Showing posts with label The Mommy Problem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Mommy Problem. Show all posts

Tuesday 10 December 2019

Who Are We, If Not The Stories We Tell Ourselves?


Who are we, if not
The Stories We Tell Ourselves?



“In the three months that I was in Treatment I was given written tasks to complete that were formulated around the first three of the 12 Steps: 

1. Admit you have a problem. 
2. Believe in the possibility of change. 
3. Ask for help and follow suggestion. 

In practice this meant providing accounts of when my drinking and drug use put me in danger or caused me to behave regrettably, examples of new habits I could adopt to support change, and ways in which I could get help that weren’t previously available. 

Nearly sixteen years later I use this formula when dealing with less critical problems of my own, and when mentoring other people. 

It is a near universal template. 

Having Chip as a witness and a guide as I undertook this as a novice was invaluable. 

When I gave accounts of the consequences of my drug use he was non-judgemental and offered stories of his own. 

He was able to validate ideas I had about how to change my habits and patterns and suggest better ones; and, importantly, he was a living demonstration of the success of the methods. 

He was also the first person that I was able to ask for help in a way that felt safe and free from hidden or unclear obligation. 

This is the first, and in a way most vivid, example of mentorship because the intention was so explicit, transition from drug user to abstinence; the method was established, the 12 Steps; and the environment supportive, a treatment centre for addiction. 

This meant that the relationship between Chip and myself had a good chance of succeeding as long as I was honest, open and willing, was able to accept my own flaws, believe I could change and give Chip the authority to steward that change. 

His obvious compassion, humour, honesty and experience meant that my decision to trust him felt safe. 


When I read my Life Story to him, a common therapeutic exercise which gives your mentor  : 
An idea of your version of events 
and 
Forces you to commit yourself to a narrative


He said, and I remember this most vividly and it still elicits a little, inward shudder, 

‘Poor, lonely, little boy.’


Hearing him say that made me feel understood but humbled, like I no longer needed to inflict an impression of myself on others, that I was no longer required to dupe or trick people into accepting a version of me that I constructed as I went along. 

It kind of winded me. 

It meant that I could accept that my shameful feeling about being that little boy could be addressed head on. 

It meant that I could tell Chip saw The Truth in What I Wrote. 

My mate Matt read the same life story the night before I handed it in, he’d come to visit me in treatment, rather sweetly. 

Let me tell you his assessment of the work was less sympathetic, he wrung it out for comedy in the most brutal fashion, cruelly pointing out my unconscious attempt to present my life as a kind of rock ‘n’ roll bio, scoffing at the bits where I ‘lived above pubs’, and coldly undermining the self-aggrandising tone. 

Humbling in another way.

For this reason I have peers, to remind me 
where the boundaries of My Tribe lie. 

But if I want to get beyond these boundaries I will need a mentor. 

Chip didn’t take The Piss. 
It would’ve been pretty unforgivable if he had (!). 

He saw past all the posturing and grandeur to the Deeper Truth; I was an uninitiated man and I needed to be recognised and encouraged.”

Excerpt From
Mentors
Russell Brand


“When Yogananda describes the first sighting of his guru, to a westerner the sincerity of his adulation is almost obscene. 

We only love so wholeheartedly and uncynically in adolescence, or when we revisit that hormonal tundra in juvenile adulthood. 

I was in my own storm of idiocy, my own adolescence beaten thinly almost into middle age, on a trip with a woman who I blindly adored, who I had ill-advisedly appointed as a custodian of my heart – one last throw of the dice. 








We Who Look for God in Romance are DOOMED. 

Your idol will fall and you will be too bereft to pick up the pieces.”





FAROUK: 
I've heard of This Beast.

Time Eaters, who live in Gravity Wells.
Black Holes.

The Laws of Time don't apply to them.

CLARK :
They live in black holes?
Uh, I mean -- 

FAROUK: 
Yes.
Think of Time as The Wood in The House, 
and they are like Termites living underground.


SYD :
David must have let them out.

KERRY :
How do we fight them? 

FAROUK: 
We can't. Not here.
They're too powerful.
We have to go to where they sleep 
and kill them there: The Nest.


CLARK :
Well, where do we go, and how do we get there? 

FAROUK :
To the Time Between Time.
There's a rift in the astral plane.

[FADING.]

An Imperfection.
It has been sealed -

KERRY:
Bombs, knives, guns? 
What do I need? 

FAROUK: 
Courage and Luck.


[CHUCKLING.]
Three years? 

[BOTH LAUGHING.]

