I noticed that I may have lost my mind recently. While this does not surprise me, or even worry me, it does make me feel guilty.
I am feeling guilty that maybe you didn't sign up for this. I feel like maybe I have pulled of an epic bait and switch, much like say George clooney did in this.
You see, the Rick Roll, which I know I overuse, and I promise that I will stop for at least 2 weeks, I swear, is perhaps the world's best example of the bait and switch. You go in expecting something, are told in fact that you will get something, and then instead you get Rick Astley telling you lies about never giving you up.
I think this blog has become one long Rick Roll. I made several claims as to what you can expect from this sorted little affair. I made some vague outlines of what you can expect here; however, as vague as they are, I still feel like I have lost touch with that and treated this stupid thing more like my personal journal and less like my Internet musings on ridiculously unimportant subjects.
So let's get back on track. Let's remember that Star wars references, Kevin Smith resets, bewbs, and bad tunes is what brought us here in the first place.
We need to breath new life in to our Internet courtship, lest we end up in divorce court arguing over google visitation and who gets to keep the porn collection.
To that end, let me begin the new era....of returning to the old era, by keeping the present era inline with the old era's vision of the future era (friggin Roddenberry made time travel so confusing)by simply stating....
WTF IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE?!?
By people I am referring to fans of stuff. It really doesn't matter what stuff. Any stuff will do....apparently. There is a fan for almost anything these days. I used to think that people who wanted to have sex with duct tape were the craziest thing on this planet until now.
Don't believe me? Go back to that toilet paper fan site and type the weirdest thing you can think of in to the search field. The Internet is a wondrous, and all too scary place. This is not really about that. This is more about how scary the human mind is.
For some reason, when someone becomes a fan, they loose all sense and reason. I understand that fan is a shortening of the term fanatic, and fanatic is defined as:
fa·nat·ic
/fəˈnætɪk/ Show Spelled[fuh-nat-ik] Show IPA
–noun
1.
a person with an extreme and uncritical enthusiasm or zeal, as in religion or politics.
yet, the shrinking of the term to just fan should have also carried with it a shrinking definition.
fan 2 (fn)
n.
An ardent devotee; an enthusiast.
An enthusiast makes sense. I enjoy xyz. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, sort of like watching a kitten....get blended....uhmmm did I type that out loud?
But really, an enthusiast sounds so tame, and much more in line with what I have in mind for my fandom.
I like certain things, like say Wil Wheaton. I like Wil Wheaton. He is generally funny and occasionally insightful in a manner that speaks to me. I can say this and also say. Wesley Crusher was the most annoying television character of all time. I can also say sometimes, he misses the mark and bores me, or tries to hard and I look at him with pity. Sometimes, he just isn't entertaining or insightful. It happens. I would also tend not to compare said Wheaton with say...I don't know, George Carlin.
Carlin was a master at entertaining and insighting (it is a new word, shut up) me and many others. He is one of the all time kings of comedy, and a true master of his art. Wil Wheaton, as much as I like him is no George Carlin.
Now, why am I saying all of this?
Because I had a true WTF moment earlier. No it isn't about why fanatics seem intent on wishing dead people a happy birthday, but rather because some tool decided to make the following statement (real geekshit incoming)
DL (dragonlance, a series of novels and a campaign setting for dungeons and dragons, which was pretty entertaining when I was a kid)is in no way near the the same literary standing as LOTR. Maybe so, maybe not. Again, I suppose we will just have to wait and see.
This person, on an internet webboard thought it would be within the realm of serious discourse to suggest that maybe draginlance and lord of the rings were on the same level.
Hands up everyone who knows what dragon lance is.
Thanks geekiest of the geeks.
Now, hands up everyone who knows what lord of the rings is.
Ok, I can't count that high, so put your hands down everyone who doesn't live in a third world country or a shack outside of civilization in the middle of Pennsylvania.
Need a slightly more dramatic example?
Ok. So the reference that this person was making was in regard to the dragonlance movie. A movie which this person felt should have been done slightly differently.
Here is the imdb site for said movie. In case you are wondering, when IMDB writes video inside the bracks with the release date, they are denoting a direct to video release.
Dragonlance the movie was treated the same as all 7,834 (or so) Olsen twins movies.
So I can see how you could compare the value of that product with say, the 2 billion dollar release of the Tolkien masterpiece.
Right well I can see how you could say a live action version might have done well, and the following qualifying statement might apply:
Personally, for me, this series could dethrone LOTR if the movies were made right.
The important part was where the person said "for me" because that means in their eyes, it might have been better. You and all six of your closest friends may have thought that way.
That is the difference between fan and fanatic. The difference between enthusiast and uncritical devotee. The difference between thinking Beiber and Lennon are the same and Wil Wheaton isn't bad, but he's no Carlin.
I could sit here and inform you about how Dragonlance steals many of it's architypes from LOTR, I could show you how setting is the only major difference between the struggles faced by each group, and thus the only true difference between the two series would be in the quality of the writing, and if that is true, then one needs not go very far in determining this person is off their rocker.
Why can't people enjoy something based on its own merits and resist the urge to compare it insanely to masterpieces?
I can draw stick figures, and I may be able to brain wash one person in to thinking that I am a better artist than Van Goh, but that doesn't make it true.
In short, no name mac and cheese is not KD. Stop saying it is, and stop trying to say it is as good or better than. It is a pale imitation. Acceptable when the real thing is not available, but seriously, it is not as good.
Stop thinking that all this new crap is better than the old crap just because it has a shinier coat of paint. And for the love of Paladine, stop thinking a second rate imitation of quality groundbreaking work is new and innovative and can dethrone the master.
Sometimes something new can be better, but most of the time it is just a water downed version of it. If you don't believe me, check out the new Santana album. It is all covers of guitar awesome songs. On the surface you would think, good guitar songs, done by a good guitarist would be good. Yet here's the thing:
He brings nothing new to the table, nor does he honour the old. He simply repackages the old, puts a new coat of paint on it and tells you you should buy it.
This is the difference between loving the old song, and hating the new one.
The difference between hunting down the vinyl for the original, and downloading a free copy of the Sanatana (and then promptly deleting it in a vein attempt to wipe it from the official record of reality).
This is the difference between a 2 billion dollar oscar winning theatrical release and a direct to video release.
Dragonlance may be cool, but it isn't as cool. Thank the ground that LOTR walks on for proving to the industry that fantasy is a viable genre. Don't complain when they realised that as viable as it is, the individual sub genres are only worth a few million bucks from us weirdos.
All of a person's complaints about generalizing or making a story more accessible to a broader audience are what make it a viable production and worth spending the money on. If the audience is so narrow as to provide only a certain level of profit, then all you are going to get is what they can afford to make for that profit.
In the end, just because we are all crazy about something, doesn't mean everyone is.
Beauty and quality are always in the eye of the beholder.
Not everyone is going to find what I like as cool as I do, but generally, I don't care about them, cause they're stupid.
Note 013/06/2012 - I actually began re-reading the Dragonlance series and watched that movie.... The books are good, well thought out and generally of good quality. That movie is tremendously shitty.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Friday, October 8, 2010
Good Medicine
I see her standing there in my mind. I close my eye and I picture it, and the picture becomes so vivid I can smell it, taste it, hear it.
All my senses become electrified as I open the door and see her standing there.
She is wearing a brown track suit. It clings to her because it is raining outside. Slung over her shoulder is a fine purse, I don't know the make because I am a dude, but I can see it, it almost matches her track suit. It definitely matches her large rubber boots.
In her hands is a toaster. I have no idea what she plans to do with it, but it probably isn't natural.
My eyes get lost in hers. Their is mischief in there, and the light of a thousand lives, and the darkness of lost souls who had the misfortune to get lost in there.
