Istanbul 01: Call to Prayer

Five times a day the call issues forth from the amplified speakers mounted atop the minarets. These days, the muezzin need not bother climbing the steps up the tower. Because of my training, I wonder (fully aware that I am alone in this) about the metaphysical implications of relying so on technology.

You hear the short buzz and click of the microphone being turned on before the call actually begins. Sometimes you can make out a word; most notable, of course: “Allah,” even though it’s stretched beyond comprehension like countless amen’s of so many Christmas carols.

We arrived too late the first night. Old Istanbul was fast asleep by the time our shuttle reached the hotel. In the morning—even earlier, perhaps, with jetlag and insomnia factored in—the call shocked me awake, but not before shifting my otherwise mundane dreams into vivid Technicolor animation about a drunken vampire. I wanted it to shut up, to go away.

But when the Blue Mosque (Sultan Ahmet Camii) is directly across the street from your hotel, just beyond the paved track of the ancient Byzantine hippodrome, it is up to you to get used to it.

When I see Arabic written, I think of snakes, thanks to Sonia, who, so many years ago, once referred to it as “that snake language.” Every letter looks like a serpent—some with eyes, some with curved tails. Each hissing out the mysterious beauty of that ancient desert tongue. Hearing it—and I’m only assuming that the liturgical language of Turkey is (still) Arabic—made me think of snakes flying through the air, twisting their way into the ears of the devotees.

The call lasts for several minutes. At times, it seems endless, and at other times, abrupt and too quickly ended. And the echoes across Istanbul from the other mosques make it seem even more enigmatic and not of this world.

The evening call retained its splendor and sublimity throughout my entire stay, but already by the third day, I was sleeping through the morning call like a local.

I can't believe it's not Tuesday...

My calendar tells me it's spring break this week, despite the fact that spring doesn't begin for a another week and that over my "break" I have to write a midterm exam for my students, re-evaluate the grades for a handful of not my students, organize and type reading notes over several books and articles, begin research on my next essay due in two weeks, read a text for my Reading Group, and try to find time to begin reading another text that I put down a month ago and should've finished by now. Fuck spring break!

Tonight some friends and I are heading to Denton to hear some bands play at Rubber Gloves: WHY?, Cryptacize, Sunburned Hand of the Man, and Astronautalis. The band I'm most interested in is WHY?, meaning it's going to be way past my bedtime before they take the stage. (Please remember that I have at least three diagnosed sleeping disorders before you judge me an old, useless man. Which reminds me: I should try to take a little nap before going out.)

Last Thursday we had two inches of snow, and today the temperature is above 70. The forecast for the next few days should see us in the 80s. I try not to dread the summer coming on, but it's really what I do best. How did I manage to live in Texas for as long as I have?

A game I play with people who look ridiculous and sad: "What bad decisions led you to this?" The game consists in seeing someone ridiculous, sad, disgusting, ugly, unlovable, etc., and asking under my breath the question: "What bad decisions led you to this?" If I were to play this game with myself, I'm not sure even I could win. And I'm the one that invented the rule.

Now it's time to go back to my sweaty spring break (that is no break at all) and try to take a nap so I won't be entirely useless when my band comes on sometime around tomorrow morning.

A bad case of the hollows.

Yeah, this band is rad. I love new music that gets under my skin. Angry words about how fucked-up stuff is. Makes me wanna burn it all down. Singing at the top of my lungs … before I cough up a ball of phlegm the size of my head. Calls me back to Berlin, to that basketball court where it all began. At 11:11 (or was it 3:32?) last night I fell asleep only to wake up within 20 minutes. I read some Gadamer. Watched porn. Went back to bed more frozen than when I first laid down. Sometime around 2:00am I woke up to the sound of Spic-O-Rama, but without that adorable John Leguizamo. I dialed 9-1-1 on speed-dial to report the disturbance. Today’s shot. Tomorrow probably too. It’s now 4:00pm, and I’m only thinking about the things I should’ve already done by now instead of the things I have to do next. Can’t use the sink downstairs because of the leak. Don’t know when I’m going to get back to the gym that overcharges me on a monthly basis. Sick of the scams all utility companies pull with new service contracts. The bruises up and down my arms have finally faded from the boxes and boxes of books I moved. Ordered two new books from Amazon today. Eventually I’ll bruise myself by moving them as well. Benjamin’s greatest fear was losing his library. Before I slip away into nonbeing, I wanna pile everything I still possess into a gasoline-soaked mound and flick a match in its general direction. Just to see what would happen. Dreading Friday. Not because it’s my birthday but because it’s the anniversary of when the sky over Texas caught fire and rained down on our heads. Dead astronauts and all.

