The burning flame. The Cockroach eternal. The bubbling cauldron that strips the flesh from despair and cooks it into the grim broth that nourishes the spirit long after all other sources have failed. Beyond logic, beyond reason, beyond resources, hope will keep us going.
At it's best is the beacon of light against a dark and terrible world. At it's worst it is the twisted carrot that drives us deeper into madness. It lets us wallow and gives us an excuse for not moving forward. Because many times reality cannot live up to the glorious creations of the mind that our hope empowers us to strive for. We say we're waiting, that we're just looking for the right time. And sometimes it's true.
But sometimes it's cause we're too afraid of it not coming to pass. Sometimes it's because we don't want to deal with the grim reality that dances a tango of razors across our fragile dreams. Dreams are a comfort that we have some small control over. And hope is what gives them power.
When we are in our darkest times it's the hope for the better that can pull us out of the hole and back into the light. But the comfort we find in hope can just so easily turn toxic, created unrealistic expectations and lead us down the path to ruin.
I say all this because I'm prone to the worst kind of hope. The pillar of Promethian fire that promises to transform the world into something new and profound. But like all fire, if I rely on it too much, or if I don't tend it the right way, I'll get burned. Or even worse... I'll lose it.
I hate hope. I have spilled more tears and screamed more silent screams in the name of hope then I have anything else. A lot of that I fully acknowledge is due to what I'm usually hopeful about.
I hope to be loved, in the same way that I love.
I hope to have a family to call my own, and not one that I borrow for a few precious moments before reality slams down hard.
I hope to be successful, and to not have to devote my life to worrying about where the next scrap of green paper is coming from.
Though there is a hope that I hold so dearly that I cannot pry it from my heart. Its tendrils travel so deep that to pry it away is to sacrifice my life itself. It's one that I know many others also feel but this is one that truly defines me. What I want more than anything, what I hope for with the intensity of a starving child...
Is to belong.
Not to just be accepted. Not to just be tolerated. But to be able to throw ALL that I am into a community that needs and wants me there. A place where I can wear all the masks I have without worry about the consequences.
Sadly I don't think that place exists. But like every other fool looking up at the stars... I'll just keep hoping.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Equality
If you couldn't have guessed, this one is about the gay marriage.
I recently discovered that I am in fact quite passionate about this issue. It took me entirely be surprise. And the catalyst for this sudden burning passion is the arguments against it. Or to put it much more accurately, the complete lack of arguments against it. There is no compelling case against it. There is no logic that can be backed by anything quantifiable.
There is no research to support the idea that gays marrying will do anything more than having an increase in married gays. There is nothing wrong with having more committed relationships. There is nothing wrong with having children raised by homosexual couples. As long as they create a stable living arrangement for the children to live within who give two flying shits about the manner in which their genitals interlock.
There are some accurate statements. Same sex couples do not produce babies. That is a point we will concede. But you know what the one thing that we have in a comfortable excess? Children without stable homes. Hundreds of thousands of children are without caretakers. They sit and wait for there to be more loving, stable homes that do not come. If we can do anything to give them homes that will love them, we as moral and ethical people should do whatever it takes to let these children have homes with the resources to care for them.
There are no accidental or unwanted children when you can't have your own. That's one of those safe guards put into the system itself. They won't allow just anyone to adopt. Which makes it a much better safeguard against bad situations than heterosexual couples as far as I'm concerned.
The one that is used the most these days, is the religious argument. Which when you're talking about a legal and civil matter is utterly meaningless. Your God has no place in the formation of laws. My Gods have no place in the creation of laws. They can inspire us and give us small guidance and comfort but law should be based in what's best for the most number of people, while avoiding tyranny both of the majority and the tyrant. They shouldn't be based on rules and moral systems for a completely different world.
The world lives and changes. We recognize that there are different rules for our children than there were for our parents. It is a completely different world out there. If your God created the universe then he would have to understand that. And hell Mormonism even admits that with the idea of a living prophet. But those that currently hold that seat are from a completely different world than the one we live in and should have no more say in this then their individual vote.
Now, what I'm about to say will offend, and at this point, I don't care. If your God created the universe and all that inhabit it. That means that he made people predisposed to same sex attraction and all of the physical and genetic markers that that would entail. So following this logic, God would know you're gay. He made you. If He's all knowing then he's aware of your preference. He gave that gift. And He believes that sex outside of marriage is the most horrible of sins.
So he has created a class of people who he has knowingly and willingly damned. Because that attraction is innate to them, and they have no means of fulfilling it without falling to sin. I can think of fewer more painful hells than being trapped in an endless battle with your own flesh. That may just be me, but that doesn't sound like the actions of a kind deity.
The argument against gay marriage is at best a handle with no sword. It's comfortable to the hand and the scabbard is pretty to look upon, but once it's drawn out there's nothing to it. It's myth and bluster.
And I deal in myth, bluster, and the grand shell game of the Gods. So don't pretend you can fool me.
I recently discovered that I am in fact quite passionate about this issue. It took me entirely be surprise. And the catalyst for this sudden burning passion is the arguments against it. Or to put it much more accurately, the complete lack of arguments against it. There is no compelling case against it. There is no logic that can be backed by anything quantifiable.
There is no research to support the idea that gays marrying will do anything more than having an increase in married gays. There is nothing wrong with having more committed relationships. There is nothing wrong with having children raised by homosexual couples. As long as they create a stable living arrangement for the children to live within who give two flying shits about the manner in which their genitals interlock.
There are some accurate statements. Same sex couples do not produce babies. That is a point we will concede. But you know what the one thing that we have in a comfortable excess? Children without stable homes. Hundreds of thousands of children are without caretakers. They sit and wait for there to be more loving, stable homes that do not come. If we can do anything to give them homes that will love them, we as moral and ethical people should do whatever it takes to let these children have homes with the resources to care for them.
There are no accidental or unwanted children when you can't have your own. That's one of those safe guards put into the system itself. They won't allow just anyone to adopt. Which makes it a much better safeguard against bad situations than heterosexual couples as far as I'm concerned.
The one that is used the most these days, is the religious argument. Which when you're talking about a legal and civil matter is utterly meaningless. Your God has no place in the formation of laws. My Gods have no place in the creation of laws. They can inspire us and give us small guidance and comfort but law should be based in what's best for the most number of people, while avoiding tyranny both of the majority and the tyrant. They shouldn't be based on rules and moral systems for a completely different world.
The world lives and changes. We recognize that there are different rules for our children than there were for our parents. It is a completely different world out there. If your God created the universe then he would have to understand that. And hell Mormonism even admits that with the idea of a living prophet. But those that currently hold that seat are from a completely different world than the one we live in and should have no more say in this then their individual vote.
Now, what I'm about to say will offend, and at this point, I don't care. If your God created the universe and all that inhabit it. That means that he made people predisposed to same sex attraction and all of the physical and genetic markers that that would entail. So following this logic, God would know you're gay. He made you. If He's all knowing then he's aware of your preference. He gave that gift. And He believes that sex outside of marriage is the most horrible of sins.
So he has created a class of people who he has knowingly and willingly damned. Because that attraction is innate to them, and they have no means of fulfilling it without falling to sin. I can think of fewer more painful hells than being trapped in an endless battle with your own flesh. That may just be me, but that doesn't sound like the actions of a kind deity.
The argument against gay marriage is at best a handle with no sword. It's comfortable to the hand and the scabbard is pretty to look upon, but once it's drawn out there's nothing to it. It's myth and bluster.
