Freedom

So I suppose that freedom
Unbidden or not,
Is always a blessing.

Also,

My body cannot be slain by wheat...

heart upon firing line

What do I feel?
Can even the wordsmith
ply his craft cleverly
enough to describe this?

I imagine this is what
it feels like to be shot
center mass, point blank,
emotional ten ring.

Savage, penetrating trauma,
liquefying the innermost reaches
of all that was once so bright,
and full of hope, love, tenderness.

The remnant expelled
with brutal disregard
upon the walls of this home
which was once ours.

All that remains in your wake,
effluvial portrait of heartbreak
on cold white.

So it has been a while, time for a new post.

Introduction

Throughout my employment in the maritime industry I have encountered frequent usage of the term “common sense.” I currently work on towboats on the Ohio river and have had the term leveled at me much less frequently here than while still decking on tall ships. It seems that work boats are much less prone to elitism and swaggering egos than anything made of wood with some canvas, sticks, and string attached. These components foster, at least in my experience, the need for people who are otherwise unremarkable to bludgeon those less knowledgeable over the head with their arcane skill set and nautical background. While this is being done, the term common sense is frequently invoked. I have often heard it said that decking on tall ships, and the skills requisite to do so, are “common sense.”  This is a problem much less frequently on work boats, but it does still happen.

Over the course of my last hitch I worked with one of the captains  who  has used the “all of this work is common sense”  accusation to imply that I, or other deckhands, were lacking in some inate ability common in the entire human populace because I did not understand something he was instructing me to do.  That being said, this particular captain has been working on tow boats for thirty eight years. This prompted a few thoughts about both the explicit, and nuanced cultural definition and usage of the term common sense. I believe that individuals in maritime culture misappropriate the term for the purpose of self aggrandizement.  Let’s start with some definitions.

Definitions

Common: (adj) 1.) Belonging to, or shared by two or more people. 2.) done by many people. 3.) Occuring or appearing frequently. 4.) not rare.

Sense: (Noun) most applicable definitions being, 1.) Capacity for effective application of the powers of the mind as a basis for action or response. 2.) Sound mental capacity and understanding typically marked by shrewdness or practicality.

These definitions are taken from the Merriam Webster Dictionary which also contains a discussion of the term common sense. In this section it is stated that the term common sense, “suggests an average degree of such ability without sophistication or special knowledge.” Note my emphasis on without, and special knowledge. Maritime culture takes at face value a definition of common sense that simply smashes two words together, making no allowance for a nuanced standpoint that stipulates that common sense does not include “sophistication or special knowledge,” whether derived from a degree from a maritime academy, ten years working on tall ships, or thirty eight years working on tow boats. This simplistic rendering of the definition of common sense conflates all tasks involved in working on boats to common sense. I think in part this is due to the seeming simplicity of many tasks performed aboard boats. Stopping a nine barge cut while double locking looks simple. But, the first time you try it and realize that you are attempting to kill the inertia of 13,500 tons of coal and steel with what is essentially a big ass string, makes the complexity and challenge of the task apparent. Aside from face value simplicity, I think maritime workers use the “no common sense” attack to make themselves feel superior, probably due to a wide range of personal and social insecurities. This behavior sadly, propagates insecurity in the victim and is a really vicious cycle which needs to be broken.  Given commensurate training and experience I could perform the job of any of my superiors, past or present, as well or better than they do. A fun supporting side note here, Malcolm Gladwell’s book, Outliers discusses something he calls the 10,000 hour rule. The basic tenet of this being that any task or skill set has to be honed for about 10,000 hours for an individual to be considered an expert at it. I still do not have 10,000 hours accrued decking on tow boats. I would wager that Mr. thirty eight year captain does many times over.

How “Common” is boat Knowledge?