This is not a nightmare, it is a dream. Sweet dreams are made of these.
I think I may have found a cure for the blahs and I am calling it good medicine, and no, I am not referring to this.
For the past few days I have been looking for a silver lining or a bright ray of sunshine. I have said that life needs purpose a reason, a redeeming quality and factor to it.
My life has been rough. I have had some of the worst things imaginable done to me, and have done some to others as well. Sitting alone with my thoughts, which some people know is a terrible idea, I find myself wondering what positive effects I have. Am I worth this blazingly wonderful thing called life?
Generally, I have never felt so. I can blame other people for that, and I would be right to do so. I can blame myself for that, and I would be right to do so.
Blame never solved any problem, but understanding cause can be helpful in the long run. I mean really, who do we blame for this. Though satisfying as it might be to rip someone apart for that, and punish them by doing this. In the end, that helps no one. So instead just think of the reason, and if you want to know the reason for Beiber, simply follow these steps.
1. Go to the nearest bathroom.
2. Look in the mirror.
3. Repent.
Ok, I am getting off track here, the important thing is, I almost never feel like anything I do matters. I have always felt that I am an easy person to cast aside and that there is nothing of value in me to other people. This used to depress me in many severe ways. That has passed for the most part as I am now able to really distinguish between flawed thinking and reality.
That being said, it is still a not fun thing.
Today, I learned something new about myself, and about someone I cherish deeply. I need to take some medicine from time to time.
Sometimes we all need to be reminded that despite all of our flaws, we are worth being around, even in the bad times where we need someone else to lean on.
The story doesn't end here though folks. It never does with me. I want to tell you about my medicine.
Cute as a button and yet that could not even begin to describe my medicine.
There is something about the way it is shaped that is just appealing. Some drug addicts talk about how appealing the package is, and while that i important, it is not enough in my good medicine.
Don't get me wrong, the reality is, my medicine is no Megan fox, but in a way, my medicine is so much better looking than Megan fox will ever be. Classic beauty is overrated and frankly leaves something out...I think it is the human equation. When I look at a Megan Fox, I can appreciate it in the same way I can appreciate a beautiful flower. tructuraly speaking it is perfect. That perfection is not beauty though, that perfection is a technical thing. Real beauty is about looking at omething that may not be perfect, but seeing it that way. My medicine may not be perfect, but my medicine is so damn beautiful that perfection is a leser thing.
My medicine's eyes contain a spark of life that is unlike any I think I have ever seen. It just seems like my medicine is there and real, never a placebo, never a low dosage, but always full and the perfect amount.
My medicine is smart. Not because my medicine can explain the theory of relativity, but because my medicine knows what to say, when to say it, and more importantly how to say it. So many people ssay the wrong thing at the wrong time, or merely get lost in their own mind and blurt out what seems to be the right thing based on their world view, but rather, my medicine knows what I need.
The remarkable thing about the intellect of my medicine is that my medicine knows what my medicine doesn't know. My medicine seeks out knowledge, eats it for breakfast lunch and dinner, and then asks for seconds. My medicine also doesn't accept crap answers.
My medicine is a special snowflake. Unique in the fact that it can do so much and yet cost so little. Nothing acts like my medicine. Frankly, nothing should, yet my medicine makes it work.
Sometimes I have to be strong for my medicine, and sometimes my medicine has to be strong for me. I am not sure why my medicine is strong for me, but I do know why I am strong for my medicine.
I once forgot that, and some jerk changed my prescription, but I have finally found the right doctor who is willing to prescribe the right medicine, the good medicine.
When I am feeling blue, my medicine makes me red.
When I am red, my medicine makes me blue.
Good medicine is what I highly recommend to anyone who is struggling with anything, because good medicine can make all the difference. Good medicine can motivate, satiate, aggravate, and just plain immolate the senses.
I am thankful for good medicine, because in some strange way I am comforted by the fact that my medicine is there for me when I need, in good times and in bad.
What can I say about my good medicine that I have not said before
Good medicine is beautiful, smart, kind, funny, short, and worth every penny.
My hope is that I will be paying for my medicine for the rest of my life, because once you have the right medicine, you never let go, you just ride it out and hope for the best.
Thank you for being there medicine.
Disclaimer:
Good medicine may cause
Drowsiness
headaches
heartaches
diarrhea
delusions of world domination
a burning sensation (only if good medicine has matches)
smiles
laughter
nasal leakage
The desire to put things in sterlite containers
a new found appreciation for track suits
sunny days
pathetic adoration
Consult a doctor if good medicine causes heartache that lasts for longer than 10 seconds, you get an erection for more than 4 hours, or if you experience sadness while on good medicine, cause something is not working.
I love my good medicine, and my good medicine loves me back, cause otherwise, good medicine wouldn`t work.
PS, I guess I am thankful for something after all. Must be the thanksgiving miracle charlie brown.
All my senses become electrified as I open the door and see her standing there.
She is wearing a brown track suit. It clings to her because it is raining outside. Slung over her shoulder is a fine purse, I don't know the make because I am a dude, but I can see it, it almost matches her track suit. It definitely matches her large rubber boots.
In her hands is a toaster. I have no idea what she plans to do with it, but it probably isn't natural.
My eyes get lost in hers. Their is mischief in there, and the light of a thousand lives, and the darkness of lost souls who had the misfortune to get lost in there.
This is not a nightmare, it is a dream. Sweet dreams are made of these.
I think I may have found a cure for the blahs and I am calling it good medicine, and no, I am not referring to this.
For the past few days I have been looking for a silver lining or a bright ray of sunshine. I have said that life needs purpose a reason, a redeeming quality and factor to it.
My life has been rough. I have had some of the worst things imaginable done to me, and have done some to others as well. Sitting alone with my thoughts, which some people know is a terrible idea, I find myself wondering what positive effects I have. Am I worth this blazingly wonderful thing called life?
Generally, I have never felt so. I can blame other people for that, and I would be right to do so. I can blame myself for that, and I would be right to do so.
Blame never solved any problem, but understanding cause can be helpful in the long run. I mean really, who do we blame for this. Though satisfying as it might be to rip someone apart for that, and punish them by doing this. In the end, that helps no one. So instead just think of the reason, and if you want to know the reason for Beiber, simply follow these steps.
1. Go to the nearest bathroom.
2. Look in the mirror.
3. Repent.
Ok, I am getting off track here, the important thing is, I almost never feel like anything I do matters. I have always felt that I am an easy person to cast aside and that there is nothing of value in me to other people. This used to depress me in many severe ways. That has passed for the most part as I am now able to really distinguish between flawed thinking and reality.
That being said, it is still a not fun thing.
Today, I learned something new about myself, and about someone I cherish deeply. I need to take some medicine from time to time.
Sometimes we all need to be reminded that despite all of our flaws, we are worth being around, even in the bad times where we need someone else to lean on.
The story doesn't end here though folks. It never does with me. I want to tell you about my medicine.
Cute as a button and yet that could not even begin to describe my medicine.
There is something about the way it is shaped that is just appealing. Some drug addicts talk about how appealing the package is, and while that i important, it is not enough in my good medicine.
Don't get me wrong, the reality is, my medicine is no Megan fox, but in a way, my medicine is so much better looking than Megan fox will ever be. Classic beauty is overrated and frankly leaves something out...I think it is the human equation. When I look at a Megan Fox, I can appreciate it in the same way I can appreciate a beautiful flower. tructuraly speaking it is perfect. That perfection is not beauty though, that perfection is a technical thing. Real beauty is about looking at omething that may not be perfect, but seeing it that way. My medicine may not be perfect, but my medicine is so damn beautiful that perfection is a leser thing.
