Ramblings On: Snippets, Fragments, Rants, and Howls

The only methodology my spiritual constitution agrees with is the creation of such incomplete nigh-nothings with barely a thing to say but that try to say it so poignantly. God damn my nature, god damn my society, ADHD fed into by the techno-soundbite generation with only enough focus to be distracted for hours on end and too much to worry about in this cruel universe to bother worrying at all anymore. Yes, I know there is famine and genocide, I know AIDS is spreading like a wildfire and there was a time when I cared and felt compassion but there is really nothing I can do, really nothing that any of us can do unless we have the medical-biological or economic or socio-political understanding needed to provide a cure, a solution, a resolution to any of these things but I'm no god and neither are you, neither is anybody. So why bother fretting what can't be helped? Protesters and activists endeavor to "raise awareness" and it makes them feel better I suppose but we're fucking aware already, and being aware changes nothing, ever; knowing that there are child soldiers doesn't make them cease to be, feeling sorry for people an ocean and two worlds away doesn't help them any. Sure, you can raise money to send to them but that's the hollowest gesture you can make, to throw money at them, saying "We have more of these meaningless symbols of status than we need, so here's five bucks for you to use the next time marauders torch your village and rape your daughters." Right. Real helpful. Do I have an alternative solution? No, of course I don't, I'm not Moses or Gandhi or some shit. I'm just complaining about all these people complaining about things they won't change—and yes that makes me one of those people. "Down with this sort of thing!" And that's why the sensible majority of us resign ourselves to foodyism, video games, underground music hipsterocracies and film snobbery because distraction is the only viable option to keep absolute insanity at bay. We know the world is a mad and maddening place and we have to shield ourselves from that or we lose ourselves and our minds as our thoughts come to reflect the thoughtlessness of reality and our sense conforms to the nonsense that is the turning square-edged wheel of the universe. You can't make me be a better person because you don't even know what a better person is, righteousness is a bitter fiction dreamt up by idealists who feared to acknowledge the darkness spun into the helices of their DNA like wool in an afghan.
There is a collective subconscious emerging from the post-pre-intellectual wonder that is the internet community which accepts and embraces this darkness and takes it full circle to an unapologetic universal hatred that does not exclude itself, a hatred in the name of which much good can be accomplished because it is a hatred so deep that it hates hatred itself, nods to this irony and then laughs at it while carrying it out. They call it Anonymous, and I can't think of a more appropriately inappropriate name for such a thing for when I read or hear about it I call it Anonymous but know that really it is Myself, you know it is Yourself, thoughts you nursed in private corners of your mind condemned as hellish and evil but to which you cannot deny some credibility. That same throbbing vein runs through the heart of the world and as they speak it you hear it as an echo of a latent voice in the back of yourself which you try to push aside or push down in vain, because here it is rising up from somewhere else, circling around from where you turned your back on it to come and confront your very face. That is Anonymous, and we know its true name but won't acknowledge that it is Ours.

First, become an excellent Reader. After that there is little one cannot learn.
To learn to Learn, to be taught to Self-Teach, is the greatest lesson next to Life itself.
Mastery of the elements defines humanity's history; mastery of the self will define its future. Animal became human, as unlikely an apotheosis as any, and rather than Fall backwards into the ignorant Paradise of Eden's moral indifference we must stride forward, ubermensch, to uncover the Infinite Divinity of Self, to become the Gods of our own little worlds.
We are Creators of Meaning; without us Meaningless Creation is something worth less than Nothing.
Knowledge Unknown is the only Frontier.

welcome to my new digital diary know that i know its high but just know that these words are alive to me and jive to me i aint fuckin round dont say it aint time for me i might just be the motherfucker that oedipus couldnt strive to be the highest peak i might just speak for hidin meek and bidin speech and makin like im live and bleak the lives we speak dont vibe with me so die and see what life can be