If my exploration of definitions and word usage in the Maritime industry didn’t convince you I will also explore just how common boat knowledge is, in order to attempt to justify a simplistic word smash definition of the term common sense. I could not find a nationwide study addressing percentage of the population employed in the maritime field. I did find a study like this for the population of San Diego California, which I will use as a sample. The 2012 population of San Diego was 1,322,553. Out of this total only 46,000 individuals worked in the maritime industry, which in this study also included jobs related to, but not performed on boats. This number is approximately 3.48% of the population of San Diego. Tall ships were not even included in this study. If applied to be representative of the whole nation (a model which is in no way statistically sound, sorry Dr. Williams.) this 3.48% population size shows that nothing about boats, or working on them is common.  Even working in commercial sectors of the maritime profession is a fringe occupation. Working on tall ships places one in a miniscule sliver of an already infinitesimal population of human beings.  Nothing about boats or working on them, especially tall ships, is common to the human experience in relation to work or mental acumen. There are probably more people in San Diego that think they are wizards than who work on boats.

Toward a more functional definition

Though I am in no way qualified to define words or phrases I am going to do so. I think someone must. More important than the definition is the pathology of behavior that underlies it. Redefine all I might, nothing can really be fixed unless people stand up to the perpetrators of elitism and swaggering ego that are so well served by the old definition, and misuse of “common sense.” Sadly I have seen few if any people stand up to this sort of behavior on boats. Anyway, enough of that, my definition is as follows

Common Sense: The ability to effectively understand concepts or perform tasks parsed frequently enough, and by a large enough portion of the human population as to be accurately described as common. Said ability can be created over time, is not necessarily innate, and cannot take into account special knowledge or training as granting one individual more “common sense” than another.

Okay, I feel better. Gotta run, I’m late for wizard practice.

I wasn't going to post this. I thought it would be too controversial and would cost me friends. I have realized now that I am ok with that potential outcome. I doubt that this can top anything else I have written so I am saying fuck it. Time to saddle up. I cant stand this world. The rules are irrelevant, and created by a few that know not our troubles. This isn't truly directed at any specific person but if you feel you are being called out then that might be the case. I am tired of a world that tells us that violence is unacceptable as bombs rain down on the innocent in pursuit of the maintenance of power and control. This country is, at best, nothing more than the long continued result of what Great Britain may have been well within their rights to deem a violent terrorist insurrection yet our leaders confidently set us out as the sole propeitors of moral sanction of violence of any sort. Fuck that. We are living on borrowed time and the rest of the world will pay us back in kind shortly. East Timor in 1972, look it up. We owe great debts that cannot be forborn forever. I am lost. This used to disturb me but I have realized now that if I felt I belonged to this I would be failing both myself and others many times over. I do not belong. I will not submit. We are not flawless or the voices of right.

Free Verse, Untitled, 08/30/2013

More than anything I am gripped by the feeling that I am lost and cannot overcome this sense of placelessness, both of body and mind. Nothing ever feels to be truly mine in this world and the continual drive to seize even the most infinitesimal hand or foot hold is sucking me dry. Through it all the days slip by ever faster and the feeling lingers, unabated, ever present.

I was not around when the rules were made, and hence, un-consulted and disillusioned, I reject the parts I find incongruous and substitute my own. Others, many others, have done this before me and were called radicals, troublemakers, muck rakers, and live wires. I wear the brand of all of these with pride. It is the only proof I have for myself that I am doing something right. This is something I suppose, but still cold comfort most days, and especially nights.

Those I find closest to myself are still so far from me. The gap is startlingly wide despite our many similarities. They seek social justice by talking about it, or clinging desperately to an electoral system that even a half wit destroyed by ether can clearly and easily see to be a farce. All of their seemingly infinite potential wasted on the trivial. GAY MARRIAGE! GAY MARRIAGE!  They all love to talk endlessly about the deep and meaningful nature of sanctioned gay marriage. I do not oppose sanctioned gay marriage. BUT…there are countless people in this country WITHOUT JOBS, who can’t PAY THEIR BILLS, OR WHO EVEN WITH MEDICAL INSURANCE CANNOT AFFORD THE CARE THEY NEED TO LIVE. Surely this profiteering and lack of compassion in the financial and social structure takes priority? GAY MARRIAGE! GAY MARRIAGE! Oh the infinite bliss of SANCTIONED COCK, in SANCTIONED ASS. But what about an almost total dearth in respectable jobs with a living wage attached? “Jesus Jeremy, be more homophobic.” I sigh, sigh, sigh. RATIONAL PRIORITIZATION is NOT DESCRIMINATION against your preferred method of EJACULATION. Let’s work out the food air deal. Basic necessities for the masses supersede the desires of a tiny minority in importance. I shudder not in the least to say it.

You busy yourself with the occupy movement while mocking me for educating myself and quietly waiting for the right moment to strike. Congregating, chanting, practicing poor hygiene, and making a pathetic nuisance of yourselves does not advance any meaningful agenda. Yet as you mock me those I love will adore your snarky little quips because you are so funny, so special, you are all the most special of all the poo flinging monkeys riding your canvas powered contraptions hither and yon with neither point nor purpose. Sometimes I am truly grateful for how poorly this community treated me, as it showed me the waste and futility of time spent within it. Were it not for her the waste and futility would have been complete.

EQUAL RIGHTS! EQUAL RIGHTS! FREEDOM FROM INJUSTICE FOR THE GAYS! Yet so many of you watched injustice occur before your very eyes, on the same decks we trod together and could summon not even a protest, neither then, nor now. Only one of you lived up to your supposed ideals of fairness in your everyday life. Thank you dear lady for the courage you showed as the rest smiled, nodded, agreed with me and did nothing. Loud thunder, bright lightning, no rain. NOTHING. EQUAL RIGHTS! EQUAL RIGHTS! FREEDOM FROM INJUSTICE FOR THOSE WE LIVE OUR LIVES BESIDE! You need not look far to find something worth fighting for. Be honest with yourselves, despite all your gay marriage armchair advocacy, has anyone you ever saw being really, truly, abused publicly been a gay person? Are they being pelted with rocks in the streets? I think I may have been called a “fagget” by an employer more times than any gay person I have ever met. One of you was particularly proud of standing against nasty dialogue, praising yourself extensively for removing improper use of the terms “gay” and “retarded” from your lexicon. Yet somehow you still managed to behave like a pompous, sarcastic, and verbally abusive ass to those around you. Was there really a point to your ever so commendable self improvement? You might say you never saw me do the same. I retort that I never made it a priority because I don’t give a shit. I might still say “gay” and “retard” but I treated those we worked with respectfully and never took joy in their suffering. Also if I treated someone poorly I always apologized and made it right.

FREEDOM FROM INJUSTICE! Cry you all, but have you the metal to see it through? Can you come to grips with the stark reality of what justice requires? Your polite entreaties to a hardened system with a mind only for profit and the maintenance of a very well camouflaged tyranny count for less than nothing. True change, true justice, must mature within a populace very gradually and eventually will require boot heel, bayonet, and rifle butt. Scoff till your heart’s content but this society will continue upon same course until this manifests. You find this thought repugnant, appalling, radical. This is simply because you bought the lie early. I cannot be the only one who finds it suspicious that a morally bankrupt society teaches children from their entrance into the schools that it is unequivocally wrong to raise your hand in violence against another human being while all the while slaughtering indigenous populations the world over in pursuit of profit and control. “Those with no moral conscience fear only physical correction” said Hemingway. Hence this system, by its very nature, requires the complicity of a passive populace, such as results from brainwashing aimed at making violence socially unacceptable from the earliest possible moment. This never stuck in me. I am not sure why. You are weak in mind and body. Change is not within you. You are willing only to judge me for my acceptance of violent words and actions that I deem justifiable. I will never change myself to make you more comfortable. If you have come to fear me, you have done something to deserve my ill will and hence I have no regrets. 

On the Spirituality of streams and fish.