Listen when your hair gets pulled. Don’t get caught. It’s gonna be alright. As soon as the embers die.

As I lay me down to fall asleep
with my demons dying and my pilot light weak.
I curse the last six months I’ve been hiding behind a mustache.
To those last ten years I’ve been howling at a paper moon: Fuck you.

The New 30

I think it’s fairly telling that I should lose my earrings just a couple of weeks before I turn 40. I had to remove them at the doctor’s office while they were taking an EKG. I wanted to get my heart a little look-see since midlife is fast approaching. I put them in my shirt pocket, joking with the nurse that I couldn’t remember the last time I had removed them. Afterwards, I sat at Nodding Dog Coffee Shop in Bishop Arts for an hour working since I haven’t had an Internet connection since Friday afternoon and I’m supposed to be teaching an online section of philosophy this term. When they closed, I returned to the old apartment to do some more gathering of my things to move them to the new flat. It seems most of our things are finally here, and there are even some books already on the bookshelves! Today we finally got phone and DSL. (And AT&T sucks absolutely, but that’s another post altogether.) It must’ve been while I was cleaning and packing that my earrings slipped out. Perhaps I’ll find them when I go back for that last transport of framed art and a vacuum cleaner. So, my heart is healthy. The doctor said I have the heart of an athlete. That’s good news, especially since both my maternal grandfather and my father died of heart disease. No diabetes. No high blood pressure. And he’ll send me the results from the thyroid tests once they return from the lab. Another year. Another decade. Another (new) home. (It wasn’t until we were saying goodbye to Mary that I realized I spent my entire 30s at my last home: I moved in when I was 29, and I just now left—not counting a couple of years in Japan and Europe.) My 30s were good, and so much better than my 20s. I’m looking forward to the future, no matter how short that may prove. This is probably the first time in 17 years that I don’t have any of my rings in any of my 7 holes. I miss body jewelry. I miss the sleepless nights that turned into blissful decadence instead of exhaustion. Now it’s off to bed. Or to work.

Year of the Whirlwind

In honor of a Japanese tradition I recently learned about, I have chosen sempū as the kanji to represent the passing year. Sempū means “whirlwind” and is written thus:

From teaching new courses to conducting some of the most advanced research of my academic career, from hitting the gym up to six times a week to beginning to learn German, this entire past year has whirled about my dizzy, complicated, overly complex, and insomnious head.

My wish for 2008—itself admittedly a silly designation that has nothing to do with science or any other respectable metaphysical system—is for the wind to continue to whirl but that the center to remain forever (and always already) still.

Other things to look forward to this year: the first major move in more than ten years, the fortieth anniversary of my birth, a vacation to Istanbul, completion of my coursework and exams and the beginning of my dissertation, teaching new courses, conferences, writing projects, relaxation and meditation, better health (and less of me to love), and—the gods willing—more than a few nights of blissful sleep.

Happy New Year.

What comes when I try to write...

"All of your anno Domini
the whole year long
has turned to
anno servi, or two, or
better yet:
ano polaco...
in a piece of the wor(l)d
where slave and Slav
de-fine the di-stance between
six years—nine, but who’s counting?
seven hours, and
365 degrees,
the temperature at which this flesh burns."

Tiempo libre

I became a free man again as of 1:33 yesterday afternoon when I submitted my grades and went through the official (and ever-so-asinine) “check-out” procedure at the college.