So, if you're Me in The Future, 
then does that mean that this is My Future? 

[CHUCKLING.]

Yeah.
Maybe.

[CHUCKLES.]

Or maybe you'll make Different Choices 
now that you've seen me.

Like staying brunette? 

Very funny.

You know, last year, I was Syd in The Past.
But I never got to meet her.

Me.

If I did, I would have asked her 
The Same Question that you want to ask me.

What Question? 

Who Teaches You to Be Normal 
When You're One of a Kind? 
What am I? 

People get Too Close.
They Touch You and You Disappear.

And then They're Inside.
In Your Belly and In Your Head.

And when you get back, there's a smell.
Someone Else's smell is inside your nose.

And you check out.

You Tell People, 
"It's fine. I don't own my body.

You Say, 
"My Power is like A Vacation.
I get to be a tourist in someone else's life.

Who cares if every time I come back home, 
I feel dirty? 

I just want to be left alone.

I know.
People Die of Loneliness, too.
They drink too much.
Slit their own throats.

I went to The Shower.
Mom was asleep on the couch, and I went to The Shower.

You were curious.
I just wanted to feel something.

And he turned me around.
Why did he turn me around? 

Power.

I thought Sex was about Love.

It can be.

That was it.
The First Time.
My only time.

People talk about Sex, 
and all I think about is having my face pushed into wet glass.

How is that Romantic? 

Does it Get Better? 


You Fall in Love.

[CHUCKLES SOFTLY.]

And that's worth it.
To Feel That Feeling.


Do we get married? 

It's complicated.

I'm not a kid.

[SIGHS.]

Uh - He has Powers.
But he's unstable.

And for a while, it's Magic.

[QUIETLY.]

Magic.

And then - 
What happened?

"You had a bad dream."


He turned me around.

So we find A Desert Island and Live Alone.

I think about that, too.
Giving up.

[CHUCKLES.]

It's not giving up.
It's What You Wrote.

I know.
I'm afraid.

If I hug you, do we switch places? 

[GASPING.]
[SCREAMS.]
- [ROARS.]
- [SCREAMS.]

Fishy? Fishy? 
Where'd you swim off to? Babe! 

[CLOCK TICKING.]
[DISTORTED GIGGLING.]
[SALMON SCREAMING.]

Hey.
Hey.
Hey.
It hurts! Is it supposed to hurt so much? 
Um, push, right? Remember?

[WHIMPERS.]
[PANTING.]


You got to push.
This is it.
Push.


[LENNY EXHALING.]
[SALMON WHIMPERING.]
[SCREAMING.]
[BABY CRYING.]
[LENNY GASPS.]

My Queen.
We Did It.

[BABY CRYING.]
Mommy, I made that for you.

Bullshit!

Oh.
What is? 

That this is all we get.


Mom?

[LENNY GASPS.]

Do you want to hold her?

[BABY COOS.]
[LENNY LAUGHS.]
No.
No.
No!

Mom.
She's Tough.
Stubborn.
Listens to me and then does the opposite.
I guess it runs in The Family.

[BOTH LAUGH.]
Mom.
You came.

Of course I did.

Thank You.


For what? 


Always Being There for Me.

[CRYING.]
[CLOCK TICKING.]
[WHIMPERS.]
[SCREAMING.]

I seen the demons But they didn't make a sound 
They tried to reach me 
But I lay upon the ground I reached for feelings 
But they didn't make a sound 
They tried to reach me 
But I lay upon the ground 
[GROWLING.]
So, miles and miles of squares 
Where's the feeling there? 
[DISTORTED GIGGLING.]

Still nobody cares 
For miles and miles of squares 
Daydream I fell asleep amid the flowers 
Daydream I fell asleep amid the flowers 

[FAROUK WHISTLES.]

I seen the demons 
But they didn't make a sound 
They tried to reach me 
But I lay upon the ground 
I seen the people 
But they didn't make a sound 
They tried to reach me 

[SCREAMING, DISTORTED CHATTER.]
Something's wrong with Time?

[SIGHS.]
[DISTORTED GIGGLING.]

What Are You? 
It Doesn't Matter.

Ah.
You know what? 

Eat all the time you want.
I'll get it back.

'Cause You're Not Real.
Nothing That Hurts Me is Real.
No-one Who Hates me is Real.

[GIGGLING.]
For miles and miles of squares 
Acts of God.
Daydream I fell asleep amid the flowers 
I am God.
Daydream I fell asleep amid the flowers.

Oh, now you're listening.

Well, Listen to This.
You want to eat something? Eat shit.
Now go tell your friends it's not your time.
It's mine.

