Since I no longer know how to fill my time without cigs, drugs and booze; I just caught myself watching a couple hours of mainstream media 'news outlets'...I know...not really my style but I thought to myself, "I wonder what the world (or the world portrayed by conglomerate media) looks like through an unfiltered lens nowadays." Moreover, I just wanted some tangible information on the situation in Japan as I have a lot of family over there and some of them I am quite fond of. Of course I was horrified by what I saw on most channels, and curiously enough I found myself lingering on the channel of my arch nemeses...fox news. My most contemptible puppet, Glenn Beck, was on doing his dance and I decided to watch with a heavy dose of sardonicism. But lo and fuckin behold...I found myself agreeing...with glenn...glenn fucking beck...
Now I should note that he lost me and regained my contemtp shortly after the ensuing commercial break (when he went from intelligently explaining the declining value of us currency to basically placing blame on poor colored folk being not adequately prepared..ugh). Back to the previous point though, I found myself agreeing with my most infuriating media nemesis since the rush limbaugh days, because he was talking about the grace and dignity in which the japanese were behaving during a crisis and the difference in american actions (born from the tenets and indoctrinations of egotistical systems of neo-liberalism and capitalism). They used an example of a man grabbing the last ten bottles of water at a store only to stop and reliaze what he was doing and return eight of them back on the shelf for others to share. Sure this is a small and somewhat trifle experience but it reaffirms what I constantly find myself preaching as of late....human beings are not inherently malevolent beings. Sure some people are capable of doing bad shit, but at the end of the day I flat out refuse to believe that we are all intrinsically cruel, greedy, egotistical, blood thirsty, mad dogs. Now the current paradigm of american conglomerate media would not agree (or portray) my sentiments because at the end of the day; fear sells (almost as well as sex).
Now I am not going to sit here and pretend to have the slightest clue as to how to end this cycle of madness or how to topple down the power structures of america. No, I am becoming more and more interested in waging my own sociological/epistemological war on a more mico-level these days. In other words I am tired of writing academic papers that no one but my professors will actually read, hence this blog. All I really wanted to say with this blog is that it is all to easy to get caught up in the hyped fear of the day (9/11, mad cow, nuclear meltdown, etc) and that shit like this should really just be channeled into helping us realize what is really important in our lives right now...it's not stocking up on iodine to prepare for fallout. It's taking them time to realize how lucky we are with the shit we have and the people that love us. I realize how different I sound than I did a year ago, but I don't think it's a bad thing...and now after not smoking for 2 straight days I realize all kinds of shit is possible in my life...who knows, maybe I'll find religion or something....nah just fucking with you
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
Who needs a crystal ball when you have a pocket full of rear view mirrors?
Here we go again...I haven't had a cigarette in roughly 6 hours (a lifetime as far as I'm concerned), my stomach is confused by the new influx of produce and grains, and later this week I will be crawling back to my old gym. I have been down this road before, in fact there were two times in oregon where I lost as much as 80 pounds, the problem always seems to return to my old ethos of "living each day like it is my last." I guess it sounds nihilistically romantic when you state it boldy, but I have come to realize that living each day like that becomes confusing when you wake up ten years later and are still alive. Somewhere along my lifeline I started to truly loath myself and this in turn led to one poor decision followed by another, blah blah blah, we all have our sad stories I guess...but then again this is my fuckin blog so it would seem the fixation would be upon mine. However it is a beautiful day and I have to write an 8 page feminism midterm in the next couple hours so I really don't want to delve into the 'hows' or 'whys.'
Really I just wanted to denote that for the first time in a long sequence of semi-successful 'health' stints I kind of want to do it for myself. I used to do it because I thought being skinny would somehow make me less weird around women, bolster my confidence, or appease my concerned friends. But as I was laying in bed at 6am this morning (enjoying another drunken insomnia stint) I realized that this is fuckin it...this is life...it's happening right the fuck now and spending all your days either looking back fondly on the days of happiness passed or telling yourself how good life is going to be on some yet to be un-named day is dangerous. They are dangerous because they are a dillusioned way to 'daydream' and become an insular bubble from the 'now.'
I was having a conversation last night about myself (recurring theme in my narcissistic life) and I realized how utterly bored I have become of myself since moving to Boise. Don't get me wrong, I am really proud of how optimistic I have become on a social-sociological-philosophical level but the core me...the me stripped of his vocabulary, his band, his critical analysis, his jokes, his drugs...that guy that is left. I really am not sure who he is anymore. I know he's there, he is the one always whispering in the background to stick to the morality that was instilled in me as a child, he is the one that talked me back into school, he is the one that says to go home alone at last call, he is the one that to this day reaffirms my mantra of treating others the way I wish to be treated. I want to know what would happen if I strip away my layers and let this guy come out to play and part of this is getting my body healthy again because I don't think this fat, smoky, shaky, semi-addicted shell is what he deserves to be birthed in...
I am terrified of change and I haven't the slightest clue where I will be in a year. I don't know if I want to pursue a doctorate, a band, a lover, a job, or anything else. Those of you who know me well; know that I am terrible with money, so it has a fairly low amount of leverage over my life decisions but now thanks to BSU I have accumulated more debt than previously thought possible. In other words I need a plan pretty soon to continue living in the now and who know what that will be? I honestly have no idea if I will be happier in an ivy league school or working as a teen counselor...all I do know is that this last year my walls have started to crumble and for the first time in a long time, I like it.
Really I just wanted to denote that for the first time in a long sequence of semi-successful 'health' stints I kind of want to do it for myself. I used to do it because I thought being skinny would somehow make me less weird around women, bolster my confidence, or appease my concerned friends. But as I was laying in bed at 6am this morning (enjoying another drunken insomnia stint) I realized that this is fuckin it...this is life...it's happening right the fuck now and spending all your days either looking back fondly on the days of happiness passed or telling yourself how good life is going to be on some yet to be un-named day is dangerous. They are dangerous because they are a dillusioned way to 'daydream' and become an insular bubble from the 'now.'
I was having a conversation last night about myself (recurring theme in my narcissistic life) and I realized how utterly bored I have become of myself since moving to Boise. Don't get me wrong, I am really proud of how optimistic I have become on a social-sociological-philosophical level but the core me...the me stripped of his vocabulary, his band, his critical analysis, his jokes, his drugs...that guy that is left. I really am not sure who he is anymore. I know he's there, he is the one always whispering in the background to stick to the morality that was instilled in me as a child, he is the one that talked me back into school, he is the one that says to go home alone at last call, he is the one that to this day reaffirms my mantra of treating others the way I wish to be treated. I want to know what would happen if I strip away my layers and let this guy come out to play and part of this is getting my body healthy again because I don't think this fat, smoky, shaky, semi-addicted shell is what he deserves to be birthed in...