And I deal in myth, bluster, and the grand shell game of the Gods. So don't pretend you can fool me.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Conformity
When asked about my thoughts on this subject I suspect that most who know me would probably guess my reaction as being somewhere between "Violently Opposed" and "I will eat your face-meat infidel". And that probably would not have been far from the truth a few years ago. I would not have made some of the life choices I have made if I wasn't opposed to fitting in for the sake of fitting in. The idea of conforming was anathema to me. I would be who I chose to be no matter what the consequences and that freedom was more important than thing else.
Then I started working in an Elementary School. And my thoughts are now... quite different. Now I'm not saying I'm going to shave and start going to church or any of that particular brand of madness. But that being said, a certain amount of conformity is required to keep society together.
Or to put it in a better light, one of the most important things anyone can learn is how to work within a system. Which is a very important survival skill. If you can't work within a system you've shot yourself in the foot. The trick is and I realize it's not an easy one, is you need to learn to keep your individuality whilst still working within the system. For me and I would say a lot of the teachers I know and work with it's about teaching the children to find that balance. Be true to who you are... just don't be a dick about it. And screeching about how "My unique flower of a child will only be stifled by your oppressive Third Grade class with your tyrannical recess schedule and maths"does nothing to either help your child learn how to exist in the world, or give us as teachers the resources to help them grow.
And here's an astounding fact that so many seem to just not understand. Most if not all teachers I've met really want to help kids. Why the hell else would we get into a field where we're both poorly paid and treated like you're some sort of demon?
Teachers are being held entirely culpable for the actions and choices of their students with no wiggle room. And with the constant testing and hammering with "testable" skills the job itself is not what it was even ten to fifteen years ago. Everybody is looking for easy answers to the learning problem.
And they're aren't any. You can't teach a whole bunch of unique individuals using the same methods.
However uniformity of instruction is a simple fact of the lack of resources. Schools can't make the changes that would ACTUALLY help kids become educated. Across the board they don't have the resources. Because as a culture we don't care about our kids educations. Though we care a great deal about appearing like we do. So we can have all the frosting on our cake but nothing of substance.
Conformity isn't something horrible. It's not the death knell for all peoples. Being a part of a community requires a certain amount of conforming to their standards. You have to work within the confines of the system presented.
That's not the death of creativity and free will. It's what it takes for a safe and happy community. And the real trick, is to find a group where conforming isn't problematic. Cause everyone is going to conform. Or to phrase it another way, we have to compromise in order to not be an asshole. Cause the guy coloring penises on the walls in crayon at the restaurant is "just being a free spirit". And we need to teach our children an idea best phrased by a conman upon being told that a game was crooked, "Yeah, but it's the only game in town!"
Maybe we need to change the game. But at the end of the day, that's just agreeing on new rules for the players to conform to. You gotta keep playing. Otherwise you'll just be one of those assholes drawing penises on the wall and screaming about be "stiffled".
And I think the world already has enough dicks.
Or to put it in a better light, one of the most important things anyone can learn is how to work within a system. Which is a very important survival skill. If you can't work within a system you've shot yourself in the foot. The trick is and I realize it's not an easy one, is you need to learn to keep your individuality whilst still working within the system. For me and I would say a lot of the teachers I know and work with it's about teaching the children to find that balance. Be true to who you are... just don't be a dick about it. And screeching about how "My unique flower of a child will only be stifled by your oppressive Third Grade class with your tyrannical recess schedule and maths"does nothing to either help your child learn how to exist in the world, or give us as teachers the resources to help them grow.
And here's an astounding fact that so many seem to just not understand. Most if not all teachers I've met really want to help kids. Why the hell else would we get into a field where we're both poorly paid and treated like you're some sort of demon?
Teachers are being held entirely culpable for the actions and choices of their students with no wiggle room. And with the constant testing and hammering with "testable" skills the job itself is not what it was even ten to fifteen years ago. Everybody is looking for easy answers to the learning problem.
And they're aren't any. You can't teach a whole bunch of unique individuals using the same methods.
However uniformity of instruction is a simple fact of the lack of resources. Schools can't make the changes that would ACTUALLY help kids become educated. Across the board they don't have the resources. Because as a culture we don't care about our kids educations. Though we care a great deal about appearing like we do. So we can have all the frosting on our cake but nothing of substance.
Conformity isn't something horrible. It's not the death knell for all peoples. Being a part of a community requires a certain amount of conforming to their standards. You have to work within the confines of the system presented.
That's not the death of creativity and free will. It's what it takes for a safe and happy community. And the real trick, is to find a group where conforming isn't problematic. Cause everyone is going to conform. Or to phrase it another way, we have to compromise in order to not be an asshole. Cause the guy coloring penises on the walls in crayon at the restaurant is "just being a free spirit". And we need to teach our children an idea best phrased by a conman upon being told that a game was crooked, "Yeah, but it's the only game in town!"
Maybe we need to change the game. But at the end of the day, that's just agreeing on new rules for the players to conform to. You gotta keep playing. Otherwise you'll just be one of those assholes drawing penises on the wall and screaming about be "stiffled".
And I think the world already has enough dicks.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Totem
Everyone has a totem. They have at least one animal spirit that they identify with. I generally try and avoid these kinds of generalities but this one... this one has some weight to it.
Each totemic relationship is different. For some it will never be anything more then "hey that animal is pretty cool". For others, myself included, they are a way of understand our deeper selves. The savage parts of us, the animal parts of us. Due to that deeper more primal connection that they represent they can act as guides to a greater understanding of our place in the world.
This is something that transcends religion. That transcends philosophy and guides us to greater understanding. Because your Totem (and you may have many) doesn't care what you believe. They aren't from the realm of Gods, but of spirits. Which are echoes of the waking world. You don't worship a totem, though there are some that do. You don't pray to them, though I just did. You don't say what your totem is.
They find you. They come to you because of who you are. Because of the vibrations they sense in you. If you have ever looked into the eyes of a beast and saw yourself look back, you have had a taste of your totemic connection.
For some they feel this connection and it changes there lives. Some cannot bear the thought of harming a beast once they have seen themselves within it. They turn from flesh, they can't stand the weight of the lives that have touched them.
For others, like me, it changes you completely and makes you reverent of the flesh you devour. But doesn't stop you from doing it. My five more prevalent totems, are Bear, Shark, Crab, Raven, and Buffalo. For some people who know me those five will make perfect sense. But they're there. I can feel them, I can imagine how it would feel to live in their skin with the ease of putting on a different pair of clothes. These are a part of me.
And despite whatever you man believe or not. I can see them as a part of you. And if I'm honest, they're part of why I love you.
I've been in a dark place in the last few weeks. I've felt lost, hopeless, and completely unwanted. I've not been able to find any reason to keep going. Not anything bad enough to do anything stupid, but enough to not see the point of moving forward.
And so I looked to my totems. Those spirit guides to the deeper parts of my hypothetical soul. And swimming out of the depths came Shark. He showed me the path. Through him I found the point when there is no point.
They find you. They come to you because of who you are. Because of the vibrations they sense in you. If you have ever looked into the eyes of a beast and saw yourself look back, you have had a taste of your totemic connection.
For some they feel this connection and it changes there lives. Some cannot bear the thought of harming a beast once they have seen themselves within it. They turn from flesh, they can't stand the weight of the lives that have touched them.
