Plastic Wrap

Many books and movies have concocted "what if" scenarios about a single human being plucked from Earth and set down in front of an alien or extraterrestrial species. The human being then has to explain the actions and purpose of its species. Of course, these are human tales about humans. We write all sorts of tales, about the Boogeyman, about the shadows under rocks, about the voices of the sky, turning some of these tales into religious "origin" stories or mortality (how about morality or these days more-reality) plays and other tales into comedy routines for sheer audience listening pleasure, heard once and largely forgotten.

I like to read and write so I will find ways to justify the existence and activities of reading and writing, regardless of the level of my reading and writing skills compared to other humans who can read and write -- I feel I am an integral and important part of that human world of experience.

Illiteracy is a word used to describe humans who do not actively participate in the reading and writing processes. Illiteracy also describes the condition of the majority of humans in the last 100,000 years (referring primarily to Homo sapiens, not sure of the reading/writing capability of previous human-related ancestors).

Birds are flying back and forth in my yard this morning, some of them picking insects out of cracks in tree bark, some of them chasing each other, some of them being themselves in ways I cannot describe in bird language, only my language. In other words, just because I cannot reduce the actions of non-humans into my language does not mean that the actions of others is less important or integral to the biosphere in which we both live.

I am a suburban human. I was born into a family that lived and moved from one surburban household to another. I attended schools in suburban areas, shopped in suburban areas and primarily worked in industrial/research parks or estates located near suburban areas. I record this so that I can assure myself my observations are not universal - even though I have worked and traveled among farms and cities, my thoughts and actions reflect those of a non-rural, non-urban specimen of human animal.

Some of the people who've read my books say they don't like my work because it does not dwell on a strong plot line - my characters seem to jump around in their intentions, never staying on a single purposeful track for very long. I agree whole-heartedly. Often, I do not write blog entries that stay on plot lines for very long in the same way I don't write novels that have clear plot lines because life itself does not have a plot line. Life just is, and in this case I include all parts of the universe in describing the word "life."

The funny part of literacy is seeing literacy as a means to an end. We read instruction manuals in order to learn how to operate machinery. We read popular novels to cry or laugh along with book characters and share our view of the book with fellow readers. We read tweets to see what's going on with others in 140 characters or less. Reading and writing connect us to other parts of the world but reading and writing is not the world.

I have a plastic bag which contains little cones that emit a burning smell tinged with various fragrances (e.g., incense). I can see through the plastic bag and count the number of cones but do I really see the cones or simply see the plastic bag's refiltered images of the cones? For instance, folds in the bag give me distorted shapes to see, not clear lines that define the sides of the cones.

I am not an expert on the writing process. I only know how to describe what I achieve when I typewrite these words. My collection of written words, whether recorded in blog entry form, poems, short stories, diary entries or novels, is the plastic wrap that filters what I see of life, distorted and reshaped but still indicative of the normal speech patterns, repetitive actions, and arbitrary changes that humans make. Just like the human who stands in front of an alien species, I make no apologies for who am I, either as a unique specimen or representative of all the actions of my species. I write because I can write, not because I have to write, not because I'm trying to make a living as a writer, not because of any other reason than I like to read and I especially like to read what I write.

Words have many meanings, can be translated into words in other languages with similar meanings and sometimes cannot be translated into sounds used by other species. I have one primary use for words. As a human primate born into a suburban society, words describe me and help me find out who I am. I share these words with you in case they help you find out who you are or what other humans are like. I am not trying to solve world hunger or sell enough copies of my work to attract the attention of those in the professional writing business.

I have stated that I do not want to profit from the sales of my work. I inadvertently earned a profit last year -- approximately $1.28 -- because of the change in the price of my work. I earned $1.28 from the sale of one of my books again this year. I apologize to those who were overcharged and have donated over $2.56 to charity to cover this mistake. I will try to figure out how to lower the price of my books to shave off this excess cost. More than likely, I may just make my books available for free electronic download again to avoid the market fluctuations that keep putting change into my pocket. I don't have time to chase pennies. The other route is to set up a fund that collects this money and puts it into the hands of someone who needs it more than I do.