I am terrified of change and I haven't the slightest clue where I will be in a year. I don't know if I want to pursue a doctorate, a band, a lover, a job, or anything else. Those of you who know me well; know that I am terrible with money, so it has a fairly low amount of leverage over my life decisions but now thanks to BSU I have accumulated more debt than previously thought possible. In other words I need a plan pretty soon to continue living in the now and who know what that will be? I honestly have no idea if I will be happier in an ivy league school or working as a teen counselor...all I do know is that this last year my walls have started to crumble and for the first time in a long time, I like it.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Perspective, Propensities and Prozac
I was thinking about perspective a few minutes ago. Perpsective (cognitive perspective) is a really unique idea in a sense. One event can be viewed by twenty people and when left to self-explanations there will be twenty different perspectives. No one truly sees the world or its events in the exact same way of another. We have to take in account our own beliefs, bias, values, etc. when objectively looking at how we process the information we take in daily. Sometimes feelings are so strong that we cannot help but to reach our own explosive conclusions (and at times rightfully so). I myself have some very skewed perceptions/perspectives on things in life; I will never see the police as a public servant, I will never understand religion, I will never understand the world through the eyes of more 'priviledged' people, I will never understand racism, and I will never stop critically analyzing everything I see in life. That being said I realize that these are my standpoint perspectives that I have created out of lessons learned in my own lifetime. This is not to say that they are intrinsically correct; they are just some of the lenses I view the world through. I have recently begun to understand the importance of realizing that I am wearing these lenses when comparing my epistemological view with others. The importance of conflict does not have to equate two stoic ultimatums battling for victory, in fact I think conflict is better served as an instigator to 'getting real' with the oppositional parties...haha but this only works if both parties are interested in resolution.
Now that my own idea of perspective has now been explained I want to share with you one of my darkest moments in my life so as to bring clarity to some of my perspectives on things that are truly important in my life...
A while back one of my friends was creating an art project and emailed me asking to describe to her my most painful memory. After forgetting to do so she sent me another email (which I received when in a rather foul drunken stupor) and I decided to see how she could make this an interesting art project. I mentioned propensities in the title of this blog, and I define propensity as being "a natural tendency or inclination" and though the sociologist in me would vehemently disagree with this idea of creation of self, I do believe that some of us carry genetic predispositions or propensities towards certain types of actions or thought processes. Alcoholism, mental 'disorders,' etc. are all included in my previous statement and I know I have some in my life. This leads me to Jeff...
I have one sister, my two parents, and Jeff in my life (for blood relatives that don't live in japan). I have a long lost uncle Joe (who took a bagful of 'ludes' and failed at checking out only to later disappear from the family) whom contacted me on myspace after 12 years of silence, couldn't be less interested. Now Uncle Jeff...Jeff was the uncle every kid wanted (especially one with no other relatives outside of the nuclear family). Jeff would let me watch all those cool rated R movies that came out (my parent's would let me watch one hour of PBS a day so this was pretty freakin rad to me at the time), Jeff would give me illegal fireworks, Jeff would blast megadeth records while rocketing down the freeway, Jeff would regale me with stories of his sunset strip adolescence by telling me stories of partying in houses with dave mustaine or random other metal dudes...you get the picture.
I remember wanting to be my uncle jeff for a lot of my childhood. At one point I literally thought that maybe my uncle had an affair with my mother (how else could I account for my love of all the same deviant behaviors when my own father listened to fleetwood mac and preached about having good work ethics and the importance of algebra?) I remember the nostalgic smell of marlboro reds and bongwater when I would give him hugs on holiday get togethers. He loved fishing and really passed that on to me, sometimes the two of us would just take off in his truck and fish while he would regale me with concerts he'd been to and chainsmoke cigs. I remember thinking that someday I wanted to be just like him...
As the years progressed I became aware of problems with my uncle; he would not show up when he said he would, he would hide in his house and ignore the door, he would screen phone calls, and he started disappearing from my life. I remembering being really confused and personally hurt, especially as my father and I's relationship started to deteriorate through my adolescent deviance years. I couldn't understand what was going on...and then I started experimenting with drugs. Suddenly, a big piece of my uncle's mystery fell together for me. I liked to hide out too when I was high, I didn't like answering phones when I was high, and I certainly didn't want to hangout with kids when in that state. For the second time in my life my uncle and I now had another thing to bond over.
I'm not comfortable getting uber candid on the what's and when's of this time period but suffice it to say that I ended up moving in with my uncle and aunt for a while and it was a lot of 'fun.' He had suffered a life-long addiction to certain 'elements' of the sunset strip lifestyle, so when he informed that he would start drinking more to quit the other I actually supported him. As much as I tend to go out and drink I never drink at home because I have now learned that alcoholism is the most terrifying disease in the human experience. The man that was a second father to me slowly deteriorated before my very eyes, I really don't want to give exact examples but I will say that some of the most horrifically terrifying experiences of my life occured during this time period.
I will never forget this night for the rest of my life...I was playing bass for my local college jazz band. We were finishing up some Ellington tune or other when two police officers walked into the elks lodge. I remember turning to Andian and joking that they had finally come for me. I stopped smiling when the officers asked to speak with me. I was frozen in place when they said that there had been an 'accident' with my uncle. The rest was a blur, I am told that I dropped my bass on the floor and drove 50 miles an hour through town to the hospital. I remember running into the ER, brushing past my parents, only to see my uncle being wheeled into surgery. We made eye contact right before his flailing body slid around the corner, my eyes shifted slightly from his weak gaze to the 50 cent sized hole in his left cranium. I will never forget literally looking into the brain of my beloved uncle. I can't really talk about what happened next but I returned to the house that night to do some 'cleaning.' Try as I might, I will never forget the feeling of moving grey matter and pieces of skull to get into his 'secret' table drawer. I will never forget the acrid smell of gun powder and the irony scent of blood. I am only describing this so vividly because I can see it in my minds eye almost daily and I want to make clear certain ramifications that occur alongside certain life choices.