It’s a bit hard to enjoy the sweet relief that should be flowing my way after two nights of disrupted sleep, though. But yesterday when I got out of bed around 4:00 (after waking at 3:00), I spent the time fairly productively: I began working on a creative writing project I’ve been thinking about for a few months now.

And there are so many other projects that need to be started: cleaning (and possibly moving), planning my spring courses at the college (especially the online version), covering some ground in my reading assignments for the next term, and taking care of myself physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I’ve neglected those things for far too long; although I have made it to the YMCA three times already this week.

Last night when I woke up at 3:00, I was too tired to even get out of bed and try to do something. I have an appointment with my neurologist Monday. We’ll see what pills she tries to throw my way this time as I adamantly insist I’m not taking anything she prescribes.

Wednesday afternoon I met Shellie and Blake for lunch at the Polish deli/café in Plano. We shared plates of pierogi (blueberry and potato-cheese) and naleśniki. It is really nice to finally feel like I’m part of a cohort (of sorts) at the university. It’s been years since I felt like I was part of a group of like-minded people who enjoy each other’s company.

Since submitting my last term paper (the one the professor called “brilliant”), I’ve spent far too much time on MySpace, that horrible online (anti)social network. If anyone wants to add me as their “friend,” please feel free, but you’ll have to use “soleo” as my last name. I try to ensure that my students will (at the very least) have a difficult time finding me anywhere online. And if there are any bloggers out there who want me to add their site to my links, send me the URL.

Ah, so much housecleaning … and most of it metaphorical.

I am the walrus.

There's nothing quite as funny as the number of drugs I've taken over the past few months (years) to help me sleep. But the week of Thanksgiving, I stepped down from the Amitriptyline pony I've been riding since September. Now I've reverted to constantly waking up throughout the night and then waking up for good around 4:00 AM every morning. What's funny is that I don't seem to mind too much: with the meds, I was groggy even with eight hours of sleep, and now without them I'm considerably more awake. Even when I'm tired. The next step: get off this shit Rozerem that never did do anything it was supposed to do. According to several friends, it only makes me angry and bitter. I certainly have felt very on edge since I started on it in May. At first I thought it was just all the coffee I was drinking in Europe and all the shitty administrative annoyances I had to endure in Marburg. But it wasn't. Well, at least not just that. Even without the strong Euro-kava, I've been one angry fucker all term.

And yesterday I grew even angrier after spending almost three hours at the dentist office. One must suffer if one wants to be beautiful. And yes, my teeth are indeed beautiful. For the first time in my life. Too bad it took throwing almost $700 at them before they took on the glamor sheen of celebrity. But I'm only now enjoying my first coffee since yesterday morning. And I'm sipping it through a straw. And I must go brush my teeth immediately after I'm done. But even with the unbearable pain, the expense, and the inability to eat or drink for most of the past 24 hours, it really is worth it.

Once, on an osobowy (oh-so-slowly) train from Warsaw to Szczecin during the summer of 1991, my compatriots/companions decided to sing songs by the Smiths to help me sleep. (And to support my growing dependency on angst and ennui.) I need those friends now to sing me to sleep....

• Asleep
• Unlovable
• This Night Has Opened My Eyes
• Back To The Old House
• Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now
• William, It Was Really Nothing
• Girl Afraid
• Half A Person
• There Is A Light That Never Goes Out
• Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me
• Reel Around The Fountain
• That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore
• The Boy With The Thorn In His Side
• Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want
• Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others