My medicine's eyes contain a spark of life that is unlike any I think I have ever seen. It just seems like my medicine is there and real, never a placebo, never a low dosage, but always full and the perfect amount.
My medicine is smart. Not because my medicine can explain the theory of relativity, but because my medicine knows what to say, when to say it, and more importantly how to say it. So many people ssay the wrong thing at the wrong time, or merely get lost in their own mind and blurt out what seems to be the right thing based on their world view, but rather, my medicine knows what I need.
The remarkable thing about the intellect of my medicine is that my medicine knows what my medicine doesn't know. My medicine seeks out knowledge, eats it for breakfast lunch and dinner, and then asks for seconds. My medicine also doesn't accept crap answers.
My medicine is a special snowflake. Unique in the fact that it can do so much and yet cost so little. Nothing acts like my medicine. Frankly, nothing should, yet my medicine makes it work.
Sometimes I have to be strong for my medicine, and sometimes my medicine has to be strong for me. I am not sure why my medicine is strong for me, but I do know why I am strong for my medicine.
I once forgot that, and some jerk changed my prescription, but I have finally found the right doctor who is willing to prescribe the right medicine, the good medicine.
When I am feeling blue, my medicine makes me red.
When I am red, my medicine makes me blue.
Good medicine is what I highly recommend to anyone who is struggling with anything, because good medicine can make all the difference. Good medicine can motivate, satiate, aggravate, and just plain immolate the senses.
I am thankful for good medicine, because in some strange way I am comforted by the fact that my medicine is there for me when I need, in good times and in bad.
What can I say about my good medicine that I have not said before
Good medicine is beautiful, smart, kind, funny, short, and worth every penny.
My hope is that I will be paying for my medicine for the rest of my life, because once you have the right medicine, you never let go, you just ride it out and hope for the best.
Thank you for being there medicine.
Disclaimer:
Good medicine may cause
Drowsiness
headaches
heartaches
diarrhea
delusions of world domination
a burning sensation (only if good medicine has matches)
smiles
laughter
nasal leakage
The desire to put things in sterlite containers
a new found appreciation for track suits
sunny days
pathetic adoration
Consult a doctor if good medicine causes heartache that lasts for longer than 10 seconds, you get an erection for more than 4 hours, or if you experience sadness while on good medicine, cause something is not working.
I love my good medicine, and my good medicine loves me back, cause otherwise, good medicine wouldn`t work.
PS, I guess I am thankful for something after all. Must be the thanksgiving miracle charlie brown.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
casey jones- The Ungrateful Dead
So this weekend is thanksgiving, at least it is here in the Frozen North. That usually means people are scrambling to find family to torture or pathetic friends to save. It also usually means people will comb the surface of their brain like an over zealous stormtrooper on the sands of tatooine looking for droids.
If you expect me to do either of those things, this is not the blog you are looking for.
So many people are so thankful for all their gifts in this life, and try as I might, I am not one of them. I rarely if ever consider anything in my life a gift. This is almost exclusively to do with the yin yang of everything in my life.
Many people are thankful for their parents. I could try and be, but when your parents both love and hate you at the same time it isn't easy to be thankful.
Many people are thankful for love. I simply am not one of those. My love for others has always been misplaced or blown up real fast. Those who have professed to love me have simply dissipated. Ok not so simply in some cases but frig that, invisibility is invisibility.
It is at this point a normal person would scream out I am unlovable. I ain't gonna do that. First of all, I am not normal, and second of all, I am lovable in my own way.
Sure I am fucked up, but at least I have the balls to admit it, and the ridiculous lack of shame to blog about it on the internet.
Many people are thankful for their job. HAHAHA!
Moving on.
Many people are thankful for their friends. In a way I should be, but I am not. I am no longer comfortable with any of them. I may never have been simply because I am never able to be fully and truly me with any of them save 3. One dissapeared, one lives in another country and one expects more from me than I can deliver.
The vast majority of people are thankful for life. I am not. Like all yin tang situations, my life has been extraordinarily blessed and cursed. Yet those great joys seem hollow and empty now as I look back on them because they were never what I wanted. All those little victories were tainted by the fact that they could have been much more.
The pain. The pain was real.
Someone foolishly said to me today I should not rest on my laurels. I would like to gut him like a fish right now, and I hate fish.
No quarter given, no respect for the distance traveled so far, merely penalizing me for not having reached the finish line as posted by him.
Few know enough about me to actually say to me, I know you well enough by now.... in fact I think only two living souls have a right to say that...maybe three. That third is most likely not smart enough to actually know me.
At some point pride is valuable. Self esteem is valuable. Self worth is valuable.
To all those who climbed out of the gutter to stand on the side of the road I salute you, and welcome to the club.
There are gutters in life, and not those shiny ones in your bowling alleys that simply spit your ball back out when you slide it in there by accident. There are gutters that consume. Gutters that are full of quicksand and tar, with dirty needles for rocks and dead bodies for bumpers.
There are gutters full of the diseased, the sick the abandoned, the lonely.
This is the gutter of the abused. This is the gutter of the guilty. This is the gutter of the forgotten and the downtrodden. The gutter of the traumatized. The gutter of the addict. The gutter of the poor. The gutter of the misbegotten.
When someone crawls out of that gutter, stands up, looks around and says, can anyone help me find the way back home, you don't tell them find it yourself. You do not tell them hey I see you got yourself out of the gutter, why can't you find your way home?
My story is not that different from others.
Abused by 3.
Broken so badly that the vast majority of people with my injury can't feed themselves let alone think for themselves.
Scared, stalked and alone.
Abandoned and mistreated.
Lost and found in a place not for the weak of heart.
Abandoned again.
Guilty of so much hate and hurt.
Abandoned again.
Left to addiction, and almost lost.
Freed through willpower and inner strength, only to make the same mistakes again because my roadmap is shit.
Broken down and misguided.
Foolish in love to the point it breaks him again.
Lost and alone.
Reinvents himself and begins a wicked journey of self discovery that he hopes will lead him home.
Lost a drift. Begging for a light and help with the map.
Fuck you if you think I haven't done enough. Fuck you if you think it is so easy to get this far.
Ahh what have I done? Laid bare my angst and anger over everything. So be it. Feel free to judge me all you want. I am strong enough to withstand your opinions, it is myself that is the true harsh critic.
Personal savior indeed. Look for your strength in others if that warms you at night. I like the cold.
Go ahead and tell me again how I like the inner strength to make change. Go ahead.
Yay me for being stupid enough to share this with you all. The fact is, maybe you can learn from my mistakes, and even if you don't, I can still be a cautionary tale.
What I will not do is be thankful for all this shit.
It never really amounted to much, after all, I haven't amounted to jackshit. But, I have managed to accomplish something few do, I got out, and I breathed clean air for a bit. It was kinda fun, in a messed up sort of way.
Now, go forth children and be thankful. Be thankful you are not me, since I am weak and pathetic and not worth anyone's kudos.
If you expect me to do either of those things, this is not the blog you are looking for.
So many people are so thankful for all their gifts in this life, and try as I might, I am not one of them. I rarely if ever consider anything in my life a gift. This is almost exclusively to do with the yin yang of everything in my life.
Many people are thankful for their parents. I could try and be, but when your parents both love and hate you at the same time it isn't easy to be thankful.
Many people are thankful for love. I simply am not one of those. My love for others has always been misplaced or blown up real fast. Those who have professed to love me have simply dissipated. Ok not so simply in some cases but frig that, invisibility is invisibility.
It is at this point a normal person would scream out I am unlovable. I ain't gonna do that. First of all, I am not normal, and second of all, I am lovable in my own way.
