Wednesday, November 28, 2012
words
pride paired and primed with woeful whispers. beguiled by beautiful brown eyes earning every envious encounter. letting lust linger longer, living like life lacks longevity, loving loquaciously. doubt dances, disrupting delicately devised days. days designed to deliver delight yet yelling yields your youth. venomous vernacular violently invades, inexplicably interrupting interest. today's tender touch turns to tomorrows torment.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Love, an algorithm
How social a creature we are. How dependent on interaction our species that we would suffer the slings and arrows of a thousand misfortunes to simply not be alone. The whiskey provides some company but not the warmth that a body does. It is limited in it's capacity to comprehend solitude. Simultaneously we reject that interaction out of the fear of full release. The chopping block is not a place many would like their head to rest. Giving unconditionally your love to another is truly to hand that person the ax and hope for the best.
When both parties are willing and able to surrender all of who they are the result is a union unmatched.
Regardless the power of this relation and the almost inherent need of companionship the path of many have but one set of foot prints. We converge for a time with others providing a snapshot of comfort yet we are still alone. These times the wise would use for self reflection so that when the next convergence occurs we are capable of better identifying the crucial attributes. These attributes are ever shifting, morphing as a result of all previous encounters and short comings. The subtleties that created divergence will arise as primary focal points for any successor. If the tracks that previously matched our own were frequently late it stands to reason that a requirement of the next set be punctual. If they were deep from a gluttonous lifestyle the next will likely be light and active. This I refer to as the antithesis affinity theory.
Opposites don't necessarily attract, more the opposite attributes of our executioner are highlighted and thrown praise as the most relevant and desirable traits of future companions. Being jaded then is a product of several conflicting attributes. One character trait that upon first meeting was adorable has festered into an intolerance of volcanic proportions. The next quiver match is then completely disregarded if they poses that single idiosyncrasy regardless if every other facet of their personality is juxtaposed perfectly with your own. Well, not exactly. Through a series of relationships we determine what we are willing and unwilling to tolerate. As a result we tend to seek out the antithesis of characteristics that have presented themselves as fissures previously.
This is compatibility but what of love? What is the consequence of having all of these attributes line up yet there is a noticeable lack of Oxytocin and Dopamine response. Currently I am of the opinion that flipping this dilemma is an easier hurdle to overcome. Many experiences in life can be easily justified with the proper amount of cognitive effort, however, love is an exception. We can line up domino's from here to Peoria but if there isn't a reaction strong enough to knock the first one down we are left with little more than a boring tiny little black spotted wall. Nothing about that is breath taking. It is simply not enough to be compatible, we need stimulus. Sadly pain is often a byproduct of that stimulus but that is favorable to being warm and numb.
There is more here but now is not the time.
Love will not betray you, dismay or enslave you... It will set you free.
When both parties are willing and able to surrender all of who they are the result is a union unmatched.
Regardless the power of this relation and the almost inherent need of companionship the path of many have but one set of foot prints. We converge for a time with others providing a snapshot of comfort yet we are still alone. These times the wise would use for self reflection so that when the next convergence occurs we are capable of better identifying the crucial attributes. These attributes are ever shifting, morphing as a result of all previous encounters and short comings. The subtleties that created divergence will arise as primary focal points for any successor. If the tracks that previously matched our own were frequently late it stands to reason that a requirement of the next set be punctual. If they were deep from a gluttonous lifestyle the next will likely be light and active. This I refer to as the antithesis affinity theory.
Opposites don't necessarily attract, more the opposite attributes of our executioner are highlighted and thrown praise as the most relevant and desirable traits of future companions. Being jaded then is a product of several conflicting attributes. One character trait that upon first meeting was adorable has festered into an intolerance of volcanic proportions. The next quiver match is then completely disregarded if they poses that single idiosyncrasy regardless if every other facet of their personality is juxtaposed perfectly with your own. Well, not exactly. Through a series of relationships we determine what we are willing and unwilling to tolerate. As a result we tend to seek out the antithesis of characteristics that have presented themselves as fissures previously.
This is compatibility but what of love? What is the consequence of having all of these attributes line up yet there is a noticeable lack of Oxytocin and Dopamine response. Currently I am of the opinion that flipping this dilemma is an easier hurdle to overcome. Many experiences in life can be easily justified with the proper amount of cognitive effort, however, love is an exception. We can line up domino's from here to Peoria but if there isn't a reaction strong enough to knock the first one down we are left with little more than a boring tiny little black spotted wall. Nothing about that is breath taking. It is simply not enough to be compatible, we need stimulus. Sadly pain is often a byproduct of that stimulus but that is favorable to being warm and numb.
There is more here but now is not the time.
Love will not betray you, dismay or enslave you... It will set you free.
falling asleep on the wrong side of the bed
Certain people, when without misery, create a world of woe within their own mind. Miserable is a place of intoxicating comfort in a way that a blanket is to a child long out grown the need for warmth. I loath the cold. So did she but that and misery are simply an insufficient bind. No longer shrouded in melodrama a discomfort previously unknown arises. At this moment one of my favorite quotes echoes as I fall from the tight rope that I have been walking for weeks. "I was born for the storm, and the clam does not suit me."
abandoned.
three times.
What now?
Little trust, and even less hope. Purgatory. The greatest sunrise in ages could be presenting itself in the most exalted fashion, the first rays of sunlight following years of darkness. What a fool to use that blanket to provide shade. Who chooses darkness over light, damp cold over radiant heat, misery over joy? Someone with sensitive eyes resulting from years in an aphotic environment that's who.
abandoned.
three times.
What now?
Little trust, and even less hope. Purgatory. The greatest sunrise in ages could be presenting itself in the most exalted fashion, the first rays of sunlight following years of darkness. What a fool to use that blanket to provide shade. Who chooses darkness over light, damp cold over radiant heat, misery over joy? Someone with sensitive eyes resulting from years in an aphotic environment that's who.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
disarming villans
So I shit my pants in an Olive Garden one time. I was attempting to break the never ending pasta bowl record, which I believe was 14 bowls. I was around 17 and I am pretty sure it was the last time that I ever wore a pair of khakis. No, that isn't it. That isn't the story that I want to use to bring home my point. Let's try again.....
I recently received a message from a concerned friend regarding my particular alcohol consumption. Basically he believes that it is getting in the way of my goals. We haven't known each other for too long but I respect his opinion. Now most people that know me understand a few basic things about me. #1) I am strong for my size. #2) I am loquacious. #3) I have thrown up more alcohol in my life than most people have consumed. I like whiskey, Jameson to be precise and I'm not ashamed of that. I like it poured tall and on the rocks. When I drink.... I drink. I recall a time in the military when a good friend of mine named Allen (I am not changing his name because he is not in the least bit innocent) walked into our Georgia home with a handle of gin and proclaimed, "Hey Doc, we should drink this!" Now it was 9:30 on a Tuesday night and we both had to be up at 4:30am to make it to formation. So my question was a natural one. "ALL OF IT?? RIGHT NOW?!" Understand that I was not suggesting that we do that but Allen instantly thought this was a terrific idea. So, in the way that two great friends embark on a journey across the Appalachian trail, we set forth to conquer that jug of extra dry. This is one of the evenings that I experienced a great phenomenon that I refer to as "time traveling" That is when you move forward in time without any recollection or understanding of minutes, hours, and on rare occasion entire days.
The 6 mile formation run at 5:30 the next morning was less than enjoyable but that didn't matter because Allen and I accomplished the mission. We set out to do something and we did it. Yeah, it was dumb and it took us over five hours but we were focused and nothing was going to sway us. it was such a gratifying feeling to have accomplished our goal. Over the years I have conquered many goals. I have over 30 podium finishes across every distance in triathlon. I have owned my own business and worked some amazing jobs including being a fire fighter, marketing director, and salon receptionist. Seriously. I have first accents in two different countries and got banned for life from Notre Dame. I am constantly looking for the next challenge, the next adventure, the next chapter in my life's book.
Fast forward to the present day. I have made it a goal to qualify for the crossfit games. If you are unfamiliar it is a worldwide contest to see who the fittest man and woman on the planet are. What it truly is, comes down to who is the best at exercising. Now my aforementioned affinity for Irish whiskey may seem counter intuitive to such a quest since doing CrossFit with a hangover is not the preferred technique. Also the amount of money spent on booze each month could more than pay for better quality food, deep tissue therapy and fancy new shoes designed to make me stronger, faster and more bad ass than the guys in Southern California. Of course the main detrimental factor is the corrosive cellular nature of mass quantities of the sauce. It absolutely keeps our body from recovering from tough training by interfering with the bodies natural inflammation response and hydration levels.
This next part will be difficult for me for a number of reasons. First and foremost, this is not some life event that I have lived though and have contemplated and to some degree internally resolved. This is happening now, as I type this very moment. There are three bottles staring at me. They long for my embrace and I have an almost rapacious desire for what those bottles contain. That brings up the next point of contention, I may very well have a problem with alcohol. I haven't admitted that to anyone and in fact would laugh if someone else suggest that I did. As I am told that Hemingway did, I do my best composing while drinking. This brings up the third issue. You see, this is the very first time that I have sat to write any material for this project without some form of libation in hand. I'm not going to lie, that stuff makes me feel brilliant. It makes words effortless and it makes me uninhibited when recanting very painful memories. So if this particular rant is laking the typical LJ pizazz... well, I'm attempting it dry.