Go.
Or I kill every one of you.
What am I?

 [GROWLING.]
[TICKING.]
[WHOOSHING.]
[INSECTS TRILLING.]
[LENNY CRYING.]


How Bad?

[GROANS.]

Let me Help You.

[SNIFFLES.]

No.
I need to feel it.

[CRYING.]

ALL: 
Daddy! 

Stop.
Stop.
Stop! 

[SIGHS.]
Where's Switch?
Switch?

She's gone, Daddy.


What do you mean, she's gone? 

He took her.
The Scientist.


Cary took her? 
No, no, no! 

[LOUD RUMBLING.]
[INHALES.]
[EXHALES.]

War.



Wednesday 4 December 2019

CITY


 
“I have been guided by the standard John Winthrop set before his shipmates on the flagship Arabella (sic) three hundred and thirty-one years ago, as they, too, faced the task of building a new government on a perilous frontier. “We must always consider”, he said, “that we shall be as a city upon a hill—the eyes of all people are upon us”. 
 
Today the eyes of all people are truly upon us—and our governments, in every branch, at every level, national, state and local, must be as a city upon a hill—constructed and inhabited by men aware of their great trust and their great responsibilities. 
 
For we are setting out upon a voyage in 1961 no less hazardous than that undertaken by the Arabella (sic) in 1630. 
 
We are committing ourselves to tasks of statecraft no less awesome than that of governing the Massachusetts Bay Colony, beset as it was then by terror without and disorder within. 
 
History will not judge our endeavors—and a government cannot be selected—merely on the basis of color or creed or even party affiliation. 
 
Neither will competence and loyalty and stature, while essential to the utmost, suffice in times such as these. 
 
For of those to whom much is given, much is required ...”
 

The Western End has held a palace since Merovingian times, and its eastern end since the same period has been consecrated to religion, especially after the 10th-century construction of a cathedral preceding today’s Notre-Dame.


 
city (n.)
c. 1200, from Old French cite "town, city" (10c., Modern French cité), from earlier citet, from Latin civitatem (nominative civitas; in Late Latin sometimes citatem) originally "citizenship, condition or rights of a citizen, membership in the community," later "community of citizens, state, commonwealth" (used, for instance of the Gaulish tribes), from civis "townsman," from PIE root *kei- (1) "to lie," also forming words for "bed, couch," and with a secondary sense of "beloved, dear."
 
Now "a large and important town," but originally in early Middle English a walled town, a capital or cathedral town. Distinction from town is early 14c. OED calls it "Not a native designation, but app[arently] at first a somewhat grandiose title, used instead of the OE. burh"(see borough).
 
Between Latin and English the sense was transferred from the inhabitants to the place. The Latin word for "city" was urbs, but a resident was civis. Civitas seems to have replaced urbs as Rome (the ultimate urbs) lost its prestige. Loss of Latin -v- is regular in French in some situations (compare alleger from alleviare; neige from nivea; jeune from juvenis. A different sound evolution from the Latin word yielded Italian citta, Catalan ciutat, Spanish ciudad, Portuguese cidade.
 
London is The City from 1550s. As an adjective, "pertaining to a city, urban," from c. 1300. City hall "chief municipal offices" is first recorded 1670s; to fight city hall is 1913, American English. City slicker "a smart and plausible rogue, of a kind usu. found in cities" [OED] is first recorded 1916 (see slick (adj.)). City limits is from 1825.
The newspaper city-editor, who superintends the collection and publication of local news, is from 1834, American English; hence city desk attested from 1878. Inner city first attested 1968.
 
 
*kei- (1)
Proto-Indo-European root meaning "to lie," also forming words for "bed, couch," and with a secondary sense of "beloved, dear."
 
It forms all or part of: ceilidh; cemetery; city; civic; civil; civilian; civilization; civilize; hide (n.2) measure of land; incivility; incunabula; Siva.
 
 
It is the hypothetical source of/evidence for its existence is provided by: Sanskrit Sivah "propitious, gracious;" Greek keisthai "to lie, lie asleep;" Latin cunae "a cradle;" Old Church Slavonic semija "family, domestic servants;" Lithuanian šeima "domestic servants," Lettish sieva "wife;" Old English hiwan "members of a household."
 
 
incunabula (n.)
1824, a Latin word meaning "swaddling clothes," also, figuratively, "childhood, beginnings, birthplace, place where a thing had its earliest development, the beginning of anything;" especially "early printed book using movable-type technology," From Gutenberg's beginning c. 1439 to the close of the year 1500. Latin incunabula "a cradle; a birthplace," figuratively "rudiments or beginnings," is from in "in" (from PIE root *en "in") + cunabula, diminutive of cunae "cradle," from PIE *koi-na-, suffixed form of root *kei- (1) "to lie," also forming words for "bed, couch."
 
 
Interest in collecting them began c. 1640 with the celebration of (as it was supposed) the 200th anniversary of printing. Perhaps this use of the word traces to the title of the first catalog of such books, Incunabula typographiae (Amsterdam, 1688). The word in this sense has come into general use throughout Europe. The number of books put on the market throughout Europe during that period has been estimated at 20 million. Prof. Alfred W. Pollard ["Encyclopaedia Britannica," 1941] wrote that "up to the end of the 17th century," Caxton's original printings "could still be bought for a few shillings."
 

Meet Barbara Gordon!
 
The New Commissoner for Gotherm City!
 
She was top of her class at Harvard for Police. 
 
She cleaned up the streets of Gotham's nearby Sister City Bludhaven with STATISTICS and COMPASSION!
 
Sydney Barrett-Bird :
What is it? 
 
Oliver Bird :
It-it's called The Ostrich.
 
 
Oh, wait, that's not right.
It's The Big Bird, isn't it? 
 
No, 'The City'.
It's called 'The City'.
Also known as The Real World.
 
Sydney Barrett-Bird :
What makes it Real? 
 
Oliver Bird :
I'll explain when you're older.
 
Sydney Barrett-Bird :
No, now.
 
 
Oliver Bird :
That's not the way it works, Little Bird.
 
I'm The Daddy,
and you're The Baby,
and
I'll tell you about The Real World
when you're older.
 
Now, come on.
Mommy's making stuffed animal pie.
Mmm.
We don't want to be late.
 
 

Sydney Barrett-Bird :
Do you remember That Wall We Built?
 
Oliver Bird :
The rock wall?
Of course.
 
Sydney Barrett-Bird :
Why did we do that? 
It didn't do anything.
 
Oliver Bird :
It was A Wall.
It did Wall Things.
 
Sydney Barrett-Bird :
You know what I mean.
 
Oliver Bird :
Your mother and I taught you to work hard
So you'd know how to work hard.
 
We taught you to ask questions
So you'd know how to answer questions.
 
Plus, I like a nice rock wall.
 
 
 
Christianity was introduced to the Franks by their contact with Gallo-Romanic culture and later further spread by monks. The most famous of these missionaries is St. Columbanus (d 615), an Irish monk.
 
Merovingian kings and queens used the newly forming ecclesiastical power structure to their advantage. Monasteries and episcopal seats were shrewdly awarded to elites who supported the dynasty. Extensive parcels of land were donated to monasteries to exempt those lands from royal taxation and to preserve them within the family.
 
The family maintained dominance over the monastery by appointing family members as abbots.
 
Extra sons and daughters who could not be married off were sent to monasteries so that they would not threaten the inheritance of older Merovingian children. This pragmatic use of monasteries ensured close ties between elites and monastic properties.
 
Numerous Merovingians who served as bishops and abbots, or who generously funded abbeys and monasteries, were rewarded with sainthood. The outstanding handful of Frankish saints who were not of the Merovingian kinship nor the family alliances that provided Merovingian counts and dukes, deserve a closer inspection for that fact alone: like Gregory of Tours, they were almost without exception from the Gallo-Roman aristocracy in regions south and west of Merovingian control. The most characteristic form of Merovingian literature is represented by the Lives of The Saints.
 
Merovingian hagiography did not set out to reconstruct a biography in the Roman or the modern sense, but to attract and hold popular devotion by the formulas of elaborate literary exercises, through which the Frankish Church channeled popular piety within orthodox channels, defined the nature of sanctity and retained some control over the posthumous cults that developed spontaneously at burial sites, where the life-force of the saint lingered, to do good for the votary.
 
The vitae et miracula, for impressive miracles were an essential element of Merovingian hagiography, were read aloud on saints’ feast days. Many Merovingian saints, and the majority of female saints, were local ones, venerated only within strictly circumscribed regions; their cults were revived in the High Middle Ages, when the population of women in religious orders increased enormously. Judith Oliver noted five Merovingian female saints in the diocese of Liège who appeared in a long list of saints in a late 13th-century psalter-hours. The vitae of six late Merovingian saints that illustrate the political history of the era have been translated and edited by Paul Fouracre and Richard A. Gerberding, and presented with Liber Historiae Francorum, to provide some historical context.