Sure I am fucked up, but at least I have the balls to admit it, and the ridiculous lack of shame to blog about it on the internet.
Many people are thankful for their job. HAHAHA!
Moving on.
Many people are thankful for their friends. In a way I should be, but I am not. I am no longer comfortable with any of them. I may never have been simply because I am never able to be fully and truly me with any of them save 3. One dissapeared, one lives in another country and one expects more from me than I can deliver.
The vast majority of people are thankful for life. I am not. Like all yin tang situations, my life has been extraordinarily blessed and cursed. Yet those great joys seem hollow and empty now as I look back on them because they were never what I wanted. All those little victories were tainted by the fact that they could have been much more.
The pain. The pain was real.
Someone foolishly said to me today I should not rest on my laurels. I would like to gut him like a fish right now, and I hate fish.
No quarter given, no respect for the distance traveled so far, merely penalizing me for not having reached the finish line as posted by him.
Few know enough about me to actually say to me, I know you well enough by now.... in fact I think only two living souls have a right to say that...maybe three. That third is most likely not smart enough to actually know me.
At some point pride is valuable. Self esteem is valuable. Self worth is valuable.
To all those who climbed out of the gutter to stand on the side of the road I salute you, and welcome to the club.
There are gutters in life, and not those shiny ones in your bowling alleys that simply spit your ball back out when you slide it in there by accident. There are gutters that consume. Gutters that are full of quicksand and tar, with dirty needles for rocks and dead bodies for bumpers.
There are gutters full of the diseased, the sick the abandoned, the lonely.
This is the gutter of the abused. This is the gutter of the guilty. This is the gutter of the forgotten and the downtrodden. The gutter of the traumatized. The gutter of the addict. The gutter of the poor. The gutter of the misbegotten.
When someone crawls out of that gutter, stands up, looks around and says, can anyone help me find the way back home, you don't tell them find it yourself. You do not tell them hey I see you got yourself out of the gutter, why can't you find your way home?
My story is not that different from others.
Abused by 3.
Broken so badly that the vast majority of people with my injury can't feed themselves let alone think for themselves.
Scared, stalked and alone.
Abandoned and mistreated.
Lost and found in a place not for the weak of heart.
Abandoned again.
Guilty of so much hate and hurt.
Abandoned again.
Left to addiction, and almost lost.
Freed through willpower and inner strength, only to make the same mistakes again because my roadmap is shit.
Broken down and misguided.
Foolish in love to the point it breaks him again.
Lost and alone.
Reinvents himself and begins a wicked journey of self discovery that he hopes will lead him home.
Lost a drift. Begging for a light and help with the map.
Fuck you if you think I haven't done enough. Fuck you if you think it is so easy to get this far.
Ahh what have I done? Laid bare my angst and anger over everything. So be it. Feel free to judge me all you want. I am strong enough to withstand your opinions, it is myself that is the true harsh critic.
Personal savior indeed. Look for your strength in others if that warms you at night. I like the cold.
Go ahead and tell me again how I like the inner strength to make change. Go ahead.
Yay me for being stupid enough to share this with you all. The fact is, maybe you can learn from my mistakes, and even if you don't, I can still be a cautionary tale.
What I will not do is be thankful for all this shit.
It never really amounted to much, after all, I haven't amounted to jackshit. But, I have managed to accomplish something few do, I got out, and I breathed clean air for a bit. It was kinda fun, in a messed up sort of way.
Now, go forth children and be thankful. Be thankful you are not me, since I am weak and pathetic and not worth anyone's kudos.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
On the Shoulders of midgets on the shoulders of dwarves on the shoulders of men on the shoulders of half giants on the shoulders of giants.
Longest title ever! It will actually make sense, at least to my twisted world view at a certain point in my meanderings.
So, what is the monkey on about? He is on about creativity.....again. This time not just his own, but also that of every other paper tiger and moving picture hack. You see, there is nothing new anymore. This is a tragedy. Even I must steal from me in order to complete my latest assignment.
That assignment is instructing you on the sadness of the creative world.
I recently had a convoluted idea of a story, which in my head was greatness. It was going to change the way people saw the world. This idea was going to shape the generations that follow. It would be so profoundly mesmerizing interesting, creative and insightful that I would live off of it for the rest of my life.
This one idea would put food on my table, give me something to do and force others to worship me....you know not in that god way, but like they would any flavour of celebrity or minor deity of genius...or at least like Val Kilmer. This joke works because Val is a minor celebrity, and was in a movie called real genius...which btw is the third best movie ever made).
I had it all mapped out in my head. It had compelling characters, a gritty raw emotional feel that would be understood and felt by all. It had just the right amount of explosions and boobs...which is pretty much the hardest equation to accomplish. It could be said that Under Seige had either too little boob or too much explosion for example. My idea had emotional and spiritual attraction for the ladies, and knife fights for the dudes. It had no pirates either, gay or otherwise, though I imagine in my mind Johnny Depp would still want a part in the movie version because that guy knows genius.
I percolated on said idea for a few days, really shaping it and molding it in to the brilliant idea that would not only win me writing awards, but also an Oscar and the love of a good Megan fox. All was going well, until my muse/evil partner/hate filled midget/destroyer of fine dreams everywhere got involved.
I laid bare my plan for winning the hearts and minds of the masses, and this is what she said.
"Oh, so like lost, but in a bomb shelter."
For the 37th time, she broke my heart. I believe she now takes joy in it, as if it was a sport, or at least a hobby.
She also managed to put a small, angry, disaffected voice to my other thought. There is no creativity anymore.
I can Prove it.
CSIMINDSINTHENAVYORDEROFNUMBEREDBONES.
LOSTHEROESDURINGTHEEVENT.
I first noticed this trend of patheticism during the summer of discontent in which every movie was about some type of Ragnarok. Ben Affleck needed to save the world from a deep impact or some such nonsensical Armageddon.
I blogged about a similar phenomenon not too long ago in regards to GI Joe. It has only gotten worse.
Not only are people purchasing the rights to other stories, they are now simply rebooting dead movies.
I noticed this with Batman. It had been a whole series of movies, then it died. Then it was reborn with a new, grittier feel and a scary crazy actor.
This trend is continuing. They are going to continue to simply remake old movies. They are going to continue to remake television shows....there can be only one filler of the daisy dukes, and I do not care if she is a lesbian.
What is worse than all of those examples is the trend of noticing someone else`s success, and rather than using it to motivate you to reach for your own pot of gold, it drives you to envy, jealousy and desperate measure. It drives you to write the exact same story in a new location. It drives one to copy what others have done, set it in an exciting, exotic locale, slap your own name on it and resell it to people.
If you liked CSI, then you will love CSI Tahiti. Same great dead bodies, now with 60% more bikini clad women and speedo wearing six packs.
I get that there are true victims in all of this...besides the dulled minds of the masses, those victims are the barely creative wannabes like me.
Having never seen lost, I had no idea I was copying them. In that case, I could have continued with my idea and felt reasonable that I was being creative. Yet in the end, I would only be disappointed by the masses when they in fact paid me for my product; after all, we buy no name ketchup right? There must be some kind of math equation hollywood uses to determine the deteriorating return on a good idea.
AB-u=X
ab-u=Y
Repeat step 2.
When Y=0 search for A
A=new idea
B= Sales of new idea
U-Budget costs
X equals profit
a=retread
b= diminishing returns
u= ridiculously low production cost.
Y= reduced profit MArgin
That seems about right. Spend high at first, then reduce quality, dilute product until the masses no longer accept the product, then start over.
I fail to see the appeal in this. I fail to see why we should reward people for stealing other's ideas, repackaging them and giving them to us, even if it is at a reduced pricve...which it rarely is, or if it is, it is because quality is so pathetic.