Let us sit around now and place blame on all circumstances. Let us arm those that can do us harm by allowing them to do us harm. Let us create excuses before our attempts so that our short comings will be expected and in turn easier to bare. Let's consume by the gallon the most toxic of substances so that we may implicate them in the court of our own demise. Let gluttony and sloth and greed immediately gratify us, for delaying that gratification is undoubtedly the path to greatness. Let our cup runnith over and our trips to the buffet be plentiful. If our objective is to know no greater glory than the release of dopamine than this is the light, the way. If, however, your aspirations extend beyond your nose perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to pour that fucking bottle down the drain and reserve yourself for a more exalted existence.
We all have a person or a thing or a time in our lives that has delivered to us great pain and sorrow; the antagonist in our life's grand play. We must disarm them. We must take from them all the power they possess. The crux; as I drill deeper into my cognitions it becomes apparent that I am my own anathema.
So what now?
I recently received a message from a concerned friend regarding my particular alcohol consumption. Basically he believes that it is getting in the way of my goals. We haven't known each other for too long but I respect his opinion. Now most people that know me understand a few basic things about me. #1) I am strong for my size. #2) I am loquacious. #3) I have thrown up more alcohol in my life than most people have consumed. I like whiskey, Jameson to be precise and I'm not ashamed of that. I like it poured tall and on the rocks. When I drink.... I drink. I recall a time in the military when a good friend of mine named Allen (I am not changing his name because he is not in the least bit innocent) walked into our Georgia home with a handle of gin and proclaimed, "Hey Doc, we should drink this!" Now it was 9:30 on a Tuesday night and we both had to be up at 4:30am to make it to formation. So my question was a natural one. "ALL OF IT?? RIGHT NOW?!" Understand that I was not suggesting that we do that but Allen instantly thought this was a terrific idea. So, in the way that two great friends embark on a journey across the Appalachian trail, we set forth to conquer that jug of extra dry. This is one of the evenings that I experienced a great phenomenon that I refer to as "time traveling" That is when you move forward in time without any recollection or understanding of minutes, hours, and on rare occasion entire days.
The 6 mile formation run at 5:30 the next morning was less than enjoyable but that didn't matter because Allen and I accomplished the mission. We set out to do something and we did it. Yeah, it was dumb and it took us over five hours but we were focused and nothing was going to sway us. it was such a gratifying feeling to have accomplished our goal. Over the years I have conquered many goals. I have over 30 podium finishes across every distance in triathlon. I have owned my own business and worked some amazing jobs including being a fire fighter, marketing director, and salon receptionist. Seriously. I have first accents in two different countries and got banned for life from Notre Dame. I am constantly looking for the next challenge, the next adventure, the next chapter in my life's book.
Fast forward to the present day. I have made it a goal to qualify for the crossfit games. If you are unfamiliar it is a worldwide contest to see who the fittest man and woman on the planet are. What it truly is, comes down to who is the best at exercising. Now my aforementioned affinity for Irish whiskey may seem counter intuitive to such a quest since doing CrossFit with a hangover is not the preferred technique. Also the amount of money spent on booze each month could more than pay for better quality food, deep tissue therapy and fancy new shoes designed to make me stronger, faster and more bad ass than the guys in Southern California. Of course the main detrimental factor is the corrosive cellular nature of mass quantities of the sauce. It absolutely keeps our body from recovering from tough training by interfering with the bodies natural inflammation response and hydration levels.
This next part will be difficult for me for a number of reasons. First and foremost, this is not some life event that I have lived though and have contemplated and to some degree internally resolved. This is happening now, as I type this very moment. There are three bottles staring at me. They long for my embrace and I have an almost rapacious desire for what those bottles contain. That brings up the next point of contention, I may very well have a problem with alcohol. I haven't admitted that to anyone and in fact would laugh if someone else suggest that I did. As I am told that Hemingway did, I do my best composing while drinking. This brings up the third issue. You see, this is the very first time that I have sat to write any material for this project without some form of libation in hand. I'm not going to lie, that stuff makes me feel brilliant. It makes words effortless and it makes me uninhibited when recanting very painful memories. So if this particular rant is laking the typical LJ pizazz... well, I'm attempting it dry.
Let us sit around now and place blame on all circumstances. Let us arm those that can do us harm by allowing them to do us harm. Let us create excuses before our attempts so that our short comings will be expected and in turn easier to bare. Let's consume by the gallon the most toxic of substances so that we may implicate them in the court of our own demise. Let gluttony and sloth and greed immediately gratify us, for delaying that gratification is undoubtedly the path to greatness. Let our cup runnith over and our trips to the buffet be plentiful. If our objective is to know no greater glory than the release of dopamine than this is the light, the way. If, however, your aspirations extend beyond your nose perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to pour that fucking bottle down the drain and reserve yourself for a more exalted existence.
We all have a person or a thing or a time in our lives that has delivered to us great pain and sorrow; the antagonist in our life's grand play. We must disarm them. We must take from them all the power they possess. The crux; as I drill deeper into my cognitions it becomes apparent that I am my own anathema.
So what now?
Friday, September 28, 2012
fear, loathing and eminent domain
What is it about life that just sneaks up and kicks you right square in the joint! Even when you are feel like you are winning, you are just a breath away from a scrotal kick that will send you straight to your knees. Well, here I am, on my knees again. This time it feels self inflicted though. Man life, you sure are good at this. Making me feel like I did something to deserve this pestilence. My thoughts are clouded. There is something brilliant dying to leap from my mind but it is held captive by my own... self loathing, no, that is a little harsh. It is a struggle that I face every day.
I am the main character in this play but after 30 years I have not yet figured out if I am the good guy or the bad guy.
My thoughts are scattered, you see I had this amazing concept on strength, internal versus external and how our experiences mold our perceptions on each. I composed at least a half a dozen paragraphs in my mind while sitting on that bar stool tonight. Something has me unraveled.
When I was 18, I decided to get my first tattoo. I was a senior in high school and had spent the entire summer between my junior and senior year in my best friend Mark Ziya's garage doing what we still to this day refer to as "The Program" The idea behind said program was to get so fucking huge that all the girls at school would have no choice but to notice us. That was my understanding of woman at the time. If you had muscles, they would be powerless to resist you. I have since learned that that is not exactly the case. It was phoenix in the summer time in his parents garage when we slung weight around like our hero's in those muscle magazines but it was well worth the daily heat stroke, the ladies would soon be swarming us. Mark was partial to the tricept kickback. My God if you could see how much weight that kid could extend in that movement. Personally I loved me some bicept curls and bench press. That summer I also took to wearing shirts that were a little form fitting. Can you blame me, I was HUGE! Alright, I was 155 pounds, but I was only 115 pounds when I started my junior year so I felt like a monster at 155. And what goes with super beast muscles better than a tattoo.
So there I was at some sidi establishment preparing to have myself permanently entered into a data base of people with "distinguishing features" Those who are not familiar with the process, the artist typically puts your design onto a special piece of paper where the artwork can be transferred in non permanent ink onto the skin to see how it will look before the actual needle work begins.
Like most all other occasions at this time in my life my partner in crime Mr. Ziya was in attendance. To this day I am still grateful that he was! I am going to back track a little bit here. In order for you to have an understanding why I would be permanently marking my body with anything at such a young age, it is important to have a some insight to my childhood.
When I was around five my parents separated. My mother was awarded custody of myself and my two sisters shortly after. This decision made by a total stranger would ultimately mold me into the person that I am today. A person with an amount of internal strength that is unwavering and virtually unmatched. You see, my mother didn't always make the best decisions. One Christmas eve stands out when I was a kid. I was just getting to the age where believing in that fat man in the suit was becoming difficult, but my little sisters innocence in that effect was still very much in tact.
It was half past eleven on Christmas eve. My two sisters and I sat and watched TV in our tiny two bedroom apartment awaiting the return of our mother. I could see the look of concern in my older sister's eyes. She spent so much of her early teenage years protecting the two of us from things like this and she knew that tonight was going to be tough. She convinced us that even though mom had not returned that we needed to head to bed.
Do you remember what it felt like to awake on Christmas morning, your heart beating through your chest; the culmination of so much anticipation. The covers are thrown off with zeal and you rush down the hall to find a pile of glorious wrapped treasure under a sparkling evergreen! Eyes as big as dinner plates you sprint to awake your parents so the feeding frenzy may commence. Well it was exactly like that, except there wasn't a God damn thing under that tree and good old parental was in some kind of drug induced coma. Now this is where strength part one comes in. My older sister calmly explained to my little sister and I that since we were awake so late that Santa knew and had to pass our house but would be making another pass soon. Disappointed, we returned to bed. It was at this time that I heard my older sister attempting fervently to wake our dead beat mother. What felt to a child like several days passed trying to fall back to sleep. Finally we were stirred by big sis. If I knew at the time what antipathy meant I would have describe my feelings towards my mother as such. To her credit, she did pull her shit together of a handful of minutes. She pretended that she was Santa and had us sit on her lap as she handed us unwrapped gifts that were clearly bought at a gas station just hours ago. Oh and we each got a twenty out of her wallet.
