What exists in the space of not-knowing? I ask because I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t have the faintest idea of what’s happening in our Unraveled States right now. Until we know, if we ever do, we make guesses, assumptions, rationalizations, form beliefs, do whatever we must to fill that void of uncertainty and doubt. But in so doing, we blind ourselves to vital truths that lie below the snake line of perpetual noise generated by this vaunted Information Age.
It is with tremendous pleasure and pride that I announce the publication of Raw Spewage, the first volume of posts collected from this blog. Raw Spewage can be purchased through Amazon by clicking on the cover image above. Please note: if you search for the book directly on the Amazon site, you will need to search by my name, not the title.
Many thanks to Amanda Higgibotham and Shane Charanias for seeing the potential in this project and making it possible.
As an introvert, it is a natural, perhaps inevitable, course for me to go inside myself, but I know that is not the way for everyone. Maybe being by themselves for any length of time freaks people out, like venturing into a cave of self where it’s dark and clammy and questions bounce back as echoes. I, on the other hand, have always been quite content to be by myself, and rarely, if ever, do I get bored, even if I’m just sitting somewhere not doing a goddamn thing but chasing my thoughts wherever they may lead. I consider myself lucky that the workings of my own mind, as wildly delusional as they are accurate in their perception and interpretation of phenomena, hold an endless fascination for me. No matter the amount of time I spend contemplating this, I never manage to scratch the surface of what I know or understand, about myself or the world. If anything, the opposite is true: I come away with an overwhelming sense of what I don’t know, which has the added benefit of keeping me humble.
Since my last post in April of last year, I have been writing and involving myself in some form or other with words, but I have chosen to do it in the private forum of a journal and other projects. These alternative outlets have given me the freedom necessary to work through troubled thoughts and feelings without the worry of criticism or judgment, in hopes that the words, once I was able to spit them out via the keyboard, would enable me to confront and, therefore, understand certain truths – good, bad or indifferent – about myself and the world. These truths, in turn, would inform a personal philosophy to guide me in my way through a world that increasingly makes no sense or diverges so far from my sense of common decency that I’ve wondered if I might be losing my goddamned mind.
A large part of reclaiming a narrative is reframing or discrediting language that historically has been used to demean certain groups and diminish their power in society. Authoritarians, especially Trump, bristle at the notion of political correctness, which is to say a call for greater sensitivity in the language one uses publicly in mixed company. And in today’s always connected and increasingly global society, there’s rarely a time when we’re not in mixed company.