I went looking for quotes about music, because it is something I feel strongly about. I thought I could find something interesting to say about it, to write about it, something true that had not been said.
I was wrong. Greater individuals than me have said so much more than I could ever say on the subject, and I have no doubt that their feelings on the subject are every bit as potent and deep as mine are.
I feel that the only way I can show how I feel about music is how I play my music. Whether I'm playing bass in the Christian rock band I'm in, or relaxing on one of my keyboards or a piano, or just simply playing in someone's basement, playing back-up on a simple blues jam for hours, I feel that that is when my feelings for that beautiful thing called music really show through.
I was raised with great music. The first song I remember hearing as a child is "To Cry You A Song" by Jethro Tull, off of their phenomenal album Benefit. My father played in bands since the late 70s, and loved the music he played and listened to. He always of course claimed that Christianity was his religion, but I'll say this: I knew times when he lost his faith in God, but I cannot remember a moment when he lost his faith in music.
The man had over 5000 songs on his computer, mainly from the 50s through the 80s, and mostly in the rock and alternative genres. I had a backing in those songs my whole life. My father bonded with my younger brother while they rode his motorcycle together, and he bonded with my sister in the way that a father bonds with a daughter, but with me, it was all about the music. Not a day goes by since he passed that I don't hear a song he introduced me to and think "Man, I completely forgot about this song," or that I don't hear a song he would like and think "It'd be awesome to tell my dad about this song." I can't, of course, but that's how deeply our relationship revolved around music.
For my 6th Christmas, I came out into the living room to find a cheap Yamaha 61-key electric keyboard. I've still got it gathering dust in a corner in my house. Along with the keyboard was the starter set of Alfred's Piano Lesson books. I was hooked. I worked my way through those books in less that a month. After that, my parents got me lessons. Sort of traditional piano lessons, you know, the kind that make people hate playing piano. I loved it.
When I was 15, a couple friends and I got together and formed what we called a Christian punk band. It wasn't really anything of the sort, just a jam band in a friend's basement, but we all started somewhere. It went from being a Christian punk band, to a Christian rock band, to a Christian metal band, to just a metal band, to breaking up when I was 18. I learned so much from those experiences. What sounded good and what didn't. What people liked at shows and how much practice was enough. Even more important stuff, like how to stand up for myself and how to talk to women.
I became what a lot of people would think is a goth. I loved, and still do love, the color black. I wore everything black back then. Some people at my church started calling me Johnny Cash. The others weren't so good-natured about it, thinking I was becoming a heathen, especially considering the kind of music that I rode around listening to. I thought I was something else honestly. But I never lost my faith. I would sit and debate Scripture, while blaring Highway to Hell out of my stereo, and if any of my more Christian friends said anything about it, I would shrug and say, "God never said anything against good music."
But I'm getting off topic. I fell from the music for awhile. I quit playing, got interested in other things. But my music is more apart of me than almost anything else is.
I'll tell you this. You have never experienced a drug that can give a high comparable to playing a live show for people. The feeling of walking off a stage knowing you did what you came to do. The untouchable feeling of adrenaline you catch when you're on stage and every instrument hits just right and it all comes together to create a wall of sound that moves everyone in the building and gets not just their bodies moving but their spirits moving as well. The joy of hearing someone humming the songs you wrote as you're loading up equipment. And yes, even the crappy diner food you devour after a show, because the club's owner stiffed you on the payment and that's all you could afford. It's all beautiful, and addictive.
A lot of people will tell you that it's out of character for me to join a purely Christian band now, and they're right. But I did it because I spent too long without that beautiful feeling of the music coursing through my veins, shooting out of my fingertips, me becoming one with my instrument, and with the other instruments and musicians around me, and with the audience and the very sound waves that our brains arrange into coherent beauty, and producing music, no matter what the lyrics say.
The music itself is what's important to me, and if I have to perform songs about my other, less popular beliefs in order to get that feeling I will. It's everything to me, and I couldn't give it up if I wanted to. It's an addiction, just like any other, one that I have no problem with never breaking.
There's nothing more I can really say about it. The best thing I can leave you with is to just listen. Go listen to some decent music. Maybe listen to The Rain Song, by Led Zeppelin. Or Across the Universe by the Beatles. Or Love Reign O'er Me by the Who. There are so many great ones out there, too many to name. And I can promise you, you haven't heard nearly enough of them.
Monday, December 30, 2013
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Fascimile
Don't worry, it's misspelled for a reason.
So many Americans spend time talking about how wonderful our country is and how we stand for freedom and liberty and all that stuff. But those same people will turn around and embody the exact opposite of those terms they throw around so easily.
See, when you attempt to force someone, by law, to believe the same way you do, there's a word for it. Fascism. And supposedly America has tried to fight against that. And yet somehow, the ones who claim to be the most patriotic, the ones who supposedly believe truly in America, or claim to, (the far right), have turned into fascists.
Listen, I'm absolutely fine with something that is voted in democratically. If you want to ban gay marriage in your state, and you can get the votes for it, then so be it. I don't agree with you on it, and I think that the government has no business going around enforcing people's religion for them, but hey, that's democracy. But if your state votes it in, democratically, and it's not actually affecting your freedom in the slightest, then you can't expect the government to change its mind, simply because it makes you uncomfortable.
Because here's the thing. Gay marriage does nothing to affect those who don't agree with it. It's not like gun rights or environmental laws. Gay rights doesn't make you have to marry someone of your own gender. It doesn't make preachers have to agree to marry gay couples. All it does is make you a little uncomfortable, which is no reason to act like an idiot over it. You know what else made people a little uncomfortable? When they ended slavery. And one hundred years later, everyone's fine with that.
And guess what. In another one hundred years, the homophobes who stood against gay rights are going to be remembered in the same light as the people who supported slavery. You won't be remembered as some big champion of the faith. I'm not even sure that homosexuality is a sin. Jesus never mentioned it at all. Paul did, but Paul was also a sexist who said women were too stupid to talk in church. He also hated marriage and carnal relationships of any form. The only other place it's talked about as a sin is in the Old Testament, where it also says that if a woman gets raped, the guy who raped her just has to pay her father the money she's worth and it's cool. Oh, unless she's a servant, in which case it's her fault for tempting the man and she should be put to death.
My point is, is that you cannot expect the government to enforce your moral laws for you. It's not their job. If you want to make your beliefs the backbone of the country, then rally your churches and your people and get them to the box on voting day. Elect representatives that line up with your beliefs. What you don't do, is throw a temper tantrum, saying that the government should fix everything simply because you want them to.
I believe in this country. I don't believe in some past romanticized vision of our founding fathers, nor do I have much hope for our current state of affairs. But I see the way our country could be, if our ideals were carried to their logical conclusion. Freedom for all, as long as it didn't interfere with someone else's well-being. I believe that's what makes a patriot. Not a dedication to the right or the left. Not a need to return to the policies of the past. But a striving to make the country everything that it is able to be.
To make the country of the United States of America, great.
So many Americans spend time talking about how wonderful our country is and how we stand for freedom and liberty and all that stuff. But those same people will turn around and embody the exact opposite of those terms they throw around so easily.
See, when you attempt to force someone, by law, to believe the same way you do, there's a word for it. Fascism. And supposedly America has tried to fight against that. And yet somehow, the ones who claim to be the most patriotic, the ones who supposedly believe truly in America, or claim to, (the far right), have turned into fascists.
Listen, I'm absolutely fine with something that is voted in democratically. If you want to ban gay marriage in your state, and you can get the votes for it, then so be it. I don't agree with you on it, and I think that the government has no business going around enforcing people's religion for them, but hey, that's democracy. But if your state votes it in, democratically, and it's not actually affecting your freedom in the slightest, then you can't expect the government to change its mind, simply because it makes you uncomfortable.
Because here's the thing. Gay marriage does nothing to affect those who don't agree with it. It's not like gun rights or environmental laws. Gay rights doesn't make you have to marry someone of your own gender. It doesn't make preachers have to agree to marry gay couples. All it does is make you a little uncomfortable, which is no reason to act like an idiot over it. You know what else made people a little uncomfortable? When they ended slavery. And one hundred years later, everyone's fine with that.
And guess what. In another one hundred years, the homophobes who stood against gay rights are going to be remembered in the same light as the people who supported slavery. You won't be remembered as some big champion of the faith. I'm not even sure that homosexuality is a sin. Jesus never mentioned it at all. Paul did, but Paul was also a sexist who said women were too stupid to talk in church. He also hated marriage and carnal relationships of any form. The only other place it's talked about as a sin is in the Old Testament, where it also says that if a woman gets raped, the guy who raped her just has to pay her father the money she's worth and it's cool. Oh, unless she's a servant, in which case it's her fault for tempting the man and she should be put to death.
My point is, is that you cannot expect the government to enforce your moral laws for you. It's not their job. If you want to make your beliefs the backbone of the country, then rally your churches and your people and get them to the box on voting day. Elect representatives that line up with your beliefs. What you don't do, is throw a temper tantrum, saying that the government should fix everything simply because you want them to.
I believe in this country. I don't believe in some past romanticized vision of our founding fathers, nor do I have much hope for our current state of affairs. But I see the way our country could be, if our ideals were carried to their logical conclusion. Freedom for all, as long as it didn't interfere with someone else's well-being. I believe that's what makes a patriot. Not a dedication to the right or the left. Not a need to return to the policies of the past. But a striving to make the country everything that it is able to be.
To make the country of the United States of America, great.
Monday, December 23, 2013
Scorched Earth
Heat is one of those complicated words. It means so many different things depending on the context in which it is mentioned.
At the moment, I'm typing this in my bedroom, which is running at roughly 80 degrees. See, we can't actually afford propane for the central heat, so we use extremely powerful space heaters. They are very effective when it is cold outside. However, they are much more effective when it's been 70 degrees and humid outside all day. I prefer the temperature at about 65 degrees with an overcast sky. Needless to say, being in my room is like being locked in a sauna. I've turned the heater off and the fans on, but it's going to be about an hour before it cools in here.