I can recant dozens of events like this throughout my adolescence.
Now some would say, "Oh no Leo, you were disappointed as a child?! So were the rest of us! suck it up!" The fact is I completely agree with that fictitious asshole. In fact, one of my favorite things to say these days is "Don't be weak." This has little inference to physical strength. The fact is sometimes in life we get shit on. Sometimes we get kicked and things suck. If you don't have patience, perseverance and strength, well... good luck. True strength has little to nothing to do with your one rep max. That brings us back to my terrible back tattoo. I have the word "Strength" inked across my broad shoulders. And if it wasn't for Mark fucking Ziya my first tattoo would have read "Stregth" Now THAT is a good friend! at 17 years old he called out that piece of shit tattoo artist and his bull shit artistic rendering of how a word should be spelled. He had my back in the most literal sense.
At this point in my journey I literally show people how to pick up heavy things for a living. Physical strength is obviously an integral part of my life. That said, the weight placed upon our shoulders by life's incessant tribulations outweighs that of the most impressive squat. I know first hand, I recently squatted well over double my body weight! Was that narcissistic? Probably.... It's my fucking blog!
I am the main character in this play but after 30 years I have not yet figured out if I am the good guy or the bad guy.
My thoughts are scattered, you see I had this amazing concept on strength, internal versus external and how our experiences mold our perceptions on each. I composed at least a half a dozen paragraphs in my mind while sitting on that bar stool tonight. Something has me unraveled.
When I was 18, I decided to get my first tattoo. I was a senior in high school and had spent the entire summer between my junior and senior year in my best friend Mark Ziya's garage doing what we still to this day refer to as "The Program" The idea behind said program was to get so fucking huge that all the girls at school would have no choice but to notice us. That was my understanding of woman at the time. If you had muscles, they would be powerless to resist you. I have since learned that that is not exactly the case. It was phoenix in the summer time in his parents garage when we slung weight around like our hero's in those muscle magazines but it was well worth the daily heat stroke, the ladies would soon be swarming us. Mark was partial to the tricept kickback. My God if you could see how much weight that kid could extend in that movement. Personally I loved me some bicept curls and bench press. That summer I also took to wearing shirts that were a little form fitting. Can you blame me, I was HUGE! Alright, I was 155 pounds, but I was only 115 pounds when I started my junior year so I felt like a monster at 155. And what goes with super beast muscles better than a tattoo.
So there I was at some sidi establishment preparing to have myself permanently entered into a data base of people with "distinguishing features" Those who are not familiar with the process, the artist typically puts your design onto a special piece of paper where the artwork can be transferred in non permanent ink onto the skin to see how it will look before the actual needle work begins.
Like most all other occasions at this time in my life my partner in crime Mr. Ziya was in attendance. To this day I am still grateful that he was! I am going to back track a little bit here. In order for you to have an understanding why I would be permanently marking my body with anything at such a young age, it is important to have a some insight to my childhood.
When I was around five my parents separated. My mother was awarded custody of myself and my two sisters shortly after. This decision made by a total stranger would ultimately mold me into the person that I am today. A person with an amount of internal strength that is unwavering and virtually unmatched. You see, my mother didn't always make the best decisions. One Christmas eve stands out when I was a kid. I was just getting to the age where believing in that fat man in the suit was becoming difficult, but my little sisters innocence in that effect was still very much in tact.
It was half past eleven on Christmas eve. My two sisters and I sat and watched TV in our tiny two bedroom apartment awaiting the return of our mother. I could see the look of concern in my older sister's eyes. She spent so much of her early teenage years protecting the two of us from things like this and she knew that tonight was going to be tough. She convinced us that even though mom had not returned that we needed to head to bed.
Do you remember what it felt like to awake on Christmas morning, your heart beating through your chest; the culmination of so much anticipation. The covers are thrown off with zeal and you rush down the hall to find a pile of glorious wrapped treasure under a sparkling evergreen! Eyes as big as dinner plates you sprint to awake your parents so the feeding frenzy may commence. Well it was exactly like that, except there wasn't a God damn thing under that tree and good old parental was in some kind of drug induced coma. Now this is where strength part one comes in. My older sister calmly explained to my little sister and I that since we were awake so late that Santa knew and had to pass our house but would be making another pass soon. Disappointed, we returned to bed. It was at this time that I heard my older sister attempting fervently to wake our dead beat mother. What felt to a child like several days passed trying to fall back to sleep. Finally we were stirred by big sis. If I knew at the time what antipathy meant I would have describe my feelings towards my mother as such. To her credit, she did pull her shit together of a handful of minutes. She pretended that she was Santa and had us sit on her lap as she handed us unwrapped gifts that were clearly bought at a gas station just hours ago. Oh and we each got a twenty out of her wallet.
I can recant dozens of events like this throughout my adolescence.
Now some would say, "Oh no Leo, you were disappointed as a child?! So were the rest of us! suck it up!" The fact is I completely agree with that fictitious asshole. In fact, one of my favorite things to say these days is "Don't be weak." This has little inference to physical strength. The fact is sometimes in life we get shit on. Sometimes we get kicked and things suck. If you don't have patience, perseverance and strength, well... good luck. True strength has little to nothing to do with your one rep max. That brings us back to my terrible back tattoo. I have the word "Strength" inked across my broad shoulders. And if it wasn't for Mark fucking Ziya my first tattoo would have read "Stregth" Now THAT is a good friend! at 17 years old he called out that piece of shit tattoo artist and his bull shit artistic rendering of how a word should be spelled. He had my back in the most literal sense.
At this point in my journey I literally show people how to pick up heavy things for a living. Physical strength is obviously an integral part of my life. That said, the weight placed upon our shoulders by life's incessant tribulations outweighs that of the most impressive squat. I know first hand, I recently squatted well over double my body weight! Was that narcissistic? Probably.... It's my fucking blog!
Sunday, August 12, 2012
we are common gardens with roses and weeds alike
Let's talk about how bipolar American woman are for just a moment....
Now before you get all pissy with me, I am not referring to some medical condition resulting from a chemical imbalance (no I didn't have to look that shit up!) I am about to say something very in-tune with how chicks think. First, They don't like to be called chicks.
Hold on, I just got a text from a lady friend of mine.... Okay, I'm going out for a while, don't wait up kids, I will pick this up in the am.
Refreshed, or at least as refreshed as one can be after not getting to sleep until 3am. Now before your minds start trying to put two and two together, the only thing that I got on top of last night was a large pizza. What if that wasn't the case though? What if I actually had an ounce of what cool people call game? I get to tell the story to my buddies and receive accolades ranging from jealousy to high fives, man I love me a good high five. That lady has a slightly different experience however. We all know the euphemisms affixed to the female that has frequent relations our of wedlock. We know that there is a negative stigma attached to such a person. Why is that? These women should throw the shackles of sexual oppression aside and then promptly meet up at my place for a discussion on weather they prefer back massage to foot massage. Not going to happen? Well it was worth a shot wasn't it. Now I'm not trying to be a feminist here, but women have a rough go at it these days. I'm not saying that things are all bananas and dancing with toothbrushes for us guys but in the world of courtship, sex and relationships today's woman are faced with a divergence of pretty epic proportions. More is expected from woman than ever before, and in turn, more is expected of the men that they would choose to be with.
The aforementioned female is a perfect example. Now before I start down this road I need to make it clear that this person is a friend. I enjoy her company for many reasons but as far as my knowledge on the subject goes we are simply friends. She is in my opinion a rather successful woman, she has a very good job, her own place and is in awesome shape. She recently turned 30 and to my understanding of things was also recently divorced. This woman clearly does not need someone to open a car door for her. She is independent, well educated and very capable. That being said, it doesn't mean that she doesn't want someone to open a car door for her. This is where we get a little confused and I will admit, a little frustrated ladies. You see, we enjoy opening that door for you. And up until recently it was considered to be chivalrous. Now days certain people look at such a gesture as oppressive or at best unnecessary. We know it is unnecessary, you have arms, but we enjoy doing little things that make you smile. It's okay though, we will figure it out.
So you want a guy to kill a spider for you without hesitation, that seems easy enough. What else? You want a guy who is strong and confident but willing to except indecision, okay. You need to feel like you are in control and independent but you would rather us decide where to eat tonight.
This is starting to sound more like an argument for why guys are having a tough time figuring things out, but really it comes from this power shift in the past few decades. For generations women were looked at like subordinates in our society. They were not allowed to vote, most of them didn't have jobs, much less careers. Women have never been any more or any less important to the world than they are now, the paradigm just shifted. Now that women hold powerful positions in major companies their is a feeling that they have to prove themselves worthy of playing with the boys while all the while maintaining their feminine reserve. If they don't then they are labeled. I'm not saying that shit is right, I'm just saying that is how it is. My female friend mentioned above has a mouth that would make most of my Navy Seal buddies blush. As a result people formulate an opinion of her that they likely wouldn't if I said the exact same things. So now she has a choice, conform to the social mores or do her own thing. Here is the rub though, when we put ourselves too far out of what society deems acceptable then things become difficult. If a woman is promiscuous, the thought is that she will have greater difficulty finding a good partner. What the fuck is that?? It's absurd that's what it is!
