, eds. (2017). "Syriem". Glottolog 3.0. Jena, Germany: Max Planck Institute for the Science of Human History.April 2011: My heart had been broken wide open by the ending of an 8-year relationship with a man with whom I truly believed I would grow old. He believed it too. Our friends believed it. Our families believed it. My new reality shook me to my very core. And I just needed a distraction. It didn’t matter who or what the distraction was. Anything to keep me from being stagnant, with too much time to think. But most of all, to keep me from feeling. I had an irresistible urge to run away. In retrospect (damn you, 20/20 hindsight!), I now realize I wanted to run away from me, from the unbearably painful emotions I was terrified of letting in.
I thought moving to a new city two states away, and the possibility of a new beginning, would be the distraction to end all distractions.
And oh, it was! Without a doubt. For a minute, anyway…
The problem was, in my finite wisdom, I hadn’t allowed myself to fully experience that pain, to feel. Ergo, I hadn’t healed. I’d merely – if not very creatively and successfully! – delayed the grieving process. Jesus, it really is true – you can run but you can’t hide. And once the newness – of the new city, the new friends, the new job – had worn off, there I was. Emotionally naked. Exposed to the elements. In excruciating, bring-you-to-your-knees, undeniable, gut-wrenching, agonizing pain.
You get the idea.
It was as sudden as if I had awakened sober in a strange place after a wild night of partying. I thought, “What the hell am I doing here?”
And then, I just wanted to go home.
The problem was, where was home?
I knew “home” wasn’t where I was at the time, two states away from where I started. I mean, sure, technically it was: I had a physical address where I received mail, parked my car, kept my belongings, prepared meals for my son and myself, hung my proverbial hat, and went to sleep at night (that is, when it wasn’t eluding me, which it usually was). It was my physical home.
But it wasn’t home in my heart.
I decided I would follow my instincts. My instinct was drawing me back to where I began, nearly 14 months earlier. I listened, and I went. The first night back, as my son and I stayed with friends, I walked outside around midnight and just stood there, completely content in the moment, gazing up at the velvety black prairie sky, dotted with tiny twinkling stars.
My friend walked outside. “Hey, you okay?” he asked.
“Oh yeah. I’m great. I’m home.”
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reality gets in a mood.
Wants to bust up the ice.
Show us our options.
Crumple up history into a ball.
Rubs its hands together.
Blows on the dice.
Not for luck.
Twirl the world in their hands.
Take the measure of it.
Feels good to move like that.
Bounce, bounce. Twirl.
asks you what ya’ got?
In your pockets, man!
and he knows exactly what he’s doing.
He’s something innocent and in between.
Where’s he sleep at night???
Where’s he gonna’ be in ten minutes!?
He’s staring off into space.
a potato sack.
Receipt for fish tacos.
No, no man!

The one you never use.
He’s pretty good, this guy.
You ain’t done yet, man!
in probably four decades.
A tiny book of tattoos.
You’re fumbling with the pages.
Time is dilating.
a washing machine with a sinus cold.
He’s got one hand over his mouth.
He’s about to fall over.
But you’re oblivious.
since you tasted this feeling.

You can smell pine trees.
pristine, raw wonder.
but meaningful things, then.
merited a full inquiry.
Why did someone put that there, Dad?
Your world has broken open.
You’re at the center of the Tootsie Pop.
But they sure do happen.
Ha! Thank you Ruth… I loved your comment. Thank you for taking the time to read and share!
Your at the center of the tootsie pop, priceless!
Yes, I think Marga actually gave me that line in a response to my comment on one of her posts. It just popped in and seemed like a good time to give it a whirl!
I said I. LOVE. THIS.
for eating all that candy!
Much appreciated, Narelle!
You mugged me with that one Michael. I won’t be pressing charges. Save to say, I’ve never been robbed so eloquently.
Three licks! That’s how long it takes to get to the center of the univerrse! I feel like I’m living this poetry right now, like a child rediscovering the world she loves. I also have always wanted dreadies, coincidentally. And cracker jack boxes, weren’t those amazing. Maybe I still have a box buried somewhere under piles of Bazooka bubble gum….
Thank you, Meg. Gratitude is the ticket, I must say. And playfulness. Playfulness– the innocent sort– can get you nearly to the other side all by itself.
George Gabriel is targetting "neo-liberalism as an individual code of ethics"; effectively, one of egoism. I doubt that any of neo-liberalism's defenders have ever understood it as such; most commonly, they advocate a set of policies on the grounds that they will promote some value, be it individual freedom or an increase in welfare supposedly brought about by more efficient markets. True, as George points out, they have often modelled individual economic choices as self-interested in the course of arguing that their policies will best promote these values. But for this purpose it functions only as a simplifying assumption, which needs only predict a subset of our choices (not extending to many moral ones, such as whether to offer bus seats to frail old gents, which have little impact on the efficiency of markets) with a rough degree of accuracy. The neo-liberals are commited to its doing so does not mean that they are commited to its capturing all the motives behind human behaviour, let alone to adopting self-interest as their only motive.
If neo-liberals are not commited to an egoistic code of ethics, what about bankers? The bulk of George's commentary concerns them, after all, and they are a quite distinct group, not all possessing neo-liberal opinions about public policy (or any opinions about public policy at all). In the comment thread on his initial post, George claims that their actions show that they live by this code in practice, if not necessarily in theory. I would be surprised if most bankers' lives did contain some altruistic acts which belied this claim, but perhaps George was concerned only with their work lives. However, I struggle to see what they do in this that reflects a concern with self-interest to the exclusion of any other value. George talks of those who "short sell a productive company into oblivion, reap obscene payments for failure, and gamble the money of others". It is only possible to do the first in a highly unusual situation in which a company's survival depends on its stock price - generally a sign that it is not a succesful, productive company. The second does no harm to anyone else, and hence it shows a concern with