Having said all of this, I think it matters to point out that Shakespeare stole all the good ideas anyway, so what are we left with?
Pretty much stuff that goes Boom or stuff that goes Bump.
To sum up, Shakespeare is a jerk, short people are mean, I am uncreative...accidentally, and I managed to make a Val Kilmer reference and a Paris Hilton reference in a single blog post. Now that takes creativity.
So, what is the monkey on about? He is on about creativity.....again. This time not just his own, but also that of every other paper tiger and moving picture hack. You see, there is nothing new anymore. This is a tragedy. Even I must steal from me in order to complete my latest assignment.
That assignment is instructing you on the sadness of the creative world.
I recently had a convoluted idea of a story, which in my head was greatness. It was going to change the way people saw the world. This idea was going to shape the generations that follow. It would be so profoundly mesmerizing interesting, creative and insightful that I would live off of it for the rest of my life.
This one idea would put food on my table, give me something to do and force others to worship me....you know not in that god way, but like they would any flavour of celebrity or minor deity of genius...or at least like Val Kilmer. This joke works because Val is a minor celebrity, and was in a movie called real genius...which btw is the third best movie ever made).
I had it all mapped out in my head. It had compelling characters, a gritty raw emotional feel that would be understood and felt by all. It had just the right amount of explosions and boobs...which is pretty much the hardest equation to accomplish. It could be said that Under Seige had either too little boob or too much explosion for example. My idea had emotional and spiritual attraction for the ladies, and knife fights for the dudes. It had no pirates either, gay or otherwise, though I imagine in my mind Johnny Depp would still want a part in the movie version because that guy knows genius.
I percolated on said idea for a few days, really shaping it and molding it in to the brilliant idea that would not only win me writing awards, but also an Oscar and the love of a good Megan fox. All was going well, until my muse/evil partner/hate filled midget/destroyer of fine dreams everywhere got involved.
I laid bare my plan for winning the hearts and minds of the masses, and this is what she said.
"Oh, so like lost, but in a bomb shelter."
For the 37th time, she broke my heart. I believe she now takes joy in it, as if it was a sport, or at least a hobby.
She also managed to put a small, angry, disaffected voice to my other thought. There is no creativity anymore.
I can Prove it.
CSIMINDSINTHENAVYORDEROFNUMBEREDBONES.
LOSTHEROESDURINGTHEEVENT.
I first noticed this trend of patheticism during the summer of discontent in which every movie was about some type of Ragnarok. Ben Affleck needed to save the world from a deep impact or some such nonsensical Armageddon.
I blogged about a similar phenomenon not too long ago in regards to GI Joe. It has only gotten worse.
Not only are people purchasing the rights to other stories, they are now simply rebooting dead movies.
I noticed this with Batman. It had been a whole series of movies, then it died. Then it was reborn with a new, grittier feel and a scary crazy actor.
This trend is continuing. They are going to continue to simply remake old movies. They are going to continue to remake television shows....there can be only one filler of the daisy dukes, and I do not care if she is a lesbian.
What is worse than all of those examples is the trend of noticing someone else`s success, and rather than using it to motivate you to reach for your own pot of gold, it drives you to envy, jealousy and desperate measure. It drives you to write the exact same story in a new location. It drives one to copy what others have done, set it in an exciting, exotic locale, slap your own name on it and resell it to people.
If you liked CSI, then you will love CSI Tahiti. Same great dead bodies, now with 60% more bikini clad women and speedo wearing six packs.
I get that there are true victims in all of this...besides the dulled minds of the masses, those victims are the barely creative wannabes like me.
Having never seen lost, I had no idea I was copying them. In that case, I could have continued with my idea and felt reasonable that I was being creative. Yet in the end, I would only be disappointed by the masses when they in fact paid me for my product; after all, we buy no name ketchup right? There must be some kind of math equation hollywood uses to determine the deteriorating return on a good idea.
AB-u=X
ab-u=Y
Repeat step 2.
When Y=0 search for A
A=new idea
B= Sales of new idea
U-Budget costs
X equals profit
a=retread
b= diminishing returns
u= ridiculously low production cost.
Y= reduced profit MArgin
That seems about right. Spend high at first, then reduce quality, dilute product until the masses no longer accept the product, then start over.
I fail to see the appeal in this. I fail to see why we should reward people for stealing other's ideas, repackaging them and giving them to us, even if it is at a reduced pricve...which it rarely is, or if it is, it is because quality is so pathetic.
Having said all of this, I think it matters to point out that Shakespeare stole all the good ideas anyway, so what are we left with?
Pretty much stuff that goes Boom or stuff that goes Bump.
To sum up, Shakespeare is a jerk, short people are mean, I am uncreative...accidentally, and I managed to make a Val Kilmer reference and a Paris Hilton reference in a single blog post. Now that takes creativity.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
The lion sleeps tonight
Previously posted last year on facebook, but i was thinking about it and wanted to repost it for the permanent record.
A truck backfires, for a moment drowning out the rumble of distant traffic. The grass is soft and moist, cold yet yielding. The smell of the dew far outpaced by the smells of the city, dirt, sweat, rotting food, rotting flesh. Steam rises from the sewer grates cascading across the landscape, obscuring the buildings a short distance from where the man lays motionless.
He is not asleep, nor is he truly a man. Of course, the definition of man is lost on him, almost as much as it is on us. The rites of passage in his world are more elusive in definition and clarity, but more readily apparent in their effect on someone. He is a teenager, a lone lost teenager under a bench.
It occurs to him briefly the chief reason for the bench, indeed for the park itself. He ever so gently fantasizes, just for mere moments about the family sitting down at the bench, enjoying the warm summer sun, combined with a beautiful spread of food fit for a king and his royal family. His stomach rumbles, and this forces him into action, even if it is just to roll over and suffocate these thoughts.
He’s not sure if his fantasy is anywhere near reality. He thinks back to his family outings, rare as they were. They always seemed to center around a bar. Ontario place for the air show, at a bar. Booze infested family dinners. His memories do not fill him with light.
He groans softly, realising his thoughts betray him, make him soft and weak and vulnerable. This will never do, not now, not later, not ever. He resolves then and there to be unquestioningly strong, unfailingly cold. Just like the morning grass.
The sun is threatening to bring its warm face out and mock the man-child. It seems lately like all the sun does is mock and cajole, promise light and warmth, but only bring exposure and boredom. All day, what does he have to do but wander and ponder? He’ll think about what led him to this spot, what made him the way he is, but in the end all he will find is silence, because the answer is so obvious that he should not even bother with the question. He did this. He made it. But still he looks for a place to lay the blame, some way to alleviate his anger by focusing the relentless rage.
He knows the rage will betray him as all his other emotions will. People use this to their advantage. Twisting, manipulating, cajoling him into action he previously would never have considered. But really, what is he now but a clean slate? A newly formed machine of cold unfeeling malevolence for those around him.
He tries to fight this, but knows he will lose. It is not mere abandonment he feels. Nor is it hopelessness. It is calm resolution. An acceptance of fate if you will.
The anger rises, tasting like bile in his throat, but of course it is the best thing he has tasted in three days, so he welcomes it. He wants to scream out. LOOK AT ME NOW! You say you care, you say you love me, but look at me now. Look at where I am, and what I am doing and tell me this is love, tough or otherwise.
This makes him ponder love. Has he ever really felt it? He has been told I love you, but like the ghosts of a thousand dreams, all those that say love with their lips, and even with their eyes, walk away. Is that love?