Look ladies, the reason why your selection in men is limited to a bunch of skinny jean wearing, indecisive, weak wristed man boys is because you have been giving mixed signals. You say shit like, Johnny Depp is amazing. Really? Fucking really? That guy couldn't fight his way out of a wet paper bag if he had a box full of ninja weapons! So, feeble minded men everywhere mimic Johnny's worst attributes in hopes of getting your attention leaving us with an army of men that sit down when they pee. That's not your fault though. It is a result of you trying to find yourself in this previously man-dominated world. Women are coming into their own and that is a great thing. But just like anyone in their adolescents, you're trying to figure shit out. You have no idea if you want the pizza or the hamburger so you say fuck it, I've been without for so long that I WANT BOTH! and that is how hamburger pizza came to be. You gluttonous little vixen you! You want a man that will hold your hand and give you his jacket when you are cold, yet you still need a man that will beat the shit out of a guy that grabs your ass in a bar. You don't need his wallet anymore, hell most women make a lot more than I do, but you still want him to pick up the check because it says I can support you.... not that you need it, we know, we know.
Ultimately that is what it comes down to, support. Support, warmth and security. Women desire a man that can support them, provide them warmth and security while simultaneously allowing them to be a primary contributing part of the relationship. I for one am up for the challenge. I've already got the part about beating up the asshole in the bar down, now I am working on the holding hands part. I know that we are not there yet ladies but we are trying and if you are patient it will be worth the wait I promise. In the mean time, try getting your shit together like my friend!
Now before you get all pissy with me, I am not referring to some medical condition resulting from a chemical imbalance (no I didn't have to look that shit up!) I am about to say something very in-tune with how chicks think. First, They don't like to be called chicks.
Hold on, I just got a text from a lady friend of mine.... Okay, I'm going out for a while, don't wait up kids, I will pick this up in the am.
Refreshed, or at least as refreshed as one can be after not getting to sleep until 3am. Now before your minds start trying to put two and two together, the only thing that I got on top of last night was a large pizza. What if that wasn't the case though? What if I actually had an ounce of what cool people call game? I get to tell the story to my buddies and receive accolades ranging from jealousy to high fives, man I love me a good high five. That lady has a slightly different experience however. We all know the euphemisms affixed to the female that has frequent relations our of wedlock. We know that there is a negative stigma attached to such a person. Why is that? These women should throw the shackles of sexual oppression aside and then promptly meet up at my place for a discussion on weather they prefer back massage to foot massage. Not going to happen? Well it was worth a shot wasn't it. Now I'm not trying to be a feminist here, but women have a rough go at it these days. I'm not saying that things are all bananas and dancing with toothbrushes for us guys but in the world of courtship, sex and relationships today's woman are faced with a divergence of pretty epic proportions. More is expected from woman than ever before, and in turn, more is expected of the men that they would choose to be with.
The aforementioned female is a perfect example. Now before I start down this road I need to make it clear that this person is a friend. I enjoy her company for many reasons but as far as my knowledge on the subject goes we are simply friends. She is in my opinion a rather successful woman, she has a very good job, her own place and is in awesome shape. She recently turned 30 and to my understanding of things was also recently divorced. This woman clearly does not need someone to open a car door for her. She is independent, well educated and very capable. That being said, it doesn't mean that she doesn't want someone to open a car door for her. This is where we get a little confused and I will admit, a little frustrated ladies. You see, we enjoy opening that door for you. And up until recently it was considered to be chivalrous. Now days certain people look at such a gesture as oppressive or at best unnecessary. We know it is unnecessary, you have arms, but we enjoy doing little things that make you smile. It's okay though, we will figure it out.
So you want a guy to kill a spider for you without hesitation, that seems easy enough. What else? You want a guy who is strong and confident but willing to except indecision, okay. You need to feel like you are in control and independent but you would rather us decide where to eat tonight.
This is starting to sound more like an argument for why guys are having a tough time figuring things out, but really it comes from this power shift in the past few decades. For generations women were looked at like subordinates in our society. They were not allowed to vote, most of them didn't have jobs, much less careers. Women have never been any more or any less important to the world than they are now, the paradigm just shifted. Now that women hold powerful positions in major companies their is a feeling that they have to prove themselves worthy of playing with the boys while all the while maintaining their feminine reserve. If they don't then they are labeled. I'm not saying that shit is right, I'm just saying that is how it is. My female friend mentioned above has a mouth that would make most of my Navy Seal buddies blush. As a result people formulate an opinion of her that they likely wouldn't if I said the exact same things. So now she has a choice, conform to the social mores or do her own thing. Here is the rub though, when we put ourselves too far out of what society deems acceptable then things become difficult. If a woman is promiscuous, the thought is that she will have greater difficulty finding a good partner. What the fuck is that?? It's absurd that's what it is!
Look ladies, the reason why your selection in men is limited to a bunch of skinny jean wearing, indecisive, weak wristed man boys is because you have been giving mixed signals. You say shit like, Johnny Depp is amazing. Really? Fucking really? That guy couldn't fight his way out of a wet paper bag if he had a box full of ninja weapons! So, feeble minded men everywhere mimic Johnny's worst attributes in hopes of getting your attention leaving us with an army of men that sit down when they pee. That's not your fault though. It is a result of you trying to find yourself in this previously man-dominated world. Women are coming into their own and that is a great thing. But just like anyone in their adolescents, you're trying to figure shit out. You have no idea if you want the pizza or the hamburger so you say fuck it, I've been without for so long that I WANT BOTH! and that is how hamburger pizza came to be. You gluttonous little vixen you! You want a man that will hold your hand and give you his jacket when you are cold, yet you still need a man that will beat the shit out of a guy that grabs your ass in a bar. You don't need his wallet anymore, hell most women make a lot more than I do, but you still want him to pick up the check because it says I can support you.... not that you need it, we know, we know.
Ultimately that is what it comes down to, support. Support, warmth and security. Women desire a man that can support them, provide them warmth and security while simultaneously allowing them to be a primary contributing part of the relationship. I for one am up for the challenge. I've already got the part about beating up the asshole in the bar down, now I am working on the holding hands part. I know that we are not there yet ladies but we are trying and if you are patient it will be worth the wait I promise. In the mean time, try getting your shit together like my friend!
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Valor is not always stolen, sometimes it's plagiarised
Duality, dichotomy, dualism, and diphenhidramine. So I said no to the halucigenetics, I never said anything about avoiding prescription strength antihistamines. Although I'm not sure if taking large quantities of these little fuckers is going to do much more than make me piss myself after falling asleep. No this isn't a cry for help, it's a Friday night and I no longer have the fortitude to endure the bar scene. When did it become cool to drink PBR? If you are at all curious about my current mental state just know that it's as good as it's going to get. I am not here to make people think that I am a bag of almonds but I am not going to walk around answering "Fine" to the bullshit question How are you doing? The truth is I'm not fine and most likely neither are you. Let's put on a happy face kids so that the strangers in the grocery store think that we are a great family. No, it's cool, I'll ring myself up and then bag my own fucking mac 'n cheese, you want me to stock the shelves while I'm here too? No wonder little Timmy is pissed off coming in this Unicorn forsaken place! What am I talking about? Half of you knows. The half that's pissed off. The half that doesn't think that you should ever receive an $85 ticket for not putting on your own seat belt. You're a grown ass man!! You should have the right to jettison through that windshield if you want to! You paid for that windshield! and this is AMERICA! There is another part of you though, the part that is scratching that patch of grass between your ears. I like to call that person, Johnny do what ever the fuck someone tells me just because they said to conformist. No, wait... that's too long. Let's just call that part JC. JC doesn't ever want to rock the boat. I get it, no one likes to get their fancy dockers and boat shoes wet. Hell, I even have a little JC in me. (A very little) but it's still there, it still exists and I still struggle with it sometimes. Not because I give a shit about rocking the boat... Fuck your khakis! Plain and simple, being excepted makes life easier. We have evolved into a species that celebrates easy. I want a delicious peanut butter and jelly sandwich but I don't want to have to open TWO jars. Ruffling peoples precious little feathers, or worse yet telling them that their feathers look stupid with those shoes is a sure fire way to get yourself ejected from the cool kids table. That's where the good ketchup is! PERKS man, I'm talking about perks. Look if I have to explain every time I make an absurd, random analogy with the faintest of connection to which I am talking this is going to be a lot longer than either of us wants to put up with.
So what's wrong with us? Grab your PBR hipsters and let uncle Leroy explain a few things from his twisted polarized world view.
You see, there are these people called bad guys, commonly refereed to as the villain. Now the fun part about being the villain is that more often than not you don't have to wear your seat belt, you do what you want and that is to be expected because after all, you are a bad guy. Or do we have it backwards? Are you a bad guy for doing what you please? As I just said, we gravitate toward anything easy, in turn, things that make our lives more difficult are perceived abominable and should be discarded. The thought of disrupting the herd is terrifying to us. It's not that we give a shit about the herd, if we did no one would spend six grand on a pair of shoes. That's a lot of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for those lazy people in the bad side of town. But uncle Leroy, I worked hard asking for the money for these kicks, and those people don't do anything. So who is the bad guy now? Just because someone is so indulgent (read selfish) to consume such a gratuitous amount of resources on something as trivial as a pair of shoes or jeans while their fellow human beings starve doesn't make them a villain. I would say that their priorities are just a little twisted. But that's the rub, if you were never given the tools to calibrate your moral compus then you wouldn't know that you were being a total asshole buying those shoes. Six grand!! Really??? Fuck!