Amazingly my uncle survived. He is not the same person and he never will be. He is more like a ghost or poorly sketched caricature of the man I grew up admiring. I am not trying to pass judgement on my uncle, I love him regardless of anything but it brings to mind propensity. If I were to forget my friends and family it is not far-stretched that I could have shared my uncle's fate or some variation of it. If I didn't have the love and compassion in my life shown daily by my friends and loved ones it is very likely I would revert to the levels of isolation and addiction that I once had. I used to want to be my uncle and now that I am older and wiser I realize that I really want to be like my father. I feel like there is this sinister dichotomy to my life; if I abandoned all my hopes and ideals I could easily become my uncle and if I could actually find it within myself to care or try at accomplishing goals I could someday be more life my father. It is a razor thin line I walk through my propensities. Sometimes I can catch myself and see the Jeff in me rising, and sometimes I alienate myself in social situations because I believe in the moralities my mother and father instilled in me. I have had to realize that I have some genetic dispositions and inbalances that I cannot handle at times and that has lead to the third P in this tale...Prozac
I have some friends on different anti-depressants and some are public about it and some are private. I am not the latter, I am on Prozac and will probably be on one form or another of anti-depressants for the rest of my life. I was diagnosed as being bi-polar by a doctor last about a year ago. Though she admitted I was not a classic case she really felt that this was the closest diagnosis of my ailments. She laughed when I did 90% of my own diagnosis during our initial meeting and she laughed harder when I threw some Freud quotes at her. I told her I didn't really feel bi-polar, I just felt constantly depressed. I said 'fuck the manic side, I am only worried about my depression' and must admit I didn't ascribe to her prognosis. It took my friend Nick to sell me on this bi-polar idea. He pointed out that shoveling handfuls of narcotics in my mouth and drinking 30 shots before going onstage might be an accurate depiction of manic episodes (feelings of glee, invulnerability, etc.) and I must admit that he really got me there. The months leading up to finally going to see my doctor were the darkest of my life and for a while I was really concerned that I might give in to my "jeff" side. All my 'real' friends would meet in secret and discuss what to do about my hermit lifestyle. I had literally withdrawn from the social world in which I used to live.
My doctor and I played the usual game of 'pin the pill on the donkey' and she knew that I could only afford pills offered on walmart's $10 plan so this limited our options. There was trial and error to say the least haha, I remember writing a will to give to Nick at one point when I was on a 'wrong' medication. We tried alot of things and none worked so eventually she wanted to send me to one of the mental hospitals (haha makes me sound crazy in a cool literal way instead of a whiny american narcissistic way). I told her I was really not worried about my 'manic' side and to give me one more anti-depressant to try... we went with prozac. The first 7 months on prozac were amazing for me. I have to say that last summer was the funnest summer I have had since I was 18. Everyone was so excited that I was back in the 'scene' taking shots and partying down. I was barely at home all summer...but then fall hit. My friend and roommate Nate was leaving for the girl he loved back on the east coast (they just got engaged too) and I had a lot of bad things happening. For some reason my magic medicine was no longer working. On top of that for the first time in 7 years my heart was trying to work again which lead me to confusion and fear. Add this to having a constant feeling of A.D.D. when trying to do semi-serious levels of schoolwork and you have a pretty good excuse to get off of your meds. I did stop taking them, and suddenly I was writing songs again, drawing sketches, and interested in dating.
But somehow this new liberartion was starting to turn on me. Ridiculous waves of melancholy would just randomly strike me (especially at work)...and if any of you don't understand my fiercely loyal love and dedication with my Macaroni Girls; it is because they have to deal with me at my absolute worst (at work) and they still love me unconditionally...I have no idea why they do, but I try to reciprocate and if you doubt me see what happens if you ever fuck with one of them. It is partly because of people like them that I have returned to my meds and am earnestly working on viewing my life in a more positive mannner. As a matter of fact, I am renewing my gym membership this week, starting a more regular eating schedule, taking a break from drinking (except on shows) and finally...going to quit smoking.
Allright I am really losing track of where I am going with this, it must be A.D.D. from returning to prozac this week. I think what I really wanted to say with all of this is- Don't lose perspective in your life. Sometimes we can get so caught up in what seems so important at the time that we lose sigh of the big picture. I have to realize that even though there are shitty consequences in having to fight my affliction for the rest of my life it doesn't mean that I have even the slightest of what my uncle went through. Nor does he really know how his actions affected myself and the rest of my family. I make concessions to propensities but at the end of the day my life is what I make of it. Because I may share certain affinities towards behaviors like my uncle that does not mean that our fates have to be similar.
I got really distracted while writing this so I guess I just want to wrap up by stating that in the end it is a hard to view the world through another's proverbial eyes. This means that we should all consider the perspective from which they are viewing events. Let's not be so hasty to assume and isolate others until you have the whole story....or do...I really don't give a shit haha because this blog is ultimately for me and as you can see; I have problems of my own
Now that my own idea of perspective has now been explained I want to share with you one of my darkest moments in my life so as to bring clarity to some of my perspectives on things that are truly important in my life...
A while back one of my friends was creating an art project and emailed me asking to describe to her my most painful memory. After forgetting to do so she sent me another email (which I received when in a rather foul drunken stupor) and I decided to see how she could make this an interesting art project. I mentioned propensities in the title of this blog, and I define propensity as being "a natural tendency or inclination" and though the sociologist in me would vehemently disagree with this idea of creation of self, I do believe that some of us carry genetic predispositions or propensities towards certain types of actions or thought processes. Alcoholism, mental 'disorders,' etc. are all included in my previous statement and I know I have some in my life. This leads me to Jeff...
I have one sister, my two parents, and Jeff in my life (for blood relatives that don't live in japan). I have a long lost uncle Joe (who took a bagful of 'ludes' and failed at checking out only to later disappear from the family) whom contacted me on myspace after 12 years of silence, couldn't be less interested. Now Uncle Jeff...Jeff was the uncle every kid wanted (especially one with no other relatives outside of the nuclear family). Jeff would let me watch all those cool rated R movies that came out (my parent's would let me watch one hour of PBS a day so this was pretty freakin rad to me at the time), Jeff would give me illegal fireworks, Jeff would blast megadeth records while rocketing down the freeway, Jeff would regale me with stories of his sunset strip adolescence by telling me stories of partying in houses with dave mustaine or random other metal dudes...you get the picture.
I remember wanting to be my uncle jeff for a lot of my childhood. At one point I literally thought that maybe my uncle had an affair with my mother (how else could I account for my love of all the same deviant behaviors when my own father listened to fleetwood mac and preached about having good work ethics and the importance of algebra?) I remember the nostalgic smell of marlboro reds and bongwater when I would give him hugs on holiday get togethers. He loved fishing and really passed that on to me, sometimes the two of us would just take off in his truck and fish while he would regale me with concerts he'd been to and chainsmoke cigs. I remember thinking that someday I wanted to be just like him...
As the years progressed I became aware of problems with my uncle; he would not show up when he said he would, he would hide in his house and ignore the door, he would screen phone calls, and he started disappearing from my life. I remembering being really confused and personally hurt, especially as my father and I's relationship started to deteriorate through my adolescent deviance years. I couldn't understand what was going on...and then I started experimenting with drugs. Suddenly, a big piece of my uncle's mystery fell together for me. I liked to hide out too when I was high, I didn't like answering phones when I was high, and I certainly didn't want to hangout with kids when in that state. For the second time in my life my uncle and I now had another thing to bond over.
