Monday, March 5, 2012

confessions of a multi-tasker

okay, i must admit, first of all, i'm not the genuine article. it turns out nobody is! the key the switching station: how quickly can you jump from one track to another? i'm a poor loser at games, and that must be my inherent flaw: once i'm concentrating on one thing, the rest of the world disappears. for example, driving from here to san francisco, listening to, engrossed in a novel on tape like next by michael crichton, i'm completely absorbed in the dubious world of genetic engineering. how i arrive on the bay bridge i have no idea. maybe i stepped into superman's phone booth, transported.

no, in my case, multi-tasking means getting bored. for better or worse, i've gone from writing poetry, to writing plays, a novel, aphorisms. and when the bean-bags took over the white house ten years ago, i switched to photography, digital art, drawing, certainly a lame-duck leonardo. if it's any consolation, i'm barren of a career, fame, fortune, an invisible man in a backwater. that said, i have had a lot of fun. well, almost, too impatient to bring any art to perfection. 

turns out, master-switchers do exist, if you look at the most recent edition of the magazine american mind. a minor percentage of human beings act like magicians, using sleight-of-hand to accomplish it all. and what's most surprising, brain researchers observe these folks do not go on red-alert with more to do. their minds continue with the same level of activity. hmm, when i'm on a submarine, hunted by the enemy, i'd like one of these fellows at the helm. and perhaps that's where leaders arise. can you imagine being the president, shaking hands with the premier of china with the right hand, while dishing out truffles to shady benefactors with the left? 

interestingly, if i could create a new organ for the brain, it would take us in the opposite direction, measuring any overloads, avoiding obesity, insanity, and exhaustion on the dance-floor. what we lack most of all, the ability to listen to ourselves, even as we have interior dialogues with teachers, scuba-divers, and poker-players. turns out we can't pay complete attention - consciously - to anything for even one minute. i really have no idea how i've survived all these years. i do know a disturbing inner encounter will make me bite the inside of my lip. does it happen to you? maybe that limit on the pedal may already exist in embryo. 

alas, spring has me hopping like fleas on a mustang. here's a few pictures of the compound where i live trying to calm myself down: