So, it has been almost two months since my last blog. And that was my last blog - truly. I have not blogged at any of the few blogs I maintain, and the last blog you see here, was not posted anywhere else but here.
How am I doing? Better. It turns out that Ambien (a prescription sleep aid) was destroying my emotions, and towards the end, my mental state. It's hard to explain, but if you're really interested, do a Google sometime on the side-effects of Ambien CR. Make sure to include the "CR," which is for "Controlled Release." That is some evil stuff. At least for me it is. Understand that drugs affect different people differently. Ambien CR jacked me up something fierce. I could not understand why I was so emotional. I couldn't keep from crying whenever I thought of my youngest son going off to the Army, and my oldest one moving out and getting married. Anyhow, there really is MUCH more to this story than I'm going to bother with here. You're already bored anyway. Just trust me when I say that Ambien and Johnny D. do not mix. I am, apparently, one of about 3% of the population that has a terrible reaction to that stuff. Oh well, "Live & learn," as they say.
One thing that I will speak to that came out of this story (as noted above in the "there really is MUCH more to this story") is how I began, again, to take the idea of God with some seriousness. Some of you may have read past blogs here and noted my thinly veiled (and sometimes outright) hostility toward God, or Gods, or supreme beings in general. Well, when one is so far down in the dumps that suicide actually begins to look like a bright idea, one can actually seriously begin to ponder the idea of a supreme being - at least that is how it went for me. Please understand that I never actually pulled a pistol out, loaded it and pointed it at my head. I did not. There were a couple of times while trying to get off the Ambien that I felt like a bullet would certainly make the withdrawals more acceptable and the hallucinations a bit more palatable. There were also times (and there still are) that I wish the sun would begin to burn out and swell into a super-giant and burn the earth to a cinder. Such a fate is, if one believes current scientific thought about the matter, our planet's supposed destiny in a few billions years.
To cut to the chase, I picked up my Bible - a book I used to be intimately familiar with, but had not opened in some ten years, and began to read Acts. Then I read Luke. And then Ephesians. Then Galatians. Then I read huge sections of John's gospel. Then I read Acts again. Then I read some chapters in Acts again, and again - and then some more - and I'm still reading Acts. I've always loved history, and I love the history found in Acts. I love the genuine feel of the early church, and I could read Acts chapter 2 (especially the last half) a million times and not get enough. Same goes with the later chapters where Paul's three missionary journies are chronicled.
And I really have no idea what this means for me. One thing I do know is that I can never go back to being a regular church-goer. I can't do that, and I do not think I can be persuaded to. What I read in Acts in no way resembles what we now call church. If I were to go to any church, it would be a house church, and it would be very practical. Anyhow, I'm getting side-tracked here, and do not really wish to go into church or any of the other subjects one could get off into.
I just want to say that in my reading, I find Jesus of Nazareth to be a very compelling figure. How else can one look at or explain a man that was born dirt-poor and never wandered more than a hundred miles or so from his place of birth - yet had such an effect upon the planet? Has anyone ever had such an effect? I don't think so. Muhammad might be giving Jesus a run for his money, but in thinking about it, he still has a long way to go.
Anyway, in my reading of Jesus' words, there is just something there that rings true to me. Could it be my western sensibilities and prejudices? I suppose. Still, there is just something there in those words that strikes me straight in the solar-plexus. What is it about the man? How could an itinerant preacher with no money and no prospects totally change the world? FOR 2000 years? Lots of folks met their end on a Roman gibbet, but none of them changed an entire world - except Jesus. How is that?
Like many things, this is so hard for me. My rational mind wants to reject religion, but there is that nagging feeling that rejecting religion and rejecting Jesus are two different things. Jesus said somewhere in my reading of the gospels something like, "If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can tell this tree to be uprooted and throw itself into the sea." I don't have that much faith - not even as much as a mustard seed's worth. I have maybe a hundreth of a mustard seed's worth. There's an almost imperceptible flame burning in my heart. It's not even right to call it a flame. It's more like the glow of the wick as you blow the candle out. It may relight, and it may die off and turn cold. But it is there, and I think someone or something is fanning the glow and trying to make a flame.
I don't feel as if I have to hurry and make any decision about any of this. I need to figure out who I truly am before I do anything. You'd think that at my age, I'd have that figured out, but I really do not, and this has become clear to me over the past few months. I tend to jump into things "whole-hog," as I did with Christianity in the past. There's no middle-ground for me, apparently. I could go on and chronicle the things I've gone off into, but I will not. I'll look for your thoughts and comments and we'll go from there. Thanks for reading.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
Days Of Nothing & Everything - Fortified with Erasure!
Howdy. Valance, I didn't really care for that last post, and so that explains why I removed it. It was about meditation, and how meditation seems to have helped me cope with events of late. It just was not that great of a post, so I took it down. But I do want you to know that I'm not ashamed at all of doing the meditation thing. It is a good thing, and one thing I need to do with the concept is: MORE.
I dropped my twenty-year-old son off at the Army recruiter's office today. This is entirely of his doing, and if anything, I have DISCOURAGED him from joining the military. Anyhow, he's going through the "process" and has to spend the night somewhere and then get a physical in the morning. I figure it's just part of the weeding process.
So many things are going through my mind, and I have to tell you - many of those things piss me right the fuck off. Between my income and my wife's, we make around $140,000 a year. That ain't chump change, but it ain't enough for me to say to my son, "Boy, why don't you just try and get into a university? I'll pay for it." I can't pay for it without incurring debt, and I'm about as anti-debt as an American can get these days - and that ain't saying much. By way of side-information that is critical (in my opinion) to you making an informed judgement regarding those last few sentences - we have almost no debt. No car payments. No credit cards. We do have a mortgage payment and utilities. Yet, sending my son to university and paying the bills would cause us to incur debt. What a grand system the money-changers have erected!
And it pisses me right the fuck off. You don't know me, and you never will (most likely) but I can say with some measure of comfort and truth - I'm a decent person. I don't fuck over people. I don't lie. I don't steal. I pay ALL of my taxes, I served almost 8 years in the military, I work hard at my job, and again, I don't fuck people over - because I'm a HUGE believer in "What goes around comes around."
Yet, here I am.
I don't watch much TV, but in the occasional channel-surf, I do catch bits and pieces of weird shit like "Real Housewives of New York." I watched a few minutes of this just earlier today, and one of the "housewives" was bitching about how she won't get up and feed her baby because she needs her sleep. She's got a nanny, and a maid, and a gardener, and I guaran-fucking-tee you her children won't be off joining the U.S. Army because they (the children) are fucking restless and mommy and daddy don't want to incur too much debt. On the contrary, for having appeared on the TV show, the kids will be pampered and have their asses kissed for many years to come. And you fucking morons that watch that sort of shit and smile and mentally masturbate will be the reason why. Well, before I forget, fuck you.
So, I ask you: where the fuck did I go wrong? What am I not doing right? Am I not working hard enough? I don't kiss ass, so you can kiss mine if you want to make the suggestion that I should.
And I tell you - this country is fucked. As hard as it is for me to admit that, the truth must be known. We are fucked. You better believe it - because when people like me; honest, hard-working, no-bullshit, tax-paying citizens say we are fucked - you better believe it - we are fucked. And I'll tell you something else, I don't care anymore. The universe is about to barf out this fucked up piece of shit world, and it looks like we're going to get a front-row seat. What a fuck-job we are. If humanity is the universe's attempt at sentience, then the attempt is a major failure. Greed, avarice, hatred, fucking over everyone in sight (including family members), lying and stomping on other folk's to get ahead - on and on. We deserve to be erased, and honestly, as hard as it is for me to admit it - I am seeing our erasure as necessary and right and good. Why shouldn't I? What are we gonna do after we fuck this planet up? Go to Mars? Ever hear of the "Gulf Of Oil"? If, by some miracle, we should be capable of moving to a place like Mars, WE WILL FUCK IT UP TOO.
Erasure. Bring it.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Childish Thoughts of a China Laker
As a young boy, I had the best life. You old China Lakers that read here, you know what I mean. Growing up at China Lake in the way and in the time that we grew up will never be repeated in quite the same way. In fact, I'd say it won't ever be replicated - unless there is some other world in another solar system populated with a civilization that is in a similar sort of place (technically & socially) as we were back in those days.
You know what we were - and I speak to my fellow China Lakers here - we were protected. We had miles and miles of high desert and mountains between us and the nearest city of any size. But more than that, we had a special time in that most of us had both parents raising us. Mom stayed home and Dad went to work making, designing, building and thinking about rockets and missiles and bombs. And they worked hard too. Remember when government workers were proud of what they did and of their contributions to the nation, and in our case - to the Navy? They were genuinely proud of the fact that they could take a concept like a heat-homing rocket and turn it into the Sidewinder. And they turned Sidewinder (and many other bits of Navy ordnance history) out in record time. They did it because they loved their jobs, their base, their quiet, little, isolated city in the desert. And they cared for each other. They did. They really did.