I'm not comfortable getting uber candid on the what's and when's of this time period but suffice it to say that I ended up moving in with my uncle and aunt for a while and it was a lot of 'fun.' He had suffered a life-long addiction to certain 'elements' of the sunset strip lifestyle, so when he informed that he would start drinking more to quit the other I actually supported him. As much as I tend to go out and drink I never drink at home because I have now learned that alcoholism is the most terrifying disease in the human experience. The man that was a second father to me slowly deteriorated before my very eyes, I really don't want to give exact examples but I will say that some of the most horrifically terrifying experiences of my life occured during this time period.
I will never forget this night for the rest of my life...I was playing bass for my local college jazz band. We were finishing up some Ellington tune or other when two police officers walked into the elks lodge. I remember turning to Andian and joking that they had finally come for me. I stopped smiling when the officers asked to speak with me. I was frozen in place when they said that there had been an 'accident' with my uncle. The rest was a blur, I am told that I dropped my bass on the floor and drove 50 miles an hour through town to the hospital. I remember running into the ER, brushing past my parents, only to see my uncle being wheeled into surgery. We made eye contact right before his flailing body slid around the corner, my eyes shifted slightly from his weak gaze to the 50 cent sized hole in his left cranium. I will never forget literally looking into the brain of my beloved uncle. I can't really talk about what happened next but I returned to the house that night to do some 'cleaning.' Try as I might, I will never forget the feeling of moving grey matter and pieces of skull to get into his 'secret' table drawer. I will never forget the acrid smell of gun powder and the irony scent of blood. I am only describing this so vividly because I can see it in my minds eye almost daily and I want to make clear certain ramifications that occur alongside certain life choices.
Amazingly my uncle survived. He is not the same person and he never will be. He is more like a ghost or poorly sketched caricature of the man I grew up admiring. I am not trying to pass judgement on my uncle, I love him regardless of anything but it brings to mind propensity. If I were to forget my friends and family it is not far-stretched that I could have shared my uncle's fate or some variation of it. If I didn't have the love and compassion in my life shown daily by my friends and loved ones it is very likely I would revert to the levels of isolation and addiction that I once had. I used to want to be my uncle and now that I am older and wiser I realize that I really want to be like my father. I feel like there is this sinister dichotomy to my life; if I abandoned all my hopes and ideals I could easily become my uncle and if I could actually find it within myself to care or try at accomplishing goals I could someday be more life my father. It is a razor thin line I walk through my propensities. Sometimes I can catch myself and see the Jeff in me rising, and sometimes I alienate myself in social situations because I believe in the moralities my mother and father instilled in me. I have had to realize that I have some genetic dispositions and inbalances that I cannot handle at times and that has lead to the third P in this tale...Prozac
I have some friends on different anti-depressants and some are public about it and some are private. I am not the latter, I am on Prozac and will probably be on one form or another of anti-depressants for the rest of my life. I was diagnosed as being bi-polar by a doctor last about a year ago. Though she admitted I was not a classic case she really felt that this was the closest diagnosis of my ailments. She laughed when I did 90% of my own diagnosis during our initial meeting and she laughed harder when I threw some Freud quotes at her. I told her I didn't really feel bi-polar, I just felt constantly depressed. I said 'fuck the manic side, I am only worried about my depression' and must admit I didn't ascribe to her prognosis. It took my friend Nick to sell me on this bi-polar idea. He pointed out that shoveling handfuls of narcotics in my mouth and drinking 30 shots before going onstage might be an accurate depiction of manic episodes (feelings of glee, invulnerability, etc.) and I must admit that he really got me there. The months leading up to finally going to see my doctor were the darkest of my life and for a while I was really concerned that I might give in to my "jeff" side. All my 'real' friends would meet in secret and discuss what to do about my hermit lifestyle. I had literally withdrawn from the social world in which I used to live.
My doctor and I played the usual game of 'pin the pill on the donkey' and she knew that I could only afford pills offered on walmart's $10 plan so this limited our options. There was trial and error to say the least haha, I remember writing a will to give to Nick at one point when I was on a 'wrong' medication. We tried alot of things and none worked so eventually she wanted to send me to one of the mental hospitals (haha makes me sound crazy in a cool literal way instead of a whiny american narcissistic way). I told her I was really not worried about my 'manic' side and to give me one more anti-depressant to try... we went with prozac. The first 7 months on prozac were amazing for me. I have to say that last summer was the funnest summer I have had since I was 18. Everyone was so excited that I was back in the 'scene' taking shots and partying down. I was barely at home all summer...but then fall hit. My friend and roommate Nate was leaving for the girl he loved back on the east coast (they just got engaged too) and I had a lot of bad things happening. For some reason my magic medicine was no longer working. On top of that for the first time in 7 years my heart was trying to work again which lead me to confusion and fear. Add this to having a constant feeling of A.D.D. when trying to do semi-serious levels of schoolwork and you have a pretty good excuse to get off of your meds. I did stop taking them, and suddenly I was writing songs again, drawing sketches, and interested in dating.
But somehow this new liberartion was starting to turn on me. Ridiculous waves of melancholy would just randomly strike me (especially at work)...and if any of you don't understand my fiercely loyal love and dedication with my Macaroni Girls; it is because they have to deal with me at my absolute worst (at work) and they still love me unconditionally...I have no idea why they do, but I try to reciprocate and if you doubt me see what happens if you ever fuck with one of them. It is partly because of people like them that I have returned to my meds and am earnestly working on viewing my life in a more positive mannner. As a matter of fact, I am renewing my gym membership this week, starting a more regular eating schedule, taking a break from drinking (except on shows) and finally...going to quit smoking.
Allright I am really losing track of where I am going with this, it must be A.D.D. from returning to prozac this week. I think what I really wanted to say with all of this is- Don't lose perspective in your life. Sometimes we can get so caught up in what seems so important at the time that we lose sigh of the big picture. I have to realize that even though there are shitty consequences in having to fight my affliction for the rest of my life it doesn't mean that I have even the slightest of what my uncle went through. Nor does he really know how his actions affected myself and the rest of my family. I make concessions to propensities but at the end of the day my life is what I make of it. Because I may share certain affinities towards behaviors like my uncle that does not mean that our fates have to be similar.