So, heat. Obviously there is the context in which I am resenting it now. I, of course, love it when it's actually cold in my house. Heat is what keeps many of us alive in the winter (those of us who don't simply drink a bottle of brandy and give a gentlemanly harrumph). Yet in the summer, we resent it. We bloody well hate the heat in the summer,
Some places have a context for heat that I can't even comprehend. Deserts and such. I should probably stop complaining, but I am American after all. The heat in those places makes 80 degrees look like a joke. Heat isn't just a word for them, it's a way of life, a force to be reckoned with.
Then again, heat isn't always just about the temperature. In the right context, it means passion, love, lust, desire. That's a wonderful context for it. One of the most amazing sensations on the planet. Not the sexual part, although that's great too, but the rising temperature when you are attracted to someone in every conceivable way. That flame burning inside that cannot be ignored. It's incredibly powerful.
Of course, heat is also the name of several crappy colognes.
There's heat in physics, essentially one of the most important and complicated forces in the universe. It's incredible. Measurable change in our world, simply marked by the changing of temperature. Oh, to have been there when the laws of thermodynamics were made.
I've looked back at this entry and realize that the heat may have addled my brain. I have jumped around a ridiculous amount, and I apologize.
Ugh. Heat.
At the moment, I'm typing this in my bedroom, which is running at roughly 80 degrees. See, we can't actually afford propane for the central heat, so we use extremely powerful space heaters. They are very effective when it is cold outside. However, they are much more effective when it's been 70 degrees and humid outside all day. I prefer the temperature at about 65 degrees with an overcast sky. Needless to say, being in my room is like being locked in a sauna. I've turned the heater off and the fans on, but it's going to be about an hour before it cools in here.
So, heat. Obviously there is the context in which I am resenting it now. I, of course, love it when it's actually cold in my house. Heat is what keeps many of us alive in the winter (those of us who don't simply drink a bottle of brandy and give a gentlemanly harrumph). Yet in the summer, we resent it. We bloody well hate the heat in the summer,
Some places have a context for heat that I can't even comprehend. Deserts and such. I should probably stop complaining, but I am American after all. The heat in those places makes 80 degrees look like a joke. Heat isn't just a word for them, it's a way of life, a force to be reckoned with.
Then again, heat isn't always just about the temperature. In the right context, it means passion, love, lust, desire. That's a wonderful context for it. One of the most amazing sensations on the planet. Not the sexual part, although that's great too, but the rising temperature when you are attracted to someone in every conceivable way. That flame burning inside that cannot be ignored. It's incredibly powerful.
Of course, heat is also the name of several crappy colognes.
There's heat in physics, essentially one of the most important and complicated forces in the universe. It's incredible. Measurable change in our world, simply marked by the changing of temperature. Oh, to have been there when the laws of thermodynamics were made.
I've looked back at this entry and realize that the heat may have addled my brain. I have jumped around a ridiculous amount, and I apologize.
Ugh. Heat.
Saturday, December 21, 2013
These Are the Good Old Days
Anticipation...
It's a mockery almost, that emotion. Or feeling, or whatever it is. You look forward to something for ages, thinking about how great it will be, excited about the prospect of change. And then the day comes, and it's never quite as good as you expect it to be.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not entirely let down. But somehow it's not quite as exciting as I thought.
I find myself going through life this way. I look forward to things and then they slightly let me down. Not in a major way. Just kind of. Like a sort of hollow feeling deep inside. It's wrong of course. I have a fairly good life. I love my family, my home. Love my wife more than anything. Only thing I really have a problem with is my job and my finances. But somehow, every time something comes along that is supposed to make me happy, it comes up short.
I think it's indicative of the human condition. Always journeying, never arriving, and all that. It seems like we go through life so intent on getting something more that we never enjoy it when we get it, we just look to the next thing.
But I believe that's what makes humanity so great. Always searching, never satisfied. It leads us to invent new things, go new places, think new ideas. All of course in the name of filling that gaping hole in our chest. Sad but true.
I found someone that fills at least the romantic and physical side of things for me. My wife is the most wonderful woman I could hope for. She makes me happy in ways that I could never imagine. She is the one thing that never truly lets me down, beyond simple husband/wife things. But I'm always happy to see her, always excited to talk to her, and always inspired by the sight of her. She's amazing.
Maybe that's the key. Drive and reach and explore and never be satisfied, but hold on to one solid thing, one pure reason to do what you do, and never neglect it.
It's a mockery almost, that emotion. Or feeling, or whatever it is. You look forward to something for ages, thinking about how great it will be, excited about the prospect of change. And then the day comes, and it's never quite as good as you expect it to be.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not entirely let down. But somehow it's not quite as exciting as I thought.
I find myself going through life this way. I look forward to things and then they slightly let me down. Not in a major way. Just kind of. Like a sort of hollow feeling deep inside. It's wrong of course. I have a fairly good life. I love my family, my home. Love my wife more than anything. Only thing I really have a problem with is my job and my finances. But somehow, every time something comes along that is supposed to make me happy, it comes up short.
I think it's indicative of the human condition. Always journeying, never arriving, and all that. It seems like we go through life so intent on getting something more that we never enjoy it when we get it, we just look to the next thing.
But I believe that's what makes humanity so great. Always searching, never satisfied. It leads us to invent new things, go new places, think new ideas. All of course in the name of filling that gaping hole in our chest. Sad but true.
I found someone that fills at least the romantic and physical side of things for me. My wife is the most wonderful woman I could hope for. She makes me happy in ways that I could never imagine. She is the one thing that never truly lets me down, beyond simple husband/wife things. But I'm always happy to see her, always excited to talk to her, and always inspired by the sight of her. She's amazing.
Maybe that's the key. Drive and reach and explore and never be satisfied, but hold on to one solid thing, one pure reason to do what you do, and never neglect it.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Sea Lion With a Ball at the Carnival
I know I typically don't talk about the casual things in life, like work, but today I'm making an exception because I have a few things I feel need to be said.
I work at a bit above minimum wage at a common chain store that almost everyone has shopped at, one time of another, and because of their prices, most people in lower income brackets shop there all the time. I've worked there for four and a half years, while I'm finishing college, and so I've seen quite a few things. Some absurd, some angering, some good things. But the thing that stands out to me most out of that, is how rude, entitled, and mean spirited many of the people who shop there actually are.
I try to be nice to everyone, which doesn't come easy to me. I really don't like people all that much. But I'm polite, and I try to help anyone who asks find what they're looking for, and help answer any questions they might have. But when you yell at me because prices have gone up by twelve cents, it makes me want to take a baseball bat to your face.
Look, in chain stores, no one working there controls the prices even slightly. All the prices come from corporate, and we have to put the prices out there. Don't blame us if a shortage in sweet potato crop because of rain has caused it to make an apparently massive jump from 34 cents a pound to 42 cents a pound. We have nothing to do with it. It bothers us more than it bothers you, because not only do we have deal with your ridiculous complaints, but we also shop there, because we can't afford to shop anywhere else.
How much did you make last year? 30,000? 40? Maybe you're down on the lower scale and made 25,000. But I know you make more than me. You know why? Because no one who makes my pay range yells at me about prices. Why is that? I make around 10,000 a year. In case you're not aware, that is less than most people on welfare and disability make. So it'd actually be a better career choice for me not to work at all. I'd make more money. So why is it that the people who make around 10,000 a year don't complain about prices, even though a price spike of a few cents means we might not be able to buy it, but the people who make 4 and 5 times that complain about it like it's the end of the world?\
It's because people who make my pay grade are in jobs where they constantly have to deal with people like you too, and so they understand what it's like to get yelled at for something that you have absolutely no control over in any way, and not be able to defend yourself. That's right by the way. At my job, if I talk back to a customer, or act in any way that might imply that he/she is an entitled prat instead of a shining cloud-wreathed god in the sky, I get fired. Dignity's all well and good, but it won't pay for food. So I have to keep my mouth shut and smile, and say thank you for your comments, and all that other crap, because I can't afford to not. People who make decent have a few weeks of leeway where if they get fired they have a bit of time to find a job. Not me. If I get fired, I have to start working the next day, or else I'll sink.
So for God's sake be a decent human being to the minimum wage slaves.
I work at a bit above minimum wage at a common chain store that almost everyone has shopped at, one time of another, and because of their prices, most people in lower income brackets shop there all the time. I've worked there for four and a half years, while I'm finishing college, and so I've seen quite a few things. Some absurd, some angering, some good things. But the thing that stands out to me most out of that, is how rude, entitled, and mean spirited many of the people who shop there actually are.
I try to be nice to everyone, which doesn't come easy to me. I really don't like people all that much. But I'm polite, and I try to help anyone who asks find what they're looking for, and help answer any questions they might have. But when you yell at me because prices have gone up by twelve cents, it makes me want to take a baseball bat to your face.
Look, in chain stores, no one working there controls the prices even slightly. All the prices come from corporate, and we have to put the prices out there. Don't blame us if a shortage in sweet potato crop because of rain has caused it to make an apparently massive jump from 34 cents a pound to 42 cents a pound. We have nothing to do with it. It bothers us more than it bothers you, because not only do we have deal with your ridiculous complaints, but we also shop there, because we can't afford to shop anywhere else.
