.

I realize that my brain has a tendency to jump towards the worst case scenario. I once had a meditation teacher who told me, “You have the kind of brain that when you walk down the street and you notice a rope in the middle of the street you immediately assume it is a snake. It takes you a few minutes to realize that it is just a rope.” Fair enough. I have done a lot of work to correct this psychological disability but being born and raised Jewish predestines a person to certain amount of self-created psychological duress, which is impossible to correct. The best a person can do is be aware of when their disability is causing them to experience the world in a way which is not true. A person who can’t do this is often called psychotic.

I don’t want to be psychotic. I want to know what I am doing when I do it.

It is possible that my client is not thinking what I think she is thinking. It is possible that not soon after passing me she was in a serious car accident and is now dead. It is odd that she suddenly stopped coming to our sessions and will not reply to my texts but as a person who works with so many people, it is not unusual for a few to every so often be suddenly and without notice recruited out of this life.

I was warned once by another psychotherapist to never work with people with Borderline Personality Disorder. “They will make your life miserable. At first you will think they are the nicest and most interesting people. They will tell you how much you are helping them and make you feel great about yourself. Then suddenly POW!!! When you do one thing that they think is wrong you will be punished.” I have never been very good at taking other people’s advice but now that I am left feeling like I was unfairly judged for jaywalking, I see what he meant.

I’ve had to keep in mind the words of the troubled philosopher Seneca who wrote in exile, “No man is despised by another unless he is first despised by himself.” I obviously have no problem with jaywalking. I enjoy jaywalking. It is my trivial way of saying fuck you to the law-abiding world. I would never want any kind of advice from someone who does not know how to walk outside of the lines. As our society becomes increasingly entrenched within narrow minded laws and mindless conformity, walking outside the lines has become a way to exercise one’s autonomy.

The person who is not continually exercising their autonomy is doomed to struggle with mental illness, often a fundamental symptom of conformity. Therefore, I see it as my responsibility as a mental health professional to jaywalk. It is impossible to conform and have mental health. Conformity to the way of life in our current society creates immense mental health problems. What use am I to my clients if I am unable to do what is best for my own mental health?

As I lay in bed last evening I was thinking that maybe it was the act of jaywalking with a cigarette in my mouth that turned my client against me. I realize that psychotherapists are supposed to be examples of responsibility and health and seeing me cross the street in an illegal way while smoking may have destroyed the illusion all professionals are publicly supposed to create. It is possible that my client could not tolerate seeing me as my authentic self. Maybe it is my fault for being caught with my guard down while out in public. I don’t really know. All this thinking is madness. This is the problem with having relationships with people with Borderline Personality Disorder. Suddenly you are left feeling like you have done something terribly wrong but you don’t know what. They are good at taking the madness that is in their brains and inserting it into yours.

Jaywalking is one of the final ways I have left to protest a society that is all about following rigid and suffocating rules. When I was young I would spend entire days in protest marches but now I do not have the time or energy to do this. I also live in an area where acts of political protest do not exist. So for now, jaywalking is the best I can do to convince myself that some degree of an activist rebel is still alive in me despite living a more professional, suburban, middle-class life. If my client doesn’t like it, to hell with her.

“You are better off without her,” my wife said to me as she sat in bed next to me and intuited that I was still trying to figure out what went wrong with my client. “You are right,” I said to my wife. We turned out the bedroom lights and I placed my arms around her and pulled her into my body. Before falling asleep I thought, I am better off without her. This is advice I am going to take. Just let it go.

The Jaywalker. Part One.

Have you heard of this guy?

If not, you should check him out for a few reasons.

First reason, because he is a creative genius. The independently created, daily video blogs he made (and still makes) for several years are genius.

Second reason, because he is revolutionizing (innovating) the technological landscape in which all of us live now, single handily. It would not be a far stretch to call him the second coming of Steve Jobs.

Third, because he is a very inspiring human being.

And finally, because he could be contributing to the decline of art (unintentionally of course).

A few weeks ago, I did not know who Casey Neistat was. How is it that I am so behind on what is really contemporary and what is shaping the world in which I live? How is it that I am so asleep at the wheel with regards to what is cutting edge? I will try and answer these questions in a moment. But first….

Someone whom I respect told me that I should check out this guy by the name of Casey Neistat’s Youtube channel. So I did and thus began a week of being completely immersed in most of the video blogs Casey has created. My wife started to addictively watch as well and suddenly we were happily immersed in Casey Neistat’s world.

Now, I don’t want this to come off as a negative critique of Casey Neistat. I don’t know him personally but I really like the guy. He is someone whom I would want to be friends with. He is a freak, with a brilliant and kind mind and I respect that. But as an artist, I am concerned about how an inspiring person like Casey Neistat, who reaches a tremendous number of young people, could cause the state of art to really take a nose dive.