I got really distracted while writing this so I guess I just want to wrap up by stating that in the end it is a hard to view the world through another's proverbial eyes. This means that we should all consider the perspective from which they are viewing events. Let's not be so hasty to assume and isolate others until you have the whole story....or do...I really don't give a shit haha because this blog is ultimately for me and as you can see; I have problems of my own
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Post-Modernism, Puppet Shows, and Musical Chairs
Ok not to get too academic but I want to analyze a terminology I throw around alot; post-modernism. Post-modernism is often compared to 'decontructing' beliefs, words, symbols, social realities, or 'inherent or natural truths.' It is really just a way of questioning things that are assumed to be 'true' and these things are usually said to be such due to being created by social institutions/cultural ideologies/religions/science. I have come to the realization that as fun as conflict theory and Marxism are; it's hard to find all the answers needed to explain humanity on a more philosophical/psychological level. It is also remarkably hard to remain an optimistic humanist when examining the entire world through a paradigm that is the equivalent of 'hungry hungry hippos.' Meaning they want us to believe that everybody exists solely to batlle over the remaining pieces of a diminishing pie. This, to me, is a terrible over-generalization of humanity. I don't leave my house everday to try and covet more commodities and land from my fellow humans. I believe that the top 3% (whether you ascibe to it being corporate CEO's, global economic terrorist sects like the IMF, World Bank and G7, politicians, or various other nefarious background characters) are the ones creating such a mythos...not the people trapped within the world they have created. I always like comparing it to monopoly; we can't all be bankers and we have to become callous assholes to succeed at winning (capitalism anyone?)
I refuse to believe that human beings are inherently greedy, callous and egotistical. Maybe because I grew up in a small town I have a different view of the world, but even driving around Boise I see people helping others when their car breaks down, giving change to homeless people, and various other instances that would beg to differ with the aforementioned views. I am currently working on my own shortcomings and (you may notice a recurring trend in these writings of mine haha) I am working on purging myself of years of apathetic, nihilistic, egotistic rhetoric that has plagued me over the last decade. It is so easy to become this way because even though I believe humankind is relatively benevolent in nature...the world is still full of a multitude of assholes. However it is so hard to get over being burned by others that we always seem to shut down the borders of our own little worlds, it's all too easy to get by in our current society by drawing the shades and locking the doors (metaphor alert!)...ok I promise the academic shit is drawing to a close. This idea of locking doors (to our insular hearts, to our social groups, etc) leads me to the next point I want to make...puppetry
I sometimes think of life as a form of live action play or puppet show (probably due to a revelation I once had on mushrooms as a teenager). Meaning that even though we may have mountains of pre-scripted responses, memorized lines and wardrobe changes; you never know what might come next or what the background scene might be. It's live drama and not edited television, one person enters a new scene and the entire dynamic changes and so on and so on. It's a more metaphysical way of saying "you never know what tomorrow brings" and as cheesy as it is to say it; I believe that it is still a fairly true statement. One person can easily change someone else's entire life (if we choose to let them in) whether it be a lover, teacher, friend, child, etc. However, our own personal walls often lead to the prevention of meeting these people, this brings me to the goddamn puppet show...sorry I really am not an egomaniac I just really enjoy creating metaphors and analogies.
The Puppet Show- ahh the puppet show, let's get a little metaphysical for a minute here...Think of your brain as you hands, your actions/thoughts/dispositions as the strings and your 'public sphere representation' (aka how the majority of world sees you or what you are presenting as 'you') as your puppet. I suppose it could be stated as your puppet being your brain's avatar. No one can literally 'see' your thoughts, history, or 'soul' all they can really see is what you present yourself as. I'll go ahead and use myself as an example, and we can use my favorite watering hole, Mulligans, as my puppetry background or 'scene.' When at mullies and in front of people I take on the role of 'useless j' quite frequently (at shows as well, especially when I am onstage in front of a microphone). Useless J is everything I want to be sometimes, he is confident, nihilistic, drunk, high, funny, crass, impervious to death or pain, he has a million friends, he is incapable of becoming offended, etc. If any of you have seen me on a good night at a show you have seen useless j. I had a bit of a shit experience the other night at mullies and it has led me to realize that the useless j armor I had constructed over the years has now become somewhat inadequate to 'protect/represent' myself nowadays. Maybe it's the sense of optimism I am trying to create in my life. Useless J was a bitter marxist who had little trust or utility for real emotions and positivism. Useless J ignores racist, sexist, or other dangerous jokes that some people spew, because at the end of the day J is just looking to 'comingle' and avoid taking a stance on anything because a stance implies ostracization from others.
So the other night 'J' watched a couple people whom he kind of knew spew some verbal shit that cuts right to the core of 'me' to a couple of people I literally love more than 95% of the people in my life. Of course there were extenuating circumstances (wasn't sure how close they were to the victims of this verbal assualt) and a few other things...but the sour taste of choking down my ideals to appease social situations has not yet left my mouth two days later. I guess you could say that my brain is outgrowing the puppet shell it had created. So I've recently made a vow to myself (for myself) to never again allow things like this to occur. I have no need/desire to have more 'bar buddies' and I have reached a point in my life where I no longer crave fighting or physical altercations (as opposed to the kid who grew up fighting everyday at school) because fighting quickly becomes 'assualt and battery' once one reaches adulthood. Not too mention I have an extremely dark angry side that I guarantee almost none of you have seen, because I have no use for that side of me and have vowed to rid myself of such actions. That being said, I cannot help but get a bit crazy if you have the temerity to fuck with those I love... do not ever test these boundaries with me.
Wow, I am getting really off topic here. The point I was trying to make with these past two metaphors is that the world seems, to me, to be an evershifting background scene for our public representational puppets to act upon....haha I like how it took two pages to reach this conclusion that is encapsulated within one sentence here. This leads me to my third and final metaphoric conclusion (I love likening life to games, weird I know) Musical Chairs. Do you all remember the childhood game of musical chairs? Where you march around a circle of chairs, goose-stepping like little neo-nazis with your classmates, until the music stops playing and you all scramble to find a place to sit? The irony of the game being that there are less and less chairs each time and when one cannot find a place to sit; they are now 'out.' I always sucked at musical chairs because I did not understand the importance of shoving a little girl out of my way to 'win' at a fairly unfun game. I think that America (and the tenets of capitalism and neo-liberalism) is a fairly similar 'game' right now. We get so caught up in maintaining our own little puppet worlds that we sometimes forget to look around ourselves and outside of our own little worlds (scenes). I don't think it's anyone's fault per se...this is the enviroment in which we have been fostered and the mythologies we have been indoctrinated with. But I do think that we are capable of realizing what we are doing, and with consciousness comes a greater responsibility to ourselves and others. Sometimes we need to stop and look at the puppet we have created to represent ourselves and what kind of backgrounds we are currently acting within.