How much did you make last year? 30,000? 40? Maybe you're down on the lower scale and made 25,000. But I know you make more than me. You know why? Because no one who makes my pay range yells at me about prices. Why is that? I make around 10,000 a year. In case you're not aware, that is less than most people on welfare and disability make. So it'd actually be a better career choice for me not to work at all. I'd make more money. So why is it that the people who make around 10,000 a year don't complain about prices, even though a price spike of a few cents means we might not be able to buy it, but the people who make 4 and 5 times that complain about it like it's the end of the world?\
It's because people who make my pay grade are in jobs where they constantly have to deal with people like you too, and so they understand what it's like to get yelled at for something that you have absolutely no control over in any way, and not be able to defend yourself. That's right by the way. At my job, if I talk back to a customer, or act in any way that might imply that he/she is an entitled prat instead of a shining cloud-wreathed god in the sky, I get fired. Dignity's all well and good, but it won't pay for food. So I have to keep my mouth shut and smile, and say thank you for your comments, and all that other crap, because I can't afford to not. People who make decent have a few weeks of leeway where if they get fired they have a bit of time to find a job. Not me. If I get fired, I have to start working the next day, or else I'll sink.
So for God's sake be a decent human being to the minimum wage slaves.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Tears of Love Lost In The Days Gone By
Frailty.
What does that word bring up in your mind? Perhaps you're like me. You see someone old, broken down, barely alive anymore. Or perhaps you see a wilted plant of some sort, clinging to life, about to let the last of its leaves fall. I had an old dog once. She had been in my family for 14 years, and by the end, she was so broken down and decrepit, a far cry from the puppy we had 14 years before. Frail. Weak. Falling apart. Sick.
Whatever comes up, I'm sure it isn't yourself. You probably don't associate the word with yourself in any shape, form, or fashion. I know on a day to day basis I don't. It is a fault of the age I find myself at, to feel that you are invincible. I know I am not, and yet the feeling remains.
But today I have heard many tales of death. Of lives snuffed out before their time, like a candle wick, tossed by an errant breeze, and put out without intention. Three stories I've heard today. Each one was young, around my age or younger. Each one had a significant other who was depending on this person to be with them to walk through life's trials for the rest of their lives. And each died tragically, in a manner that they had no control over, no expectations for. Just like that, they were gone. And whether or not they had religion, whether or not they had money, or plans, or knew how to defend themselves, whether or not they had a clean bill of health, or had kept their bodies pure of influences, they died.
Human beings are so incredibly frail. A small amount of pressure here, a foreign object inserted there, and it's all over. As simple as a distracted driver, or a loose bolt, it could end. Those who seem neurotic and paranoid, afraid of every little thing to the point of insanity, are seemingly the sanest among us. They're right. Just about anything can kill a human. There are cases of people being killed by paper cuts. People falling three feet off a ladder and being paralyzed for life. The simplest introduction of chaos into our systems and we fall apart.
And that's not to mention all the many diseases that cause our bodies to turn on themselves. Those that turn the immune system against the internal organs, the virus that causes a fever so hot the brain can boil, pain so great that the mind can simply break and leave a body empty of anything resembling consciousness. We are a walking time bomb of death. And everything around us is in a hurry to accelerate the process.
And yet somehow, we carry on. We push and we strive and we accomplish great things, in spite of all our weaknesses, in spite of the fact that death surrounds us everywhere. We go out every day, and risk our lives, simply on the basis that we have to make money in order to provide ourselves with entertainment. By rights, we should be locked up in a bomb shelter somewhere, trying not to touch anything sharp. But we strap ourselves into what amounts to 2,000 pound guided missiles powered by explosions every day, drive to buildings that are powered by harnessed lightning and held together with small bits of metal, and do things that deliberately place us in harms way constantly. For what? To simply improve our lives. A normal human would not think of running and hiding in a shelter for their lives, simply because it'd be boring. Can you imagine that? A species that endangers its existence, simply because it would be a bit dull otherwise. Its ridiculous and beautiful all at the same time.
And, by God, it works. Look at our cities. Look at the monuments to ourselves we have built. More importantly, look at the inventions we have made. We invented a metal case, once again, powered by explosions, that flies, because the guided missiles on the ground didn't get us there fast enough. What sort of creature would dare look up at the sky, in all its infinite glory, and say to themselves, "I want to go there"? We did. And we continue to push our boundaries, no matter the cost or danger. We run into danger, because to do otherwise would be unthinkable.
To do otherwise, would be inhuman.
What does that word bring up in your mind? Perhaps you're like me. You see someone old, broken down, barely alive anymore. Or perhaps you see a wilted plant of some sort, clinging to life, about to let the last of its leaves fall. I had an old dog once. She had been in my family for 14 years, and by the end, she was so broken down and decrepit, a far cry from the puppy we had 14 years before. Frail. Weak. Falling apart. Sick.
Whatever comes up, I'm sure it isn't yourself. You probably don't associate the word with yourself in any shape, form, or fashion. I know on a day to day basis I don't. It is a fault of the age I find myself at, to feel that you are invincible. I know I am not, and yet the feeling remains.
But today I have heard many tales of death. Of lives snuffed out before their time, like a candle wick, tossed by an errant breeze, and put out without intention. Three stories I've heard today. Each one was young, around my age or younger. Each one had a significant other who was depending on this person to be with them to walk through life's trials for the rest of their lives. And each died tragically, in a manner that they had no control over, no expectations for. Just like that, they were gone. And whether or not they had religion, whether or not they had money, or plans, or knew how to defend themselves, whether or not they had a clean bill of health, or had kept their bodies pure of influences, they died.
Human beings are so incredibly frail. A small amount of pressure here, a foreign object inserted there, and it's all over. As simple as a distracted driver, or a loose bolt, it could end. Those who seem neurotic and paranoid, afraid of every little thing to the point of insanity, are seemingly the sanest among us. They're right. Just about anything can kill a human. There are cases of people being killed by paper cuts. People falling three feet off a ladder and being paralyzed for life. The simplest introduction of chaos into our systems and we fall apart.
And that's not to mention all the many diseases that cause our bodies to turn on themselves. Those that turn the immune system against the internal organs, the virus that causes a fever so hot the brain can boil, pain so great that the mind can simply break and leave a body empty of anything resembling consciousness. We are a walking time bomb of death. And everything around us is in a hurry to accelerate the process.
And yet somehow, we carry on. We push and we strive and we accomplish great things, in spite of all our weaknesses, in spite of the fact that death surrounds us everywhere. We go out every day, and risk our lives, simply on the basis that we have to make money in order to provide ourselves with entertainment. By rights, we should be locked up in a bomb shelter somewhere, trying not to touch anything sharp. But we strap ourselves into what amounts to 2,000 pound guided missiles powered by explosions every day, drive to buildings that are powered by harnessed lightning and held together with small bits of metal, and do things that deliberately place us in harms way constantly. For what? To simply improve our lives. A normal human would not think of running and hiding in a shelter for their lives, simply because it'd be boring. Can you imagine that? A species that endangers its existence, simply because it would be a bit dull otherwise. Its ridiculous and beautiful all at the same time.
And, by God, it works. Look at our cities. Look at the monuments to ourselves we have built. More importantly, look at the inventions we have made. We invented a metal case, once again, powered by explosions, that flies, because the guided missiles on the ground didn't get us there fast enough. What sort of creature would dare look up at the sky, in all its infinite glory, and say to themselves, "I want to go there"? We did. And we continue to push our boundaries, no matter the cost or danger. We run into danger, because to do otherwise would be unthinkable.
To do otherwise, would be inhuman.
Monday, December 16, 2013
Who Will Save Tomorrow?
Where are the heroes?
I understand some of you will take exception to that, and believe me, I completely support the troops. I believe there are cases of heroics there, every day and everything. But 50 years ago, you saw example after example of famous heroes. Heroes we could all admire and look up to, who embodied the very ideals of our countries, day after day.
Now we're left with super heroes in movies, action stars and muscle bound psychopaths, drenching their environs in blood and piles of spent brass. We spend time idolizing those, and yet, when it comes to it, what are they truly worth? How is your life better for having admired those people, following a script on screen? Not to mention the fact that many of them are hypocritical about the roles they take, being completely anti-violence and anti-guns in real life.
The real life heroes, meanwhile, in the military, are stuck fighting pointless wars, attempting to force our way of life onto countries that have existed before we were even thought about. Again, I support the troops themselves, but I do not and will not give support for a war that can never be won, not if a thousand years were to pass and the sun were to go out and the sky shine with different stars in the night. War is such a political game now. There is no glory to be had. And I suppose it's a good thing that our soldiers can sit safe in a base a hundred miles away and still accomplish things, but I believe in heroic symbolism.
Don't get me wrong, I don't believe that there is much that is glorious about a battlefield. All the blood and guts and excrement and screaming and gnashing, never ending. But there is something glorious about the men who come back. Those who, although they saw all that, come back and raise their families, and live among you and me, like normal people, when they know they can never be that.
There is something more to be said in dying for what you believe in, in a battle far away. A glory that is innate to the ultimate sacrifice. But that's precisely the problem. How can you believe in an utterly pointless cause? There's nothing to be gained, nothing to be won, by striving in the desert day after day, just sorrow and death and scars, both mental and physical.
It is unfortunate.
The time of heroes has past, and we are left all the worse for it.
I understand some of you will take exception to that, and believe me, I completely support the troops. I believe there are cases of heroics there, every day and everything. But 50 years ago, you saw example after example of famous heroes. Heroes we could all admire and look up to, who embodied the very ideals of our countries, day after day.
Now we're left with super heroes in movies, action stars and muscle bound psychopaths, drenching their environs in blood and piles of spent brass. We spend time idolizing those, and yet, when it comes to it, what are they truly worth? How is your life better for having admired those people, following a script on screen? Not to mention the fact that many of them are hypocritical about the roles they take, being completely anti-violence and anti-guns in real life.
The real life heroes, meanwhile, in the military, are stuck fighting pointless wars, attempting to force our way of life onto countries that have existed before we were even thought about. Again, I support the troops themselves, but I do not and will not give support for a war that can never be won, not if a thousand years were to pass and the sun were to go out and the sky shine with different stars in the night. War is such a political game now. There is no glory to be had. And I suppose it's a good thing that our soldiers can sit safe in a base a hundred miles away and still accomplish things, but I believe in heroic symbolism.