Focus. Diphenhidramine... who would have guessed it?
Two beers later and we are back on track.
Good and evil. That is an easy one right? Hitler = evil, Mr. Rogers = Good. But wait, even the most extreme characters in history were not all bad or all good right. If someone would have bought some of Adolf's paintings after WWI then WW2 might not have ever happened. It's possible that all the guy needed was some attention. Now I'm not justifying his actions. His actions were the definition of pure, unadulterated fucking evil. Here is where I am going to loose a few of you. Even one of the worst human beings to ever convert oxygen to carbon dioxide couldn't have been 100% evil all of the time right? In turn, I'm sure that good 'ol Mr. Rogers had a skeleton or two that not even Mr. McFeely had knowledge of. I just refereed to him in the past tense with absolutely zero knowledge if the man is still alive. Don't do that kids, it upsets people with formal degrees.
Let's set this up a little different. Let's take someone who is not quite on the shit head level as the Fuhrer but not nearly as saintly as Mr. Creepy sweaters. Let's place one of my favorite subjects in the hot seat and see how they stack up. This is a person of known brilliance, wash board abs and a degree of narcissism that is rarely matched. I'm talking, of course, about good old me.
All things considered I consider myself a good person overall. I've never cheated on or laid hand to a woman. I give money to homeless people even if I am pretty sure they will use it on cheap booze. In fact, I am typically more prone to do so if they tell me that they are going to buy whiskey. The most I have ever stolen was a pack of gum when I was 11. Yeah fact checker, I went to jail for burglary once but they threw that out didn't they! Besides, it was my dog to begin with! Damn it! Now you've got me off track again.....
These Oktoberfest are going down like water....
Where was I? Right, me. So, I'm a pretty decent guy. In addition to the things stated above, I served my community as a fire fighter and my country as a combat medic in two different wars. And now we have some material for the devil's advocate. Without getting too terribly deep into it, there is really no such thing as a good guy in war. There are guys trying to be hero's, there are guys trying to survive, and there are guys who look at war as an opportunity to wreak havoc upon whomever is in their vicinity. I was a combination of the three. I can honestly say that I did not join the Army in an effort to win medals, but I would also be lying if I said that I wasn't envious of the honor that was affixed to them. That is, until I received a couple. I am going to tell a story right now. This is a story that has been told many times. The only difference between right now and all of the other times is that this time it will be the truth.
It was a hot summer night in 2005 outside of Tikrit Iraq. I was a medic on my third deployment. I had three huge stripes on my uniform that screamed "Big dick Sergent" A rather sophomoric rank in all reality. Between this and my other two deployments I had already conducted well over a hundred missions without ever really killing any one. You might be thinking, yeah but you were the medic so... In all reality most missions, regardless of importance or danger should result in zero casualties. The fact is we get more from taking people alive and the group of guys that I worked with were as good at grabbing a guy asleep in his bed as Bernie Madoff is at ripping people off. We were after a high value target, like we were on most nights. We flowed through the house with a precision that an accomplished surgeon has wet dreams about. We found a hoard of women and children on the roof top. That's where they slept when it got too hot to sleep in the house. As we back cleared the house I found myself in a room of particular interest. I made it my personal mission to scour this room.
Here is the first inaccuracy in the way that the story was initially told. As it is known to others, I was looking for any anti-American material, some bomb making material or anything else that could lead us to the next bad guy. In reality I was pillaging, I'm not proud of it and I am certainly not fucking bragging about it! But it is the truth. The threat had been neutralized now it was time to see if I could find something cool. It was easily justified because, after all, our intelligence confirmed that this was the home of not just an evil terrorist asshole, but one of a "High level enemy leader." So here I am, left alone to go through cabinets and drawers without the slightest concern that someone lives in this place. I actually found a great deal of material that connected the occupants to Saddam Hussein. Good for me, pat on the head. So when all of the drawers had been tossed, I focused my attention on a basket of cloths near the window. I knelt down to sift through the soiled white tunics. Just as I did my left ear picked up an odd sound, it was a type of buzzing that I was familiar with but had not heard in a while. I looked left but it was too late, the buzzing was gone. So naturally I went back to sifting. No more than ten seconds later I heard the noise again. This time, I immediately look left and see a glow just above my head. FUCK! That's a cell phone! That is a cell phone in a terrorists pocket!! That is a cell phone in a terrorists pocket in a hidden location less than a foot away from me! I am on my my feet in a fraction of a second, weapon orientated on target, safety off, finger on the trigger! ...But I don't squeeze.
Now the story originally went, He lunged at me and I fired. Not so much.
I actually called for the guy in the other room, we will call him Steve for the sake of the story. Steve was in the room in an instant. I very briefly told him what happened and both of our M4 carbine assault rifles were fixated on the corner. We couldn't see the man because he was hidden very well behind a closet door. That's when it happened. Steve said, "Doc, we should shoot this guy." No sooner did he utter those six words, I let a volley of fire loose on that man's concealed position that would impress any fan of early 90's Schwarzenegger movies.
Fuck, I need another drink. Whiskey this time...
Immediately after that man's body hit my feet, a call came over the radio to determine where the shots came from. I remember loosing my composure a little. My superior officer asked who fired the shots and all I could say was, "It was me." now that seems like a reasonable answer except that there was about 40 of us all connected on that channel. If you knew this guy, you would know that his response was something close to, "yeah, and who are you asshole!" Then I broke another cardinal rule by saying my name rather than my call sign. (for those who don't know, a call sign is simply a number or nickname assigned to help soldiers maintain anonymity) I gave my location and within seconds a good friend of mine entered the room and gave the lifeless man two more shots to the head for the sake of being fastidious. One of my superiors gave me a high five, and like that it was over. I told my story, or at least the slightly modified version of it that I believed wouldn't get me brought up on charges to my bosses boss and then his boss. They were all giddy. I didn't understand. Later I found out that the man that I shot was one of the primary high value targets in all of Iraq. He was a "bad guy" a really bad guy, by our definition. So why should I feel bad, I eliminated a total villain. Here is where the dichotomy comes into play, and a twisted piece of fuck it is really. I get a medal announcing to the world that I am a hero for eliminating a threat to our nation. In reality, I become a murderer while giving this man martyrdom. Or did I have it right the first time? I guess if you ask my family they would say that I am the hero, if you ask his family they would say that he is. But then again my family has never heard the real story... but his probably hasn't either. They likely didn't know that he was responsible for the death of hundreds of people. Does it matter? I don't have the answer to that. All I know is that as I sit here typing that Unicorn forsaken award hangs from the wall over my right shoulder. And if I did not covet honor so much I would burn it like the piece of hypocritical trash that it is.
So what's wrong with us? Grab your PBR hipsters and let uncle Leroy explain a few things from his twisted polarized world view.
You see, there are these people called bad guys, commonly refereed to as the villain. Now the fun part about being the villain is that more often than not you don't have to wear your seat belt, you do what you want and that is to be expected because after all, you are a bad guy. Or do we have it backwards? Are you a bad guy for doing what you please? As I just said, we gravitate toward anything easy, in turn, things that make our lives more difficult are perceived abominable and should be discarded. The thought of disrupting the herd is terrifying to us. It's not that we give a shit about the herd, if we did no one would spend six grand on a pair of shoes. That's a lot of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for those lazy people in the bad side of town. But uncle Leroy, I worked hard asking for the money for these kicks, and those people don't do anything. So who is the bad guy now? Just because someone is so indulgent (read selfish) to consume such a gratuitous amount of resources on something as trivial as a pair of shoes or jeans while their fellow human beings starve doesn't make them a villain. I would say that their priorities are just a little twisted. But that's the rub, if you were never given the tools to calibrate your moral compus then you wouldn't know that you were being a total asshole buying those shoes. Six grand!! Really??? Fuck!
Focus. Diphenhidramine... who would have guessed it?
Two beers later and we are back on track.
Good and evil. That is an easy one right? Hitler = evil, Mr. Rogers = Good. But wait, even the most extreme characters in history were not all bad or all good right. If someone would have bought some of Adolf's paintings after WWI then WW2 might not have ever happened. It's possible that all the guy needed was some attention. Now I'm not justifying his actions. His actions were the definition of pure, unadulterated fucking evil. Here is where I am going to loose a few of you. Even one of the worst human beings to ever convert oxygen to carbon dioxide couldn't have been 100% evil all of the time right? In turn, I'm sure that good 'ol Mr. Rogers had a skeleton or two that not even Mr. McFeely had knowledge of. I just refereed to him in the past tense with absolutely zero knowledge if the man is still alive. Don't do that kids, it upsets people with formal degrees.
Let's set this up a little different. Let's take someone who is not quite on the shit head level as the Fuhrer but not nearly as saintly as Mr. Creepy sweaters. Let's place one of my favorite subjects in the hot seat and see how they stack up. This is a person of known brilliance, wash board abs and a degree of narcissism that is rarely matched. I'm talking, of course, about good old me.
