Monera Mason is a mischief-maker.  Her work includes: starting questionable cults with notorious software gurus, writing abstract fiction, catalyzing shenanigans which she deploys on unsuspecting bystanders in the City of Neon. 

Kern County Ideas

It makes sense to fill your brain with new ideas as you drive through the agricultural underbelly of California.  It takes you through Kern County which has one of the more hackle-raising law enforcement institutions in the country.  As I obsessively monitored my speed to not raise any level of suspicion as the interior of my van is starting to look positively 4th street careening straight for the summer of love.  I have to imagine that getting pulled over would feel like Luke in the desert and I wasn’t prepared to eat 40 eggs much less respect anyone's authority.  Best to be cloaked within the safety of an audiobook about not giving a fuck rather than the speed inducing music that will inch my foot downward towards the red line capabilities of this Odyssey.

Get clear about your values.  Sage advice I supposed. There was an anecdote about Picasso which you will have to look up because my half telling will definitely not be on point.  The idea was that your values should be something to carry yourself through the rest of your life.  Not something like makes a great movie.  Because once you do that you are finished.  No, you need something expansive and abstract that will bring meaning to your endeavors.  Okay seems fair.

When you are developmentally stunted to 65 miles an hour it's a long time to think.  What defines me.  What matters to me on this planet.  

Telling stories matters to me.  I am fundamentally a nonlinear storyteller. I don't know how this happened but we just have to accept that it's true.  My husband often says I tell a story from the middle out.  Clarifying questions have to be asked to get the gist of what the hell I am talking about.  Sorry, brain has a hard time not assuming you read its psychic details.  I suppose there is a rooted tradition in American literature of the rambling storyteller which was beaten into my head in a class that was focused on Twain, Thurber, and Allen.  I took that class with a bunch of older students who were part of Brandeis alumni stationed in the inhospitable intellectual wasteland that marks Las Vegas.  They were great classmates the elder statesmen of Judaism who were staving off Alzheimer's by engaging in continuing education.  

Clarity on what drives me: To ensure my weird goes pro.  Borrowed of course but we all stand on the shoulders of giants.  

Trade

Island Park Site 45