Don't get me wrong, I don't believe that there is much that is glorious about a battlefield. All the blood and guts and excrement and screaming and gnashing, never ending. But there is something glorious about the men who come back. Those who, although they saw all that, come back and raise their families, and live among you and me, like normal people, when they know they can never be that.
There is something more to be said in dying for what you believe in, in a battle far away. A glory that is innate to the ultimate sacrifice. But that's precisely the problem. How can you believe in an utterly pointless cause? There's nothing to be gained, nothing to be won, by striving in the desert day after day, just sorrow and death and scars, both mental and physical.
It is unfortunate.
The time of heroes has past, and we are left all the worse for it.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
What's Your Vice and Wish?
There are many things that I am cynical about. Religion, familial relationships, mainstream culture, weathermen. I sort of enjoy it in a way. A sort of pathetic pride, verging on sad, that I think slightly different from other people. But then there's weddings.
I find myself fully in support of weddings, without a truly bad or sarcastic thing to say about them. I suppose it has a lot to do with being happy with who I married. Going on 3 years now, and I love her more than I ever have. Our wedding was beautiful, simple, and dare I say it, classy. But it's more than that.
I was at a friend of my wife's wedding last night, and during the first dance, I found myself choked up a bit. This is unusual for me. I don't really cry. When my father passed was really about the last time I cried. I don't enjoy doing it and I don't feel like it really accomplishes anything. But this came out of a single thought.
This is humanity at its finest.
That sounds a bit pat, I suppose, but really think about it. Everyone, from every culture, from every religion, every race, every nation, everywhere, believes in marriage on some level or another. Even those who do not believe in a deity of any sort, believe in marriage. Marriage is the purest expression of love that we can have here on Earth. We don't need a god for it, we don't need the government or permission from someone else. In marriage, we find ourselves truly independent from everything except for the person at the other end of the aisle. And in an instant, in the pronouncement, we find ourselves with our world changed, relying entirely on that person.
And thus we dance. Not because of the sexuality or the alcohol. But because of the celebration of human life at the highest point that we can ever hope to attain. We dance, and we scream, and we shout to the stars and the planets and the universe that we are human, we are filled with love, and by that we are free!
It is absolutely beautiful and terrifying all at the same time. It is a time when the boundaries between this world and others are thinnest, a time of beginnings and endings, and there the two are, together, at the center of this mighty flux of power, this true expression and celebration and veneration of the purest part of human nature.
Weddings... a summation of us at our best.
I find myself fully in support of weddings, without a truly bad or sarcastic thing to say about them. I suppose it has a lot to do with being happy with who I married. Going on 3 years now, and I love her more than I ever have. Our wedding was beautiful, simple, and dare I say it, classy. But it's more than that.
I was at a friend of my wife's wedding last night, and during the first dance, I found myself choked up a bit. This is unusual for me. I don't really cry. When my father passed was really about the last time I cried. I don't enjoy doing it and I don't feel like it really accomplishes anything. But this came out of a single thought.
This is humanity at its finest.
That sounds a bit pat, I suppose, but really think about it. Everyone, from every culture, from every religion, every race, every nation, everywhere, believes in marriage on some level or another. Even those who do not believe in a deity of any sort, believe in marriage. Marriage is the purest expression of love that we can have here on Earth. We don't need a god for it, we don't need the government or permission from someone else. In marriage, we find ourselves truly independent from everything except for the person at the other end of the aisle. And in an instant, in the pronouncement, we find ourselves with our world changed, relying entirely on that person.
And thus we dance. Not because of the sexuality or the alcohol. But because of the celebration of human life at the highest point that we can ever hope to attain. We dance, and we scream, and we shout to the stars and the planets and the universe that we are human, we are filled with love, and by that we are free!
It is absolutely beautiful and terrifying all at the same time. It is a time when the boundaries between this world and others are thinnest, a time of beginnings and endings, and there the two are, together, at the center of this mighty flux of power, this true expression and celebration and veneration of the purest part of human nature.
Weddings... a summation of us at our best.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Face is Cracked From Smiling
Fear. Such a primal emotion. Plays on our evolutionary triggers, to the extent that I'm not actually sure it's fully an emotion. More of a chemical reaction intended to protect us from predators that used to be higher up on the food chain. Honestly though, I think that's a bit of an oversimplification.
What is that feeling, when you're lying safe in your bed at night, doors locked, windows bolted, gun on your side table, and yet you can't help but feel that something is waiting for you, out in the darkness? Something that you can't stop? Why is it that we fear darkness? Not outdoor darkness, that's understandable; it's a survival instinct. But tame, indoor darkness, darkness that we choose to be in, to sleep in, to spend eight hours out of every 24 in. Why do we fear it? Is it the same evolutionary trigger that makes us fear the outdoor darkness? The fear that there's something out there, unseen, that could possibly eat us? Is it really that simple? Or is it something worse, something more ancient perhaps, from the mythological mists of time, before our written records, just an unspoken dread that all humans carry in their hearts? I'm not sure, and that in itself is a bit scary to me. Not being able to fully analyze myself is a strange phenomenon that I'm not entirely comfortable with.
I know that animals have fear built in on a low level. Perhaps, humans, at a higher state of evolution, or creation, or whatever, over think a basic instinct. Because when an animal fears something, it walks away, or attacks. When a human fears something, it thinks about it a good bit. It's the reason for the phenomenon in horror movies, when the oversexed teenager hears a strange noise from the area that the killer was just in, and decides to go check it out, when clearly the smart thing to do would be to get out as fast as you could.
While I'm on the subject, why is it that humans are the only species to willingly experience things that scare them, such as horror movies, scary TV shows, haunted houses? What is this obsession with experiencing fear? If one of my dogs sees something that scares them, they walk away from it. They don't try to stand there for the adrenaline rush. Why do we insist on sitting through these tortures to our instincts, when really all they do is condition us to numb our natural reflexes?
Perhaps it's the intensity of the adrenaline rush. Most rushes we have a measure of control over. Sex, fighting, speed. All with a measure of control, the ability to slow down. But fear, fear is another story entirely. We have a certain lack of control from fear. We can't just slow down or stop being afraid of something. So the rush deepens, to the extent that you hear your blood roaring in your ears, and the slightest movement of anything will cause you to attack or run, just like the basest of animals.
Fear is yet another driving force for humanity. Fear of darkness drove us into light. Fear of exposure forced us to build shelter. Fear of loneliness causes us to seek that special someone. Fear of pain and death drove us to discover medicines and medical treatments. Fear of stagnation, of never being anything, drives us to do great and wonderful things. But I believe the worst and most intense of all higher fears, is the fear of being forgotten. Of passing from this world and no one noticing or caring, or even if they do, they quit caring about it as soon as the funeral is over. That's part of the reason for the funeral home and gravestone industries. What is a gravestone, if not a big sign that screams out "Remember me? I existed!"? What is a funeral, if not some last desperate attempt by the deceased to make an impression? You see, even the poorest of people try to make sure they have arrangements made for a decent funeral.
All the men and women who have done great works of art, architecture, technology, engineering, all those who have left their mark on the world, have done so, so that they are not forgotten. They may not think so. They may give reasons, such as progress, altruism, even money. But what they truly want is to simply be remembered. That's why fame is such an attraction. Because if you get famous enough, you will always be remembered.
Fear, darkness, and madness... Whispered furtively in the night, in case they are listening.
What is that feeling, when you're lying safe in your bed at night, doors locked, windows bolted, gun on your side table, and yet you can't help but feel that something is waiting for you, out in the darkness? Something that you can't stop? Why is it that we fear darkness? Not outdoor darkness, that's understandable; it's a survival instinct. But tame, indoor darkness, darkness that we choose to be in, to sleep in, to spend eight hours out of every 24 in. Why do we fear it? Is it the same evolutionary trigger that makes us fear the outdoor darkness? The fear that there's something out there, unseen, that could possibly eat us? Is it really that simple? Or is it something worse, something more ancient perhaps, from the mythological mists of time, before our written records, just an unspoken dread that all humans carry in their hearts? I'm not sure, and that in itself is a bit scary to me. Not being able to fully analyze myself is a strange phenomenon that I'm not entirely comfortable with.
I know that animals have fear built in on a low level. Perhaps, humans, at a higher state of evolution, or creation, or whatever, over think a basic instinct. Because when an animal fears something, it walks away, or attacks. When a human fears something, it thinks about it a good bit. It's the reason for the phenomenon in horror movies, when the oversexed teenager hears a strange noise from the area that the killer was just in, and decides to go check it out, when clearly the smart thing to do would be to get out as fast as you could.
While I'm on the subject, why is it that humans are the only species to willingly experience things that scare them, such as horror movies, scary TV shows, haunted houses? What is this obsession with experiencing fear? If one of my dogs sees something that scares them, they walk away from it. They don't try to stand there for the adrenaline rush. Why do we insist on sitting through these tortures to our instincts, when really all they do is condition us to numb our natural reflexes?
Perhaps it's the intensity of the adrenaline rush. Most rushes we have a measure of control over. Sex, fighting, speed. All with a measure of control, the ability to slow down. But fear, fear is another story entirely. We have a certain lack of control from fear. We can't just slow down or stop being afraid of something. So the rush deepens, to the extent that you hear your blood roaring in your ears, and the slightest movement of anything will cause you to attack or run, just like the basest of animals.
Fear is yet another driving force for humanity. Fear of darkness drove us into light. Fear of exposure forced us to build shelter. Fear of loneliness causes us to seek that special someone. Fear of pain and death drove us to discover medicines and medical treatments. Fear of stagnation, of never being anything, drives us to do great and wonderful things. But I believe the worst and most intense of all higher fears, is the fear of being forgotten. Of passing from this world and no one noticing or caring, or even if they do, they quit caring about it as soon as the funeral is over. That's part of the reason for the funeral home and gravestone industries. What is a gravestone, if not a big sign that screams out "Remember me? I existed!"? What is a funeral, if not some last desperate attempt by the deceased to make an impression? You see, even the poorest of people try to make sure they have arrangements made for a decent funeral.