Bullet-Point Friday

• I had my first setback in about a month or so after beginning my new insomnia medications: I couldn't get to sleep Tuesday 'evening' until about 2:00 am (Wednesday morning). Now I'm still recovering from that episode. The only thing I can figure out that was in the least bit different was that I drank a Dr. Pepper at 3:30 that afternoon. It was the first soda I've had in two months, and the only reason I drank it was because I 'won' it by filling out a survey about alcohol use on campus. From now on, I will only drink water (and alcohol) on campus. Perhaps I need to 'update' my responses on the survey.
• I skipped working yesterday afternoon and instead spent about 90 minutes at the YMCA. I felt I needed a break from the multitude of assignments and projects after working almost nonstop Wednesday afternoon/evening until about 9:00 pm. Yea: endorphins are my friends! (Unlike Dr. Pepper.)
• I'm taking another 'break' this afternoon: we're going to the Texas State Fair. I know I'm going to spend all weekend working, so I might as well try to have a little bit of fun while I can. Besides, I spent my morning office hours grading exams.
• I'm excited about my books from Amazon being shipped: Gadamer, Jabes, and Plato. God, am I a dork or what? I used to be one of the cool kids (at least as an undergraduate), but now I'm quite the stuffy old graduate student surrounded by books ... and very few friends. (Even Dr. Pepper is not to be trusted.)
• Perhaps Tiny Tim (or is it Tiny Tina these days?) can bring a little joy back to my life.
  

Bullet-Point Friday

• Don't stress out about misplacing/losing my debit card. With lack of sleep and new drugs and several frustrating factors worming their way into my otherwise sedate and calm life, I'm bound to lose more than a little plastic card along the way, especially when my wallet has barely recovered from the move back into my Texan life. I've narrowed down possible places I could've left it: the ATM, doctor's office, the college, the university, Fadi's restaurant, my office, my classroom, the faculty office, the copy room, the car, Starbucks in the basement of the Bank of American bldg. downtown, my home, or (perhaps worst of all) my wallet.
• Don't cry out loud. Keep it inside; learn how to hide your feelings. (This Melissa Manchester moment was brought to you by the letter J and the number 3.)
• Drink strong coffee while having even stronger conversations with Jola and Stephen while enjoying the cool afternoon in San Francisco starting this afternoon until Sunday afternoon.
• Write that short bio my boss asked me for three weeks ago, and begin looking at the teaching schedule for the spring '08 term.
• Accept the vajra when it strikes as it is always already striking yet again.
  

Sweet Substitute for Joy!

My neurologist prescribed a new drug for me yesterday to take in addition to Rozerem, and last night was my first ride on the Amitriptyline pony. It’s classified as an anti-depressant, but since the only thing I tend to be depressed about is my insomnia, my doctor prescribed it for my insomnia. It didn’t do much for me last night in the sleep department, but I woke up in an appreciably better mood than usual. I actually sang out, “Good morning!” to one of my neighbors. She was scared and ran inside to lock her doors. You see, I’ve conditioned most people in my life to fully appreciate my asocial, misanthropic self.

On the commute to work I found myself mostly flipping between the classic rock stations and actually enjoying the gratuitous guitar solos I’ve shunned since the early ‘80s. When I heard Coldplay as I was scanning the other listening options, I immediately shuddered and switched back to the oldies. Amitriptyline strikes again, I thought. What else could make me both sing greetings to my neighbors and listen to hair bands from my teenage years? Was it depression after all that turned me into my post-punk, spiked hair, black-clad self? I’d probably be married with kids in college and living in the ‘burbs if I could’ve gotten a decent night’s sleep in the past few decades. I’d be driving a Lexus instead of that damned sensible Camry!

Perhaps tonight I’ll up my dose and see where the Amitriptyline pony takes me tomorrow down the stony path of self-rediscovery.

Bullet-Point Friday

• Insomnia - Since returning from Germany two weeks ago I haven't been able to sleep past 4:30 AM. Most days I'm awake before then. (I'm usually in bed by 10:00 PM every night.) I'm just about at the breaking point physically as well as mentally, especially when I have as much work to get done during my typical day-to-day as I do. I fear my philosophy course--the one I'm teaching downtown--is suffering because by the time 11:00 rolls around I'm yawning and ready for a nap. I have an appointment with my neurologists (sleep doctors) Tuesday morning. Hopefully they'll put me on some better medication.
• Next Friday I fly to San Francisco to hang out for a couple of days with the ever-lovely Pani J. I'm looking forward to the escape from Dallas--yes, even though I've only been here for two weeks! Even more, though, I'm excited about spending time with one of my absolute most favorite people in the world. Jola and I were neighbors in Warsaw for almost a year, and I know I wouldn't have been able to last that long in such a miserable city without her continual friendship, insight, and hilarity. Can't wait for those long chats over good coffee while staring out over the Bay.
• Tomorrow I begin the German language course at the Goethe Center. Am I ready to focus yet again on that language in an attempt to develop some sort of fluency and literacy after such a crappy experience this summer? Stay tuned to find out.
• Exercise - Will I ever return to my pre-Europe schedule of hitting the gym 4-5 times a week? I'm afraid that all the weight I lost while in Germany was just muscle mass. I miss the sweat. I miss the endorphins. Ah, sweet endorphins! Perhaps before the German class tomorrow I can make it to the Y for a quick 30-minute workout.
  