OCCUPY:
I. To employ, make use of.
1. trans. To keep busy, engage, employ (a person, or the mind, attention, etc.)
2.
a. To employ oneself in, engage in, practise, perform; to follow or ply as one's business or occupation.
b. To be busy or employed (in some capacity); to exercise one's craft or function; to practise; to do business, to work.
...
II. To be in, to take possession of.
5.
a. trans. To hold possession of; to have in one's possession or power; to hold (a position, office, or privilege).
b. trans. To live in and use (a place) as its tenant or regular inhabitant; to inhabit; to stay or lodge in.
c. intr. To hold possession or office; to dwell, reside; to stay, abide.
...
6.
d. To gain access to and remain in (a building, etc.) or on (a piece of land), without authority, as a form of protest.
7. To take up, use up, fill (space, time, etc.); to be situated, stationed, or seated at or in, to be at or in (a place, position, etc.).
8.
a. trans. To have sexual intercourse or relations with.

They've been fucking us so long it's about time
It's about Time, Time passed in past and wasted
Drunk on moments that fall finitely but seem not so
It's easy to look back, but looking forward
I have to wonder if all this, this sudden uprise
Of compassion and active insistent knowing, attention
Calling out and demanding with unified reprimand
If all this will be another magnificent failure
Lulled back to fat complacency with promises
That it'll all be resolved in the update of the new gadget
Or game or revamped piece of shit franchise, Newer
They say Newer is Better amd we tend to belive what we're told
Most of the time, so why not now? What is special
In the internet democracy of data, what are questions
That sunder the fossilized bones of this which,
In Memory, has always held us erect; misplaced Trust
Heredity, is stupidity genetic or do we insist on teaching it
And what of flaws which make one smarter than another, or two
Do we embrace or do we ask, What The Fuck?
The What more than The Fuck, but fucking Fuck is what
Has lasted so the soreness in our nuts and cunts
Makes us forsake the fucking What and Fuck ourselves
Right up the butt. So ask and though ye not recieve
Ask again until the asking asks itself and frees
Us up for asking Why The Fuck.

Is it always best to forgive? Or do some people need to feel your resentment to justify their own guilt?
If I say "Fuck you, you bastard" you don't have to tell it to yourself. If I don't, if I say it's okay, then who is there to hold you accountable but yourself?
It's so much easier to fight someone else than fight yourself.

O, how ludicrous!
It's been too long since I've seen your face around
It's been too long I've been in this fuckin' town
A few drinks won't ever relieve the burden that is me, the constant dweller in my soul that is an anchor to all that is what is not. I hate that bastard, the smartass punk bitch that holds me back from every glorious moment, that ever cautious analytical self that cripples the bold alpha male cock insecure cum centered industry of the sex drive... God is it disgusting or just plain me, why can't we all accept our mammalian sex drives and fuck the shit out of each other like it's just the cantracepted fun it is

Why the hell do I care? I'm a white male in America. That's nothing to complain about. I haven't been exploited, oppressed, downtrodden, or discriminated against. I have been exploited, oppressed, downtrodden, and discriminated for.

And that really fucking bothers me. That, for my benefit, atrocities are committed daily the world over, whether it's to get me my gasoline for less that $4 a gallon or my t-shirt for less than $10. I am charged less because people I don't know half a world away are paid peanuts, uninsured and with no recourse to unions, as their air and water are polluted all in the name of American capitalism, or economic imperialism.

But why should I care? I don't have to pay so much for the things I like.

They want to keep the Mexicans out, say they're stealing jobs from us.

What jobs?

The jobs we've outsourced to China or India or those abysmal maquiladoras?

And what do I care anyway? I've got my job.

If I didn't have a job, I'd look for one.

If I'm overlooked for a job because someone else is willing to do it for less money, that's capitalism.

A competitive market. Right?

But what do I care?

If I get passed over for a job in favor of someone who barely speaks English, my shortcomings must have outweighed theirs.

That's the way it works.

All this bullshit about "illegal" or "alien" or "status" or "citizenship," so much fixation on where somebody is from, not where they're going.

I take it back, they don't care where somebody is "from." Ask any illegal Canadian.