All the men and women who have done great works of art, architecture, technology, engineering, all those who have left their mark on the world, have done so, so that they are not forgotten. They may not think so. They may give reasons, such as progress, altruism, even money. But what they truly want is to simply be remembered. That's why fame is such an attraction. Because if you get famous enough, you will always be remembered.
Fear, darkness, and madness... Whispered furtively in the night, in case they are listening.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Can't See the Open Road
So here's something I have found to be true in 99% of cases. It will make me sound uncaring of other people's problems I suppose, but then again we all have problems, and what I'm about to say is related only to sort of pathetic problems.
Ready? This may blow some of your minds, and will definitely anger some of you. Here goes though... If everyone out there thinks there's something wrong with you, if everyone disagrees with you, it's not that they don't understand you or they don't accept you. They're right. You're the one who's wrong.
Let me clarify a bit here. I'm not talking about those of you in high school. If you have half a brain, in a few years you'll realize that nothing that happens in those stupid high school social cliques is important. So I'm not talking about people who make fun of you at school.
Mainly I'm talking about the 25 or older single people living in their parents basement, refusing to bathe properly, refusing to do anything to better their situation, refusing to simply go out there and have a social interaction, and yet who, for some reason, claim it's the rest of the world who's got the problem, not them. Let me let you in on a little secret. You're not some special little flower that, with a little understanding, would bring joy to everyone you meet. No, you're the same collection of raw materials all of us are made of. I'm not sure that you've noticed, but if you look outside of that little box you consider your life, you'll realize that there are people out there, made the exact same way you were, who live their lives and get out and meet people and improve their lot in life every day.
The self esteem movement was one of the worst catastrophes of last century. Even the psychologists who preached it have realized now that it ruined entire generations. Do you know why? Because when you hand a child a trophy just for participating in something, to keep his or her self esteem up, they learn something awful. Something that hinders them. It teaches them that it doesn't really matter how hard you try, it'll all work out anyway. So forget about going out and getting a job at 16, if you wait around long enough, something will fall into your lap. If you get a job, forget about working hard and driving yourself, those promotions will just stack up. They'll just throw money at you, simply for showing up! This sort of thinking is a disease. My entire generation is affected with it. Entitled, the whole lot of them, except for the few who were raised just a bit differently. Who raise themselves up by the skin of their teeth. Who don't rely on Mommy and Daddy to pay for school, who work every day, studying, working, earning money and knowledge by the sweat of their brow. That is the path to success. This world has no time for those who refuse to have ambition. They are the grit in the gears of success.
Stop expecting things to fall into place for you. As far as that part of your life goes, there is no destiny. You're the same as the rest of us. Go out and become something, do something with your life. Quit feeling entitled. Choose a goal and stick to it. No, you know what? Pick two goals, and stick to them. One to change your life, to improve your lot, and one to make you more interesting. Pick something to learn, something that makes you a better person. Learn an instrument, a second language, take night classes to learn a trade, anything that makes you better. As far as the life changing one goes, strive for a promotion at work, finally get serious about having a real relationship, or at the very least, get your own place.
You are a collection of atoms, a petri dish of genetic material, a blank slate. Your genetics tell you how intelligent, good looking, and healthy you will be to a certain extent, but that's about all you're entitled to. And don't give me that whole "way I was raised" excuse; plenty of people have risen above a horrible upbringing. What this all means, though, is that we, as humans, are defined simply by the things we do. We are not defined by what might have been, what should have been. We are defined by what is, what we accomplish. That's terrifying and wonderful all at the same time. That means, if your life is going nowhere, it's your fault. Not anyone else's. Yours. But there's a flipside to that. Once you realize this, that you can change who you are for the better, then you can improve your entire life. You can have a successful existence.
I'm not saying have a lot of money or business success. I'm saying become truly happy within yourself. Cut your hair, take a shower, slap on some cologne or perfume, smear on some zit cream, wash your clothes, iron your clothes, quit writing fan fiction and get out and make something of yourself. Just be a successful human being. That's the key to true high self esteem. Being satisfied with who you are. Truly satisfied. Not just the lie about being happy so you can keep from hurting yourself. Become a full person, and you won't need the false accolades and the approval of the world. You provide your own self esteem. Hence "self".
"They don't understand me"... Four of the most problematic words in the world.
Ready? This may blow some of your minds, and will definitely anger some of you. Here goes though... If everyone out there thinks there's something wrong with you, if everyone disagrees with you, it's not that they don't understand you or they don't accept you. They're right. You're the one who's wrong.
Let me clarify a bit here. I'm not talking about those of you in high school. If you have half a brain, in a few years you'll realize that nothing that happens in those stupid high school social cliques is important. So I'm not talking about people who make fun of you at school.
Mainly I'm talking about the 25 or older single people living in their parents basement, refusing to bathe properly, refusing to do anything to better their situation, refusing to simply go out there and have a social interaction, and yet who, for some reason, claim it's the rest of the world who's got the problem, not them. Let me let you in on a little secret. You're not some special little flower that, with a little understanding, would bring joy to everyone you meet. No, you're the same collection of raw materials all of us are made of. I'm not sure that you've noticed, but if you look outside of that little box you consider your life, you'll realize that there are people out there, made the exact same way you were, who live their lives and get out and meet people and improve their lot in life every day.
The self esteem movement was one of the worst catastrophes of last century. Even the psychologists who preached it have realized now that it ruined entire generations. Do you know why? Because when you hand a child a trophy just for participating in something, to keep his or her self esteem up, they learn something awful. Something that hinders them. It teaches them that it doesn't really matter how hard you try, it'll all work out anyway. So forget about going out and getting a job at 16, if you wait around long enough, something will fall into your lap. If you get a job, forget about working hard and driving yourself, those promotions will just stack up. They'll just throw money at you, simply for showing up! This sort of thinking is a disease. My entire generation is affected with it. Entitled, the whole lot of them, except for the few who were raised just a bit differently. Who raise themselves up by the skin of their teeth. Who don't rely on Mommy and Daddy to pay for school, who work every day, studying, working, earning money and knowledge by the sweat of their brow. That is the path to success. This world has no time for those who refuse to have ambition. They are the grit in the gears of success.
Stop expecting things to fall into place for you. As far as that part of your life goes, there is no destiny. You're the same as the rest of us. Go out and become something, do something with your life. Quit feeling entitled. Choose a goal and stick to it. No, you know what? Pick two goals, and stick to them. One to change your life, to improve your lot, and one to make you more interesting. Pick something to learn, something that makes you a better person. Learn an instrument, a second language, take night classes to learn a trade, anything that makes you better. As far as the life changing one goes, strive for a promotion at work, finally get serious about having a real relationship, or at the very least, get your own place.
You are a collection of atoms, a petri dish of genetic material, a blank slate. Your genetics tell you how intelligent, good looking, and healthy you will be to a certain extent, but that's about all you're entitled to. And don't give me that whole "way I was raised" excuse; plenty of people have risen above a horrible upbringing. What this all means, though, is that we, as humans, are defined simply by the things we do. We are not defined by what might have been, what should have been. We are defined by what is, what we accomplish. That's terrifying and wonderful all at the same time. That means, if your life is going nowhere, it's your fault. Not anyone else's. Yours. But there's a flipside to that. Once you realize this, that you can change who you are for the better, then you can improve your entire life. You can have a successful existence.
I'm not saying have a lot of money or business success. I'm saying become truly happy within yourself. Cut your hair, take a shower, slap on some cologne or perfume, smear on some zit cream, wash your clothes, iron your clothes, quit writing fan fiction and get out and make something of yourself. Just be a successful human being. That's the key to true high self esteem. Being satisfied with who you are. Truly satisfied. Not just the lie about being happy so you can keep from hurting yourself. Become a full person, and you won't need the false accolades and the approval of the world. You provide your own self esteem. Hence "self".
"They don't understand me"... Four of the most problematic words in the world.
Monday, December 9, 2013
Same in a Relative Way, But Older
Time changes our perception of things. Things we used to believe, the way we used to behave, to think, to live, all different with the passing of time. If a person is encountered who does not change, then that person is barely a person at all, but a beast, stuck walking the same path around its life, like a wolf stuck in a cage at a zoo. Change, the ability to adapt to it, to redefine who we are, is what makes us human.
I look back at myself, at my life thus far, at the age of 23. I see how I used to be. Starting out for quite a long time of my younger life, innocent, God-fearing, morally upright. Shy, but not unfriendly. The type who would lead if given the chance, but would follow as well. It was all the same to that boy. No cares, no worries, other than those pertaining to the afterlife, and the worry of my destination after death. Not such an innocent thing, but that's the way I was raised.
Then, I became increasingly introspective, spending days at a time in books, inside the house, or out in the woods, it didn't matter which. Just me and the pages. I loved that. There's something to be said for the beauty of the printed page, all environmental concerns aside. The smell of paper, the crinkle of the leaves being turned, and the suspense of a page turning to reveal what the next plot point was. I never had much truck with non-fiction in those days. No, I wanted nothing but fuel for my imagination, which at the time was filled with friendly dragons, tame sword fights, and peaceful voyages across the stars.
This continued until I got my first real, taxable income, job. I was so shy and quiet that I don't believe anyone got two words out of me for the first month I worked there. People made it their mission to get me to come out of my shell, to talk to them. That was also where I met my wife. She was especially responsible for pulling me out of myself and making me into a person who could actually participate in a social setting.
I'm not sure when the rage began. Looking back now, it's all cloudy. Dusty, like furniture stored in an attic and never used. There's nothing sinister there I'm sure of it, and yet somehow I know that between the ages of about 13 and 16 I was filled with an unquenchable anger at everything. I've written of this before. Mostly I believe it to be righteous anger, rage at the inequities inherent in our world, but there is a darker side as well. A side that simply revels in blood lust and violence.