He knows in the back of his mind, and in the front of it when the sun crawls to its height and brings out all the happy souls for play, that things will get better. They will change as all things must. There is one small problem that he sees. It will get bad again. Then better. Then bad. The lesson his father imparted doesn’t leave him, and maybe he should be thankful for that at least. Life is a series of waves, sometimes you are cresting, riding high and feeling no pain, and sometimes you are in the trough, surrounded on all sides by your anguish and loneliness, engulfed by your sadness. This he now knows to be true.
Things will get better, and he will forget the lesson he learned that night. When he lets the emotions run and lets people in, he will feel pain because he knows no other way, knows no other form of living than this. As luck will have it though, there will be others to teach him this lesson over and over again. They will be unwavering in their support of the trough theory.
There is one final lesson the street will teach him that night, the lesson that will be his downfall for all eternity. Loneliness is a killer. Being alone in a city of millions makes a hard man crumble, and let us not forget, this is really not a man we are talking about. Loneliness will force him out from under the bench. Loneliness will introduce him to all sorts of wonders and he will ride high standing on top of the crest, his feet barely brushing the surface of the water, a smile on his face that no feeling person could resist. But loneliness will cause him to stop thinking and start feeling, and that he cannot allow, even though he will. The problem for him is not the people he chooses, it is in fact the people that choose him; that break their own waves across his body; that will search to use him to climb out of their trough, to avoid their loneliness, to embrace their darker passions.
You and I will come to doubt that he will need to be taught these lessons many more times before they make him or break him. But there is always once more. There is always that one last time to dream, to hope, to persist and to reach for the stars, because in the dead of night, all alone in a city of millions, the stars are your friends, and they are all just people who he has yet to meet, and a few of them will be the bright beacons in life that they are in the sky. This too he knows is true.
A truck backfires, for a moment drowning out the rumble of distant traffic. The grass is soft and moist, cold yet yielding. The smell of the dew far outpaced by the smells of the city, dirt, sweat, rotting food, rotting flesh. Steam rises from the sewer grates cascading across the landscape, obscuring the buildings a short distance from where the man lays motionless.
He is not asleep, nor is he truly a man. Of course, the definition of man is lost on him, almost as much as it is on us. The rites of passage in his world are more elusive in definition and clarity, but more readily apparent in their effect on someone. He is a teenager, a lone lost teenager under a bench.
It occurs to him briefly the chief reason for the bench, indeed for the park itself. He ever so gently fantasizes, just for mere moments about the family sitting down at the bench, enjoying the warm summer sun, combined with a beautiful spread of food fit for a king and his royal family. His stomach rumbles, and this forces him into action, even if it is just to roll over and suffocate these thoughts.
He’s not sure if his fantasy is anywhere near reality. He thinks back to his family outings, rare as they were. They always seemed to center around a bar. Ontario place for the air show, at a bar. Booze infested family dinners. His memories do not fill him with light.
He groans softly, realising his thoughts betray him, make him soft and weak and vulnerable. This will never do, not now, not later, not ever. He resolves then and there to be unquestioningly strong, unfailingly cold. Just like the morning grass.
The sun is threatening to bring its warm face out and mock the man-child. It seems lately like all the sun does is mock and cajole, promise light and warmth, but only bring exposure and boredom. All day, what does he have to do but wander and ponder? He’ll think about what led him to this spot, what made him the way he is, but in the end all he will find is silence, because the answer is so obvious that he should not even bother with the question. He did this. He made it. But still he looks for a place to lay the blame, some way to alleviate his anger by focusing the relentless rage.
He knows the rage will betray him as all his other emotions will. People use this to their advantage. Twisting, manipulating, cajoling him into action he previously would never have considered. But really, what is he now but a clean slate? A newly formed machine of cold unfeeling malevolence for those around him.
He tries to fight this, but knows he will lose. It is not mere abandonment he feels. Nor is it hopelessness. It is calm resolution. An acceptance of fate if you will.
The anger rises, tasting like bile in his throat, but of course it is the best thing he has tasted in three days, so he welcomes it. He wants to scream out. LOOK AT ME NOW! You say you care, you say you love me, but look at me now. Look at where I am, and what I am doing and tell me this is love, tough or otherwise.
This makes him ponder love. Has he ever really felt it? He has been told I love you, but like the ghosts of a thousand dreams, all those that say love with their lips, and even with their eyes, walk away. Is that love?
He knows in the back of his mind, and in the front of it when the sun crawls to its height and brings out all the happy souls for play, that things will get better. They will change as all things must. There is one small problem that he sees. It will get bad again. Then better. Then bad. The lesson his father imparted doesn’t leave him, and maybe he should be thankful for that at least. Life is a series of waves, sometimes you are cresting, riding high and feeling no pain, and sometimes you are in the trough, surrounded on all sides by your anguish and loneliness, engulfed by your sadness. This he now knows to be true.
Things will get better, and he will forget the lesson he learned that night. When he lets the emotions run and lets people in, he will feel pain because he knows no other way, knows no other form of living than this. As luck will have it though, there will be others to teach him this lesson over and over again. They will be unwavering in their support of the trough theory.
There is one final lesson the street will teach him that night, the lesson that will be his downfall for all eternity. Loneliness is a killer. Being alone in a city of millions makes a hard man crumble, and let us not forget, this is really not a man we are talking about. Loneliness will force him out from under the bench. Loneliness will introduce him to all sorts of wonders and he will ride high standing on top of the crest, his feet barely brushing the surface of the water, a smile on his face that no feeling person could resist. But loneliness will cause him to stop thinking and start feeling, and that he cannot allow, even though he will. The problem for him is not the people he chooses, it is in fact the people that choose him; that break their own waves across his body; that will search to use him to climb out of their trough, to avoid their loneliness, to embrace their darker passions.
You and I will come to doubt that he will need to be taught these lessons many more times before they make him or break him. But there is always once more. There is always that one last time to dream, to hope, to persist and to reach for the stars, because in the dead of night, all alone in a city of millions, the stars are your friends, and they are all just people who he has yet to meet, and a few of them will be the bright beacons in life that they are in the sky. This too he knows is true.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
In which I blow up my world....
Rufus: He still digs humanity, but it bothers Him to see the shit that gets carried out in His name - wars, bigotry, televangelism. But especially the factioning of all the religions. He said humanity took a good idea and, like always, built a belief structure on it.
Bethany: Having beliefs isn't good?
Rufus: I think it's better to have ideas. You can change an idea. Changing a belief is trickier. Life should malleable and progressive; working from idea to idea permits that. Beliefs anchor you to certain points and limit growth; new ideas can't generate. Life becomes stagnant.
I use this little piece of dialogue from the fat man's epic religious movie because it is killing me to see the hypocrisy and lack of devotion to what is supposed to be core tenets of certain faiths.
I don't want this rant to turn in to, oh well you are talking about religion, not faith. To that end, let me neuter you now. Faith is a deeply personal matter which is between you and your God. It is only between you and your god and it takes place inside your own mind. It dictates your behaviour and informs your actions. Religion is what you project to the public. What you espouse to others and what you gather to celebrate. Any time you tell me what you believe to be the ultimate truth is in fact religion. It is a series of beliefs based on whatever text you tend to follow. If you want to tell me that there is a difference between what one believes and what one has faith in then you must give me a better argument, since in the end, actions speak louder than lip service.
All that being said, I am tired of closed minded lip service payment to ideals I hold dear.
You see, I believe everyone needs to be loved, and everyone needs to be accepted and treated with respect.
I am told that this is the main ideal of Christianity. I am told that Jesus was all about loving thy neighbour as thyself. A beautiful ideal to be sure, yet one no one seems to have a hold on in any meaningful way.
I heard this morning, a man claiming to be a christian in one breath, and calling a politician a whore and making fun of her.
"..just because she liked to sleep with oily drunk men..."