I remember the softball games. My dad was a good fast-pitch softball player. He played in the base league for years and years, and I looked forward to going to the ballfield and watching him and the other Bud Eyre Chevrolet players go at their next "victim." And while I liked watching my dad play, after the game when all the adults gathered in front of the beer hut (see my photo spread here called "China Lake Windshield Tour") for a cold beer was a special time for us kids. We'd run the field and tumble and fall in the grass and just generally mess around and have a good time. Nobody cared, and we never hurt each other or had any worries on those cool desert nights. The Milky Way glowed and looked down upon us and our fragile dreams, and we all just knew those dreams would come true as we raced across the outfield. I swear back in those days it seemed like I was running 100 miles-per-hour as the cool grass flashed under my bare feet. For those of you that didn't grow up in the high Mojave Desert, a big field of grass was a special treat for us kids that did grow up there.
I remember games of hide & go seek on Intrepid Road. Big games too - I'm talking 20 kids. We had rules, and we played for fun, but we took it seriously. I remember coming in to Mom's call of, "John, David, time for supper!" We ate together back in those days. Then we'd get a bath, and then I remember watching Cronkite on TV talking about how many Americans were killed in Vietnam on that particular day. We had something like 3 channels back in 1968. But I damn sure got to see Neil Armstrong walk on the moon in the heat of the summer of 69.
Another great memory are the All Saints Chapel's Catholic Parish Picnics. My dad was drafted for many years to lead and organize the picnic. And it was a huge affair. At least 200 people would come to the picnic - in those days it was held at Inyokern Park - and the planning and putting on of the picnic was no easy task. On the day of the picnic, I got to help set-up, and the morning of the picnic started very early. All of the various accoutrements one needs for such an affair had to be gathered, driven to Inyokern Park and put into place. Grills, kegs of beer, racks of burger and dog buns, condiments for burgers and dogs, plates and forks and knives and napkins, side dishes, many tables and chairs, on and on. The food had to be cooked and served, sack races and other games had to be run (the competition was fierce), and the good times carried on into the night. I LOVED the Parish Picnic.
I guess more than anything, I remember the desert and hunting lizards and snakes and roadrunners and coyotes and all the critters we had that roamed the high Mojave. I remember being but maybe 8-years old and climbing B-Mountain with equally-aged friends. By ourselves! Nobody cared. Mom wasn't worried. "Keep an eye out for Sidewinders (the snake, not the missile)." And we did - and we saw or heard one - more often than not.
Of course I remember so many other things. Things like twenty-five cent movies, sonic booms, the Triangle Sport Shop, Sprouse Reitz, Corney's Shoes, every one of my elementary school teachers at Richmond (and Mrs. Dye at Las Flores), The Malt Shop, The Shopping Bag, the base gym and pool. What memories of swimming at the outdoor pool up by the officer's barracks! Shady and cool, and an absolutely PACKED snack bar. As big as that pool was (I'm talking Olympic-sized), I can remember many times where it was almost standing room only in the water.
I've always been proud to have been a "China Laker." The Navy's secret city in the high Mojave gave each of us a taste of a life that will never again be duplicated, and I'd argue, equaled. Of course I'm idealizing and romanticizing our time there, but only a little. Once in awhile someone would steal a bicycle, or break a neighbor's window. And we all know people had affairs and drank too much. It wasn't perfection, but I know this much - it was as close to perfection as humans can get - and it was reflected in the azure sky that went on forever. And I leave you with this final & cherished memory I have of lying in the grass in our front yard on Intrepid Road - just lying there and looking up and wondering. (How many kids do you see doing that these days?) I remember lying there and looking as far as I could into the deep blue and almost being able to see the black of space while thinking, "What is up there? It is so blue and mysterious and so close and so far away and so beautiful." And the possibilities seemed like the sky - endless and bright and hopeful.
As a young boy, I had the best life. You old China Lakers that read here, you know what I mean. Growing up at China Lake in the way and in the time that we grew up will never be repeated in quite the same way. In fact, I'd say it won't ever be replicated - unless there is some other world in another solar system populated with a civilization that is in a similar sort of place (technically & socially) as we were back in those days.
You know what we were - and I speak to my fellow China Lakers here - we were protected. We had miles and miles of high desert and mountains between us and the nearest city of any size. But more than that, we had a special time in that most of us had both parents raising us. Mom stayed home and Dad went to work making, designing, building and thinking about rockets and missiles and bombs. And they worked hard too. Remember when government workers were proud of what they did and of their contributions to the nation, and in our case - to the Navy? They were genuinely proud of the fact that they could take a concept like a heat-homing rocket and turn it into the Sidewinder. And they turned Sidewinder (and many other bits of Navy ordnance history) out in record time. They did it because they loved their jobs, their base, their quiet, little, isolated city in the desert. And they cared for each other. They did. They really did.
I remember the softball games. My dad was a good fast-pitch softball player. He played in the base league for years and years, and I looked forward to going to the ballfield and watching him and the other Bud Eyre Chevrolet players go at their next "victim." And while I liked watching my dad play, after the game when all the adults gathered in front of the beer hut (see my photo spread here called "China Lake Windshield Tour") for a cold beer was a special time for us kids. We'd run the field and tumble and fall in the grass and just generally mess around and have a good time. Nobody cared, and we never hurt each other or had any worries on those cool desert nights. The Milky Way glowed and looked down upon us and our fragile dreams, and we all just knew those dreams would come true as we raced across the outfield. I swear back in those days it seemed like I was running 100 miles-per-hour as the cool grass flashed under my bare feet. For those of you that didn't grow up in the high Mojave Desert, a big field of grass was a special treat for us kids that did grow up there.
I remember games of hide & go seek on Intrepid Road. Big games too - I'm talking 20 kids. We had rules, and we played for fun, but we took it seriously. I remember coming in to Mom's call of, "John, David, time for supper!" We ate together back in those days. Then we'd get a bath, and then I remember watching Cronkite on TV talking about how many Americans were killed in Vietnam on that particular day. We had something like 3 channels back in 1968. But I damn sure got to see Neil Armstrong walk on the moon in the heat of the summer of 69.
Another great memory are the All Saints Chapel's Catholic Parish Picnics. My dad was drafted for many years to lead and organize the picnic. And it was a huge affair. At least 200 people would come to the picnic - in those days it was held at Inyokern Park - and the planning and putting on of the picnic was no easy task. On the day of the picnic, I got to help set-up, and the morning of the picnic started very early. All of the various accoutrements one needs for such an affair had to be gathered, driven to Inyokern Park and put into place. Grills, kegs of beer, racks of burger and dog buns, condiments for burgers and dogs, plates and forks and knives and napkins, side dishes, many tables and chairs, on and on. The food had to be cooked and served, sack races and other games had to be run (the competition was fierce), and the good times carried on into the night. I LOVED the Parish Picnic.
I guess more than anything, I remember the desert and hunting lizards and snakes and roadrunners and coyotes and all the critters we had that roamed the high Mojave. I remember being but maybe 8-years old and climbing B-Mountain with equally-aged friends. By ourselves! Nobody cared. Mom wasn't worried. "Keep an eye out for Sidewinders (the snake, not the missile)." And we did - and we saw or heard one - more often than not.
Of course I remember so many other things. Things like twenty-five cent movies, sonic booms, the Triangle Sport Shop, Sprouse Reitz, Corney's Shoes, every one of my elementary school teachers at Richmond (and Mrs. Dye at Las Flores), The Malt Shop, The Shopping Bag, the base gym and pool. What memories of swimming at the outdoor pool up by the officer's barracks! Shady and cool, and an absolutely PACKED snack bar. As big as that pool was (I'm talking Olympic-sized), I can remember many times where it was almost standing room only in the water.
I've always been proud to have been a "China Laker." The Navy's secret city in the high Mojave gave each of us a taste of a life that will never again be duplicated, and I'd argue, equaled. Of course I'm idealizing and romanticizing our time there, but only a little. Once in awhile someone would steal a bicycle, or break a neighbor's window. And we all know people had affairs and drank too much. It wasn't perfection, but I know this much - it was as close to perfection as humans can get - and it was reflected in the azure sky that went on forever. And I leave you with this final & cherished memory I have of lying in the grass in our front yard on Intrepid Road - just lying there and looking up and wondering. (How many kids do you see doing that these days?) I remember lying there and looking as far as I could into the deep blue and almost being able to see the black of space while thinking, "What is up there? It is so blue and mysterious and so close and so far away and so beautiful." And the possibilities seemed like the sky - endless and bright and hopeful.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Smedley Butler? Can you spend two minutes gaining wisdom?