I began to fight. I had always fought a bit. My parents, believing that a person should know how to defend themselves, enrolled me in martial arts at a very young age, and I attained my black belt in Tae Kwon Do when I was 15. I enjoyed the fighting though. More than the discipline or the exercise or the camaraderie, I craved the rush of the fight. It became my driving urge. For a few years that's all I wanted.
I look back at that person now. Relatively it was a short time ago. Was it really me who destroyed friendships simply because of a desire to be the strongest man in the room? Me, who punched someone so hard they threw up, simply because they had dared to make fun of me? Me, who believed that any conflict, either personal, national, or worldwide, could and should be solved with the proper amount of violence? It was pathetic. I remember what I did and who I was now, and I find myself embarrassed. Angry with my younger self, for acting like such a fool. For throwing away all the discipline and mental fortitude, for a cheap high off of adrenaline, at the cost of my reputation among my friends. It is a completely different person I look at from then to now.
I am more cynical now as well. I no longer believe that my country is the shining white light of the world that I thought it was at that age. I no longer hold to the exact same religious beliefs that those before me followed without question. I no longer believe in the innate goodness of humankind, nor do I believe that we are inherently evil. I have found that no one in our government is worth putting my faith in to fix our country, and I believe that, were I in that situation, I would not do any better either. I have no truly pure untainted views anymore. I look at the young boy without a care in the world and think, was I really that naive at some point?
My imagination, while still filled with the dragons and swords and space trips, is no longer so innocent, as all these things are tainted by the anger and the blood lust that I hold at bay.
But you know what's really strange? I mean, what really takes the cake here?
I love who I am. I love the cynicism, the complicated belief systems, the suspicion of our leaders. I love my imagination and my anger and yes, even the blood lust. I do not regret who I have become. I am not evil, or holy. Not good or bad. I just am. I exist, and because I exist, I can love. I can love and I can hate and I can feel and I can give praise and I can deride. I can despair and I can rejoice and I can run and jump and breathe and imagine.
And once I accepted that? Well... the rush from the fighting doesn't hold a candle to the rush from simply knowing that you are alive.
I look back at myself, at my life thus far, at the age of 23. I see how I used to be. Starting out for quite a long time of my younger life, innocent, God-fearing, morally upright. Shy, but not unfriendly. The type who would lead if given the chance, but would follow as well. It was all the same to that boy. No cares, no worries, other than those pertaining to the afterlife, and the worry of my destination after death. Not such an innocent thing, but that's the way I was raised.
Then, I became increasingly introspective, spending days at a time in books, inside the house, or out in the woods, it didn't matter which. Just me and the pages. I loved that. There's something to be said for the beauty of the printed page, all environmental concerns aside. The smell of paper, the crinkle of the leaves being turned, and the suspense of a page turning to reveal what the next plot point was. I never had much truck with non-fiction in those days. No, I wanted nothing but fuel for my imagination, which at the time was filled with friendly dragons, tame sword fights, and peaceful voyages across the stars.
This continued until I got my first real, taxable income, job. I was so shy and quiet that I don't believe anyone got two words out of me for the first month I worked there. People made it their mission to get me to come out of my shell, to talk to them. That was also where I met my wife. She was especially responsible for pulling me out of myself and making me into a person who could actually participate in a social setting.
I'm not sure when the rage began. Looking back now, it's all cloudy. Dusty, like furniture stored in an attic and never used. There's nothing sinister there I'm sure of it, and yet somehow I know that between the ages of about 13 and 16 I was filled with an unquenchable anger at everything. I've written of this before. Mostly I believe it to be righteous anger, rage at the inequities inherent in our world, but there is a darker side as well. A side that simply revels in blood lust and violence.
I began to fight. I had always fought a bit. My parents, believing that a person should know how to defend themselves, enrolled me in martial arts at a very young age, and I attained my black belt in Tae Kwon Do when I was 15. I enjoyed the fighting though. More than the discipline or the exercise or the camaraderie, I craved the rush of the fight. It became my driving urge. For a few years that's all I wanted.
I look back at that person now. Relatively it was a short time ago. Was it really me who destroyed friendships simply because of a desire to be the strongest man in the room? Me, who punched someone so hard they threw up, simply because they had dared to make fun of me? Me, who believed that any conflict, either personal, national, or worldwide, could and should be solved with the proper amount of violence? It was pathetic. I remember what I did and who I was now, and I find myself embarrassed. Angry with my younger self, for acting like such a fool. For throwing away all the discipline and mental fortitude, for a cheap high off of adrenaline, at the cost of my reputation among my friends. It is a completely different person I look at from then to now.
I am more cynical now as well. I no longer believe that my country is the shining white light of the world that I thought it was at that age. I no longer hold to the exact same religious beliefs that those before me followed without question. I no longer believe in the innate goodness of humankind, nor do I believe that we are inherently evil. I have found that no one in our government is worth putting my faith in to fix our country, and I believe that, were I in that situation, I would not do any better either. I have no truly pure untainted views anymore. I look at the young boy without a care in the world and think, was I really that naive at some point?
My imagination, while still filled with the dragons and swords and space trips, is no longer so innocent, as all these things are tainted by the anger and the blood lust that I hold at bay.
But you know what's really strange? I mean, what really takes the cake here?
I love who I am. I love the cynicism, the complicated belief systems, the suspicion of our leaders. I love my imagination and my anger and yes, even the blood lust. I do not regret who I have become. I am not evil, or holy. Not good or bad. I just am. I exist, and because I exist, I can love. I can love and I can hate and I can feel and I can give praise and I can deride. I can despair and I can rejoice and I can run and jump and breathe and imagine.
And once I accepted that? Well... the rush from the fighting doesn't hold a candle to the rush from simply knowing that you are alive.
Mystery of the Quotient
Rain... One of the most beautiful sounds in the world. One of the most beautiful phenomena in the world.
A baptism, not in the name of God, or under supervision of any religion, but a baptism of the world, pure freshening of the Earth, and all its inhabitants.
It's beautiful, isn't it? When it's just pure white rain beating down, causing the growth of a million species...
Not necessarily when it storms, although there's something to be said for that as well, but when rain falls in abundance, on your roof, your window panes, the nature all around you. When it drenches the night and day in a gray light, washing away all sins in a single moment of pure audible bliss; all is forgiven in the wake of its majesty, if only for a while.
If there were anything to be worshipped in nature, it would be the beauty of the rain, each drop a microcosm of life, changing and growing, only to splash down upon the rock, in an instance changing from life to death, and yet from that, life is born anew, in the plants, in the animals, in the waters, and in humanity.
And what of the rain that pounds, and destroys? Simple natural processes turned into one of the most powerful weapons on the face of the planet, in hours and days washing away monuments to tectonic movements that took millenia to build. Washing away the works of man that intrude upon the natural kingdom in an instant, leaving us all feeling insignificant and scrambling to save that which is precious to us, while it continues falling, unhindered by our plight.
If this is not beauty, if this not a symbol of life and death, of growth and decay, of time and eternity, then what is?
Walk outside, and feel the chill in your bones as your clothes become instantly soaked. Feel the drops, hear the sound, and know that you are alive. You live as part of something so much greater than yourself, something so much greater than your entire species, something that could wipe you away in a blink, and at the same time, provides the very substances you need to survive.
My writing does not begin to do the phenomenon justice. I cannot begin to describe the elation that must be felt by each drop as it begins it's flight to the Earth. Nor can I describe the abject terror that must be felt by every organism upon impact. The feeling, that though we are all separate, we become united in the face of our greatest provider, and most feared adversary, and become one as humanity, all cleansed, forgiven, and new under the blessing of the rain.
Auditory, physical, and spiritual bliss... in the baptism of rain.
A baptism, not in the name of God, or under supervision of any religion, but a baptism of the world, pure freshening of the Earth, and all its inhabitants.
It's beautiful, isn't it? When it's just pure white rain beating down, causing the growth of a million species...
Not necessarily when it storms, although there's something to be said for that as well, but when rain falls in abundance, on your roof, your window panes, the nature all around you. When it drenches the night and day in a gray light, washing away all sins in a single moment of pure audible bliss; all is forgiven in the wake of its majesty, if only for a while.
If there were anything to be worshipped in nature, it would be the beauty of the rain, each drop a microcosm of life, changing and growing, only to splash down upon the rock, in an instance changing from life to death, and yet from that, life is born anew, in the plants, in the animals, in the waters, and in humanity.
And what of the rain that pounds, and destroys? Simple natural processes turned into one of the most powerful weapons on the face of the planet, in hours and days washing away monuments to tectonic movements that took millenia to build. Washing away the works of man that intrude upon the natural kingdom in an instant, leaving us all feeling insignificant and scrambling to save that which is precious to us, while it continues falling, unhindered by our plight.
If this is not beauty, if this not a symbol of life and death, of growth and decay, of time and eternity, then what is?
Walk outside, and feel the chill in your bones as your clothes become instantly soaked. Feel the drops, hear the sound, and know that you are alive. You live as part of something so much greater than yourself, something so much greater than your entire species, something that could wipe you away in a blink, and at the same time, provides the very substances you need to survive.
My writing does not begin to do the phenomenon justice. I cannot begin to describe the elation that must be felt by each drop as it begins it's flight to the Earth. Nor can I describe the abject terror that must be felt by every organism upon impact. The feeling, that though we are all separate, we become united in the face of our greatest provider, and most feared adversary, and become one as humanity, all cleansed, forgiven, and new under the blessing of the rain.
Auditory, physical, and spiritual bliss... in the baptism of rain.
Saturday, December 7, 2013
Adjust
So, despite it being years since the term was coined, the phrase "friend zone" is still ridiculously popular among men and boys who believe that women should date them just for being a decent human being. This disturbs me.