So today i put my line in the water for Erie steelhead for the first time in a year. I only caught one fish, decent sized, but not amazing and this was still one of the best days of my life. I had forgotten, or at least allowed to fade in my mind, the joy of a trout that one cannot fit ones hand around. At the end of any succesful battle of man versus fish comes the inevitable decision of consumption versus conservation. I prefer to think of it as consumption versus fairness. The fish gives me only its best effort no matter how cruelly I may have deceived it. There is nothing more beautiful to me than holding an exhausted fish, just slightly submerged in the recovery position, nose pointed upstream to run water over its gills and provide it with oxygen, thrust it upstream in the water two or three times, then release it and feel its muscles twitch driving it out into the stream again, essentially no different than when I found it. I love fish better than most people. My best for their best, simplicity, honor, honesty. No lies, no bullshit. Man, fish, stream.

Zen at one and a half barge lengths

            I had recently become enamored with the idea of “peace around the next bend.” Which implies that perhaps life, like a river, meanders, and that eventually one of these serpentine portions will gracefully unroll itself before me with a peaceful utopia waiting, laid beautifully at my feet on the other side. I believe I became enamored with this because I am tired. Tired of endlessly living out of duffle bags and sleeping on boats in hammocks and tiny bunks. Tired of feeling that I have no fixed place in this world that is mine. Tired of Mariah, and so many others that I love so dearly feeling so far away all too often. I became enamored with this idea because I am scared all the time, mostly of rejection, breach of trust, and an apparently almost total lack of human gratitude and decency. I am afraid of every woman in my life because if thirty seven years of selfless sacrifice and hard work does not merit absolute and unyielding loyalty what can I give to obtain it? My trust of others is a small green shoot shattered in seeming perpetuity only to rise up again still poignantly aware of how badly each past betrayal hurt. I’m tired of being tired, tired of being scared, and most of all tired of being angry. Despite my hatred of all these feelings they are part of the boat that is my life. No matter my relation to each new bend I’m still on this boat. This boat is my ride. This boat is my life.

            I have finally realized that peace will not come around the next bend. Peace must come from within. Though the fatigue, fear, and anger may never fade completely, peace exists in a mind empty enough to evaluate every interaction, moment, new face, and trial as it comes. The bends obfuscate no magical solution. I found an analogy on a boat. Something magical happens about one and a half barge lengths out on a five barge length tow. All of the noise pollution of two 1500 horse marine diesels fades into an oblivion so beautiful it elevates the state of the soul. All of the roiling, throbbing, discontent of this diesel fueled beast fades off , slides right out of the mind, out of existence, and standing there in the sun with a breeze on your face life becomes shockingly simple, quiet, and serene. You know just what to do and set about it as you and 22,500 tons of coal and steel slip effortlessly through the water as if only your sense of purpose and contentment propel it. This feeling is peace, zen one and a half barge lengths out. I believe the analogy fits. All that remains is to find this place, removed just enough from the negative energy of my boat for peace to prosper.

This was all I got out of a five week hitch on the rivers. oh well, better than nothing.

Seated upon a coil of line

On the head of a towboat

Shrouded in the fog

That rose, interminable from the

Brown serpentine line of

That ancient river was a man.

Thousands of miles from what he loved

What mattered.

What granted meaning.

Eleven months gone now

In a blur of displacement

And commuting, punctuated

Only by notable highlights

And the stubborn ghosts

Of the past, their corporal

Form sticking stubbornly

To the secret inner workings of his mind.

The sanctuary violated.

A consciousness marred, yet subtly

Improved by the vagaries of

The world, and the callous, wanton

Hate the people that walked through it so frequently

And tragically, displayed.

So few are good to one another.

So he will float perpetually

In escape amongst the brown water,

Industrial ratchets, steel cable,

Kevlar lines, cheater pipes, and sweat.

He will cleave these tows in half

And force them through locks one

Cut at a time until the process,

The barges, each lock, and every inch

Of river becomes part of his soul.

And someday, perhaps, he will find peace.

Just around that next bend.