All things considered I consider myself a good person overall. I've never cheated on or laid hand to a woman. I give money to homeless people even if I am pretty sure they will use it on cheap booze. In fact, I am typically more prone to do so if they tell me that they are going to buy whiskey. The most I have ever stolen was a pack of gum when I was 11. Yeah fact checker, I went to jail for burglary once but they threw that out didn't they! Besides, it was my dog to begin with! Damn it! Now you've got me off track again.....
These Oktoberfest are going down like water....
Where was I? Right, me. So, I'm a pretty decent guy. In addition to the things stated above, I served my community as a fire fighter and my country as a combat medic in two different wars. And now we have some material for the devil's advocate. Without getting too terribly deep into it, there is really no such thing as a good guy in war. There are guys trying to be hero's, there are guys trying to survive, and there are guys who look at war as an opportunity to wreak havoc upon whomever is in their vicinity. I was a combination of the three. I can honestly say that I did not join the Army in an effort to win medals, but I would also be lying if I said that I wasn't envious of the honor that was affixed to them. That is, until I received a couple. I am going to tell a story right now. This is a story that has been told many times. The only difference between right now and all of the other times is that this time it will be the truth.
It was a hot summer night in 2005 outside of Tikrit Iraq. I was a medic on my third deployment. I had three huge stripes on my uniform that screamed "Big dick Sergent" A rather sophomoric rank in all reality. Between this and my other two deployments I had already conducted well over a hundred missions without ever really killing any one. You might be thinking, yeah but you were the medic so... In all reality most missions, regardless of importance or danger should result in zero casualties. The fact is we get more from taking people alive and the group of guys that I worked with were as good at grabbing a guy asleep in his bed as Bernie Madoff is at ripping people off. We were after a high value target, like we were on most nights. We flowed through the house with a precision that an accomplished surgeon has wet dreams about. We found a hoard of women and children on the roof top. That's where they slept when it got too hot to sleep in the house. As we back cleared the house I found myself in a room of particular interest. I made it my personal mission to scour this room.
Here is the first inaccuracy in the way that the story was initially told. As it is known to others, I was looking for any anti-American material, some bomb making material or anything else that could lead us to the next bad guy. In reality I was pillaging, I'm not proud of it and I am certainly not fucking bragging about it! But it is the truth. The threat had been neutralized now it was time to see if I could find something cool. It was easily justified because, after all, our intelligence confirmed that this was the home of not just an evil terrorist asshole, but one of a "High level enemy leader." So here I am, left alone to go through cabinets and drawers without the slightest concern that someone lives in this place. I actually found a great deal of material that connected the occupants to Saddam Hussein. Good for me, pat on the head. So when all of the drawers had been tossed, I focused my attention on a basket of cloths near the window. I knelt down to sift through the soiled white tunics. Just as I did my left ear picked up an odd sound, it was a type of buzzing that I was familiar with but had not heard in a while. I looked left but it was too late, the buzzing was gone. So naturally I went back to sifting. No more than ten seconds later I heard the noise again. This time, I immediately look left and see a glow just above my head. FUCK! That's a cell phone! That is a cell phone in a terrorists pocket!! That is a cell phone in a terrorists pocket in a hidden location less than a foot away from me! I am on my my feet in a fraction of a second, weapon orientated on target, safety off, finger on the trigger! ...But I don't squeeze.
Now the story originally went, He lunged at me and I fired. Not so much.
I actually called for the guy in the other room, we will call him Steve for the sake of the story. Steve was in the room in an instant. I very briefly told him what happened and both of our M4 carbine assault rifles were fixated on the corner. We couldn't see the man because he was hidden very well behind a closet door. That's when it happened. Steve said, "Doc, we should shoot this guy." No sooner did he utter those six words, I let a volley of fire loose on that man's concealed position that would impress any fan of early 90's Schwarzenegger movies.
Fuck, I need another drink. Whiskey this time...
Immediately after that man's body hit my feet, a call came over the radio to determine where the shots came from. I remember loosing my composure a little. My superior officer asked who fired the shots and all I could say was, "It was me." now that seems like a reasonable answer except that there was about 40 of us all connected on that channel. If you knew this guy, you would know that his response was something close to, "yeah, and who are you asshole!" Then I broke another cardinal rule by saying my name rather than my call sign. (for those who don't know, a call sign is simply a number or nickname assigned to help soldiers maintain anonymity) I gave my location and within seconds a good friend of mine entered the room and gave the lifeless man two more shots to the head for the sake of being fastidious. One of my superiors gave me a high five, and like that it was over. I told my story, or at least the slightly modified version of it that I believed wouldn't get me brought up on charges to my bosses boss and then his boss. They were all giddy. I didn't understand. Later I found out that the man that I shot was one of the primary high value targets in all of Iraq. He was a "bad guy" a really bad guy, by our definition. So why should I feel bad, I eliminated a total villain. Here is where the dichotomy comes into play, and a twisted piece of fuck it is really. I get a medal announcing to the world that I am a hero for eliminating a threat to our nation. In reality, I become a murderer while giving this man martyrdom. Or did I have it right the first time? I guess if you ask my family they would say that I am the hero, if you ask his family they would say that he is. But then again my family has never heard the real story... but his probably hasn't either. They likely didn't know that he was responsible for the death of hundreds of people. Does it matter? I don't have the answer to that. All I know is that as I sit here typing that Unicorn forsaken award hangs from the wall over my right shoulder. And if I did not covet honor so much I would burn it like the piece of hypocritical trash that it is.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
You got all my love, Livin in your own hate
Holy hell, I can only imagine that this is what heroine feels like! What an outright rush. Sensations that have been hibernating for what seems like eons brought to life by an unlikely source. Let's call this the prologue.
This nonsense has been going on for far too long with out a direction. A place of platitudinous bloviation that served a purpose for a while, but a weak one at best. My cognitive dissonance is currently a double bass line that would give Joey Jordison a hard on. Self conflict has had me by the throat for weeks and I'm fucking sick of it. I would love to make some comment about how that is all about to end... today's the day... I'm going to attack the world with confidence.... blah blah blah. Nope. I have resolved to embracing the conflicting notions. I've got ring side seats to these shoulder angels going toe to toe in a bare knuckle fight to the death. The glorious part is I don't give a bag of bloody dicks which one wins. I'm just here for the ruckus. So dip your taped fists in glass little shoulder devil, I payed for blood shed and that is what I expect!
What the fuck is he talking about?? If you haven't figured it out by now you should just stop reading now because it's only going to get more tumultuous from here. So far this little shit show of a project has hardly scraped the skin of conscious thought. Well, I've got this axe sharpened and have already resolved to plunging it into the skull of my id. I am going to attempt to do so without the assistance of hallucinogens, but hell, if that's what it takes.... Besides I'm still technically in college and unless I'm off the mark, most of these useless sacks of fuck are on whatever mind altering substances that they can get their liberal little phalanges on.
An immediate reaction to this is, what a narcissistic piece of potty mouthed shit this fellow is. My response to that will never be anything more than nothing at all. Frankly if you think that the word "fuck" is any less expressive than the word Messiah than you haven't been paying attention. I really don't give three quarters of a monks shit if you think this is dribble. Thanks for coming out, you can pick up your free pens and water bottles on your way out. No, I won't validate your parking pass. Don't forget to buckle up before driving yourself into oncoming traffic. And that brings up my first attempt at something poignant. I didn't lose a minute of sleep over this whole theater massacre thing. So some guy went into a theater a couple of miles from my house and shot 70 people, killing a dozen of them. Does that suck? Yes. That is shitty. But for who? Not me. I wasn't effected by this in the slightest. I got to sit and listen to everyone and their mother try to relate this event to themselves. Hearing shit like, "Well I can't even go to work today, I am just too shook up. My cousins friend knew someone that used to work in that theater!" You selfish, slothful prick! Why do people feel the need to make that kind of shit about them. Look, I have been smack dab in the middle of some massacres before so maybe I'm just calloused to it but the fact is I would be pissed if some asshole that was hundreds, if not thousands of miles away tried to gain sympathy for those events. Which brings me to some shit that I will certainly be covering later, stolen valor and indecent piles of toad regurgitation that claim post traumatic stress without a pixie dick of an actual traumatic experience. Do pixies have dicks?
Look, I'm not a bad guy. I don't wish that bad things would happen to innocent people. The events of July 20th, 2012 were no doubt a tragedy. All I am saying is that it didn't keep me from driving to work and making inappropriate jokes. In fact, I recall one of my coworkers commenting about how awful the whole thing is, and my only response was, "Yeah, I mean we all have that one person that we would like to shoot in the head but a dozen... that's a bit excessive!" But that's what we are all about in this country... Let's see how big we can get our value meal, cause it's not REALLY a value until I have diabetes!