I doubt that I am the only one of you who feels that maybe it's time to redress my puppet's wardrobe and maybe make it reflect who I really am a bit more. I know it's a scary feeling to abandon familiarity. I was thinking about life and death this morning and of all the close brushes I've had with death (car wrecks, having guns pointed at me, overdosing, being poisoned, etc.) and I think the scariest occurances that have plagued my memories weren't these brushes with death but rather ones dealing with life. That terrifying feeling of telling someone how you truly feel about them, admitting your 'foolish' dreams to others, creating music or art in front of strangers, etc. are all 'scary' in their own ways. They are scary because they are representing the 'real' you more than the day to day avatar you show the rest of the world. I have decided that in my own life it is time to start practicing what I sociologically/ontologically preach in my day to day activities. I am in no way implying that any of you reading this (the three of you that read through all this bs) needs to change their life or that my life is somehow more 'enlightened.' My purpose here, going back to post-modernism, is that I hope some of us can sometimes stop and look at our thoughts and actions and try to examine what is really behind them. Stop accepting things because 'that's just the way things are' because these type of neo-liberal mythos only further fuel the systems of isolation and mistrust that 'they' want us to live in. We only have one life and I have decided that it is perhaps time for me to try and live it with a more accurate representation of who I am or who I want to be.
I refuse to believe that human beings are inherently greedy, callous and egotistical. Maybe because I grew up in a small town I have a different view of the world, but even driving around Boise I see people helping others when their car breaks down, giving change to homeless people, and various other instances that would beg to differ with the aforementioned views. I am currently working on my own shortcomings and (you may notice a recurring trend in these writings of mine haha) I am working on purging myself of years of apathetic, nihilistic, egotistic rhetoric that has plagued me over the last decade. It is so easy to become this way because even though I believe humankind is relatively benevolent in nature...the world is still full of a multitude of assholes. However it is so hard to get over being burned by others that we always seem to shut down the borders of our own little worlds, it's all too easy to get by in our current society by drawing the shades and locking the doors (metaphor alert!)...ok I promise the academic shit is drawing to a close. This idea of locking doors (to our insular hearts, to our social groups, etc) leads me to the next point I want to make...puppetry
I sometimes think of life as a form of live action play or puppet show (probably due to a revelation I once had on mushrooms as a teenager). Meaning that even though we may have mountains of pre-scripted responses, memorized lines and wardrobe changes; you never know what might come next or what the background scene might be. It's live drama and not edited television, one person enters a new scene and the entire dynamic changes and so on and so on. It's a more metaphysical way of saying "you never know what tomorrow brings" and as cheesy as it is to say it; I believe that it is still a fairly true statement. One person can easily change someone else's entire life (if we choose to let them in) whether it be a lover, teacher, friend, child, etc. However, our own personal walls often lead to the prevention of meeting these people, this brings me to the goddamn puppet show...sorry I really am not an egomaniac I just really enjoy creating metaphors and analogies.
The Puppet Show- ahh the puppet show, let's get a little metaphysical for a minute here...Think of your brain as you hands, your actions/thoughts/dispositions as the strings and your 'public sphere representation' (aka how the majority of world sees you or what you are presenting as 'you') as your puppet. I suppose it could be stated as your puppet being your brain's avatar. No one can literally 'see' your thoughts, history, or 'soul' all they can really see is what you present yourself as. I'll go ahead and use myself as an example, and we can use my favorite watering hole, Mulligans, as my puppetry background or 'scene.' When at mullies and in front of people I take on the role of 'useless j' quite frequently (at shows as well, especially when I am onstage in front of a microphone). Useless J is everything I want to be sometimes, he is confident, nihilistic, drunk, high, funny, crass, impervious to death or pain, he has a million friends, he is incapable of becoming offended, etc. If any of you have seen me on a good night at a show you have seen useless j. I had a bit of a shit experience the other night at mullies and it has led me to realize that the useless j armor I had constructed over the years has now become somewhat inadequate to 'protect/represent' myself nowadays. Maybe it's the sense of optimism I am trying to create in my life. Useless J was a bitter marxist who had little trust or utility for real emotions and positivism. Useless J ignores racist, sexist, or other dangerous jokes that some people spew, because at the end of the day J is just looking to 'comingle' and avoid taking a stance on anything because a stance implies ostracization from others.
So the other night 'J' watched a couple people whom he kind of knew spew some verbal shit that cuts right to the core of 'me' to a couple of people I literally love more than 95% of the people in my life. Of course there were extenuating circumstances (wasn't sure how close they were to the victims of this verbal assualt) and a few other things...but the sour taste of choking down my ideals to appease social situations has not yet left my mouth two days later. I guess you could say that my brain is outgrowing the puppet shell it had created. So I've recently made a vow to myself (for myself) to never again allow things like this to occur. I have no need/desire to have more 'bar buddies' and I have reached a point in my life where I no longer crave fighting or physical altercations (as opposed to the kid who grew up fighting everyday at school) because fighting quickly becomes 'assualt and battery' once one reaches adulthood. Not too mention I have an extremely dark angry side that I guarantee almost none of you have seen, because I have no use for that side of me and have vowed to rid myself of such actions. That being said, I cannot help but get a bit crazy if you have the temerity to fuck with those I love... do not ever test these boundaries with me.
Wow, I am getting really off topic here. The point I was trying to make with these past two metaphors is that the world seems, to me, to be an evershifting background scene for our public representational puppets to act upon....haha I like how it took two pages to reach this conclusion that is encapsulated within one sentence here. This leads me to my third and final metaphoric conclusion (I love likening life to games, weird I know) Musical Chairs. Do you all remember the childhood game of musical chairs? Where you march around a circle of chairs, goose-stepping like little neo-nazis with your classmates, until the music stops playing and you all scramble to find a place to sit? The irony of the game being that there are less and less chairs each time and when one cannot find a place to sit; they are now 'out.' I always sucked at musical chairs because I did not understand the importance of shoving a little girl out of my way to 'win' at a fairly unfun game. I think that America (and the tenets of capitalism and neo-liberalism) is a fairly similar 'game' right now. We get so caught up in maintaining our own little puppet worlds that we sometimes forget to look around ourselves and outside of our own little worlds (scenes). I don't think it's anyone's fault per se...this is the enviroment in which we have been fostered and the mythologies we have been indoctrinated with. But I do think that we are capable of realizing what we are doing, and with consciousness comes a greater responsibility to ourselves and others. Sometimes we need to stop and look at the puppet we have created to represent ourselves and what kind of backgrounds we are currently acting within.