For others, like me, it changes you completely and makes you reverent of the flesh you devour. But doesn't stop you from doing it. My five more prevalent totems, are Bear, Shark, Crab, Raven, and Buffalo. For some people who know me those five will make perfect sense. But they're there. I can feel them, I can imagine how it would feel to live in their skin with the ease of putting on a different pair of clothes. These are a part of me.
And despite whatever you man believe or not. I can see them as a part of you. And if I'm honest, they're part of why I love you.
I've been in a dark place in the last few weeks. I've felt lost, hopeless, and completely unwanted. I've not been able to find any reason to keep going. Not anything bad enough to do anything stupid, but enough to not see the point of moving forward.
And so I looked to my totems. Those spirit guides to the deeper parts of my hypothetical soul. And swimming out of the depths came Shark. He showed me the path. Through him I found the point when there is no point.
Brother shark
I pray to you
Bless me with
Your Strength
Your Focus
Your Surety
Help me to swim on
When I know not why
Help me to know the right moment
By the blood in the water
Help me to embrace my nature
And strive for your perfection
Teach me once again
That there is no shame
In just swimming
In just killing
In just eating
In just surviving
That sometimes there is nothing worth more
Then moving forward
Because stopping means death
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Sickness
I have diabetes. Because I'm American, and it's in the vogue right now. One must always keep up with the fashions of the time. It's a very serious disease and one that I was exceptional about for a long time, but have gotten much worse about in the last few weeks. Last night I was quite sweet and if it hadn't been for an intuitive voice (thank you Goblins) telling me that the ice cream was a bad idea, I may have eaten myself into a coma last night.
Now there's an insidious quality to diabetes. Because as your blood gets more candylike one of the symptoms is depression. And as you get depressed you're more likely to try and go for stuff that bad for your diabetes. It becomes a lot easier to not care about taking care of yourself.
That's been one of my problems for years. I guess it's a lesson I am still learning. Taking care of myself. It's just that there's so much to be done. So many places to be, people to care about, words to write! I burn myself out because I just keep charging forward. I am apparently attempting to brute force my way though most things. The problem that I have somedays, today in particular, it's very hard to find a reason to take care of myself.
What I do is I endure. I endure until the pain is greater then my capacity to handle it. Because of that? I have grown to have a huge capacity to endure pain. Physical, emotional, spiritual, mental, it's all there. I don't revel in it. I don't embrace it. I accept it as a fact of the thing and move forward. I can't say it's made me happy. But it has made me strong. And at the end of the day you've got to have at least one or the other. If you can't find or make happiness, then strive towards strength. You may not be happy but at least you will be strong. So I'll wrap myself in strength.
Though sometimes, even my strength fails. And when it does I fall. I wallow for a time in the pain and bitter madness that bubbles just below the surface. I'll hate and I'll rage and prod painfully at the rotten hole that grows in that wad of flesh that once held love. I'll drain the poison in time. Hell, I may even clean it out. And I'll go back to that beautifully empty state. With any luck.
Until then... I'll find something to rage against. Even if it's only myself. Hope? It turns to poison far to quickly for me. It's far too easily mistaken for false hope. Love? The kind of love that wakes me in the night with it's terrible lack? That... I'm not sure if it even exists. If it was all a fever dream made of false hope and wishful thinking. Disney promises of princesses and paladins making deep pus filled wounds on a mad man's mind. Empty tears and hollow promises. Drink deep of the bitter cup presented. Mix it with what little honey I can find and choke down the dread mixture. Learn to appreciate it. Find the balance to make it all worth it. Strive not for that which I can't have. Let go the echoes of yesterday that haunt me still. Will always haunt me.
So I write. I drain the poison from my body in the hopes that I can keep moving another day. That I can no more be drained by yesterday's wounds and tomorrow's unfulfilled promises.
But I shall strive on. Grow strong. Fight. For what? I don't know anymore. For the sake of fighting I suppose. But when you have no good reasons anyone will do. And I suppose it's a little better then doing it to spite those creatures that turned me away. Down that path lies no real joy. Only further spreading of pain. And the part of me that still loves them would not see them harmed.
I think that talking about this is helping. Embracing the apathy. Though I have many friends and family who love me dearly. It's the wrong kind of love for what I need. But I can't find that. So I'll strive on without it. Cause fuck it. What else is there to do?
Now there's an insidious quality to diabetes. Because as your blood gets more candylike one of the symptoms is depression. And as you get depressed you're more likely to try and go for stuff that bad for your diabetes. It becomes a lot easier to not care about taking care of yourself.
That's been one of my problems for years. I guess it's a lesson I am still learning. Taking care of myself. It's just that there's so much to be done. So many places to be, people to care about, words to write! I burn myself out because I just keep charging forward. I am apparently attempting to brute force my way though most things. The problem that I have somedays, today in particular, it's very hard to find a reason to take care of myself.
What I do is I endure. I endure until the pain is greater then my capacity to handle it. Because of that? I have grown to have a huge capacity to endure pain. Physical, emotional, spiritual, mental, it's all there. I don't revel in it. I don't embrace it. I accept it as a fact of the thing and move forward. I can't say it's made me happy. But it has made me strong. And at the end of the day you've got to have at least one or the other. If you can't find or make happiness, then strive towards strength. You may not be happy but at least you will be strong. So I'll wrap myself in strength.
Though sometimes, even my strength fails. And when it does I fall. I wallow for a time in the pain and bitter madness that bubbles just below the surface. I'll hate and I'll rage and prod painfully at the rotten hole that grows in that wad of flesh that once held love. I'll drain the poison in time. Hell, I may even clean it out. And I'll go back to that beautifully empty state. With any luck.
Until then... I'll find something to rage against. Even if it's only myself. Hope? It turns to poison far to quickly for me. It's far too easily mistaken for false hope. Love? The kind of love that wakes me in the night with it's terrible lack? That... I'm not sure if it even exists. If it was all a fever dream made of false hope and wishful thinking. Disney promises of princesses and paladins making deep pus filled wounds on a mad man's mind. Empty tears and hollow promises. Drink deep of the bitter cup presented. Mix it with what little honey I can find and choke down the dread mixture. Learn to appreciate it. Find the balance to make it all worth it. Strive not for that which I can't have. Let go the echoes of yesterday that haunt me still. Will always haunt me.
So I write. I drain the poison from my body in the hopes that I can keep moving another day. That I can no more be drained by yesterday's wounds and tomorrow's unfulfilled promises.
But I shall strive on. Grow strong. Fight. For what? I don't know anymore. For the sake of fighting I suppose. But when you have no good reasons anyone will do. And I suppose it's a little better then doing it to spite those creatures that turned me away. Down that path lies no real joy. Only further spreading of pain. And the part of me that still loves them would not see them harmed.
I think that talking about this is helping. Embracing the apathy. Though I have many friends and family who love me dearly. It's the wrong kind of love for what I need. But I can't find that. So I'll strive on without it. Cause fuck it. What else is there to do?
Mr. Rogers
I'm taking a break from my usual format. Because today is the birthday of the late Fred Rogers. One of the best human beings to have lived. I honestly have more respect for Mr. Rogers than I do for Jesus, cause he never yelled at a fig tree (at least as far as I've read). He was a paragon of all that was good in humanity and devoted his entire life to not only educating children, but to making them feel like they were worth something. There are entire generations of adults now who know the warm sound of his sincere greeting. He gave a gift to millions of children. He gave them an adult, a man, who cared about them.
