Something that Happened

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Dear Reader/Listener:

Lest I be judged for it, I inform you now that this web space is a scratch pad, a space for experimentation. Have fun, enjoy, and read much of it, but try not to read too much into it!

--Harold

Want some background music? Please consider tuning in to my Internet radio station VoyagerRadio while you're reading this blog.

Want more blogging fun? You may also be interested in reading my other blog, Transmitting to Earth.

These blogs/sites are also happening:

Joe Frank
Web Feed Central
Anne...Straight from the Hip
Momentshowing
Theory of Everything
Slowmotionlandscape
Netizen News

Something that Happened to your ears (AKA Podcasts, or audio downloads):

"Goodwill Hunting"
"Sampled"
"The Fir Tree, by Hans Christian Andersen
"Sundae Silence"
"iRiver Test"
"Subscription Special"
"From Jay Dedman"
"The Big Sleep"
"Walking Man"
"Resolution"
"It's Gotten Out of Band (Part 3)"
"It's Gotten Out of Band (Part 2)"
"It's Gotten Out of Band (Part 1)"
"Create Your Own Podcast Station"
"Echo"
"Tinkering"
"Explanation/Send Me Audio"
"Neighbors"
"Percentages"
untitled audio post 11/05/04
"Post-Election Blues"
"Audio Commentary (with audio commentary)"
"Open Source Schizo"
"(Somewhat) Traditional Radio Program"
"Not Poor Enough"
"Junk Mail"
"Everybody Has Something to Say About Podcasting"
"Dream Job (Part 2)"
"Dream Job (Part 1)"
"Vent"

Something that Happened in the past (AKA Archive):

12/01/2002 - 12/31/2002 01/01/2003 - 01/31/2003 02/01/2003 - 02/28/2003 04/01/2003 - 04/30/2003 05/01/2003 - 05/31/2003 06/01/2003 - 06/30/2003 07/01/2003 - 07/31/2003 08/01/2003 - 08/31/2003 09/01/2003 - 09/30/2003 10/01/2003 - 10/31/2003 11/01/2003 - 11/30/2003 12/01/2003 - 12/31/2003 01/01/2004 - 01/31/2004 02/01/2004 - 02/29/2004 03/01/2004 - 03/31/2004 04/01/2004 - 04/30/2004 05/01/2004 - 05/31/2004 06/01/2004 - 06/30/2004 07/01/2004 - 07/31/2004 08/01/2004 - 08/31/2004 09/01/2004 - 09/30/2004 10/01/2004 - 10/31/2004 11/01/2004 - 11/30/2004 12/01/2004 - 12/31/2004 01/01/2005 - 01/31/2005

Need more blog? Read Transmitting to Earth, my other blog.

A narrative experiment by Harold J. Johnson, Master Architect of VoyagerRadio and Humble Operator of The Great Glass Elevator (currently out of commission).

Just remember, not everything you read or hear is true. Everything else is - or can be, depending on your perspective.

Friday, July 09, 2004
Yesterday was better. Yesterday was brilliant. Then again, when I really admit it to myself, yesterday has left me with mixed impressions. There's no doubt, however, that yesterday was Thursday, a day I took the 5 1/2-hour journey to visit my mom, who I hadn't seen since Saturday. I try to visit her once a week and often manage to see her more often, yet the journey alone takes up the better part of a day and it takes a day or so to recover from the journey. Bus lag, I guess. I look forward to these journeys, though. They afford me the opportunity to catch up on my reading and, when I'm not in the mood to read, provide me with an excuse to sit and do absolutely nothing. And if you believe doing nothing isn't possible, then you can call it people-watching, or road-tripping, or meditating, or whatever; but to me, it's pure and simple: I'm doing nothing, and it feels good (though I can't stand doing nothing at home).

That's the journey itself. The actual visitations are even more fulfilling. Besides giving Mom freedom from The Chair and myself the satisfaction of having been her saviour, my visitations seem to restore some sort of balance to my life. Though I eat as well as could be expected and exercise as often as possible, and though I keep myself remarkably occupied for someone who hasn't managed to bring himself to send out a single resume in well over a year, I still find myself out-of-balance after I've gone a week or so without paying a visit to my ailing mom. The feeling is unrelated to guilt, though that can creep in as well, especially at the thought of Mom being stranded in her room for more than a few days. It's much more akin to a general feeling of unhealth, as at the tail end of a gluttonous week spent gorging oneself with donuts and ice cream. Except in this case, it's my mental health that's being compromised, and the need to get back to the routine of healthy living persists until I pack up a lunch and head to the bus stop for my weekly journey.

Yesterday Mom was full of energy - quite a contrast to the state she was in a week before, asleep and nearly comatose for the entire duration of my visit - and after untying her bondages, Mom immediately got up and urged me to take her for a walk. Overcast in the morning, it became sunny by noon as Mom and I traversed the premises, circling for hours from one end of the property to the other, Mom hardly faltering in her footsteps - that is, until she noticed the repetition of our course and halted in her tracks, exasperatingly exclaiming We're going in circles! Even then I found satisfaction in the knowledge that this indicated Mom was alert and aware this day, much more than I'd seen in a month, and I was extremely excited to witness the transformation - so much so that I overlooked, until later in the afternoon, the consequences of Mom's cognizance. For as the afternoon grew long and the cumulous clouds combined to draw a curtain over the sun's happy aspect, I began to realize the frailty of my own disposition, a euphoria predicated on the notion of Mom's mental "clarity"; which, when truthfully examined, revealed the terror that so dominates her life, and which exists because of that very awareness of her mental deterioration.
7/9/2004 03:58:15 PM

Sunday, July 04, 2004
I have no words to describe the atrocities. Or perhaps I don't feel adequate. I don't feel I have the appropriate verbage. I don't have. What. It. Takes.

The woman is in a Geri-Chair, a geriatric chair - essentially strapped to a chair, permanently. She's on a multitude of drugs, an arsenal of medications designed to suppress her. When I visit, she's either asleep or asleep, always tied down. I bring her a burger, a milkshake, french fries, tacos, fresh fruit, dark chocolate, Coke - tiny treats to enhance her life. We walk around the grounds of the facility. I talk, trying to feed her memories. She talks, but I rarely understand her meaning. We walk - it's all we can do.

We can't leave the facility since she's too high. She wouldn't make it past the parking lot, and since I don't have a car, it's ridiculous to even consider. So we walk, in circles, sometimes in spaces smaller than a living room. We stop at drinking fountains. We listen to to the hollering music of ice cream trucks outside the gates, begging for attention as we walk in circles, fenced in our private world.
7/4/2004 06:45:41 PM