From a speech by General Smedley Butler. General Butler is one of the most decorated Marines of all time.
“War is just a racket. A racket is best described, I believe, as something that is not what it seems to the majority of people. Only a small inside group knows what it is about. It is conducted for the benefit of the very few at the expense of the masses.
I believe in adequate defense at the coastline and nothing else. If a nation comes over here to fight, then we'll fight. The trouble with America is that when the dollar only earns 6 percent over here, then it gets restless and goes overseas to get 100 percent. Then the flag follows the dollar and the soldiers follow the flag.
I wouldn't go to war again as I have done to protect some lousy investment of the bankers. There are only two things we should fight for. One is the defense of our homes and the other is the Bill of Rights. War for any other reason is simply a racket.
There isn't a trick in the racketeering bag that the military gang is blind to. It has its "finger men" to point out enemies, its "muscle men" to destroy enemies, its "brain men" to plan war preparations, and a "Big Boss" Super-Nationalistic-Capitalism.
It may seem odd for me, a military man to adopt such a comparison. Truthfulness compels me to. I spent thirty- three years and four months in active military service as a member of this country's most agile military force, the Marine Corps. I served in all commissioned ranks from Second Lieutenant to Major-General. And during that period, I spent most of my time being a high class muscle- man for Big Business, for Wall Street and for the Bankers. In short, I was a racketeer, a gangster for capitalism.
I suspected I was just part of a racket at the time. Now I am sure of it. Like all the members of the military profession, I never had a thought of my own until I left the service. My mental faculties remained in suspended animation while I obeyed the orders of higher-ups. This is typical with everyone in the military service.
I helped make Mexico, especially Tampico, safe for American oil interests in 1914. I helped make Haiti and Cuba a decent place for the National City Bank boys to collect revenues in. I helped in the raping of half a dozen Central American republics for the benefits of Wall Street. The record of racketeering is long. I helped purify Nicaragua for the international banking house of Brown Brothers in 1909-1912. I brought light to the Dominican Republic for American sugar interests in 1916. In China I helped to see to it that Standard Oil went its way unmolested.
During those years, I had, as the boys in the back room would say, a swell racket. Looking back on it, I feel that I could have given Al Capone a few hints. The best he could do was to operate his racket in three districts. I operated on three continents.”
From a speech by General Smedley Butler. General Butler is one of the most decorated Marines of all time.
“War is just a racket. A racket is best described, I believe, as something that is not what it seems to the majority of people. Only a small inside group knows what it is about. It is conducted for the benefit of the very few at the expense of the masses.
I believe in adequate defense at the coastline and nothing else. If a nation comes over here to fight, then we'll fight. The trouble with America is that when the dollar only earns 6 percent over here, then it gets restless and goes overseas to get 100 percent. Then the flag follows the dollar and the soldiers follow the flag.
I wouldn't go to war again as I have done to protect some lousy investment of the bankers. There are only two things we should fight for. One is the defense of our homes and the other is the Bill of Rights. War for any other reason is simply a racket.
There isn't a trick in the racketeering bag that the military gang is blind to. It has its "finger men" to point out enemies, its "muscle men" to destroy enemies, its "brain men" to plan war preparations, and a "Big Boss" Super-Nationalistic-Capitalism.
It may seem odd for me, a military man to adopt such a comparison. Truthfulness compels me to. I spent thirty- three years and four months in active military service as a member of this country's most agile military force, the Marine Corps. I served in all commissioned ranks from Second Lieutenant to Major-General. And during that period, I spent most of my time being a high class muscle- man for Big Business, for Wall Street and for the Bankers. In short, I was a racketeer, a gangster for capitalism.
I suspected I was just part of a racket at the time. Now I am sure of it. Like all the members of the military profession, I never had a thought of my own until I left the service. My mental faculties remained in suspended animation while I obeyed the orders of higher-ups. This is typical with everyone in the military service.
I helped make Mexico, especially Tampico, safe for American oil interests in 1914. I helped make Haiti and Cuba a decent place for the National City Bank boys to collect revenues in. I helped in the raping of half a dozen Central American republics for the benefits of Wall Street. The record of racketeering is long. I helped purify Nicaragua for the international banking house of Brown Brothers in 1909-1912. I brought light to the Dominican Republic for American sugar interests in 1916. In China I helped to see to it that Standard Oil went its way unmolested.
During those years, I had, as the boys in the back room would say, a swell racket. Looking back on it, I feel that I could have given Al Capone a few hints. The best he could do was to operate his racket in three districts. I operated on three continents.”