For starters, let's title the phrase as what it actually means. At best it should be titled "pine away after unrequited love forever zone", and at worst it should be titled "stalker zone". Because let's be honest. In most cases the person in the zone has either not explicitly made his feelings clear, or he has, and has ceased to be part of an easy friendship and become more of an obsessive. Here's the thing men. You cannot expect women to just want you because you're not a jerk. It doesn't work that way. Women will tolerate a rather large amount of bad behavior from the men you think are jerks, for the simple reason that those men typically have things about them that make them interesting or appealing. If you just hang out with a woman all the time, and treat her like a queen, you'll still lose out to the man who talks to her only on occasion, but owns a nice car, has a good job, speaks a second language, plays two instruments (interesting ones), and knows how to tell her he's interested. Why does that seem so unfair to apparently the majority of males on the Internet? It makes sense. If she's a traditional woman, she'll like it because he can support her. If she's more modern-minded (which is better in my opinion), then she'll like it because it means she won't have to support him. You can't expect a woman to be impressed by nice deeds and non-skills. Yeah, you bought her lunch and helped her change a flat, and yeah, you're pretty great at Mass Effect. That doesn't make you the most eligible bachelor in her life. For one thing, it's high past time a girl knew how to change her own flat, and you'd be surprised how many know how to if a guy isn't there to do it. For another, being good at video games isn't a skill. I see it listed as a skill all the time. For God's sake, I saw a CV that listed that as a skill once. Again, it's not.
Women want men who are interesting, can pay for dates, have a social life and friends, have future plans, understand basic hygiene, and have an air of confidence about them. You stammering your way through admitting your feelings to her didn't come across as sweet and didn't melt her heart. It came across as begging and pathetic, especially if you've invested a lot of time into building a friendship with her first. If you find yourself talking to a girl on a regular basis for more than two weeks without asking her out, trust me, that ship has sailed. She exclusively thinks of you as a friend, unless you are one of those outgoing interesting confident men I was speaking of a second ago. And a man like that knows to ask a girl out before two weeks, because he knows what he wants and that he doesn't want another friend.
Side note: No woman is going to be even slightly interested in you if you sweat when you move, pant when you think, have grease flowing from every pore, and have your zits and neck beard groomed together. Get in shape. I'm not saying look like a model. I'm overweight myself. Just don't look like a guy who would die from a heart attack while sleeping with a woman. Do some cardio, take a shower (every day, and wash your bloody hair), get some zit cream, and if you're gonna have facial hair at least style it. A soul patch or a goatee, douchey as they are, are preferred over a patchy ungroomed neck beard.
So what should you do if you've fallen hopelessly in love with a girl, confessed your feelings, but instead of her immediately jumping on your lap, you heard the whole sad terrible demoralizing "just friends" speech? It's very simple. Very painful and slightly awful, but very simple. You break your own heart. You stop trying with that particular woman. You take your heart out, crush it in your hands, shove it back in your chest, and work on moving on. Her feeling about you more than likely will not change if you keep hanging around. It's more likely that she'll start to think of you as creepy and feel uncomfortable around you. Trust me, I've gone through it.
My wife and I had a long history of the "friend zone" before we ever got together. I first friend zoned her when we met. Not long after, I realized I had made a mistake, but it was too late. See, most women stop being interested when they're friend zoned. So, when I became interested, she friend zoned me. After six months or so, I explained my feelings to her, and got the "just friends" speech. I became determined to win her back. I texted her over one hundred times a day. I made plans every day with her. If she wanted to hang out with someone else, I became jealous, and I made sure to cancel plans with other friends if she wanted to hang out with me. I was, in short, a stalker. And she knew that. She thought of me as being creepy, possessive, and obsessive, about a relationship that didn't actually exist. She eventually told me that, prompting me to have a life-changing realization.
She friend-zoned me because I was too familiar.
I was being creepy.
I was being a bit of a stalker.
I could end it by adjusting my methods and leaving.
So that's what I did. I broke my heart and quit hanging out with her so much. I concentrated on my music, my friends, and above all, on other girls. We didn't stop being friendly, but for a bit at least, we were no longer inseparable. It was working much better actually. She didn't get disgusted by my presence, and I didn't feel like an obsessive creep. I started dating a girl who liked that I was a musician, that I knew how to work on cars, talk to women, and make money, and who was most importantly only a casual acquaintance who I had known for very little time. But then a weird thing happened. My wife became jealous. She realized she liked those things about me too. She missed having me around all the time, and hated the fact that other women could be interested in me. She wanted me back. So we got together, and four years later, I'm happily married.
So, it seems that I'm saying, "hey, keep trying you'll get out of the friend zone eventually!" I'm not. You'll note, that I only did when I quit trying to be with the woman who later became my wife. You can't expect a woman to be into you if she knows literally everything about you. There's no mystery, no interest.
So the message is to adjust and try again with another girl. What you have isn't actually love. It's the love of an idea, of a concept. It's not something real.
Love is something almost holy, that must be worked out between two people who both want it to happen. It is the highest pleasure that man can attain in this life. True love doesn't happen at first meeting, and you don't "just know" when it's right. On some level, it will be easy, but not in the way you think. Love is to be equated with truth, and when one person lies about their intentions, love cannot be had.
"Friend zone"... what a crock.
For starters, let's title the phrase as what it actually means. At best it should be titled "pine away after unrequited love forever zone", and at worst it should be titled "stalker zone". Because let's be honest. In most cases the person in the zone has either not explicitly made his feelings clear, or he has, and has ceased to be part of an easy friendship and become more of an obsessive. Here's the thing men. You cannot expect women to just want you because you're not a jerk. It doesn't work that way. Women will tolerate a rather large amount of bad behavior from the men you think are jerks, for the simple reason that those men typically have things about them that make them interesting or appealing. If you just hang out with a woman all the time, and treat her like a queen, you'll still lose out to the man who talks to her only on occasion, but owns a nice car, has a good job, speaks a second language, plays two instruments (interesting ones), and knows how to tell her he's interested. Why does that seem so unfair to apparently the majority of males on the Internet? It makes sense. If she's a traditional woman, she'll like it because he can support her. If she's more modern-minded (which is better in my opinion), then she'll like it because it means she won't have to support him. You can't expect a woman to be impressed by nice deeds and non-skills. Yeah, you bought her lunch and helped her change a flat, and yeah, you're pretty great at Mass Effect. That doesn't make you the most eligible bachelor in her life. For one thing, it's high past time a girl knew how to change her own flat, and you'd be surprised how many know how to if a guy isn't there to do it. For another, being good at video games isn't a skill. I see it listed as a skill all the time. For God's sake, I saw a CV that listed that as a skill once. Again, it's not.
Women want men who are interesting, can pay for dates, have a social life and friends, have future plans, understand basic hygiene, and have an air of confidence about them. You stammering your way through admitting your feelings to her didn't come across as sweet and didn't melt her heart. It came across as begging and pathetic, especially if you've invested a lot of time into building a friendship with her first. If you find yourself talking to a girl on a regular basis for more than two weeks without asking her out, trust me, that ship has sailed. She exclusively thinks of you as a friend, unless you are one of those outgoing interesting confident men I was speaking of a second ago. And a man like that knows to ask a girl out before two weeks, because he knows what he wants and that he doesn't want another friend.
Side note: No woman is going to be even slightly interested in you if you sweat when you move, pant when you think, have grease flowing from every pore, and have your zits and neck beard groomed together. Get in shape. I'm not saying look like a model. I'm overweight myself. Just don't look like a guy who would die from a heart attack while sleeping with a woman. Do some cardio, take a shower (every day, and wash your bloody hair), get some zit cream, and if you're gonna have facial hair at least style it. A soul patch or a goatee, douchey as they are, are preferred over a patchy ungroomed neck beard.
So what should you do if you've fallen hopelessly in love with a girl, confessed your feelings, but instead of her immediately jumping on your lap, you heard the whole sad terrible demoralizing "just friends" speech? It's very simple. Very painful and slightly awful, but very simple. You break your own heart. You stop trying with that particular woman. You take your heart out, crush it in your hands, shove it back in your chest, and work on moving on. Her feeling about you more than likely will not change if you keep hanging around. It's more likely that she'll start to think of you as creepy and feel uncomfortable around you. Trust me, I've gone through it.
My wife and I had a long history of the "friend zone" before we ever got together. I first friend zoned her when we met. Not long after, I realized I had made a mistake, but it was too late. See, most women stop being interested when they're friend zoned. So, when I became interested, she friend zoned me. After six months or so, I explained my feelings to her, and got the "just friends" speech. I became determined to win her back. I texted her over one hundred times a day. I made plans every day with her. If she wanted to hang out with someone else, I became jealous, and I made sure to cancel plans with other friends if she wanted to hang out with me. I was, in short, a stalker. And she knew that. She thought of me as being creepy, possessive, and obsessive, about a relationship that didn't actually exist. She eventually told me that, prompting me to have a life-changing realization.
She friend-zoned me because I was too familiar.
I was being creepy.
I was being a bit of a stalker.
I could end it by adjusting my methods and leaving.
So that's what I did. I broke my heart and quit hanging out with her so much. I concentrated on my music, my friends, and above all, on other girls. We didn't stop being friendly, but for a bit at least, we were no longer inseparable. It was working much better actually. She didn't get disgusted by my presence, and I didn't feel like an obsessive creep. I started dating a girl who liked that I was a musician, that I knew how to work on cars, talk to women, and make money, and who was most importantly only a casual acquaintance who I had known for very little time. But then a weird thing happened. My wife became jealous. She realized she liked those things about me too. She missed having me around all the time, and hated the fact that other women could be interested in me. She wanted me back. So we got together, and four years later, I'm happily married.
So, it seems that I'm saying, "hey, keep trying you'll get out of the friend zone eventually!" I'm not. You'll note, that I only did when I quit trying to be with the woman who later became my wife. You can't expect a woman to be into you if she knows literally everything about you. There's no mystery, no interest.