They care that somebody is darker of pigment, speaks with an accent, can talk in a language that they can't understand. It makes them suspicious, paranoid, fearful.

Suspicion, paranoia, and fear make people stupid. Stupid as fuck.

Too stupid to see that they are trampling the beauty they claim to protect, corrupting what they want to keep pure, denying to others that same Dream they cling to for themselves, pissing on the graves of the noble spirits they invoke to defend their selfish ways.

Jesus was a hippie. Jesus was a Commie. There is no Christian Capitalism, not if you want me to believe those words mean what you say they mean. Pick a side. Make sense.

I love America, and I love the people who love America. I love the people who want to make this their home, and possess enough of the spirit of Civil Disobedience to jump over the fences and the frivolous and unnecesarily long and difficult process of legal immigration, thereby making proud Thoreau, Patrick Henry, Ben Franklin, or any of the rest of our Proud American Criminals.

But what do I care? I'm in. If they're in, or if they're out, what difference does it really make to me, to my life?

The worse things are for everyone below me, the better off I am. Right? Isn't that how it works?

Can we find some other way to make it work? Some way that involves compassion, cooperation, equality?

Some way that further elevates our species, past our territorial animalistic impulses and into our more human, more spiritual tendency to love one another unconditionally?

But what the fuck do I care? I'm doing well enough to be complacent.

I can give you reassurance, friend,
But I cannot fool myself
There is too much spinning and I close my eyes
But the world still churns my stomach
I see through red lids faces I call my own
Taking and raping with backhanded slaps
The souls of the whole world
We are all the children of Kings and Queens
We are all barbarians, couth and cruel
Civilizing by the rifle and murdering with our handshakes
Our sisters and brothers. Oh, bother, Oh, brother, why bother?
Topple with every birth the towers of ancestral knowledge
I can teach you to kill, but to love and forgive
And to live like a free being, we can only learn
At our expense or neglect at our expense.
Give me, gimme gimme, dammit, mine and yours
Us and Them, Anti-Pro-Ambivalent ambiguous
When do we realize there's just Us, Just us
And justice is accepting Them as Us
God Bless Us, goddammit, we've too far to go
Too much to grow to flower. History's almost over
Or it's just barely beginning, and we choose which
Has it been a good run? Really, how much farther can we go?
Each stride is longer and faster than the last
The Golden Days passed longer and longer ago
And why don't we say They Are Coming Up
Chin Up, It's Just Around The Corner
It'll All Be Better Soon, Once We Figure This Out?
I totter in a twilight optimism
A hobo asks me for a light and I oblige
He hands it back when he is finished
-------------------------------------and I ask him for some darkness
"Keep busy til the bomb goes off unnerneath ya"
And I say "Sure" and he flashes a peace sign as he walks away
I never know if that's a blessing or wishful thinking
Or what's the difference between, but, God,
Am I gonna keep busy til that bomb goes off

Drunk in the heat of the day and I can feel every drop of sweat trickle and tickle its way out of my tingling body, every tiny imperceptible hole screaming with the effort of pushing toxins from my blood. Harry Hou-fucking-dini and Sigmund Avoid. Pour a martini and forgive me if I'm paranoid, but I don't think that you're here for what you think you're here for. You want to know something about me, but there's nothing to know. I guarantee I'm as much a fool as you, or more. Talk to me, for just a second, and all you'll hear is yourself talking back, echoes of thoughts you had and were too terrified to put to words. Don't be scared. There is nothing to fear from an idea alone. Life is a trip and ideas are maps we can choose to follow, and whether you're careful or not doesn't matter at all so fuck being careful, be whatever you are. I will, and the breathing is ragged but it persists. Death is only the next step and I promised to never fear progress, because God told me it was His only way into the world, so die and smile while you do it. Die and Let Die, the old ways have to pass on or we will all pass on and end together. Breaking tiles with errant feet we dance a dance not yet invented and soon to be studied, we become the sculptors of history and hoist onto our shoulders the feet of every generation to come. We do not hold our children under the water lest it be Styx, and not to die and set us free but to strengthen and enslave our own fallen memories in service of the future of God and Man and Art. The seeds of Something More among rocky soil just wait for you to shit on them like we all shit on whatever is good before it can breathe and it suffocates or it concentrates and sprouts into the sun. Where are you now, on your way out of the shit? Me too.
Hold my hand, don't mind the sweat. We're almost there. What do you mean? What do I mean to you, what do you mean to you? Drift along just a little further, breathe in, reach up. Shhh.