I don't say that Mr. Rogers is why I got into education. Though I'm sure there are many many people who can say that. He was a part of my childhood, I watched a great deal of his show when I was younger, but I wouldn't say he was a foundation of who I am. I remember looking forward to my sick days when I was little cause I could watch all the educational TV I wanted. (Also some of the daytime talk shows, cause I liked looking at the women on them). But I always was glad to watch Mr. Rogers. There was something magical about the way that he would listen to children.
And that is almost more important that caring about them. If you take the time to listen to a child. To hear their stories and words, you've given them something truly amazing. And that's the true beauty of what he did and what he gave to so many. He made everyone who listened to him feel like they heard and cared for. And that's truly something.
I don't say that Mr. Rogers is why I got into education. Though I'm sure there are many many people who can say that. He was a part of my childhood, I watched a great deal of his show when I was younger, but I wouldn't say he was a foundation of who I am. I remember looking forward to my sick days when I was little cause I could watch all the educational TV I wanted. (Also some of the daytime talk shows, cause I liked looking at the women on them). But I always was glad to watch Mr. Rogers. There was something magical about the way that he would listen to children.
And that is almost more important that caring about them. If you take the time to listen to a child. To hear their stories and words, you've given them something truly amazing. And that's the true beauty of what he did and what he gave to so many. He made everyone who listened to him feel like they heard and cared for. And that's truly something.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Unnatural
This is a word that always bothers me. From the very first time I heard it. Because it's something that I still can't understand. Natural and Supernatural. Those are pretty straight forward. Natural is things that exist in nature. Where as supernatural are things that cannot exist within the rules of the natural world. These ideas make sense.
So what makes something unnatural? It seems to be a moniker used exclusively for the creations of man. Which makes me wonder if a building is unnatural, what about a termite mound? At what point of advanced tool usage does it move from "wonder of the natural world" to "unnatural abomination"?
This word infuriates me because it ties to two other ideas that I think are some of the most dangerously backward thinking around. One, that human kind is not a part of nature, and two that scientific advances are somehow wrong or not to be trusted innately.
This idea that some things are unnatural handcuffs a lot of truly fascinating advances that could change the world. Genetic engineering, cybernetics, artificial intelligence, plastics, all these and however many others have the potential to create a world the likes of which we can never have dreamed about. But we fight against them. Cause it's "unnatural".
And that "unnatural is bad" thinking has people going so far as to casting aside modern medical advances in favor of returning to middle age witchery. I'm not opposed to the idea of looking to old techniques or natural plants for ideas to improve the health of those suffering. I'm not opposed to it because that's what medicine IS. Using any means necessary to heal the sick and end human suffering. Pushing the boundaries and finding the best possible ways. Not being content with the same old anything.
But I'm travelling away from my original point. In order for something to be Un Nature, it has to by the way the words work, be impossible to do within nature. If I made a device that turned earth into water, that would be arguably unnatural. But even then if I can pull it off given the physical laws of the universe then how is it Un Nature? HOW!?
I can't really say why this is that this just riles me up so much but it really does. Human beings are a part of nature. To paraphrase a quote from our dear departed Prophet of Atheism George Carlin, maybe the answer to our ultimate ego centric question "why are we here?" is "Plastic... asshole". Who are we to say what is or isn't "natural"?
Synthetic and organic aren't mortal enemies locked in a war for the souls of mankind. Human hands and minds are no less natural then any other thing on the face of creation. The things we create are an extension of that. Something Unnatural would have to be something truly disgusting, something truly alien, something that our minds cannot or will not fathom because it should not be.
It's not something that we make that makes us uncomfortable.
So what makes something unnatural? It seems to be a moniker used exclusively for the creations of man. Which makes me wonder if a building is unnatural, what about a termite mound? At what point of advanced tool usage does it move from "wonder of the natural world" to "unnatural abomination"?
This word infuriates me because it ties to two other ideas that I think are some of the most dangerously backward thinking around. One, that human kind is not a part of nature, and two that scientific advances are somehow wrong or not to be trusted innately.
This idea that some things are unnatural handcuffs a lot of truly fascinating advances that could change the world. Genetic engineering, cybernetics, artificial intelligence, plastics, all these and however many others have the potential to create a world the likes of which we can never have dreamed about. But we fight against them. Cause it's "unnatural".
And that "unnatural is bad" thinking has people going so far as to casting aside modern medical advances in favor of returning to middle age witchery. I'm not opposed to the idea of looking to old techniques or natural plants for ideas to improve the health of those suffering. I'm not opposed to it because that's what medicine IS. Using any means necessary to heal the sick and end human suffering. Pushing the boundaries and finding the best possible ways. Not being content with the same old anything.
But I'm travelling away from my original point. In order for something to be Un Nature, it has to by the way the words work, be impossible to do within nature. If I made a device that turned earth into water, that would be arguably unnatural. But even then if I can pull it off given the physical laws of the universe then how is it Un Nature? HOW!?
I can't really say why this is that this just riles me up so much but it really does. Human beings are a part of nature. To paraphrase a quote from our dear departed Prophet of Atheism George Carlin, maybe the answer to our ultimate ego centric question "why are we here?" is "Plastic... asshole". Who are we to say what is or isn't "natural"?
Synthetic and organic aren't mortal enemies locked in a war for the souls of mankind. Human hands and minds are no less natural then any other thing on the face of creation. The things we create are an extension of that. Something Unnatural would have to be something truly disgusting, something truly alien, something that our minds cannot or will not fathom because it should not be.
It's not something that we make that makes us uncomfortable.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Theatre
It's interesting that I've waiting this long to write about the stage. Because it is in many ways the closest that many of my dear friends have to a religion. They don't believe in the existence of gods, but devote themselves entirely to the service of Apollo and Dionysius.
Theatre is a religion. One in which I am a Christmas and Easter member.
I love theatre I really do. There is nothing like the thrill of being on the stage or seeing your words come to life. Theatre is unique amongst the arts in that it is truly alive. Dance is about the artistry of the moment and showing the beauty of the human form. Film is dead. It's amazing but it will be the same time every time.
But Theatre? Our great Mistress and drug of choice? That is something else entirely. Proper theatre isn't an art. It's not something that you watch. True theatre, GOOD theatre forces you to be a part of it. It looks at the subtle tubes of energy that connect all living things together and blows them open with emotional cherry bombs. Good theatre is not about enjoying what you're looking at. It's about feeling something. Even if it's just revulsion at the horror you're seeing. If you aren't feeling then it's not Theatre. It's skitwork. Hell it could still even be entertainment. But what makes it something special is the connection with the audience. That's what theatre is. Connecting with an audience.
Theatre is ancient. Older then the Gods themselves. The first stories told over a campfire were the first theatre. The sperm and egg of story and storyteller gestating for countless ages. As much as there have been many gods professing dominion over it, there is no God of Theatre.
Theatre is the womb from which Gods emerge.
Religion is the script.
The Church is the stage.
The Clergy is our actors.
And the believers are the audience. The ones there to be swept away in whatever story is presented.
That's the power of Theatre. It transcends the art of it and becomes something sacred. It is an altar where all can sit and eat of the apple of knowledge. Where we can feel vicerally the connection we have to other human beings. The web of humanity becomes thick and tangles itself into an experience like none other. Good theatre breaks us from our perspectives and forces us to look upon the world through eyes that are not ours.