So the message is to adjust and try again with another girl. What you have isn't actually love. It's the love of an idea, of a concept. It's not something real.
Love is something almost holy, that must be worked out between two people who both want it to happen. It is the highest pleasure that man can attain in this life. True love doesn't happen at first meeting, and you don't "just know" when it's right. On some level, it will be easy, but not in the way you think. Love is to be equated with truth, and when one person lies about their intentions, love cannot be had.
"Friend zone"... what a crock.
Friday, December 6, 2013
Ended Expectations
Not exactly the most novel idea, I'm aware. However, things become cliches because of having a grain of truth in them. So let us talk about the idea of expectations versus reality.
For a few months I had planned on getting someone a rather expensive gift for Christmas. Sadly, I cannot. Three months ago, my finances were in better shape and I had the buying power necessary to make my idea a reality. I was to keep putting money back for the gift and buy it within the past few weeks. I had it on layaway to make this easier, but I had to take it off layaway to get the down payment back for an emergency. I'm not sure why I thought I would be able to come up with the money on my own without the layaway, since I'm about as good at saving money as a dog is at writing poetry. Despite my claiming to be a cynic, and thinking critically about most things, I still retain a certain amount of naivete when it comes to my future finances. I work a simple minimum wage job and have enough bills and debt to drown someone making twice my income, and yet I continue to believe that in three months, my situation will be better. I suppose it is the fault of a young human psyche. That eternal balm of the spirit and bitter enemy of rational thought that is hope. It's a horrible wonderful thing, to hope. Makes your situation better when you dare to do it, and crushes you even further when the situation doesn't end the way you anticipated. There seem to be certain parts of the human brain where instead of common sense, God or evolution put a "what a good idea" tag. Foolish hope is one, monarchism is one, happy endings, fattening foods.
Off track. So apparently my wife, who I love dearly, wanted me to back off of buying this expensive gift, but instead of coming out and saying so, she implied it in a round about way. While normally I understand what she's doing when she does this, this time I didn't simply because I was so focused on buying it. After all, we had gotten a bonus at work and a heavy discount, so why shouldn't we buy it? Thinking about it now, it seems stupid, because obviously we can't spend half of a pay period right before Christmas on one gift for one person, but I feel I am entitled to my idealistic moments just like any other pitiful fool out there. Since I didn't get her implication, she (understandably) got upset, but instead of coming right out and telling me so, or even acting like something is wrong, she just posted a rant about it on her blog. Which obviously is similar to what I'm doing now, with the exception that I did talk to her about this.
I just don't understand why she feels the need to do this. I'm not unreasonable. If she just talks to me I always listen and even if I don't agree at least all the cards will be on the table. I'm whining a bit here, but to be fair, I am incredibly angry at not being able to afford the gift, and depressed about the state of my finances. I love my wife, and wouldn't have my life (or at least the part involving her) any different. But I really do wish she would talk to me in person instead of hoping I just happen to read her blog in time for what it says to matter.
When it comes down to it, my naivete about my finances have caused me no small amount of grief in the past, and today is just another item in that ledger.
Ah... Lower class income living. There's nothing like it.
For a few months I had planned on getting someone a rather expensive gift for Christmas. Sadly, I cannot. Three months ago, my finances were in better shape and I had the buying power necessary to make my idea a reality. I was to keep putting money back for the gift and buy it within the past few weeks. I had it on layaway to make this easier, but I had to take it off layaway to get the down payment back for an emergency. I'm not sure why I thought I would be able to come up with the money on my own without the layaway, since I'm about as good at saving money as a dog is at writing poetry. Despite my claiming to be a cynic, and thinking critically about most things, I still retain a certain amount of naivete when it comes to my future finances. I work a simple minimum wage job and have enough bills and debt to drown someone making twice my income, and yet I continue to believe that in three months, my situation will be better. I suppose it is the fault of a young human psyche. That eternal balm of the spirit and bitter enemy of rational thought that is hope. It's a horrible wonderful thing, to hope. Makes your situation better when you dare to do it, and crushes you even further when the situation doesn't end the way you anticipated. There seem to be certain parts of the human brain where instead of common sense, God or evolution put a "what a good idea" tag. Foolish hope is one, monarchism is one, happy endings, fattening foods.
Off track. So apparently my wife, who I love dearly, wanted me to back off of buying this expensive gift, but instead of coming out and saying so, she implied it in a round about way. While normally I understand what she's doing when she does this, this time I didn't simply because I was so focused on buying it. After all, we had gotten a bonus at work and a heavy discount, so why shouldn't we buy it? Thinking about it now, it seems stupid, because obviously we can't spend half of a pay period right before Christmas on one gift for one person, but I feel I am entitled to my idealistic moments just like any other pitiful fool out there. Since I didn't get her implication, she (understandably) got upset, but instead of coming right out and telling me so, or even acting like something is wrong, she just posted a rant about it on her blog. Which obviously is similar to what I'm doing now, with the exception that I did talk to her about this.
I just don't understand why she feels the need to do this. I'm not unreasonable. If she just talks to me I always listen and even if I don't agree at least all the cards will be on the table. I'm whining a bit here, but to be fair, I am incredibly angry at not being able to afford the gift, and depressed about the state of my finances. I love my wife, and wouldn't have my life (or at least the part involving her) any different. But I really do wish she would talk to me in person instead of hoping I just happen to read her blog in time for what it says to matter.
When it comes down to it, my naivete about my finances have caused me no small amount of grief in the past, and today is just another item in that ledger.
Ah... Lower class income living. There's nothing like it.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Noise
Rage. That unshakable anger that drives me and hinders me, that defines most of what I do, and condemns those things in which I fail. It came to me at an early age, for no apparent reason. I found myself angry at everything, everyone, even those I had no need to be angry at. I was raised in a good home, with good parents. Spent quite a bit of my teenage years angry at them for no real reason, maybe simple rebellion. Anger at any who attempted to control me became a regular feature of my psyche. I was brought up to be a preacher, a Baptist man of the cloth, and yet all my sermons were angry condemnation against the falsehoods and hypocrisy in the modern church. And they loved it. Why is it when you look someone in the eyes and tell them they're worthless, that everything they do is wrong, that the way they treat people is evil, why is it that they smile and applaud and agree. Anger.
I'm off track. My rage became what defined me. I fought. My classmates, random idiots. I'd fight a tree if there was no one else. I carry the scars on my knuckles from that very thing. The blood lust of my ancestors ran strong in my veins, still does. Not lust for the kill, but lust for the feeling of dancing on the edge. You and another, locked in a conflict that could leave you or him destroyed. The rush... there's nothing quite like it. I lived for it for a few years.
Then I met my wife, God bless her. She was everything to me. She had more reason to be damaged than me. Divorced parents, bad home life at a young age, terrible string of awful men as boyfriends. And I loved every broken splintered piece of her. Still do. She didn't approve of my fighting, not because she was a pacifist or anything, but because she saw who I was when the blood lust reigned in my eyes. When the rage in my skull flowed down into my fists and forced them through walls and blocks. Because of her, I stopped fighting. Bottled the rage as best as I could and moved on.
Then my father passed. He was my best friend, my confidant, and my mentor. Rage locked down again. My anger made me almost incapable of even the simplest sympathetic gestures towards my family. So I learned to fake empathy and a sad peace during the most turbulent part of my life. I've never been good at sorrow. Rage I get, it accomplishes things, but sorrow... it just saps the will to do anything, to be anything. That's when the buzzing started.
A feeling behind my eyes. Like a hive of bees in the frontal lobes of my brain. As I type this I feel it, even now. Perhaps it is simply a placebo, something that only truly happens when I think of it. Whatever it is, I am bothered by it.
My mind, after so much time of bottling rage, became good at it. It is a fortress. The only feelings I allow to escape are ones I wish to let free. Rage comes when I call, and leaves when I wish it to. I fear that the buzzing is cracks in the mental wall. I fear one day that the rage will break out, all my locks and walls and chains will have disappeared and I won't be able to stop it.
Rage. What a lovely emotion.
I'm off track. My rage became what defined me. I fought. My classmates, random idiots. I'd fight a tree if there was no one else. I carry the scars on my knuckles from that very thing. The blood lust of my ancestors ran strong in my veins, still does. Not lust for the kill, but lust for the feeling of dancing on the edge. You and another, locked in a conflict that could leave you or him destroyed. The rush... there's nothing quite like it. I lived for it for a few years.
Then I met my wife, God bless her. She was everything to me. She had more reason to be damaged than me. Divorced parents, bad home life at a young age, terrible string of awful men as boyfriends. And I loved every broken splintered piece of her. Still do. She didn't approve of my fighting, not because she was a pacifist or anything, but because she saw who I was when the blood lust reigned in my eyes. When the rage in my skull flowed down into my fists and forced them through walls and blocks. Because of her, I stopped fighting. Bottled the rage as best as I could and moved on.
Then my father passed. He was my best friend, my confidant, and my mentor. Rage locked down again. My anger made me almost incapable of even the simplest sympathetic gestures towards my family. So I learned to fake empathy and a sad peace during the most turbulent part of my life. I've never been good at sorrow. Rage I get, it accomplishes things, but sorrow... it just saps the will to do anything, to be anything. That's when the buzzing started.
A feeling behind my eyes. Like a hive of bees in the frontal lobes of my brain. As I type this I feel it, even now. Perhaps it is simply a placebo, something that only truly happens when I think of it. Whatever it is, I am bothered by it.
My mind, after so much time of bottling rage, became good at it. It is a fortress. The only feelings I allow to escape are ones I wish to let free. Rage comes when I call, and leaves when I wish it to. I fear that the buzzing is cracks in the mental wall. I fear one day that the rage will break out, all my locks and walls and chains will have disappeared and I won't be able to stop it.
Rage. What a lovely emotion.
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