Pieces of Me

If it’s not the hunger and lack of interest in any of the food I find on the streets here—I mean there’s only so many cheese pizzas, cheese sandwiches, tomato salads, falafel pitas, and gummy, cheesy pasta dishes with limp vegetables I can stomach—that will kill me, then it will be the utter inexplicability of my inability to sleep throughout the night. Last night I went to bed at a reasonable hour (11:30), but I was wide awake (again) by 12:45, and I couldn’t get back to sleep until almost 3:00. In the meantime—and I mean this in its meanest and most unreasonable sense—I began reading another life-changing essay by Derrida about Gadamer and the poetics of Paul Celan. And then I took out my iPod and listened to some tracks from my Lazy Sunday Afternoon playlist, just allowing my mind to drift and reflect in a letting-be (perhaps—as if—a move toward Gelassenheit). Perhaps it will be the anticipation of the arriving/letting-go that will finally do me in.

“There are pieces of me you’ve never seen. Maybe she’s just pieces of me you’ve never seen.” These lyrics by Tori Amos continually float through my head. Knowing that people—and ultimately all things, including the great to be (it)self—are ultimately unknowable, I know that I don’t even really know myself. So, how can anyone else know this me that I don’t even know, this no-ing, unknowable I that reverts to a me when faced with the face of the radically alter in its (own/un-owning/un-(kn)ownness) radical alterity? A good question to reflect upon and face at two-fucking-thirty AM. Kids: don’t try this at home without adult supervision. I am a trained professional, and it still hurts when I do it.

I like the subtle subversion of irreplaceability these lyrics hint at: as if to say, you don’t need to replace me with her because we are the same. Do you not see that which draws you to her is also present here in me? Do you not see that the continual/continuing race toward the (metaphysics of the) new is just as questionable as the issue of knowledge of self and other (it)self? We are ultimately reflections of one another, each other: “The killer in you is the killer in me.” (Lyrics by Smashing Pumpkins. Maybe I should just stop listening to music altogether.)

I like how da in German can mean both there as well as here. I like how nach can mean both to(ward) as well as after. This is a great language in which to lose oneself, especially when the first person-pronoun is never capitalized (except, of course, as the first word of a sentence) and the second-person polite Sie is always capital(ized). But true Gesprach takes place only between (ein(e)) ich und (ein(e)) du....

Speak my language.

Hillbilly, go home!

It was raining this morning when I left the dorm, so I didn't bring the laptop today. So this will have to be quick. Last night--another sleeping fiasco. I think I'm giving up afternoon coffee altogether. Both times I had one, I didn't sleep but 3-4 hrs. I guess the Germans mix heroin in their coffeebeans. Too bad I can't get an afternoon coffee in the morning before classes.

Tonight is a violin recital by a world-class musician, and the buzz in class this morning included the ever-so-American question, 'Do I have to dress up for the concert?' Fuck yes! you're not on a farm, goddamnit! I thought stupid sorority girls liked to shop and buy pretty things. I guess they all left their fancy dresses in the hope chest at their parents' house. Trash trash trash. Thanks for not even trying to make an effort, now Hillbilly, go home! And burn your passport when you get there.

