My Northernmost Mother

Time is a funny thing.  You are not holding two ends of it with a length of time in between.  It’s not like space.  You can go back-and-forth in space as much as you like.  You have to go where time goes, and never back.  If we think that should it not be possible to hold time, perhaps time is holding us.  Well, I thought about that.  Time is much as if you can see something, but not touch it, or touch and see it, but not be able to move it.

“Insanity”, I want to say, “is what fools do.”  But, that is a description of insanity, and not the main thing about it.  In fact, no matter how incisive the analysis, the conclusions are only known by a very few.  There’s a degree of razor-sharp inquisition people can tolerate, and, any more is superfluous.

The etiology of schizophrenia is such that a great deal of cell death accompanies the onset of the illness.  The use of fewer and fewer cells to do the same job, although economical, is not commonly admired.  It has the same appeal as a knock on the head, and, a knock on the head for mental illness has been the treatment of choice for some time.

The nature of time is also, besides, inasmuch as it is related with space, due to its singularity.  That is, when anyone has a good time, not everyone may be having such a great time.  If you could see into the future, and you could tell how dim it was, that is, how far into the future you were able to see, perhaps by sharpening the view alone, you could live the longest.  As you pursue the longest life for you, perhaps it is also the happiest.  Or, at least the oldest you could get would be, and is, generally regarded as scarce.  Scarce things are valuable.  Perhaps any object with a high speed would, if  it could, think that it was smarter than a human, because of the property that humans would be standing still.  We do not give objects such powers, thus we operate on a given level exclusive of objects.  That’s the assumption and it, too, is “sane”.

My mother has broken her arm, and this time it is worse.  I had a feeling I should go see my parents, either one or both will do in sanity, and this is what was there.  They did not call me.  Their options are diminishing.  Of course, I have made a habit of taking the rough road in life, and I have my problems.

I thought of this title in 1993 or thereabouts.  I did not know what it meant.  I might have been waiting in a park.  There might have been new intriguing thoughts in science.  I think it was about ‘textures’ of reality.  You do not know if you are moving, or everything is moving past you; stuff like that.  But the usual meaning of words forbid the exercise of choice, and a mother is a particular “canonical form” which does not admit of geographical distinction.  Now I think I know what it means.

I had thought of Northernmost as pretty far north, but San Diego is definitely way north for all of South America.  I am not the son of a South American, but my son is.  And, I have two like that.  This makes the first one the Easternmost of her kind.  It is as if things grade from place to place.

Words do that, too.  An overused word like “insane” just has the most meaning as a weapon.  Many alternative words may be chosen to express a thought.  As far as mothers go, there are a lot of those, but they are not a true group.  Similarly it is with time.  You don’t have all the options in the world.  You go where you go at that time and not anywhere else. The objects you encounter take on importance over and above any other one of those objects.  The words that apply to any person also apply to many others.  The extra dimension that causes a person to be a special force in your life takes them out of the realm of intrusive laughter.


That kind of petered out.  I was trying to allude to how the set of people and objects in your life may carry extra meaning apart from the words and names, but this  paragraph here and now is affected by reading I did since posting “711”, the word count.  There is a new tragedy with two more lives ruined, one a user, one a CHP, name of Stephen, like me.  The answer to words versus actual real time objects is that the level of abstraction of things far away drops to the minimum.  When somebody slams into you and you disintegrate and die, they are the collection of atoms, not the ideal.  I was looking for the CHP who had an accident off duty, so, now I will try the CHP site for the numerology on the badge numbers.

It’s nothing like to do with the Catsouras photos on the ED.


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