I doubt that I am the only one of you who feels that maybe it's time to redress my puppet's wardrobe and maybe make it reflect who I really am a bit more. I know it's a scary feeling to abandon familiarity. I was thinking about life and death this morning and of all the close brushes I've had with death (car wrecks, having guns pointed at me, overdosing, being poisoned, etc.) and I think the scariest occurances that have plagued my memories weren't these brushes with death but rather ones dealing with life. That terrifying feeling of telling someone how you truly feel about them, admitting your 'foolish' dreams to others, creating music or art in front of strangers, etc. are all 'scary' in their own ways. They are scary because they are representing the 'real' you more than the day to day avatar you show the rest of the world. I have decided that in my own life it is time to start practicing what I sociologically/ontologically preach in my day to day activities. I am in no way implying that any of you reading this (the three of you that read through all this bs) needs to change their life or that my life is somehow more 'enlightened.' My purpose here, going back to post-modernism, is that I hope some of us can sometimes stop and look at our thoughts and actions and try to examine what is really behind them. Stop accepting things because 'that's just the way things are' because these type of neo-liberal mythos only further fuel the systems of isolation and mistrust that 'they' want us to live in. We only have one life and I have decided that it is perhaps time for me to try and live it with a more accurate representation of who I am or who I want to be.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Narcissism, Social Networks, and Magnets
Narcissism has brought me to this point...narcissism, the self-fulfilling void that is now in my life with the deletion of my archaic myspace account, and Ryan Sampson...
That beautiful almost ethereal feeling of posting whatever the hell you want to on an online format for friends and the feeling of receiving almost instant feedback is a relatively new way to view the process of "creative" or "reflective" writing. Even more it is a very simple way to speak candidly about your life; there are no clinking bottles and whitesnake songs in the Mulligans background distracting you and your friends while trying to hash out current life style wants, regrets, dreams, fails, etc. The computer screen itself never acuses you of being a crazy, egocentric, manic-depressive mess, it never takes into account the fact that you may have went a little over-board on the painkillers and bright eyes records today, in fact the computer screen is whatever you make it out to be. Or maybe it's just a 90's thing, the romanticism of typing out the daily thoughts and stresses of the day (Dougie Howser Syndrome). I forgot how much I enjoy the sound of the keyboard clicking and clacking away (with the lawrence arms record in the background) and moreover the joy of writing something that is not in an academic context. I have learned the art of vomitting up ten page research papers in such a reflexive way that it is more automated and similar to taking a mental shit than actually creating something of significance. I miss that outlet...hell I miss myspace. So when I saw Ryan's post it reminded me of my past joys of coming home a bit 'crunk' and typing out my frustrations/elation/mental ejaculations...
Facebook is so much creepier and less personal, I had no idea that I was so 'blessed' to have 544 friends, not to mention the fact that my elderly japanese mother is one of said friends. Not really a great idea to post candidly when you are a manicly-depressed musician who walks the fine line of social deviance daily. 544 friends haha...albeit I literally know and get along with hundreds of people after playing shows in boise the last decade, I just find this humorous because of all these people I wonder how many people that profess to being my friend even know my first and last name...not Useless J or J.
I was in a very self-reflective mood today and was thinking about how in a heartbeat I would eliminate 95% of the people in my life for the 5% that I truly cherish and love. I have no idea how I ended up with such an amazing 5%...these are people I would/will kill for or take a bullet for (a faily hollow threat for a man of my mental inclinations I suppose). I have no idea how I have 'tricked' them into caring about me so much when they have seen all the aspects of me, shit I barely like me so I have no idea what they see but they have literally saved my life. Last saturday I was with alot of these aforementioned 5% at my 28th annual cheating of death party...28...that shit rolls off the tongue like a turd impregnated with razors, burnt hair, and wasp stingers.
As is in most cases; progression towards the ultimate end seems to always force us to look back in our past to find a warm nostalgic blanket to wear in the winterfields of life. I was thinking today about how fuckin different I was ten years ago. I was passionate, affectionate, confident, thoughtful, full of life, skinny/healthy and usually stoned. I jumped at a chance to argue politics or religion and armed with a headful of lyrics provided by fat-wreck-chords, epitaph and alternative tentacle bands (and a few good Marx quotes) I was ready to do battle with anyone who was willing. It didn't matter to me anyways because I would soon be a touring band for one of the aforementioned labels anyways right? Ha...the world was my oyster and I was going to fuck it. Nothing really brought me down back then, I remember that chilly winter I decided to 'live abroad' for a month; armed with only a 1993 nissan sentra, an assortment of marijuana paraphernalia, two binders of cds, a garbage bag full of band shirts and socks, and a trunkful of guitars I set off to make a point to my concerned parents. This was during my senior year of high school (I actually moved out of my parents' house my junior year but quickly bankrupted myself on drugs and booze and was forced to move back in for a couple months) and I had no plan on returning to my parents' house no matter how chilly the air was. Generally speaking I usually had a couch or floor to sleep on (again due to my amazing friends) but on some of those january nights that I slept in my car I still found solace in the fact that the world would not get me down no matter how hard it fuckin pushed me...and I suppose in essence it didn't...it took adulthood to finally conquer me
I was sitting in my car at a redlight today (on another fun filled day of bsu nonsense) and I realized the fundamental difference between that 18 year old kid sleeping in his car and the me that exists now... hope. Back then I was living in a constant state of excited apprehension, meaning I couldn't wait to meet the things that were obviously going to happen to me. I couldn't wait to meet the woman I would eventually fall in love with, couldn't wait to play my first warped tour, couldn't wait to get that doctorate, couldn't wait to buy a house and build a recording studio, and I couldn't wait to 'grow up.' I look back now on that time period (18-21) as the happiest time period of my life because I had- no debt, no real responsibility (outside of cashiering at a grocery store), no 'mental disorders,' no walls built around my heart, no social filters, no mistrust, and more importantly no shackles. I literally walked out of three different jobs back then because I was "too punk to suffer the proletariat shackles of the fascist capitalist pigs" haha besides I could just sell some bagged green if need be right?
Something happens to us later in life, it seems like we are all magnets and as we progress in age/experiences we begin to accumulate more and more random cold spiky metal that sticks to us. Broken heart? Slap some metal on. Death of a loved one? Slap some more metal on. Crushed dream? Clear a spot... I have recently realized that no matter how heavy our loads become, we still have the option to stop and look objectively at ourselves and maybe shed some of the shit that we have been carrying for so long. I know I have a reputation of being a fairly 'dark' person and this sounds like hippy jive, but I really mean it. Because in this atheist's eyes there is no promised sweet hereafter or second chance at life. I've spent the better part of the last 7 years hunkered down in my foxhole cursing the bombs life has dropped but never crawling out on to the battlefield. I know a lot of us are jaded and mistrusting because of things that we have experienced but what the fuck is the point of living a completely safe or isolated life? Yes-I can't be hurt anymore if I don't place any trust in people and I cannot ever have my heart broken again if I never try to love again...but when you look at these types of sentimental equations you begin to notice a dichotomous trade, we've now traded never being hurt with never trusting. If I have learned anything from the 5% I keep talking about it is that I don't have to go through my life alone (in fact it's rather obvious to those who truly know me that I would have never made it through the last couple years without them).