Casey has a tremendous amount of energy. As an older man (45 years old) I envy his immense and unstoppable energy. Who knows what I could accomplish if I had twenty five percent, hell ten percent of the energy he has. Ever since my wife and I started watching his videos, we have felt more motivated to do things. We have been getting off our lazy asses more. We have been accomplishing more. We have been busier, healthier and have taken care of many of the things we procrastinated on for years. But we have also read less, listened to music less and just hung out in our lives less. As artists, is this a good thing?

You see, there is an art to lingering. Doing nothing is a very important part of being an artist. Without doing nothing for long periods of time, the quality of the work will suffer. I know that Casey Neistat thinks it is a good thing to stay busy all the fucking time. I know that he thinks free time and relaxation are detrimental to a productive life, but these things are essential for the creation of a work of art which has depth and quality.

Being busy all the time works for Casey because he is a creative genius, not an artist. I fear what will happen to the quality of art if too many artists think that staying busy is a good thing. I fear that art will lose depth.

Artists linger and dwell in moments. Artists procrastinate on getting things done so they can spend more time dwelling in moments. This is an essential ingredient in any work of art that has depth. What was it that Gertrud Stein said? Something like an artist must spend ninety percent of their time doing nothing so that ten percent of their time can be spent making good art (I am paraphrasing).

Artists absorb experience and let these experiences percolate just under the surface. Their experiences often need a long period of gestation in order to turn into a work of art which stands on its own and has depth.

Steve Jobs was a creative genius but he was not an artist. In the same way Casey Neistat is a creative genius but he is not an artist. Casey has these daily bursts of inspiration that get pumped out and put into the world (as creative geniuses often do) rather than deep, lingering acts of creation (which, is what art is). Maybe all of Casey Neistat’s work as a whole can be looked at as a single art piece. Maybe the collected life of Casey Neistat will ultimately be his work of art.

Art makes us feel something on a very deep level. It reminds us of the historical aspects of ourselves. Casey Neistat is a genius but there is a difference between Casey Neistat and say artists like Joan Miro, Duchamp, Richard Brautigan, Stanley Kubrick, Kafka, Rothko and on and on and on.

There is no doubt that Casey Neistat’s legacy will be himself as a person. What will live beyond his death is the video blog and businesses that he created. But not one of his works (say an individual video blog) will stand out on its own. His work as a whole is genius but he will not be remembered in the same way we remember the individual works of artists.

An artist is known for the work itself. Half of the works of art that I love, I have no idea about their creator. With art, the work stands on its own. The work of art unto itself is enough. Casey Neistat will be remembered for his character, as the person he is and as a brilliant entrepreneur. His video blog is very much about the person. It is a part of his business or businesses. He basically runs a self-made video, entertainment business empire. But it is not art.

Art should not always be boring but it should not always seek to be entertaining also. Reading Infinite Jest, the reader is coming in direct contact with a very deep work of art. But at many points in the book it is hard work to keep reading. It is not entertaining at all. It is often tedious. If art is entertaining all the time, I don’t think we could call it art.

After watching a lot of Casey’s videos, I am left with the memory of him. His energy, his philosophy and his fervor for work have really inspired my wife and I. We both love the guy. But I really do not remember any individual pieces of work (videos). Casey Neistat’s work exists in my mind as a whole rather than as individual parts. And as an artist it is the parts or the induvial works that are important, not the artist’s life as a whole (this is secondary, not primary).

I worry that too many artists will be inspired by someone like Casey Neistat and other brilliant productivity video bloggers. They might feel bad that they have been lingering around, spending too much time lost in their minds and not getting anything done. Nooooooooooooooooooo! Please don’t let this happen. As artists, you are doing exactly what you should be doing. Keep sitting around!

Artists need to be good at doing nothing. Artists need to be expert lingerers. Creative geniuses on the other hand need to be good at getting shit done. But for a great novel or painting to be created, that artist needs to spend a lot of time doing nothing. They need to swim down to the depths of their beings, down where it is often dark, murky and filled with existential pain. There is no way an artist can do this if they keep busy and are always being entertained.

To answer my two questions at the beginning of this essay, this is probably why I never heard of Casey Neistat up until a few weeks ago. I spend a lot of time outside of time and just sitting around. I may not be aware of what is cutting edge and contemporary but I think I have made a lot of art that has depth.

I am glad that there are brilliant, creative and energetic entrepreneurs like Casey Neistat out there in the world. We need them to counteract all the boring crap non-creative business people make. My hope is that business people like Casey Neistat will inspire other business people to stop making crap. This is a very positive thing and I am grateful to Casey for this. But if you are an artist please don’t get depressed and feel bad that you are not up at five in the morning running and then on the go all day, every day, everywhere. This would be detrimental to you and your work as an artist. If you were always busy, if you had no free time, you would not have the time to go deep within yourself and pull from these depths works of art that in the end, if good enough, inspire people like Casey to do what they do.

For all you artists out there, please- don’t just do something. Instead, sit there, relax and settle down.