Now if could be said that that's true of all art. And it probably is. But the thing is, art is dead. A sculpture will last a thousand years and only decay. Theatre is alive. It truly exists in that very moment and then it gone. You can watch a recording of a play a thousand times and it will never have the same magic as when you are sitting there breathing the air of the artists as they create it. The very moment it exists is it's destruction. It's a path to transcendance that goes beyond all others.
But also musicals... so maybe I'm full of crap.
Theatre is a religion. One in which I am a Christmas and Easter member.
I love theatre I really do. There is nothing like the thrill of being on the stage or seeing your words come to life. Theatre is unique amongst the arts in that it is truly alive. Dance is about the artistry of the moment and showing the beauty of the human form. Film is dead. It's amazing but it will be the same time every time.
But Theatre? Our great Mistress and drug of choice? That is something else entirely. Proper theatre isn't an art. It's not something that you watch. True theatre, GOOD theatre forces you to be a part of it. It looks at the subtle tubes of energy that connect all living things together and blows them open with emotional cherry bombs. Good theatre is not about enjoying what you're looking at. It's about feeling something. Even if it's just revulsion at the horror you're seeing. If you aren't feeling then it's not Theatre. It's skitwork. Hell it could still even be entertainment. But what makes it something special is the connection with the audience. That's what theatre is. Connecting with an audience.
Theatre is ancient. Older then the Gods themselves. The first stories told over a campfire were the first theatre. The sperm and egg of story and storyteller gestating for countless ages. As much as there have been many gods professing dominion over it, there is no God of Theatre.
Theatre is the womb from which Gods emerge.
Religion is the script.
The Church is the stage.
The Clergy is our actors.
And the believers are the audience. The ones there to be swept away in whatever story is presented.
That's the power of Theatre. It transcends the art of it and becomes something sacred. It is an altar where all can sit and eat of the apple of knowledge. Where we can feel vicerally the connection we have to other human beings. The web of humanity becomes thick and tangles itself into an experience like none other. Good theatre breaks us from our perspectives and forces us to look upon the world through eyes that are not ours.
Now if could be said that that's true of all art. And it probably is. But the thing is, art is dead. A sculpture will last a thousand years and only decay. Theatre is alive. It truly exists in that very moment and then it gone. You can watch a recording of a play a thousand times and it will never have the same magic as when you are sitting there breathing the air of the artists as they create it. The very moment it exists is it's destruction. It's a path to transcendance that goes beyond all others.
But also musicals... so maybe I'm full of crap.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Obscenity
I am about to address one of my most significant pet peeves.
If you have ever chastised someone for swearing, and then said "frickin' A" you are a hypocrite and worthy of every last vitriolic drop of my ire. I know that I live in Utah and it's the sort of thing that happens so often that it's an intergal part of the culture. It's one of those funny stereotypes that even those being stereotyped find amusing. And by the various patchwork gods I hold dear, it pisses me right the hell off. The reason is simple.
Words.
Are.
Words.
They do not change from "cursed" words to "holy" words. If, as many of the people who use the fake swears claim, they served no purposed in the language they wouldn't exist anymore. Language is a living thing. It's a technology that changes and adapts to different times and cultural needs. If we didn't need it the oh so beloved and despised "fuck" word wouldn't be at the very least five hundred years old.
But what purpose does it serve aside from a means of offending people? I'm glad you asked hypothetical Straw Man I have created for the sake of this self debate. And I really hope that you find your brain someday.
What obscenities do, is they accentuate and amplify other words. They create a clear vocal punctuation mark. "Yeah" vs "Fuck Yeah".
They can also modify expressions in a surprising subtle way. "The dog is in the kitchen again." vs "The goddamn dog is in the kitchen again." By adding that single word the emotional vibrations of the words become very different and very clear.
Now, in my defense of potty talk, please do not assume that I'm saying I should be able to say whatever I want to whoever I want without consequences. As much as I come off as chaotic and glorify barbarism I have never once told my grandmother to fuck off, called anyone a cunt in church, or unleashed a tirade of racial slurs at one of my teachers. I don't believe that words are innately good or bad, however you have to remember the most important rule of theater, and by extension the most important rule of life.
Know your audience.
My stubborn contempt for the Victorians and Edwardians will never make me say that curse words are only for the lowborn or that there are always better ways to put something. I completely disagree. Sometimes a fucknugget is a fucknugget and it's the best choice. I will concede that there are always DIFFERENT ways to put something. Ones that may or may not hold the weight that you expect to get. And that will entirely change depending on who your talking to.
If I tell one of my friends to fuck off it can mean any of a dozen things because it's a part of out mutual language amongst each other. If I say the same thing to my Grandmother? It pretty much has only one terrible meaning. I'm going to talk differently with a group of Victorian ladies over tea then I am with a bunch of bikers over a beer. Your audience changes everything.
If you are robbing yourself of the beautiful mess that is our language just because those words are "lowbrow" then you're robbing yourself of so many wonderful and sometimes horrible experiences.
And you, Hypothetical Straw Man you have acknowledged the importance of swearing by your substitutions in the language. Like vegetarians who create so many different kinds of fake meats to replace it. They are acknowledging the importance by replacing the hole it creates. Not only are swearing, but you're doing it with kiddish gibberish words to make yourself feel better.
So, Straw Man don't you dare have the audacity to think that you can control what I say. Words are my life. They are my truest love, my dearest children, and my dark and terrible Mistress. Never for a fucking second think that you can tell me which words are good, bad, or proper. They are my trade. They are the blood that pumps through me. I will use them however I want.
However I'll offer you a trade. You don't curse, and I won't curse. I figure it's a fair trade. Cause I promise you. I find your "freaking A" so much more offensive then you find my "fucking ass".
If you have ever chastised someone for swearing, and then said "frickin' A" you are a hypocrite and worthy of every last vitriolic drop of my ire. I know that I live in Utah and it's the sort of thing that happens so often that it's an intergal part of the culture. It's one of those funny stereotypes that even those being stereotyped find amusing. And by the various patchwork gods I hold dear, it pisses me right the hell off. The reason is simple.
Words.
Are.
Words.
They do not change from "cursed" words to "holy" words. If, as many of the people who use the fake swears claim, they served no purposed in the language they wouldn't exist anymore. Language is a living thing. It's a technology that changes and adapts to different times and cultural needs. If we didn't need it the oh so beloved and despised "fuck" word wouldn't be at the very least five hundred years old.
But what purpose does it serve aside from a means of offending people? I'm glad you asked hypothetical Straw Man I have created for the sake of this self debate. And I really hope that you find your brain someday.
What obscenities do, is they accentuate and amplify other words. They create a clear vocal punctuation mark. "Yeah" vs "Fuck Yeah".
They can also modify expressions in a surprising subtle way. "The dog is in the kitchen again." vs "The goddamn dog is in the kitchen again." By adding that single word the emotional vibrations of the words become very different and very clear.
Now, in my defense of potty talk, please do not assume that I'm saying I should be able to say whatever I want to whoever I want without consequences. As much as I come off as chaotic and glorify barbarism I have never once told my grandmother to fuck off, called anyone a cunt in church, or unleashed a tirade of racial slurs at one of my teachers. I don't believe that words are innately good or bad, however you have to remember the most important rule of theater, and by extension the most important rule of life.
Know your audience.