Anyways I am getting tired of typing now, the romance is leaving me, if you read this whole thing I apologize for the length but I guess I have been a bit 'pent up' when it comes to writing...I've missed it and I plan on continuing even if no one reads....dougie howser syndrome indeed
That beautiful almost ethereal feeling of posting whatever the hell you want to on an online format for friends and the feeling of receiving almost instant feedback is a relatively new way to view the process of "creative" or "reflective" writing. Even more it is a very simple way to speak candidly about your life; there are no clinking bottles and whitesnake songs in the Mulligans background distracting you and your friends while trying to hash out current life style wants, regrets, dreams, fails, etc. The computer screen itself never acuses you of being a crazy, egocentric, manic-depressive mess, it never takes into account the fact that you may have went a little over-board on the painkillers and bright eyes records today, in fact the computer screen is whatever you make it out to be. Or maybe it's just a 90's thing, the romanticism of typing out the daily thoughts and stresses of the day (Dougie Howser Syndrome). I forgot how much I enjoy the sound of the keyboard clicking and clacking away (with the lawrence arms record in the background) and moreover the joy of writing something that is not in an academic context. I have learned the art of vomitting up ten page research papers in such a reflexive way that it is more automated and similar to taking a mental shit than actually creating something of significance. I miss that outlet...hell I miss myspace. So when I saw Ryan's post it reminded me of my past joys of coming home a bit 'crunk' and typing out my frustrations/elation/mental ejaculations...
Facebook is so much creepier and less personal, I had no idea that I was so 'blessed' to have 544 friends, not to mention the fact that my elderly japanese mother is one of said friends. Not really a great idea to post candidly when you are a manicly-depressed musician who walks the fine line of social deviance daily. 544 friends haha...albeit I literally know and get along with hundreds of people after playing shows in boise the last decade, I just find this humorous because of all these people I wonder how many people that profess to being my friend even know my first and last name...not Useless J or J.
I was in a very self-reflective mood today and was thinking about how in a heartbeat I would eliminate 95% of the people in my life for the 5% that I truly cherish and love. I have no idea how I ended up with such an amazing 5%...these are people I would/will kill for or take a bullet for (a faily hollow threat for a man of my mental inclinations I suppose). I have no idea how I have 'tricked' them into caring about me so much when they have seen all the aspects of me, shit I barely like me so I have no idea what they see but they have literally saved my life. Last saturday I was with alot of these aforementioned 5% at my 28th annual cheating of death party...28...that shit rolls off the tongue like a turd impregnated with razors, burnt hair, and wasp stingers.
As is in most cases; progression towards the ultimate end seems to always force us to look back in our past to find a warm nostalgic blanket to wear in the winterfields of life. I was thinking today about how fuckin different I was ten years ago. I was passionate, affectionate, confident, thoughtful, full of life, skinny/healthy and usually stoned. I jumped at a chance to argue politics or religion and armed with a headful of lyrics provided by fat-wreck-chords, epitaph and alternative tentacle bands (and a few good Marx quotes) I was ready to do battle with anyone who was willing. It didn't matter to me anyways because I would soon be a touring band for one of the aforementioned labels anyways right? Ha...the world was my oyster and I was going to fuck it. Nothing really brought me down back then, I remember that chilly winter I decided to 'live abroad' for a month; armed with only a 1993 nissan sentra, an assortment of marijuana paraphernalia, two binders of cds, a garbage bag full of band shirts and socks, and a trunkful of guitars I set off to make a point to my concerned parents. This was during my senior year of high school (I actually moved out of my parents' house my junior year but quickly bankrupted myself on drugs and booze and was forced to move back in for a couple months) and I had no plan on returning to my parents' house no matter how chilly the air was. Generally speaking I usually had a couch or floor to sleep on (again due to my amazing friends) but on some of those january nights that I slept in my car I still found solace in the fact that the world would not get me down no matter how hard it fuckin pushed me...and I suppose in essence it didn't...it took adulthood to finally conquer me
I was sitting in my car at a redlight today (on another fun filled day of bsu nonsense) and I realized the fundamental difference between that 18 year old kid sleeping in his car and the me that exists now... hope. Back then I was living in a constant state of excited apprehension, meaning I couldn't wait to meet the things that were obviously going to happen to me. I couldn't wait to meet the woman I would eventually fall in love with, couldn't wait to play my first warped tour, couldn't wait to get that doctorate, couldn't wait to buy a house and build a recording studio, and I couldn't wait to 'grow up.' I look back now on that time period (18-21) as the happiest time period of my life because I had- no debt, no real responsibility (outside of cashiering at a grocery store), no 'mental disorders,' no walls built around my heart, no social filters, no mistrust, and more importantly no shackles. I literally walked out of three different jobs back then because I was "too punk to suffer the proletariat shackles of the fascist capitalist pigs" haha besides I could just sell some bagged green if need be right?
Something happens to us later in life, it seems like we are all magnets and as we progress in age/experiences we begin to accumulate more and more random cold spiky metal that sticks to us. Broken heart? Slap some metal on. Death of a loved one? Slap some more metal on. Crushed dream? Clear a spot... I have recently realized that no matter how heavy our loads become, we still have the option to stop and look objectively at ourselves and maybe shed some of the shit that we have been carrying for so long. I know I have a reputation of being a fairly 'dark' person and this sounds like hippy jive, but I really mean it. Because in this atheist's eyes there is no promised sweet hereafter or second chance at life. I've spent the better part of the last 7 years hunkered down in my foxhole cursing the bombs life has dropped but never crawling out on to the battlefield. I know a lot of us are jaded and mistrusting because of things that we have experienced but what the fuck is the point of living a completely safe or isolated life? Yes-I can't be hurt anymore if I don't place any trust in people and I cannot ever have my heart broken again if I never try to love again...but when you look at these types of sentimental equations you begin to notice a dichotomous trade, we've now traded never being hurt with never trusting. If I have learned anything from the 5% I keep talking about it is that I don't have to go through my life alone (in fact it's rather obvious to those who truly know me that I would have never made it through the last couple years without them).
Anyways I am getting tired of typing now, the romance is leaving me, if you read this whole thing I apologize for the length but I guess I have been a bit 'pent up' when it comes to writing...I've missed it and I plan on continuing even if no one reads....dougie howser syndrome indeed
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