fiction

Navy Ship

/ dereid99 / Leave a comment

Last night I was on this Navy ship. All military metal with haze gray walls. We are about to get torpedoed by a submarine. I ask the captain why are they shooting at us? He says they don’t trust us. They want to shoot before we do. They want the advantage. Fear. Too much fear.

I go to the bottom deck and look out a portal window,  brass frame with rivets like bullet ends. I  watch the torpedoes come charging towards the ship. Long copper cylinders with thick turbulent white water following. The missiles hit, but I feel nothing.

I take the elevator to the main deck. Inside is an empty linen cart, the kind they use in hospitals. I enter an enclosed area.  No doors, only military gray walls and the steel elevator door. I want to go behind the walls because that’s where the injured people are. I want to help, but I can’t get beyond the walls.  I can hear doctors and nurses operating on people – horrible sounds of confusion and anxiety, metal on metal, clanging. I feel useless. I have no control.

Two people come out from the surgery area. They walk through the wall. One injured sailor has no issues. He says they let him go. Another guy comes out with a serious eye injury. He has a patch over it, the fabric spotted with blood stains. I help him back through the wall, but it blocks me.

I take the released guy to the top deck. I ask him what’s going on in there. He says, many injuries from the attack, but the medical staff are doing a great job.  I ask him if he has any injuries. He says, they thought he had a brain issue, but they let him go after he spent several hours in a dark room.  He watched Gandhi videos.  He gets off the elevator and says thanks for the chat.

I take the elevator down to the main deck. I notice a “B” button on the elevator. I press it but it doesn’t turn green, it goes red. I keep pressing but the light doesn’t change.  I can’t go down any further, even though I did before the attack. I wait on the main floor waiting to see if anyone needs a ride on the elevator. A useless job, I know, but it’s something.

The guy with the eye injury shows up again. He says he doesn’t belong here. He wants to go outside. I say it’s not a good idea to wander on the top deck especially if you can’t see. He says he can see just fine. The waves are very high, I explain. And the water is freezing. You’d die of hypothermia. He touches his eye. A nurse comes through the wall and pulls the bad eye guy back into the operating area.

I take the elevator up. I want some fresh air. I get off the elevator. A sign I didn’t see before  says, “Open Air” with an arrow pointing up. I turn the handle, but it doesn’t move. I go to the elevator and press the down button, but it’s red. I press the button, rapidly, violently as many times as I can as if I were at a cross walk signal. A nurse comes out and takes me beyond the wall.

Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck

/ dereid99 / 1 Comment

Speaking of bloggers, I’ve been reading Mark Manson’s masculine heavy self-help book. Most definitely written for a male audience. It’s not that women don’t  like profanity and penis references, but sometimes his ideas flow like beer in a dusty  rusty old tavern, “Look man, sometimes you just gotta not give a fuck. Know what I mean? There are other important things to give a fuck about. Be selective about your fucks.” Now, tell me that’s not meant for a male audience.

The book borders on the “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff” idea.  Should you care about the insignificant car parked in front of your house? Man, so many things matter more, like how to treat people with more respect. He also brings in some mindful ideas. You can’t control how people react, but you can control how you react to things. If a car is parked in front of your house and you don’t like it. It’s your problem. Your reaction shouldn’t be slash its tires. Nah, think about it. Is it really a problem? And if you slash the tires, doesn’t it just bring more problems, like jail time (I’m watching Beef on Netflix right now – this advice seems appropriate, yea?)

It’s all about choice and values. I give value – how much do I want or need a non-communicative relationship? Do I need or want this job or  is the amount of money in my bank account important. The message in the book, however, is not new. It does have value, though.

I do like the stories. The Japanese dude hiding out in the Philippines for ten or fifteen years after the war ended. The psycho lawyer who’s following the author around because she believes together, they can find a cure for death.

The book is ok, but his ideas come from other texts. I am also keeping in mind it was written by a blogger. A dude who has no professional credentials for offering any psychological advice. Is this where we are? Internet gurus whose only qualification is a blog. I read that the book was a small article he wrote on his blog. Some publisher thought it was catchy (Isn’t everything with profanity in it?) and bang, pop here’s the long text version and I’ve just made a wad of cash.

Even though I’m ready to toss the “Subtle” book out, I came upon an excellent piece of writing advice.  Just do something. Open the laptop and type– just get something written. A writer was asked how do you write so many books? And he said, “Every day I try to get at least two hundred crappy words written.” Then he goes on to say that just by sitting down and trying to do the least amount of writing, he usually ends up writing much more than that.  Can’t we apply this to everyday? Just do something.  Open the door and walk. Get in the car and go. So much of life to see and feel.

I’m fifty-fifty on this book. Yes, I got some good ideas out of it. Yes, it refreshed ideas that I’d forgotten about. Yes, I finished the book. But always the big question, would I read it again? Meh. Maybe. But there are so many better books on this subject that aren’t so manly like my go to Thich Nhat Hanh.