This was a characterization of something the woman said, without actual claim to her past. This christian decided to make fun of her and belittle her based on no evidence. He did not love his neighbour.
In the last few weeks, a man in the position of being a christian leader wanted to burn books and treat others with great disrespect. This man did not love his neighbour.
Last week, I was unable to do things on my own. I asked for help and was denied because the person projected their belief, which is not based on anything other than opinion over interpretation of sayings in a book. How can I say this? Well the fact is, they are putting their own belief on something they do not like, while ignoring the things that he does like which also break commandments. He did not love his neighbour.
I listened to two people argue over what damage atheism is doing to the world. One person claimed atheists are the worst thing in the world. He ignored the fact that as many atheists are working towards the betterment of their fellow man as Christians are. He ignored the fact that people like me devote their being to helping others and merely dismissed me and those like me as evil because we are not spreading the word of god.....as he sees it. He did not love his neighbour.
What do all these people have in common? They all not only claim ownership of the truth, but they also all influence the opinions of my friends.
I want to love my neighbour. I want to devote my life to improving the lives of others. I want to treat others with respect and caring.
I do not want to hold beliefs that would have me wish my son be stupid rather than gay.
I do not want to reject human beings because their beliefs are different than mine.
I do not want to belittle another person because I want to neuter their ideas.
Intolerance is not solely in the purview of the secular.
As I type this, a priest just said, and I quote: "you are like a chatty cathy doll, you never shut up." He does not love his neighbour.
I am tired, and I am not interested in hearing about how we can love god and not love each other.
Life is too short to live for death. Life is too long to live for yourself.
We need to look at our religious texts, and we need to look at them critically. We need to not blindly believe in something.
We need to see how the one hand says love, while the other teaches intolerance. We cannot pick and choose if we claim to believe in the word. We either believe in all the words, or we believe in none of them.
Picking and choosing which items are still relevant and which are outdated is ridiculous. I like this idea so I am going to go with it, but boy this is not tastey, let us reject it.
If you are going to reject homosexuality, then you must reject female teachers.
If you are going to reject premarital sex, then you must reject blind people.
When a person says it matters more what is in your heart, it doesn't mean that you get to ignore the other things, merely that following the rule of law is not enough.
Nowhere does Jesus reject the law, just that he claimed wanting to follow the law is not as important as believing in the law.
In the end, the only thing I want is to hold my own spirituality in my heart and spend my time making the world we live in a better place.
Too often people are only concerned with the afterlife. They see this world as flawed and not worth saving. Thus they work towards the next life. They believe in saving souls so they can join them in the afterlife.
I want to see this world improved. It is flawed. It is broken, and so are the people who live in it. I see it as a world worth saving. I see people as worth saving now.
When your belief is based on the destruction of the world, how can you work to improve the world? When all you do is designed to protect you when the world blows up, or you die, how can you work to make this life and this world better? You do not love your neighbour. You fear your god's wrath.
There is a war for my soul. It is happening here and now. I intend to give it back to me. I intend to be accountable to myself, my loved ones and my neighbour. I intend to let my neighbour define what loving them is, not some book which is full of intolerance and hate.
I know this will upset a number of people, but in the end, I cannot live with hypocracy and rejection.
I had a whole other entry lined up and scheduled. I have moved that schedule to another time in order to get the rest of this off my chest.
One final note to those who might say I am being selfish and hypocritical by rejecting some of my neighbours, I say this to you, I will love my neighbour until they reject my love and make it impossible for me to love them. There are tough choices in this world, and the fact is, judging people is not what I want to do, but like all humans I cannot avoid it. All I can do is try and live my life and treat everyone equally.
Bethany: Having beliefs isn't good?
Rufus: I think it's better to have ideas. You can change an idea. Changing a belief is trickier. Life should malleable and progressive; working from idea to idea permits that. Beliefs anchor you to certain points and limit growth; new ideas can't generate. Life becomes stagnant.
I use this little piece of dialogue from the fat man's epic religious movie because it is killing me to see the hypocrisy and lack of devotion to what is supposed to be core tenets of certain faiths.
I don't want this rant to turn in to, oh well you are talking about religion, not faith. To that end, let me neuter you now. Faith is a deeply personal matter which is between you and your God. It is only between you and your god and it takes place inside your own mind. It dictates your behaviour and informs your actions. Religion is what you project to the public. What you espouse to others and what you gather to celebrate. Any time you tell me what you believe to be the ultimate truth is in fact religion. It is a series of beliefs based on whatever text you tend to follow. If you want to tell me that there is a difference between what one believes and what one has faith in then you must give me a better argument, since in the end, actions speak louder than lip service.
All that being said, I am tired of closed minded lip service payment to ideals I hold dear.
You see, I believe everyone needs to be loved, and everyone needs to be accepted and treated with respect.
I am told that this is the main ideal of Christianity. I am told that Jesus was all about loving thy neighbour as thyself. A beautiful ideal to be sure, yet one no one seems to have a hold on in any meaningful way.
I heard this morning, a man claiming to be a christian in one breath, and calling a politician a whore and making fun of her.
"..just because she liked to sleep with oily drunk men..."
This was a characterization of something the woman said, without actual claim to her past. This christian decided to make fun of her and belittle her based on no evidence. He did not love his neighbour.
In the last few weeks, a man in the position of being a christian leader wanted to burn books and treat others with great disrespect. This man did not love his neighbour.
Last week, I was unable to do things on my own. I asked for help and was denied because the person projected their belief, which is not based on anything other than opinion over interpretation of sayings in a book. How can I say this? Well the fact is, they are putting their own belief on something they do not like, while ignoring the things that he does like which also break commandments. He did not love his neighbour.
I listened to two people argue over what damage atheism is doing to the world. One person claimed atheists are the worst thing in the world. He ignored the fact that as many atheists are working towards the betterment of their fellow man as Christians are. He ignored the fact that people like me devote their being to helping others and merely dismissed me and those like me as evil because we are not spreading the word of god.....as he sees it. He did not love his neighbour.
What do all these people have in common? They all not only claim ownership of the truth, but they also all influence the opinions of my friends.
I want to love my neighbour. I want to devote my life to improving the lives of others. I want to treat others with respect and caring.
I do not want to hold beliefs that would have me wish my son be stupid rather than gay.
I do not want to reject human beings because their beliefs are different than mine.
I do not want to belittle another person because I want to neuter their ideas.
Intolerance is not solely in the purview of the secular.
As I type this, a priest just said, and I quote: "you are like a chatty cathy doll, you never shut up." He does not love his neighbour.
I am tired, and I am not interested in hearing about how we can love god and not love each other.
Life is too short to live for death. Life is too long to live for yourself.
We need to look at our religious texts, and we need to look at them critically. We need to not blindly believe in something.
We need to see how the one hand says love, while the other teaches intolerance. We cannot pick and choose if we claim to believe in the word. We either believe in all the words, or we believe in none of them.
Picking and choosing which items are still relevant and which are outdated is ridiculous. I like this idea so I am going to go with it, but boy this is not tastey, let us reject it.
If you are going to reject homosexuality, then you must reject female teachers.
If you are going to reject premarital sex, then you must reject blind people.
When a person says it matters more what is in your heart, it doesn't mean that you get to ignore the other things, merely that following the rule of law is not enough.
Nowhere does Jesus reject the law, just that he claimed wanting to follow the law is not as important as believing in the law.
In the end, the only thing I want is to hold my own spirituality in my heart and spend my time making the world we live in a better place.
Too often people are only concerned with the afterlife. They see this world as flawed and not worth saving. Thus they work towards the next life. They believe in saving souls so they can join them in the afterlife.
I want to see this world improved. It is flawed. It is broken, and so are the people who live in it. I see it as a world worth saving. I see people as worth saving now.