Arrival/Departure

We arrived yesterday morning in Germany without too many travel scars despite the simply lovely family that not only tried to take over our seats before we settled on the plane for the next 8 1/2 hours but also proceeded to talk throughout the entire flight. And by talk I mean whine incessantly, slap one another (mostly a mother-daughter ritual), and--as we from the hills say--holler up a storm. When I logged on to the Internet today I saw a headline about some mother arrested for beating her child on a flight in the US. I followed the link just to see if it was Indira Slapsalotta travelling on to the Gulf States (as in Persian and not "of Mexico"). I felt like hollering myself, "If you don't fuggin behave, I'll turn this plane around. So help me, Allah!" But then I'm not too sure if I'd be able to blog from Guantanamo.

Wiesbaden is even more wonderful and relaxing than it was in December. After a painfully short nap, Stephen and I walked the pedestrian mall, eating a hefty sandwhich at Perfect Day. I also stopped at a couple of bookstores just to see what kinds of gift purchases I could make for my professors who made it possible for me to be here for the next six weeks (by writing letters and suggesting I apply to this program). When Chris and Mary returned from work, we walked back into town for Italian. Last night I slept from 11:00pm until about 5:45am. It was a recent record!

Today we plan more cups of coffee, more casual strolling, perhaps some sweets, and maybe a short visit to one of the old thermal baths--a mainstay of Wiesbaden. (The "bad" in Wiesbaden means bath; it was known as a Roman spa town a couple of thousand years ago.) Tonight we head to Barcelona, where our all-too-short vacation goes to a whole 'nother level.

Beaver Dreams

I've taken this magic little pill (Rozerem) for the past two nights: the first night I dreamed I bludgeoned two people whom I love, last night I barely slept at all, and for the past two days I've felt stoned and strangely euphoric ... in a dazed & confused/Donnie Darko sort of way. One would think that with all this science and all this technology, somebody somewhere would create some good meds that can put my ass to sleep at night and wake it up in the morning. Before getting this prescription, I was self-medicating with melatonin. But when I take those magic little pills too regularly and consistently, I suffer from severe depression. That was something I learned only too well after a particularly rough case of jetlag after returning to Japan one time. Now I make sure not to take it every night, and never to take it more than two weeks at a time. I'll keep up with the Rozerem dosage until I return to the sleep lab; that is, unless I get involved in some Homer Simspson antics like when he was taking sleep medication a few weeks ago. I'm not interested in being a volunteer firefighter.

Thanxa notta latté

Yes, it’s time again to see my neurologists regarding my latest case of insomnia. Today I woke up at 2:30am. And one day last week I wasn’t able to fall asleep until 5:30am.

Memorial Day was utterly forgettable in the drizzle. It has pissed rain in Dallas every day for the past couple of weeks. At first, I thought maybe my sleep was off because of the cloudy, gray skies. But that’s no excuse even if it is true. Tomorrow I see the dentist, and then I’ll call about an appointment at the sleep lab.

I haven’t had a decent cup of coffee out in Dallas in such a long time. I’ve been compiling a list of places not to order coffee from. The list is tentatively entitled “Thanxa notta latté.” First on the list: Whole Foods. (Of course, why are you even buying a latté at Whole Foods in the first place? The only things you should buy from that big “green” monster is soap, lotion, and Snapea Crisps (because the World Market only sells the Caesar-flavored kind), and that’s only because you can’t tear yourself away from the fetish of “organic” and “biodegradable,” and “not tested on animals.” Each word worth a premium according to the posted prices down each aisle. At this rate, only the rich will be able to afford “-free” food!)

Next: the newest coffee shop to open up: Saxbys. Had a terrible latté over the weekend and then made it back yesterday for an even worse café au lait. The only thing more unforgivable is the Jesus-vibe: Biblical quotations from Proverbs and Zechariah in the bathroom, for fuck sake! And KLTY broadcast in the sterile, less-than Starbucks interior. (KLTY, pronounced clitty, is the local Jesus-fucking-Christ pop song station; you know, where they remove all the “baby girls” and “sweet-things,” and replace them with “Jesus.”) If Starbucks is Starsux, then Saxbys has quickly become Suxbys. Make me a fuckin’ decent cup of coffee!

I’m gonna be real mad when my doctor tells me it’s all because of this shitty coffee that I can’t sleep....