First Time Voter

Caroline Wise voting in an American election for the first time. Phoenix, Arizona

Exactly 60 days ago, on Friday, June 3rd, 2022, Caroline Wise became a U.S. citizen, and today, she voted for the very first time in America. She was mailed her ballot, but at least for this first vote, I knew she’d have to vote in person, and as this is a primary, I’ll wager that come November, she’ll want to vote in person for the general election, too. That’s about all I can really share about us stopping in at a nearby grade school for the occasion; maybe Caroline can share some of her thoughts?

Caroline here: I’ve lived in the States for 25+ years now, and for most of that time, my joke was “lots of taxation, no representation” because, as a resident alien, I couldn’t vote. And while I could conceivably have been voting in German elections, I decided not to since I don’t actually live there and didn’t feel I could properly assess the options. When you are a German citizen living in Germany, you are required to vote. Since the powers that be know where you live (you have to register your home address along with your tax information), they send you the invitation automatically. Nowadays, you probably have more options for absentee or early voting, but back in the day, I would show up at a local school, get a simple ballot, and put crosses into the circles with a pencil.

So, as a new citizen, I am excited to exercise my right to vote, even if this was just a primary election. I had waffled over dropping off an early ballot too long, so the plan on the day of the election was to go a little farther out on our morning walk and head to Paradise Valley Community College, which the election website stated was our closest polling site. However, on the way there, we saw volunteers setting up a polling site at Sunset Canyon Elementary, which made the process even easier. There was no line, and the check-in process was easy. We had told the folks there why this was my first election and received congratulations for my newly acquired status. Once our ballots were inserted into the counting machines, I even felt a bit emotional, which I had not anticipated. I felt proud about passing another milestone on the way to being a “real American.”

The Knife’s Edge

Macro of knife edge

We stand on the knife’s edge before the maw of the beast, its fangs bared, our future uncertain. After thousands, tens of thousands of years of evolving survival skills combined with cultural and scientific advancements, we are led by frightened greedy men drunk on treasure, fearful of one another, and ready to do battle with demons of extradimensional ferocity. Yet, it is only us standing on the horizon, alone with our existential angst and personal neglect of a personal healthy ecosystem of mind, that rages before humanity.

Without wandering hordes of enemies, without wild beasties ready to spring from the night to seize our throats in their jaws, we empower our fellow men to reign with deadly force and allow the madness of unchecked individuals to harness chaos among us to ensure we must live in uncertainty believing horror is just ahead. As we attempt to progress, it is our destruction of the resources of our planet, the potential for profound and abrupt cessation of lives due to mass illness, or political dogma painted in zealotry doing the bidding of jingoistic narcissists that trace back to the most privileged enjoying the high altitude life that survives atop the feeding chain of the haves and the have-nots.

Knowledge and wisdom from our elders were erased over the past century, and rightfully so, as we intentionally dumbed down our populations so that only a small cadre of sadistic opportunists could share power among themselves. We as individuals no longer know how to govern ourselves, our ability to voice our minds without resorting to violence or equally stupid rhetoric has been placed on the sideline, and thoughts of the future have been replaced with hope for survival in a world that if it was managed by wisdom would have few enemies other than those of our own making.

A solution will not be easily had as wealth and power are cowardly fellows and fully understand what could be lost if an angry, undereducated mob was unleashed with the knowledge that they are but frightened tools manufactured by the powers that be who once believed that a stupid society is a passive controllable mass of consumption, profit, and warfare that remains ripe for exploitation while ignorant of what they’ve sacrificed by not investing in themselves.

Alterity

My keyboard

I think I am starting to understand Derrida’s idea of erasure. Could he mean that once we’ve seen a sign, image, or word, we’ve learned what it means? On subsequent encounters with the sign or the word, we erase the previous one in a sense, allowing it to be replaced by a new context.

The written word is a dangerous sign that pries open areas of the psyche that are a threat to external control structures. The spoken word is a distinctly different organ/tool from the written word: the emoting tonality of the speaker triggers a temporary euphoria or understanding that arrives with the perceived intentionality of the person talking. Compare this to writing/reading when we decipher on intimate terms, using traces of other writers that weave between ideas of signifier and signified.

This mechanism of attention/deconstruction is not available to the listener, which for controllers is a good thing as the spoken words flow in ways that don’t allow traces to enter the stream as long as the orator keeps their foot on the pedal of delivering a relative barrage.

This was the method employed by Hitler, Trump, Putin, Charles Manson, Shoko Asahara of the Japanese doomsday cult known as Aum Shinrikyo, and many religious zealots, simply keep drilling the message using an authoritative voice that takes the listener on a ride and overwhelms their analytical mind, rendering them unable to find their own internal voice using threads/traces of what they might have otherwise considered, had they been reading the written words.