It's 2:30 in the afternoon on a Tuesday and I am still in my under ware, what does that tell you? First it should tell you that I really don't care and that my job is better than yours! Now, if someone went directly into my place of business and shot a bunch of people that I know, I would likely get a little upset. I actually like those people, sometimes they bring me snacks (Thanks Kristy!) I would have a reason to react because my life had actually been impacted, both emotionally and financially. The simple truth is that life already has so many moments that are emotionally draining, why in the name of Peter Pan would you waste precious catecholamines on an event that you can have zero influence or impact on? Sure, donate to the families if you feel it can help but don't use the event as an excuse to get out of work or even worse, mope around acting like it is the end of the world expecting others to use up their emotional reserves to comfort your sorry ass. Holy fucking run on sentence! Fuck it, I'm sure that the two people that started reading this have long since stopped.
The entire point of this tirade is don't be a fucking leech. Don't, under any circumstance take something that doesn't belong to you, and that includes undeserved sympathy. Having empathy is one thing but by Unicorn please know the difference. Does it suck when twelve people get killed, sure. On average, 600 people a year are murdered in LA alone and I don't hear people in my class whining that they need an extension on their paper because of how distraught they are. They have about the same level of personal connection with that Crip that took five rounds to his face on his 15th birthday as they did to anyone of the people who were slain in that theater. Foolish hypocrisy and an unhealthy need for attention are two things I just don't have a stomach for, now dollar tacos.... That is something worth finally putting my pants on for.
This nonsense has been going on for far too long with out a direction. A place of platitudinous bloviation that served a purpose for a while, but a weak one at best. My cognitive dissonance is currently a double bass line that would give Joey Jordison a hard on. Self conflict has had me by the throat for weeks and I'm fucking sick of it. I would love to make some comment about how that is all about to end... today's the day... I'm going to attack the world with confidence.... blah blah blah. Nope. I have resolved to embracing the conflicting notions. I've got ring side seats to these shoulder angels going toe to toe in a bare knuckle fight to the death. The glorious part is I don't give a bag of bloody dicks which one wins. I'm just here for the ruckus. So dip your taped fists in glass little shoulder devil, I payed for blood shed and that is what I expect!
What the fuck is he talking about?? If you haven't figured it out by now you should just stop reading now because it's only going to get more tumultuous from here. So far this little shit show of a project has hardly scraped the skin of conscious thought. Well, I've got this axe sharpened and have already resolved to plunging it into the skull of my id. I am going to attempt to do so without the assistance of hallucinogens, but hell, if that's what it takes.... Besides I'm still technically in college and unless I'm off the mark, most of these useless sacks of fuck are on whatever mind altering substances that they can get their liberal little phalanges on.
An immediate reaction to this is, what a narcissistic piece of potty mouthed shit this fellow is. My response to that will never be anything more than nothing at all. Frankly if you think that the word "fuck" is any less expressive than the word Messiah than you haven't been paying attention. I really don't give three quarters of a monks shit if you think this is dribble. Thanks for coming out, you can pick up your free pens and water bottles on your way out. No, I won't validate your parking pass. Don't forget to buckle up before driving yourself into oncoming traffic. And that brings up my first attempt at something poignant. I didn't lose a minute of sleep over this whole theater massacre thing. So some guy went into a theater a couple of miles from my house and shot 70 people, killing a dozen of them. Does that suck? Yes. That is shitty. But for who? Not me. I wasn't effected by this in the slightest. I got to sit and listen to everyone and their mother try to relate this event to themselves. Hearing shit like, "Well I can't even go to work today, I am just too shook up. My cousins friend knew someone that used to work in that theater!" You selfish, slothful prick! Why do people feel the need to make that kind of shit about them. Look, I have been smack dab in the middle of some massacres before so maybe I'm just calloused to it but the fact is I would be pissed if some asshole that was hundreds, if not thousands of miles away tried to gain sympathy for those events. Which brings me to some shit that I will certainly be covering later, stolen valor and indecent piles of toad regurgitation that claim post traumatic stress without a pixie dick of an actual traumatic experience. Do pixies have dicks?
Look, I'm not a bad guy. I don't wish that bad things would happen to innocent people. The events of July 20th, 2012 were no doubt a tragedy. All I am saying is that it didn't keep me from driving to work and making inappropriate jokes. In fact, I recall one of my coworkers commenting about how awful the whole thing is, and my only response was, "Yeah, I mean we all have that one person that we would like to shoot in the head but a dozen... that's a bit excessive!" But that's what we are all about in this country... Let's see how big we can get our value meal, cause it's not REALLY a value until I have diabetes!
It's 2:30 in the afternoon on a Tuesday and I am still in my under ware, what does that tell you? First it should tell you that I really don't care and that my job is better than yours! Now, if someone went directly into my place of business and shot a bunch of people that I know, I would likely get a little upset. I actually like those people, sometimes they bring me snacks (Thanks Kristy!) I would have a reason to react because my life had actually been impacted, both emotionally and financially. The simple truth is that life already has so many moments that are emotionally draining, why in the name of Peter Pan would you waste precious catecholamines on an event that you can have zero influence or impact on? Sure, donate to the families if you feel it can help but don't use the event as an excuse to get out of work or even worse, mope around acting like it is the end of the world expecting others to use up their emotional reserves to comfort your sorry ass. Holy fucking run on sentence! Fuck it, I'm sure that the two people that started reading this have long since stopped.
The entire point of this tirade is don't be a fucking leech. Don't, under any circumstance take something that doesn't belong to you, and that includes undeserved sympathy. Having empathy is one thing but by Unicorn please know the difference. Does it suck when twelve people get killed, sure. On average, 600 people a year are murdered in LA alone and I don't hear people in my class whining that they need an extension on their paper because of how distraught they are. They have about the same level of personal connection with that Crip that took five rounds to his face on his 15th birthday as they did to anyone of the people who were slain in that theater. Foolish hypocrisy and an unhealthy need for attention are two things I just don't have a stomach for, now dollar tacos.... That is something worth finally putting my pants on for.
Friday, May 11, 2012
this weight is crushing
"Now drive me far.... away.... away.... away..... FAR!! I don't care where just FAR! away"
a scalpel or an axe
a bullet or a bomb
a pearl or a star
an entire lifetime of joy and happiness given to safety. A dream of unconditional surrender and love interrupted by the sound of the dryer spinning towels.
Faith is an interesting concept. belief unwavering. forgive forget forgo. is there a place for analytical process in faith? and in this a death, a rebirth and a willingness to die again. death is the simplest of these things. a willingness to die is different than a willingness to live. i suppose there is a certain degree of romance associated with someone saying they would die for you, however, it lacks complexity. it omits adversity. to roll over and surrender is not the makings of an everlasting love. To fight, persevere and live through hardship, to brave the flame is a choice that requires absolute conviction. a commitment to something more trying. there is nothing enlightened about dying, nothing brave about it. to live is to endure. love is not a sprint, it's a marathon.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
I won't close my eyes
It is eery, a sort of silence that once again pits me against the incessant tick tock. T-minus my life and counting.... I can win this fight, I have the chops. I am 90oz. deep. Who counts this way? People who drink 40's that's who!! A sip, a digression. You know what is annoying? explaining yourself. If I had the intellectual prowess of a James Keenan I would have long ago shot myself in the face. Digress? I do. There was a point to this charade, however, it was long ago forgotten.
ONE.
there is.
Judgement does not exist.
LOVE.
arbitrary.
bring your hammer.
Have faith in me. well, that is the easy part isn't it! Step up for once! Unless you are not in it for the long haul. If that is the case then leave me hear with my thoughts. Make the move or move on.
Walls are for breaking. Libations for indulging. Do not say that you like "certain versions of me" There is me, all of me, always. I will never change. I have dodged bullets, compressed babies dead hearts without success, operated on young and old, killed bad men, written college term papers, and rescued cats from trees (among other things) to be EXACTLY who I am and I WILL NOT change now. I am proud of the person that I am. Forged in fire, crippled by loss. Humbled by grace, fortified by victory. I am the product of all of my triumphs and defeats. I will not apologize.
sigh.
Wish I died instead of lived. I hate the mirror. medals adorn the walls of this hollow thing I refer to as a home. Write ups protesting A HERO RESIDES HERE! bullshit! These words are as hollow as the walls they are mounted on. The true heroes are warm, for they are comforted by six feet of soil. Valor?! The words "I love you" as spoken by my 9 year old niece mean more to me than "you fought with valor" could ever mean from any general! Your medals are arbitrary at best. Politics.
I had a point.
Fuck it.... let's go bowling.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
and the toad said
To the sun I said caress me for I am a sea of troubles. It is now evident that breathing softly can take the place of sleep... to sleep, to dream, no more; Or at least not now, for there are far more pressing issues at hand. Such as watching a convoluted line dissipate into a single simple island, a point of not so distant torment. HOLD THE LINE! The line is gone, not even crossed, gone. That line where the sun seemingly lays atop the ocean kissing it softly, repeatedly, until the moon arrives. What an outrageous fortune bestowed upon not just the sun but the moon as well. To relinquish the sea to another is no simple burden. Is there a mutual cognizance or is ignorance the theme of this cycle? When one sleeps the other rejoices but is it by sleep we say to end the heartache? Sleep is a torment. Sleep is separation. Sleep is not seeing the sea. A fate at times shared by both the sun and the moon. But now we dream and what dreams may come of such things?