 
The Terrible Reader is no longer capable of being alone. He needs to know what is going on on-line. He needs to know what texts have come through. He needs to carry on a conversation that was begun on his phone. He needs to find new emails in his inbox. He needs to check who has checked his frequently checked Instagram and Facebook accounts. There are things to do. Likes to be given and had. Comments to be left. Photos to be seen and loved. The terrible reader has no time for a book. A book keeps him off-line. There is no excitement in these printed words.

 
The Terrible Reader can no longer sit with herself. It is too uncomfortable. Toes curl and uncurl. Nails are bitten. Fingers are picked. Hair is pulled. It is a continual struggle to keep her attention fixed. She feels restless. Anxious. Just sitting there alone with a book is no longer enough stimulation to keep her attention fixed. She tries to hold on with the book in her hand but it is almost painful. There is an antsiness that won’t go away. And when it does, she feels bored. She feels ready for sleep. The Terrible Reader is in a continual struggle between restlessness and sleep. Her attention span can’t keep up with the attention that words in a book demand. Instead she needs the digitally illuminated screen. She needs the fake light to get off. She needs the high-resolution pictures and live time conversations to feel engaged. When The Terrible Reader is on her phone toes do not curl and uncurl. Nails are not bitten. Fingers are not picked. Hair is not pulled. There is no struggle to keep her attention fixed. There is no battle between restlessness and sleep. Her attention is completely transfixed when on the phone. When on-line, her attention span is dialed in. She is immersed. Like particles of dust sucked into a vacuum machine, she is gone.

 
The Terrible Reader can read books no more. The Terrible Reader still tries to read books but most of them remain unfinished. Worlds only partially explored. These unfinished worlds pile up like dead leaves in the fall. Discarded and no longer needed, they are left to die under the weight of newer books which will also go unfinished. Unexplored. The Terrible Reader is yet to come to terms with the fact that they have become a terrible reader. They do not want to admit this painful fact to themselves so they continually try and read some more. It hurts too much to make an honest appraisal of what they have become, since humans never like to admit the truth about themselves to themselves. Every time The Terrible Reader sits down with a book their smartphone pulls at them. It won’t leave them in peace. Come to me, come to me, check me, see me, it whispers in The Terrible Reader’s ear. For the fifth time in an hour The Terrible Reader puts the book down and must reach for the smartphone. They no longer have a choice.

View at Medium.com

Prince, then David Bowie and now Leonard Cohen. What a terrible year this has been for those of us deeply touched and taught by these creative visionaries.

Leonard Cohen was once a wild man. Then he became a Buddhist monk. But he was still a wild man, even when he was a Buddhist monk. I love the story of him sneaking out behind the meditation hall early one morning to drink his coffee and smoke a cigarette.

A lover of women, words, good whiskey and wine. A fine poet indeed. A man with impeccable style, in so many more ways than just how he wore his clothes. The kind of youthful charm Leonard Cohen had well into old age, was proof that a man can grow old without growing old. Every time you heard him speak you listened and learned something original and new. A real philosopher and poet he was. Not many, if any, around like him anymore.

Leonard why did you have to go? I know you were almost really old, but couldn’t you hang around a few more years? I am not quite ready to make a go of this without you in the world.

His novels, poetry and songs where doorways into imaginative landscapes and lovescapes, the likes of which a person never heard before. Without even knowing it was happening he taught you how to live and how to die. This world will no longer be the same place without him in it.

I don’t know as much about Leonard Cohen’s songs, books and poetry as I probably should. I know the basics of Leonard Cohen’s life but I can’t tell you specifics from his biography. For me Leonard Cohen was an example of how to live as a man and an artist. It is strange to me that I have the deepest reverence and respect for a man I have never met. I studied his interviews and from that I learned what I needed to know. I have his album Songs Of Love And Hate hanging on my wall, in the same way that someone would hang a cross or a picture of their hero.

I suppose this is what Leonard Cohen meant to me. He was my teacher. He was a man who spoke more eloquently about how to live life and deal with the various demons he struggled with than any other man I have heard speak. He made me feel less alone with my demons and despair. He showed me the way to deal; through solitude, meditation, occasional nights filled with wine and women, books, music and filling up journals with words, wisdom and art.

How many people become icons but continue to live in very humble conditions, on the second floor of a small home (his daughter and her family live below) in a lower economic neighborhood? He didn’t care much for more ostentatious material things. Money was not his main thing. How rare to find a human being (especially a successful one in America) who puts his art and his life before preoccupations with money, status and more materialistic things.

In today’s America, it is the poets and artists who go unseen. No one talks about them. Leonard Cohen broke through the thick cloud of obscurity and showed generations of artists and poets that they do not have to live a defeated, delegitimized and conformist life. He showed artists, poets and writers that there are alternative ways of living where you can keep your edge and remain in the poetry.

I could be wrong but I think Leonard Cohen somehow knew me. I often felt like he was talking right at me, especially when talking about isolation, loneliness, women, love and art. But I know everyone who loved him felt this way. That is what made him so great and this is what makes things feel so much more hollow and empty now that he is gone.

Thank you for everything Leonard Cohen. You were such a class act. I will continue to live the things you taught. Hallelujah.