My stubborn contempt for the Victorians and Edwardians will never make me say that curse words are only for the lowborn or that there are always better ways to put something. I completely disagree. Sometimes a fucknugget is a fucknugget and it's the best choice. I will concede that there are always DIFFERENT ways to put something. Ones that may or may not hold the weight that you expect to get. And that will entirely change depending on who your talking to.
If I tell one of my friends to fuck off it can mean any of a dozen things because it's a part of out mutual language amongst each other. If I say the same thing to my Grandmother? It pretty much has only one terrible meaning. I'm going to talk differently with a group of Victorian ladies over tea then I am with a bunch of bikers over a beer. Your audience changes everything.
If you are robbing yourself of the beautiful mess that is our language just because those words are "lowbrow" then you're robbing yourself of so many wonderful and sometimes horrible experiences.
And you, Hypothetical Straw Man you have acknowledged the importance of swearing by your substitutions in the language. Like vegetarians who create so many different kinds of fake meats to replace it. They are acknowledging the importance by replacing the hole it creates. Not only are swearing, but you're doing it with kiddish gibberish words to make yourself feel better.
So, Straw Man don't you dare have the audacity to think that you can control what I say. Words are my life. They are my truest love, my dearest children, and my dark and terrible Mistress. Never for a fucking second think that you can tell me which words are good, bad, or proper. They are my trade. They are the blood that pumps through me. I will use them however I want.
However I'll offer you a trade. You don't curse, and I won't curse. I figure it's a fair trade. Cause I promise you. I find your "freaking A" so much more offensive then you find my "fucking ass".
Monday, March 11, 2013
Artistry
I am a Heavy Metal Holy Man, a gentleman barbarian, a clockwork pudding, and a madman. But beyond those and in fact because of them, I am an artist. It took me a great many years to accept that label because quite frankly I always associated artists with the visual arts. Film and paint, that sort of thing. But as time went on I began to think of it in an entirely different way.
I began to think of art not as a what was created, but as a level of quality and mastery, and one of the philosophies that shape the work. There are Artists, and there are Mechanics. Those that understands things intuitively and those that understand things logically and apply it to their work. Now, everybody uses a mix of logic and intuition but it's the fastest way to explain the difference.
One of the first things that lead me down this line of reasoning, was something my mother would always say. When talking about Doctor's she'd talk about the difference between Healers (those that are willing to think outside the box) and Mechanics (those that see it as a machine that needs to be fixed). Now I took that idea and basically applied it to everyone.
The guys just doing their job? Those are the Mechanics. Now there's a bit of confusion once you're dealing with actual Mechanics but you see some artistry amongst them as well. Those that design or those that are willing to find new and interesting ways to do something.
Because that's one of the main points of what makes an Artist. They're willing to try and push themselves, and once they reach the end of the form, they keep pushing. They seek to change the form itself into order to improve it. They create a dynamic relationship between themselves, their work, and the world. So it's entirely possible to be an artist even if you aren't devoting yourself to art. Just like you can be a serviceable mechanic within the arts.
This went in a different direction then I had originally intended. It'd sat down with the intention of writing a small but blatant plug for my newest venture Clockwork Chaos Publishing. But I got sidetracked. I was going to write about looking into that blog will begin to show you what the world would like like if I was god. But you get my philosophical leanings instead. Who knows? Maybe you'll get that blog I wanted to post later. But not today.
I began to think of art not as a what was created, but as a level of quality and mastery, and one of the philosophies that shape the work. There are Artists, and there are Mechanics. Those that understands things intuitively and those that understand things logically and apply it to their work. Now, everybody uses a mix of logic and intuition but it's the fastest way to explain the difference.
One of the first things that lead me down this line of reasoning, was something my mother would always say. When talking about Doctor's she'd talk about the difference between Healers (those that are willing to think outside the box) and Mechanics (those that see it as a machine that needs to be fixed). Now I took that idea and basically applied it to everyone.
The guys just doing their job? Those are the Mechanics. Now there's a bit of confusion once you're dealing with actual Mechanics but you see some artistry amongst them as well. Those that design or those that are willing to find new and interesting ways to do something.
Because that's one of the main points of what makes an Artist. They're willing to try and push themselves, and once they reach the end of the form, they keep pushing. They seek to change the form itself into order to improve it. They create a dynamic relationship between themselves, their work, and the world. So it's entirely possible to be an artist even if you aren't devoting yourself to art. Just like you can be a serviceable mechanic within the arts.
This went in a different direction then I had originally intended. It'd sat down with the intention of writing a small but blatant plug for my newest venture Clockwork Chaos Publishing. But I got sidetracked. I was going to write about looking into that blog will begin to show you what the world would like like if I was god. But you get my philosophical leanings instead. Who knows? Maybe you'll get that blog I wanted to post later. But not today.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Gods
I hear the songs of the old gods.
The dead ones that live as scraps of memory.
The ones that cannot be heard over the songs and cries of our new gods. Deseret gods stretched thin as paint across the face of the earth. Gods of whirling metal and electric light who do not even know that they are gods. Things as terrible and transcendant as we can imagine. For that is where they live. Where they are born.
The universe was not crafted by a divine hand. I don't believe in an all powerful creator who crafted the universe. I don't believe in this because it's far too easy. It doesn't require enough imagination. The idea that we exist as a tangles of energy and force from an explosion beyond imagining is so much more beautiful.
We exist because we exist. We have no place in the grand scheme of the universe, because there is no grand scheme. There is only what we create for ourselves, and what we create for our children.
And that's what the gods are. They are constructs of energy and understanding that we created. We made the gods in our image. They affect things by shifting energies. And it only works if we believe in it.
I figure it's the same way that effects on a quantum level change when you observe them. Human observation changes the nature of the thing. It's why I haven't tried to give a scientific defense. I don't think that I could prove it. And I fully acknowledge I just might be crazy.
But I listen to the songs of the old gods.
The ones that sing in my blood and my mind.
The dead ones that live as scraps of memory.
The ones that cannot be heard over the songs and cries of our new gods. Deseret gods stretched thin as paint across the face of the earth. Gods of whirling metal and electric light who do not even know that they are gods. Things as terrible and transcendant as we can imagine. For that is where they live. Where they are born.
The universe was not crafted by a divine hand. I don't believe in an all powerful creator who crafted the universe. I don't believe in this because it's far too easy. It doesn't require enough imagination. The idea that we exist as a tangles of energy and force from an explosion beyond imagining is so much more beautiful.
We exist because we exist. We have no place in the grand scheme of the universe, because there is no grand scheme. There is only what we create for ourselves, and what we create for our children.
And that's what the gods are. They are constructs of energy and understanding that we created. We made the gods in our image. They affect things by shifting energies. And it only works if we believe in it.
I figure it's the same way that effects on a quantum level change when you observe them. Human observation changes the nature of the thing. It's why I haven't tried to give a scientific defense. I don't think that I could prove it. And I fully acknowledge I just might be crazy.
But I listen to the songs of the old gods.
The ones that sing in my blood and my mind.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Hatred
I hate things. I'm not ashamed of it. Though sometimes I think I should be. There are things that I hate rather passionately but don't hold against anyone else for their love of them. Things like Disney, musicals, cats, Edwardian England, Les Mes, and Assassin's. (I know those last two are also musicals but they deserve their own mention such is the profound well of my ire for them.)
It's probably not healthy. And I don't tend to dwell on it. Except for Disney and Cats. But that's because so many have such a profound hard on for them. And I think that's the biggest reason I can't just let it slide into a nothing more then a personal preference. Many of these people just won't shut up about. Particularly Disney.