There.
Cough, and you lost it, didn't you? Me too. I always fucking lose it. Let your eyes drift down again, but you won't get it back. It's ok. You're not supposed to.
Aaaaaaaaahh-ah! Stairs, lifting, lifting... come along now...

Where would I be if it wasn't what it was? The thought of it crosses my mind way too much with a bitter clenched hiss and a guilt ridden buzz. I don't like it but I live it and I won't make the cut if I decide it's not worth it, so I bring the worth up. And I curse and I curse, shit, fuck, Goddammit what did I do to deserve this much jammin me up and it hurts and I'm served too much for me to eat and I burst like I'm cursed with just too much to handle and I buckle in my shoulder the way any mortal man will and I fall down but it don't put out the candle... So I stand still for a moment and I'm glowin and I can deal with the knowin', and the doin', and the showin' showin' fluent, and we'll go there and go through knowing they'll all misconstrue it but it's cool, if it's half true than it's half more than they once knew. Shit.

Scarier Than an Atheist

School struggles. Sobriety. Shit.

I thought that when I quit drinking and smoking weed I would have so much more time on my hands, but life never has a shortage of problems. If every obstacle in my life were suddenly and miraculously removed, every one of them would be replaced by a newer, stranger one; this is an apparent fact of life, that there is no escape from struggle, for anybody. If no big troubles exist in one's life, the little ones will loom larger, insinuate just as deeply into the mind and cause just as much stress. We are required to feel stress. Millions to thousands of years ago, it was all about eating and not being eaten, but jungles turned to concrete and the danger lessened but the anxiety has not, will not, can not. Bills unpaid, deadlines passed by, dreams undreamed, impulses ignored, prayers unwhispered, dissolved every morning like sugar in coffee, present but invisible amongst the things to be done RIGHT NOW with a thick and crippling urgency.

Maybe I'm not equipped to endure this the way you are, maybe I was made or thereafter formed to just barely scrape by, tackling the day by day and letting the months and years tackle me, overcome me with unattained goals, unfulfilled expectations just like every other American child who was told they could be whatever they wanted to be but was never told how much work it would take, that it wasn't an entitlement or a guarantee but a distant and unlikely option. I wasn't told that failure is very nearly as common as trying, that there aren't enough white picket fences for everybody in the world. I wasn't told that my having one meant someone not having one, that my rise would necessitate so many staying down. Perhaps I can take comfort that my staying down necessitates someone's rise, but it doesn't really work that way, does it?

Writing, writing writing. Or vomiting existentially the thoughts that poison my figurative gut. What do you care? You're nobody, because nobody reads this. Less than a drop in the massive informational bucket that is the internet, I could confess to a million crimes right here and never face prosecution, had I the gall to commit a million crimes in the first place. But I've already been caught for every crime I've committed, already sentenced, already working them off. I'm a lousy criminal, can't get away with anything. Except for anything that I write here--this is all sure to go unnoticed. So the only crime I can commit with any security is thoughtcrime.

But I'm not really original enough for that, I'm afraid. What could I write here that's truly seditious, truly unorthodox, truly challenging in today's world where madness and hatred and ignorance and propaganda are already so conventional, so thoroughly saturated into our consciousness from every channel and radio station that nothing can shock us anymore?

Would it shock you if I said I was scarier than an atheist, because I believe there is a God and that he hates religion? Scarier than a terrorist because I think a revolution will come not with bullets but with bytes? Scarier than the devil himself because I am real?