I was never comfortable with traditional matter, especially, Resumes. I resisted for years, while stubbornly insisting there had to be something more to it, than pages of innocuous typeface. I could not conform to that template.
Didn’t fit me.
Had to satisfy my Artistic sensibilities …
Hadn’t figured it out, yet.
Solved the problem.
And, ultimately, thought … Why pretend to be someone who I am not?
It shows slightly different here than the PDF version, which is precise, in terms of the top and bottom border lines. But did ‘ya know? Social media doesn’t allow you to upload PDFs?
Now that I’ve had the opportunity to recover somewhat from my chaotic year in Baltimore, which was punctuated with much more drama than ever interested me, I can reflect without swimming through the waters of hysteria and panic.
And, as frequently happens, I often begin a post after I have already written it, frequently expressed it to my muse first.
(Yes, I do have one.)
And even though we often think of a muse as some sort of Divine connection or Feminine energy, mine happens to be an ordinary male.
It was accidental.
What can I say?
We don’t choose these things. Rather, they choose us. And, the irony, here, of course? It is his ordinariness that highly appeals to my creativity.
I don’t feel I am ever talking down to him in any way – rather it’s where my ideas often flow more readily and without the intrusion of any psychic storms – even though I may be experiencing one during the time of composition.
With my muse, it’s more like bobbing on the Aegean – instead of struggling in the murky waters of the Atlantic, and trying to keep from getting swept under those waves.
A muse should never frighten you.
So what are the essential job skills of a muse? Brevity, for one. But even more important than that is this:
A muse is someone who simply listens but never judges.
So how can you go wrong with that? You can’t!
Of course, I don’t simply replicate the initial piece – instead, when I get over here, I tweak and edit it.
However, the muse covers several areas simultaneously and sometimes I start somewhere else, then come here, then end up there. There is this cyclical rhythm (any musician would understand it) where everything is connected – in one way or another.
So now, after this lengthy digression and discussion of the job skills of a muse, it’s time to cut and paste, what I had written earlier, in the comments section on The Guardian – that’s where I hang out.)
HEALTH CARE Costs, Services, Politics and Money. What’s wrong with this picture?
(Comment of “heliosmou” in response to “Vladimir S” comment)
I had no problem whatsoever getting excellent and comprehensive emergency medical care when I was in Athens in 2010. I had to wait, of course. But it was worth it. And this, in a country that has been struggling to sustain an economy for some time now.
Whereas, here, a visit to Johns Hopkins Emergency Center, earlier this summer during a massive heat wave that hit Baltimore – so intense that calls to 911 could not be handled, and you were greeted with a recording, citing the volume of calls, and to stay on the line, and someone would help you – yes, Johns Hopkins Emergency Center, apart from the main hospital, and bigger and better equipped than most “regular” hospitals, resulted in me being escorted by security to the exit.
Because they couldn’t provide a diagnosis for what had happened to me. I had collapsed because of heat exhaustion and a migraine. Paramedics had to pull me from my car. Took 3 people to lift me from the gurney – ever hear of the phrase “dead weight?” – and they plopped me in chair. They checked my vitals, which were good, and then waited for me to revive from being in an air conditioned environment (approximately 3 hours) then told me I was ready to go!
I asked the physician what happened to me … Medically? The physician could not specify anything in particular. So how do you know I am fit to leave, if you have no idea what happened to me? She skirted the question. You are not in any danger, she said. Well, how do you know I am not in any danger, since you have no idea what happened to me? –
At this point the physician and the nurse standing by her side, communicated with each, which I overheard. It was time to call Security, they said. But what if I get sick as soon as I leave the premises? Well, then you come back. Then what? Go through the same routine, where you cannot determine the cause of what happened, but plop me in a chair again, and release me with the same diagnosis of “Housing Problems?” (Never knew, by the way, that a “Housing Problem” was a medical diagnosis.) They said, all I had to do was step outside the Emergency Center – just one step was sufficient – and then step back in again, and I would be treated again. A merry-go-round? You want me to get on a merry-go-round?
The Johns Hopkins Emergency Center in Baltimore was built with money donated by some Sheik. It’s a state-of-the-art facility, but aside from that, a pretty lousy place to go for medical care.
Ironically, the other patients in the ER rooted for me. A Vietnam vet called me, “The Sargeant,” which is really funny, since I am adamantly opposed to war.
Incidentally, I weigh 105 lbs.
So is this the kind of medical care we are talking about here? If so, I am NOT impressed.
After that and a few other zingers in Baltimore, I promised myself, that IFI EVER need emergency care again, I would demand to be flown to CHICAGO, where I’m from, and where doctors actually take their profession seriously – not like the clowns at Hopkins.
WordPress is determined to introduce new ways of solving problems because of their dinosaur physique.
They squeeze the solutions out of their users.
And this post keeps popping up as having failed to post.
So at this point, I have no idea how many of these are out there.
But it sure is lots of fun!
So I have no idea whatsoever where this fits in this fomenting imaginary monster …
At some point I recall saying something about patterns emerging, but beyond that, I haven’t got the foggiest as to what’s going on here.
It all began with a tiny accident. Lately, I see pieces that had posted showing the post failed. I didn’t want a double-post, and I didn’t know what to do with it, other than edit what lay ahead of me and publish it.
As for today (space for confessional here) the sky is chronically gray with occasional intense thunderstorms. And it is on this day – today – my marriage ended, according to court filings. (Appropriate forecast there.)
I made it!
One may often wonder about that …
How do you explain it?
To demonstrate an accurate version of it.
What general perceptions exist about the Crazies? Stereotypes?
Well lots of those exist.
They’re really popular.
Does anyone out there associate burnout with youth? Especially in the second decade of life?
We have numerous names on these lists. And the lists are long.
But has anyone ever thought about the process of burnout without having experienced it?
What if we looked at a broader group of artists, since musicians are easily the purveyors of substances that eventually kill them quickly in life and are disproportionately represented, unlike other artists?
Let’s think of just the process.
It’s like a hurricane
Creativity is highly accelerated
What may seem unusual to others is simple for you.
You work at a rapid pace, absorbing and expressing lots of ideas, in multiple ways.
There is a strong element of chaos present. But it’s friendly. And amusing.
Every pore in your body becomes a tiny camera, which takes pictures of the world around you, and then sends them to your brain for editing.
Chores. Chores. Chores.
You’re nothing more than a servant to your Brain. Your Brain wants you to believe there is such a thing as free will, so it programs that as the Default Setting.
“Let us see …
What lunatic lurks here…”
More easy to manipulate that way.