But I think many times hatred is born from love. Or more specifically, love displaced. Love corrupted. Love and hate aren't opposites. In the same way that a rotten watermelon and a fresh one aren't opposites. They're the same thing, only one has gone sour and bitter.
For example, my relationship with Disney. Like any child born in the last thirty years I was feed a steady diet of disney films. Aladdin's and Hamlet with Lions, and Beast who turn into really lame looking princes thereby negating the entire point of the story. I watched them all. Loved them all. I watched the Second Aladin twenty thousand times when I was younger. I'm still not sure why. I watched hours and hours of all the various Disney cartoons. Hercules, Aladin, Timon and Pumba, and probably others. I bought into the dream. I wanted to find my princess as an odd little boy.
Then puberty hit. I started to notice girls. And as far as I could see they didn't notice me. I wasn't going to find my princess. And I started to learn all the proper versions of the fairy tales. And those two things took root in my love. Rotted it. Made it sour and bitter hate.
And that's why love isn't the opposite of hate. It's the inverse. I still have feelings for it. I still think about it about as often as I did when I loved it. I still feel the same passion. It's just to push away instead of pull towards.
It hurt me.
And so I hate it.
Except for cats. Those I just don't like and am really sick of being told how cute your violent sociopathic beast is. I mean seriously. Your cat isn't special. It's just like every other cat, and any animal that regularly attacks you and can't be trained out of it isn't something you have in your house!
Hate is something you should look at the same way you look at love. It can be irrational, powerful, and oh so very difficult to expel. But it's natural. You shouldn't let it destroy you, or control you. Just let it flow out and over you, acknowledge it and let it move on.
The above strategy also works pretty good for hate.
It's probably not healthy. And I don't tend to dwell on it. Except for Disney and Cats. But that's because so many have such a profound hard on for them. And I think that's the biggest reason I can't just let it slide into a nothing more then a personal preference. Many of these people just won't shut up about. Particularly Disney.
But I think many times hatred is born from love. Or more specifically, love displaced. Love corrupted. Love and hate aren't opposites. In the same way that a rotten watermelon and a fresh one aren't opposites. They're the same thing, only one has gone sour and bitter.
For example, my relationship with Disney. Like any child born in the last thirty years I was feed a steady diet of disney films. Aladdin's and Hamlet with Lions, and Beast who turn into really lame looking princes thereby negating the entire point of the story. I watched them all. Loved them all. I watched the Second Aladin twenty thousand times when I was younger. I'm still not sure why. I watched hours and hours of all the various Disney cartoons. Hercules, Aladin, Timon and Pumba, and probably others. I bought into the dream. I wanted to find my princess as an odd little boy.
Then puberty hit. I started to notice girls. And as far as I could see they didn't notice me. I wasn't going to find my princess. And I started to learn all the proper versions of the fairy tales. And those two things took root in my love. Rotted it. Made it sour and bitter hate.
And that's why love isn't the opposite of hate. It's the inverse. I still have feelings for it. I still think about it about as often as I did when I loved it. I still feel the same passion. It's just to push away instead of pull towards.
It hurt me.
And so I hate it.
Except for cats. Those I just don't like and am really sick of being told how cute your violent sociopathic beast is. I mean seriously. Your cat isn't special. It's just like every other cat, and any animal that regularly attacks you and can't be trained out of it isn't something you have in your house!
Hate is something you should look at the same way you look at love. It can be irrational, powerful, and oh so very difficult to expel. But it's natural. You shouldn't let it destroy you, or control you. Just let it flow out and over you, acknowledge it and let it move on.
The above strategy also works pretty good for hate.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Civility
As my mother has attested on so very many occasions, she really tried to turn her children into gentlemen. And on a purely knowledge basis, she was a resounding success. Though I can't match them always with their music, I know over a half-dozen classical composers. I know the proper etiquette for the theatre, the movies, a fancy dinner, and dances. I know the different purposes for most if not all common pieces of glassware. If presented with all the required items I can set a fancy table (except the napkins can't fold for shit). I know how to have small talk and it's importance in many social situations. I know that there is a language of flowers though I don't know what it is exactly. I know how to wear a three piece suit. I understand the difference between dress causal, fancy dress, formal, and black tie. I know how to tie a tie, and I know how to polish dress shoes.
I am was given a pretty comprehensive training in the affairs of the Modern Gentlemen. So how exactly was it that I turned out, well, so very not?
It's a pretty simple idea. I know all the rules of the game. I just have no interest in playing it. That's really why I continually reinforce the idea that I am in fact not "Nice". I don't do things to be nice. I do things to help out those that are important to me, or those that I lose nothing by helping. And generally I want to be helpful.
Most of this confusion stems from differing definitions of the word. What I just described up there is what many people use in their defense of my "niceness". I think a better way to put it, is that I am not "polite". Though I'm tactful enough to not to start talking about the constitutionality of cross burning in obscene genital based morris code, that doesn't mean that I'm willing to play the polite game.
And that's what it is. It's all a game. The subtle and terrible game of civilization. This act is the proper act. It is the polite thing to do. We must spare the feelings of others. We must appear personable and inoffensive.
There are many people I have known in my life. Personable, inoffensive, and sparing of feelings are not adjectives that will be commonly connected to my personage. I don't feel that it's important. Now I don't devote myself to causing undo pain or aggravation, but I'm not going to waist my time tip toeing on eggshells to prevent bruising your feel bads.
This means I'm called an asshole pretty often. I've felt like a bull in a china shop a lot in my life. Both literally and figuratively in delicate social situations.
I've even started to just try and warn people, particularly those deranged few who sought romantic entanglement with me, that I'm incapable of delicacy. The best I can usually offer is to keep my mouth shut and escape into uncomfortable silence.
I would infinitely rather speak my mind, and have a nice passionate discussion about things instead of trying to not offend or bruise egos. My ego's been bruised and broken plenty. But it's been made all the stronger for the testing. And at the end of day that's what I find important. Being broken doesn't necessarily make it stronger, but it gives it the opportunity to become strong.
And that's why I choose to be a barbarian instead of accepting my training as a gentleman.
I am was given a pretty comprehensive training in the affairs of the Modern Gentlemen. So how exactly was it that I turned out, well, so very not?
It's a pretty simple idea. I know all the rules of the game. I just have no interest in playing it. That's really why I continually reinforce the idea that I am in fact not "Nice". I don't do things to be nice. I do things to help out those that are important to me, or those that I lose nothing by helping. And generally I want to be helpful.
Most of this confusion stems from differing definitions of the word. What I just described up there is what many people use in their defense of my "niceness". I think a better way to put it, is that I am not "polite". Though I'm tactful enough to not to start talking about the constitutionality of cross burning in obscene genital based morris code, that doesn't mean that I'm willing to play the polite game.
And that's what it is. It's all a game. The subtle and terrible game of civilization. This act is the proper act. It is the polite thing to do. We must spare the feelings of others. We must appear personable and inoffensive.
There are many people I have known in my life. Personable, inoffensive, and sparing of feelings are not adjectives that will be commonly connected to my personage. I don't feel that it's important. Now I don't devote myself to causing undo pain or aggravation, but I'm not going to waist my time tip toeing on eggshells to prevent bruising your feel bads.
This means I'm called an asshole pretty often. I've felt like a bull in a china shop a lot in my life. Both literally and figuratively in delicate social situations.