For example, I’m currently reading Gayatri’s preface to Derrida’s Of Grammatology, and if I’m comprehending it correctly, it is almost irrelevant as I find my own traces/threads through the meaning of things that produce thoughts and ideas I would consider my own, although I know that what I’m translating into my own discourse is a continuation of words and ideas harvested from everyone, including WSB, Nietzsche, Bukowski, Russel, Baudrillard, E.O. Wilson, and now Derrida via Freud, Heidegger, Foucault, and Lacan.

If I weren’t reading, I couldn’t find the space between words to activate my own thoughts, and I’d have to wait until the speech was finished and an extended silence opened before I could insert my own words. This is a danger of being a listener only as much is lost when waiting for a break. While reading and writing, I have only the tension of my excitement to reach the next word, and should I take a pause, I know I can return to exactly the same point, highlight it if need be, and continue pursuing inspiration if that’s what I’m exploring.

But this is all a palimpsest as I write over the erased text of what I thought I read because my understanding is of no consequence. My interpretation is that of a poor critic afraid to admit deficiencies in comprehension.

I suppose one thing I have learned is that when I reach the actual words of Derrida, I will have to examine the spaces between the words, lines, margins, and the vast empty spaces left as voids in Derrida’s writing in order for me to erase the missing meaning so I might insert my own meaninglessness that should also require erasure.

My job is not to bring closure (answers) to knowledge but to make the abyss larger and more confounding so as to grow the mystery of what still lies ahead. We hope to inspire others to fill the gaps we left behind to peer into the darkness between stars. This is the metaphor for understanding the infinite horizon of potentiality and that we are lightyears away from grasping the limits of our mind and language so we can endure the exploration of all that we’ve never imagined.

We attempt to destroy ambiguity as that is the frontier of freedom where discovery is the propellant, and to that end, all thinkers that risk convention by opening cans of experimental thought taunt the powers that be that their luxuries wrought from control could be put at risk.

Life itself is encoded in written form and must be read using the evolving strings of DNA that are forever altering the story of life on Earth. When we write, we are crafting the future. When we wave in the wind, we are but trees on the surface of a complex structure that lacks meaning; we are the meaning. Should we devolve further and abdicate our responsibility to craft signs, we will become nothing, unable to perceive the abyss of joy.

Torn From Our Moorings

Screen cap from my text

The letter and the word are signs equivalent to those used in any of the sciences. They represent a formula unfolding like a string of mathematic equations that will find their answer or allusion to further investigation after the totality is consumed, though it’s possible that the problem will not prove solvable or fully intelligible.

The author of anything is not the creator; they are handing the trace of thoughts and ideas through their pages or speech using archaic elements that have greater meaning than can ever be conveyed by any writer trying to say something unique. We filter and allude to directions that paint unknowable pictures in others’ minds whose interpretation we don’t get to control nor how the thread will be continued. Everything is flowing through us, and the more of that everything we can grasp, the bigger the picture grows, while conversely, the less we know, the lesser a human we devolve into.

The creator joins the lineage of gods, shaping the image of history yet to happen as the contribution of interpretation and alteration dislodges convention and tears us from our moorings.

Surprise Visit

Jessica Aldridge and John Wise in Phoenix, Arizona

Yesterday around noon I learned that my daughter Jessica would be flying into Phoenix for a work-related reason and that she’d be spending the night with us. The exact message was more akin to, “Can you include me in your dinner plans?” She showed up after 6:00 and while I knew, Caroline didn’t have a clue so it was great to see her face when Jessica came strolling up the stairs after I led her through the nearby gate. Their conversation took us to the point we needed to close out the night and wish each other sweet dreams.

Come morning, we took breakfast at an old favorite place where the Triathlete and Quinoa Breakfast Bowl resonate in our smiles. Dropped Caroline at work and did what I do most every day, headed for my first coffee. Jess and I caught up until we could find a small spot in our stomach that said lunch might work and with that, we moved to a place halfway between coffee shop and airport. And then, after one of the briefest of visits ever, my daughter was dropped off at the curb of Terminal 3 at Sky Harbor right at 12:30 for her flight back to San Diego, California. What a nice little surprise.

Sunrise in Phoenix, Arizona

Sunrise in Phoenix, Arizona

It’s a gorgeous start to a Monday and to the week. The weather forecast here at the end of July suggests we can expect the next 5 to 7 days to all be under 100 degrees (37c) which is extraordinary. It’s 5:30 in the morning and as usual, we might pass a couple of other people out for a morning walk, maybe with their dog. Once we return from our walk, Caroline will call Jutta because it is her birthday.