When your belief is based on the destruction of the world, how can you work to improve the world? When all you do is designed to protect you when the world blows up, or you die, how can you work to make this life and this world better? You do not love your neighbour. You fear your god's wrath.
There is a war for my soul. It is happening here and now. I intend to give it back to me. I intend to be accountable to myself, my loved ones and my neighbour. I intend to let my neighbour define what loving them is, not some book which is full of intolerance and hate.
I know this will upset a number of people, but in the end, I cannot live with hypocracy and rejection.
I had a whole other entry lined up and scheduled. I have moved that schedule to another time in order to get the rest of this off my chest.
One final note to those who might say I am being selfish and hypocritical by rejecting some of my neighbours, I say this to you, I will love my neighbour until they reject my love and make it impossible for me to love them. There are tough choices in this world, and the fact is, judging people is not what I want to do, but like all humans I cannot avoid it. All I can do is try and live my life and treat everyone equally.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
The Guidebook to man genotypes,
Or is it phenotypes.....I don't remember.
A while back I wrote what has become one of my favorite blog posts about women. It is also my most often praised post, with no fewer than 3....that's right three people saying they liked it. I have decided to go back to that well for my first post since being sick.
Remember, it has been a while, so be gentle as I feel my way back in to this.
Dudes.
This is a fairly easy to identify group of males. They smell like a mixture of booze, cologne, barf, and evil. They will mistreat you, no matter what gender you are. Their sole purpose in life is to be entertained, and sadly, at this stage in their development they are in fact only entertained by the shame and degradation of others. They will perform wild drunken acts of seeming bravery and daring if provoked. Note: Provoking merely means saying I double dare ya!.
They cannot be reasoned with, they cannot be stopped. They will use you for fun and then throw you away.
This type of male is immensely proficient in sexual conquest as they are also generally the best looking of the male gender, in a narrow way.
Use extreme caution when approaching as they may in fact puke on you.
Boys.
This is the most deceptive form of male. They may be doctors, lawyerrs, writers, actors, firemen, etc. but they are actually still boys. For whatever reason, their growth as human beings has been stunted. They are stuck in grade 8.
These type of males find farts funny
These males have responsible jobs but forget where they left the car keys. They can perform open heart surgery but have no idea how to work a vacuum. They need you to baby them, not because they are meek, but because they just don't know how to be an adult.
Caution: Do not let this type of male get sick.....it is pathetic.
Brohs.
This is your typical guys guy. They are fit, they are in to sports, and they will help you move a couch. The most important thing to understand here is that they are just not that in to you. They are for the most part nice, and will treat you like a brother or sister, but they will not do anything else.
These males are fixated on just hanging out. They may play video games, they may want to have a beer, they may want to work on cars, but they do not want to hold your hand or talk about feelings...or really anything that doesn't have to do with rbi's or the infield fly rule.
Caution: There is a subset of this group called the dudebroh. The thing about the dudebroh is that they are dudes in broh clothing. They seem more mature, and are less drunk, but they still won't call you in the morning.
Gentlemen.
Polite, well mannered, and thoroughly corrupt, these are the males you see dressed to impress and heading to their power broker jobs. They seem perfect, mainly because they are holding up a facade. They have no remorse and they will not treat you as anything more than a means to an end.
These males tend towards the decadent, and I don't mean president's choice cookies.
Caution: Most of these males have a dark side. It may range from wanting you to dress up as wonderwoman and whip them to wanting to taste your entrails. You can never be too sure about their intentions because they mask them with fine howdayado's.
Men.
These are the most rare and elusive of males. They are average, everyday guys you see walking around, yet there is something special about them.
They are not perfect. They will leave the seat up. They will also apologize and try harder next time.
They sometimes laugh at the wrong time, but they always return to being serious when needed.
They are responsible, yet enjoy a nice beer.
These males will call you. They will not play games, and they will respect you in the morning.
They have reached a level of maturity that realizes life is too short to be serious all the time, and that life is worth living well.
You can count on these dude.
Caution: All other types of males will pretend to be this type to get you naked. You can tell the real from the fake by whether or not they are nice about it. There is also one other method of discernment. Men will never laugh at the misfortune of others. They just shake their heads, give a wry smile and say damn.
That's all I got for today. Not award winning, but hey, first time back in a long time, gotta start slow. When next we meet I will most likely be alienating millions of people and drawing a line in the sand.
A while back I wrote what has become one of my favorite blog posts about women. It is also my most often praised post, with no fewer than 3....that's right three people saying they liked it. I have decided to go back to that well for my first post since being sick.
Remember, it has been a while, so be gentle as I feel my way back in to this.
Dudes.
This is a fairly easy to identify group of males. They smell like a mixture of booze, cologne, barf, and evil. They will mistreat you, no matter what gender you are. Their sole purpose in life is to be entertained, and sadly, at this stage in their development they are in fact only entertained by the shame and degradation of others. They will perform wild drunken acts of seeming bravery and daring if provoked. Note: Provoking merely means saying I double dare ya!.
They cannot be reasoned with, they cannot be stopped. They will use you for fun and then throw you away.
This type of male is immensely proficient in sexual conquest as they are also generally the best looking of the male gender, in a narrow way.
Use extreme caution when approaching as they may in fact puke on you.
Boys.
This is the most deceptive form of male. They may be doctors, lawyerrs, writers, actors, firemen, etc. but they are actually still boys. For whatever reason, their growth as human beings has been stunted. They are stuck in grade 8.
These type of males find farts funny
These males have responsible jobs but forget where they left the car keys. They can perform open heart surgery but have no idea how to work a vacuum. They need you to baby them, not because they are meek, but because they just don't know how to be an adult.
Caution: Do not let this type of male get sick.....it is pathetic.
Brohs.
This is your typical guys guy. They are fit, they are in to sports, and they will help you move a couch. The most important thing to understand here is that they are just not that in to you. They are for the most part nice, and will treat you like a brother or sister, but they will not do anything else.
These males are fixated on just hanging out. They may play video games, they may want to have a beer, they may want to work on cars, but they do not want to hold your hand or talk about feelings...or really anything that doesn't have to do with rbi's or the infield fly rule.
Caution: There is a subset of this group called the dudebroh. The thing about the dudebroh is that they are dudes in broh clothing. They seem more mature, and are less drunk, but they still won't call you in the morning.
Gentlemen.
Polite, well mannered, and thoroughly corrupt, these are the males you see dressed to impress and heading to their power broker jobs. They seem perfect, mainly because they are holding up a facade. They have no remorse and they will not treat you as anything more than a means to an end.
These males tend towards the decadent, and I don't mean president's choice cookies.
Caution: Most of these males have a dark side. It may range from wanting you to dress up as wonderwoman and whip them to wanting to taste your entrails. You can never be too sure about their intentions because they mask them with fine howdayado's.
Men.
These are the most rare and elusive of males. They are average, everyday guys you see walking around, yet there is something special about them.
They are not perfect. They will leave the seat up. They will also apologize and try harder next time.
They sometimes laugh at the wrong time, but they always return to being serious when needed.
They are responsible, yet enjoy a nice beer.
These males will call you. They will not play games, and they will respect you in the morning.
They have reached a level of maturity that realizes life is too short to be serious all the time, and that life is worth living well.
You can count on these dude.
Caution: All other types of males will pretend to be this type to get you naked. You can tell the real from the fake by whether or not they are nice about it. There is also one other method of discernment. Men will never laugh at the misfortune of others. They just shake their heads, give a wry smile and say damn.
That's all I got for today. Not award winning, but hey, first time back in a long time, gotta start slow. When next we meet I will most likely be alienating millions of people and drawing a line in the sand.
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