I've even started to just try and warn people, particularly those deranged few who sought romantic entanglement with me, that I'm incapable of delicacy. The best I can usually offer is to keep my mouth shut and escape into uncomfortable silence.
I would infinitely rather speak my mind, and have a nice passionate discussion about things instead of trying to not offend or bruise egos. My ego's been bruised and broken plenty. But it's been made all the stronger for the testing. And at the end of day that's what I find important. Being broken doesn't necessarily make it stronger, but it gives it the opportunity to become strong.
And that's why I choose to be a barbarian instead of accepting my training as a gentleman.
Loneliness
I've been thinking a lot lately about loneliness, feeling it just as much to a certain extent. A gently aching hollow within my insidey parts. I stand amongst friends and family and despite all the love in my life I still quite often feel alone.
For a long time this vexed me. It's not always been the case. I've on many occasions found people or groups that I felt like I completely belonged. As of right now though, I don't. Not really. I have a my toe poked into a number of different communities. I have a handful of contacts in the theater community, in the gaming community, amongst writers, teachers, drunks, madmen, and spiritual seekers. I have friends all over the place. And given my potentially offensive nature I'm generally pretty good at keeping the relationship. Or at the very least keeping myself amusing enough to make up for it.
My comfortableness with alone time seems to vary wildly. Sometimes I can go for days with minimal interactions. Other times I'll spend days without a moment to my self that I'm not asleep. I tend to do better when I have a certain amount of time by myself. But the need for time on your own is something I understand deeply.
I know cause I'm terrible about giving myself enough alone time. I agree to do too much. I work myself until I burn out, and then once I've recovered from the burnout I agree to do enough things that I'm really spending my life oscillating between burning out and recovering from burn out. It's a cycle that I know I need to get better about but honestly have troubles with. But that's not what I need to write about.
I'm lonely. And in the way that no real amount of company will make any dent. It's the grim hunger of the heart. An emptiness that grasps and yearns for something that may or may not exist. It's maddening at times. But thankfully I have a fairly respectable resistance to madness.
So I play the drum. I stretch paper thin madness over the hole in my heart and hope that the ache of fingers across it, the sharp pangs of the drumbeat, is worth the beauty of the music.
For a long time this vexed me. It's not always been the case. I've on many occasions found people or groups that I felt like I completely belonged. As of right now though, I don't. Not really. I have a my toe poked into a number of different communities. I have a handful of contacts in the theater community, in the gaming community, amongst writers, teachers, drunks, madmen, and spiritual seekers. I have friends all over the place. And given my potentially offensive nature I'm generally pretty good at keeping the relationship. Or at the very least keeping myself amusing enough to make up for it.
My comfortableness with alone time seems to vary wildly. Sometimes I can go for days with minimal interactions. Other times I'll spend days without a moment to my self that I'm not asleep. I tend to do better when I have a certain amount of time by myself. But the need for time on your own is something I understand deeply.
I know cause I'm terrible about giving myself enough alone time. I agree to do too much. I work myself until I burn out, and then once I've recovered from the burnout I agree to do enough things that I'm really spending my life oscillating between burning out and recovering from burn out. It's a cycle that I know I need to get better about but honestly have troubles with. But that's not what I need to write about.
I'm lonely. And in the way that no real amount of company will make any dent. It's the grim hunger of the heart. An emptiness that grasps and yearns for something that may or may not exist. It's maddening at times. But thankfully I have a fairly respectable resistance to madness.
So I play the drum. I stretch paper thin madness over the hole in my heart and hope that the ache of fingers across it, the sharp pangs of the drumbeat, is worth the beauty of the music.
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Pope
An almost unprecidented event has taken place. As many of you will likely know, the Pope has decided to resign. And not with the usual "I'm a corpse now" excuse they've used for the last six hundred years.
There's something truly fascinating about this to me. It's been a turbulent time for the Adherents of the Great and Powerful Cathol. Organized religion seems to be getting a worse and worse rap as the decades turn into centuries. In the age of the internet it's not hard to see why.
I recently read an article that called the internet the death of religion. It stated that religion thrived on the secret knowledge that no other group had. And that with the advent of the freedom of information created by the internet would be the death of religion. I think there may be something to that. And I think that may be one of the reasons the Pope quit.
The world is a different place than it was when the Catholic church was at the height of it's power. It has never been harder to keep traditional ideas of religion relevant in the modern age. It seems to me that we are hungry for spirituality at the moment. The prevalence of fantasy films about magical realms and ghost stories send that hint in the air. We want there to be more then what we currently have. We want that mystical connection to each other and to something beyond us.
The thing is, that I don't think we're going to find that feeling in religion anymore. Across the board there are congregations shrinking. The internet has made it easier then ever to be an atheist. Now, I'm not saying that their aren't still issues. Deep dark issues that make coming out as having no belief in God as much a torturous choice as coming out as a homosexual in some cases.
It's a strange new world and I think that the new path to understanding out spirituality is going to be as much through technology as it will be through the ancient myths of our people.
And I think that Pope Benedict understands that on an intuitive level. The only way forward for the Church, hell for all churches, is to start looking into how to modify themselves to embrace the new world. They have to change. They have to make big changes and face some truly ugly truths. They need to lay bare their scars and stand naked before the world accept the judgment of mankind. Only that way can they once again strive to serve God.
And I don't think that Pope Benedict is the man to do it. The last time a Pope stood down instead of serving till his death was to heal the Great Schism. It was something that rocked the world and frankly should have. And as odd as it may sound, I think that this time is very much the same. In standing down he is offering Mother Church the opportunity they desperately need.
He's giving them the chance to change.
There's something truly fascinating about this to me. It's been a turbulent time for the Adherents of the Great and Powerful Cathol. Organized religion seems to be getting a worse and worse rap as the decades turn into centuries. In the age of the internet it's not hard to see why.
I recently read an article that called the internet the death of religion. It stated that religion thrived on the secret knowledge that no other group had. And that with the advent of the freedom of information created by the internet would be the death of religion. I think there may be something to that. And I think that may be one of the reasons the Pope quit.
The world is a different place than it was when the Catholic church was at the height of it's power. It has never been harder to keep traditional ideas of religion relevant in the modern age. It seems to me that we are hungry for spirituality at the moment. The prevalence of fantasy films about magical realms and ghost stories send that hint in the air. We want there to be more then what we currently have. We want that mystical connection to each other and to something beyond us.
The thing is, that I don't think we're going to find that feeling in religion anymore. Across the board there are congregations shrinking. The internet has made it easier then ever to be an atheist. Now, I'm not saying that their aren't still issues. Deep dark issues that make coming out as having no belief in God as much a torturous choice as coming out as a homosexual in some cases.
It's a strange new world and I think that the new path to understanding out spirituality is going to be as much through technology as it will be through the ancient myths of our people.
And I think that Pope Benedict understands that on an intuitive level. The only way forward for the Church, hell for all churches, is to start looking into how to modify themselves to embrace the new world. They have to change. They have to make big changes and face some truly ugly truths. They need to lay bare their scars and stand naked before the world accept the judgment of mankind. Only that way can they once again strive to serve God.
And I don't think that Pope Benedict is the man to do it. The last time a Pope stood down instead of serving till his death was to heal the Great Schism. It was something that rocked the world and frankly should have. And as odd as it may sound, I think that this time is very much the same. In standing down he is offering Mother Church the opportunity they desperately need.
He's giving them the chance to change.
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