The slow steady rise and fall of a sweat glistened chest analogous to the sea nudging the shore with it's gentle waves. Conflicted is the sea. Now it must make time for all three suitors. The shore would proclaim that it has the longest history with the sea, after all they have for some time shared a shifting and often obstreperous relation. However, the moon's reflection is of sheer beauty on the dancing waves of the ocean below. The riddle is which is more beautiful? There is beauty in all things. However, the moon would never admit that the beauty of it's reflection surpasses it's own. Now we come to the sun. What can the sun provide but warmth? Is that even really that important? After all the sea is mighty and can easily sustain it's self in the most Arctic of conditions. In an effort to maintain such a natural and comforting embrace a lasting impression must be made. The sun set. It marks the end of the time the sun will spend with the sea but in that one brief moment it is more than enough to take the breath from any who witness it. A gentle yet passionate embrace, a farewell that is destined to be repeated for as long as the ocean and sun exist.
The slow steady rise and fall of a sweat glistened chest analogous to the sea nudging the shore with it's gentle waves. Conflicted is the sea. Now it must make time for all three suitors. The shore would proclaim that it has the longest history with the sea, after all they have for some time shared a shifting and often obstreperous relation. However, the moon's reflection is of sheer beauty on the dancing waves of the ocean below. The riddle is which is more beautiful? There is beauty in all things. However, the moon would never admit that the beauty of it's reflection surpasses it's own. Now we come to the sun. What can the sun provide but warmth? Is that even really that important? After all the sea is mighty and can easily sustain it's self in the most Arctic of conditions. In an effort to maintain such a natural and comforting embrace a lasting impression must be made. The sun set. It marks the end of the time the sun will spend with the sea but in that one brief moment it is more than enough to take the breath from any who witness it. A gentle yet passionate embrace, a farewell that is destined to be repeated for as long as the ocean and sun exist.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
The thoughts in my head between the hours of 1 & 2pm Thursday, December 1st.
Historically speaking, violence has resolved more conflicts than two rational individuals sitting in a room calmly discussing politics.
The inadequacies of my mind shame me a great deal further than the imperfections of my body.
To sit, to think, to ponder; to digress and allow our mind to wander.....
what is valor?
What are possessions but a means by which to facilitate experience? You may take from me all that I own, but you can never take where I have been and the things I have done. Furthermore, if holding on to material objects creates such turmoil that your life experience suffers, those are things holding a negative worth.
What type of thing but fire can provide such deep warmth, and comfort yet burn the living shit out of you if you are careless with it?? Love and possibly coffee.
The inadequacies of my mind shame me a great deal further than the imperfections of my body.
To sit, to think, to ponder; to digress and allow our mind to wander.....
what is valor?
What are possessions but a means by which to facilitate experience? You may take from me all that I own, but you can never take where I have been and the things I have done. Furthermore, if holding on to material objects creates such turmoil that your life experience suffers, those are things holding a negative worth.
What type of thing but fire can provide such deep warmth, and comfort yet burn the living shit out of you if you are careless with it?? Love and possibly coffee.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
A little chicken is better than no chicken at all
The world falls on us all at times. When this happens, it rarely does so in a single thunderous, cataclysmic event but rather in a series of seemingly never-ending occurrences. Those possessing the necessary mental fortitude will view this as a challenge. I beg you, open the heavens and rein down upon me, for this will further develop my character, my will, and my capacity for all things arduous.
We are in the fray and while here it is difficult to be poetic, philosophic, or even remotely optimistic. A tree no more looks for reason in the midst of a tornado than a soldier does whilst in the trenches. This is the time to focus on the task at hand; ensuring survival... rooting down. When the fight is so consuming, so overwhelming it creates a tunneled vision, losing hope becomes easy. All hope is lost when the ones who we thought would never fall drop like the leaves from a tree on a brisk fall morning. Malevolent circumstance; these leaves identified us! They tell the world who we are. Ahhhh what a spurious statement to make. These leaves do not show the world who we are; they covered us from the world. Those who would cling to us, feigning attachment and similarity know not of our constant struggle. Our true self lays beneath the bark, several meters below the earth. This our foundation, our character, our root.
It would seem that a lesson learned does not fully absorb until well after we have weathered the storm and been given time to adequately reflect. The nice part about a catastrophic cyclone is that it is typically short-lived and furthermore, reminds us of how strong our roots truly are. On certain occasions, our roots are not so that they can endure independently. That is quite alright. Those closest to us will show their value in this event for their roots are intertwined with our own. These few will not readily fall away. They are invested in you as you are in them, for if you fall so will they. This provides strength, as no noble oak wishes not to cause distress to those who have so willingly come to their aid.
Character is not defined by navigating life unscathed, unscarred and unscared. Character is being stripped naked, terrified for all the world to see and continuing to stand tall. Maintaining a silient dignity in the face of all perils and the vicissitude of seasons.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
It's my God forsaken right for God sakes...
It is my Intellectual property and if you use it I will sue you. I will take from you a monetary figure appropriate to your offence, say $800 for your malicious use of that old lady brake dancing...
LISTEN! my grandmother has been dancing a brake since before you were born and it will be a frosty day in hell before you take my hard earned T-shirt money for such a thing!
This is typically where I would say "in all seriousness" however, I am currently being quite serious. Speaking of serious, have you ever twisted fresh lime into sauvignon blanc.... delightful. I digress. I am going to make this easy, YOU CAN NOT OWN A THOUGHT!!! let us think on the consequence of this for a moment. What if the great thinkers in human existence placed some type of patent on their ideas??
To be quite frank, it is late and I don't have enough wine to hold me sedentary long enough to compose anything worth writing. I shall return to this at a time when grapes are more plentiful.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Divine dissonance.....Define Dissidence!
"The look on the cake....It ain't always the taste"
Beauty external. What a valuable condition, what a gem...what a facade. Still it is quite the precious chip to have in ones bag. In the great debate of equality, aesthetic appeal goes a long way to elevate an individuals social status and furthermore their appeal to the opposite sex. Equality. Who is equal to me but none? who has every single attribute in which I possess? Are YOUR toes tattooed?!?! To be honest, I dont' believe that to be the benchmark of equality. If it was, the debate of gender equality would quickly be resolved by who could most effectively extinguish a camp fire using only their bodily fluids and without sustaining personal injury. Too far? not far enough? Equality. Balance. A sum of all distinctions. Even if we were to somehow add up all of the qualities of two separate people and juxtapose them it is doubtful that perfect balance and equality would result. Furthermore who is the sanctioning body on which attributes are preferable and which are not? For the most part these are subjective matters. The characteristics that you value are likely so far removed from what I find appealing that an agreement would likely never be made.
The great thing about writing to an audience of none is that there is no concern about stepping on proverbial toes. My take on it, Equality is bull shit. We were not created equal, we don't live as equals and we will not perish as such. Your money gives you advantages that I will never have. Ahhh but my character will prevail over your trust fund will it not. I would like to think so. I would love to believe that the fact that I am a good, honest, faithful, caring person places me at least in contention with a wealthy, statuesque individual. The truth, some people place a higher value on the latter of the two contenders. That. Is. Life. That is not even a disposition in which I care to overcome. Frankly I have little desire to Court a woman who holds the endowment of a chiseled jaw above that of a man's willingness (and ability) to break the jaw of any who would speak ill of her.
Not only is equality a farce, it is an arbitrary concept at best. Who needs it! Equality on a personal level is something that any rational person would never spend a moment of concern with. Sure, my abs may never be as washboardesk as his but it doesn't matter does it.... I can break his fucking jaw if it pleases you my lady!!
Beauty external. What a valuable condition, what a gem...what a facade. Still it is quite the precious chip to have in ones bag. In the great debate of equality, aesthetic appeal goes a long way to elevate an individuals social status and furthermore their appeal to the opposite sex. Equality. Who is equal to me but none? who has every single attribute in which I possess? Are YOUR toes tattooed?!?! To be honest, I dont' believe that to be the benchmark of equality. If it was, the debate of gender equality would quickly be resolved by who could most effectively extinguish a camp fire using only their bodily fluids and without sustaining personal injury. Too far? not far enough? Equality. Balance. A sum of all distinctions. Even if we were to somehow add up all of the qualities of two separate people and juxtapose them it is doubtful that perfect balance and equality would result. Furthermore who is the sanctioning body on which attributes are preferable and which are not? For the most part these are subjective matters. The characteristics that you value are likely so far removed from what I find appealing that an agreement would likely never be made.
The great thing about writing to an audience of none is that there is no concern about stepping on proverbial toes. My take on it, Equality is bull shit. We were not created equal, we don't live as equals and we will not perish as such. Your money gives you advantages that I will never have. Ahhh but my character will prevail over your trust fund will it not. I would like to think so. I would love to believe that the fact that I am a good, honest, faithful, caring person places me at least in contention with a wealthy, statuesque individual. The truth, some people place a higher value on the latter of the two contenders. That. Is. Life. That is not even a disposition in which I care to overcome. Frankly I have little desire to Court a woman who holds the endowment of a chiseled jaw above that of a man's willingness (and ability) to break the jaw of any who would speak ill of her.
Not only is equality a farce, it is an arbitrary concept at best. Who needs it! Equality on a personal level is something that any rational person would never spend a moment of concern with. Sure, my abs may never be as washboardesk as his but it doesn't matter does it.... I can break his fucking jaw if it pleases you my lady!!
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