Friday, April 30, 2010
Under The Sun
"There's nothing new under the sun." I probably shouldn't put that in quotes - even though it is fairly faithful to what the writer of Ecclesiastes penned some 2500 years or so ago.
And there really is not anything "new under the sun." It has all been said before.
We're rats on a sinking ship. All of us. We really do not want to admit we're on a sinking ship. I know. I think it sucks too. But you're born a rat on a sinking ship. You will die. So will I. It is just the way of things. Smother that truth with your religion or what have you, but just as sure as the sun came up this morning, we will join every other human in the history of the world. And die. Some of you relish death. Some of you abhor it. Some of you do not believe the reaper will ever come for you. I know. I think it sucks too.
Right here is where I should probably insert some tired, well-worn, pithy, cliché-driven sentence that goes something like, "But hey! In truth, everything is peachy-keen! Just believe in "X" and all will be well."
Fuck that. It's not true. Your life is only going to be as good as you make it. Same with mine. Waiting around for someone or somebody to come and, "save me," or "turn things around," or "make it all better," is a fairy-tale, childish fantasy. That shit don't wash.
If you are not now, someday soon you will be very disappointed in human-kind. We had such opportunity. So much potential. Honesty. Honesty, a gracious spirit, and a self-smothering of our human tendency toward pride. Controlling those triplets of human vexation was the minimum requirement. We have failed.
Greed. Lies. Vanity. The destroyer of worlds. Where would we be if we had lowered ourselves? Each of us. Humbled ourselves - each of us? What if we all cared about each other more than we cared about ourselves? Where would we be? Such potential. Don't think you can rescue it and bring it around. It will take fire and destruction. Just as a forest is burned into ashen hulks - only to arise a new green field - so it will be with humanity. You've all heard how those that do not study history are doomed to repeat it. That is not a cliché brought about by some ancient sage with nothing better to say. It is an axiomatic truth - and soon you will know as much - just as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow.
Money has become our chief focus. Ah, money. Scribes before me have cried her siren-song. So many have loved her and hated her. Writers after me will lament her seductive ways. But she is just a tool. Greed. Lies. Vanity. The chief components of Us. We have seen the enemy, and he is me - you - us.
It will not change until the fire has passed. And then generations will come and go. And run the same course.
"Lather, rinse, repeat."
There ain't nothing new under the sun.
"There's nothing new under the sun." I probably shouldn't put that in quotes - even though it is fairly faithful to what the writer of Ecclesiastes penned some 2500 years or so ago.
And there really is not anything "new under the sun." It has all been said before.
We're rats on a sinking ship. All of us. We really do not want to admit we're on a sinking ship. I know. I think it sucks too. But you're born a rat on a sinking ship. You will die. So will I. It is just the way of things. Smother that truth with your religion or what have you, but just as sure as the sun came up this morning, we will join every other human in the history of the world. And die. Some of you relish death. Some of you abhor it. Some of you do not believe the reaper will ever come for you. I know. I think it sucks too.
Right here is where I should probably insert some tired, well-worn, pithy, cliché-driven sentence that goes something like, "But hey! In truth, everything is peachy-keen! Just believe in "X" and all will be well."
Fuck that. It's not true. Your life is only going to be as good as you make it. Same with mine. Waiting around for someone or somebody to come and, "save me," or "turn things around," or "make it all better," is a fairy-tale, childish fantasy. That shit don't wash.
If you are not now, someday soon you will be very disappointed in human-kind. We had such opportunity. So much potential. Honesty. Honesty, a gracious spirit, and a self-smothering of our human tendency toward pride. Controlling those triplets of human vexation was the minimum requirement. We have failed.
Greed. Lies. Vanity. The destroyer of worlds. Where would we be if we had lowered ourselves? Each of us. Humbled ourselves - each of us? What if we all cared about each other more than we cared about ourselves? Where would we be? Such potential. Don't think you can rescue it and bring it around. It will take fire and destruction. Just as a forest is burned into ashen hulks - only to arise a new green field - so it will be with humanity. You've all heard how those that do not study history are doomed to repeat it. That is not a cliché brought about by some ancient sage with nothing better to say. It is an axiomatic truth - and soon you will know as much - just as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow.
Money has become our chief focus. Ah, money. Scribes before me have cried her siren-song. So many have loved her and hated her. Writers after me will lament her seductive ways. But she is just a tool. Greed. Lies. Vanity. The chief components of Us. We have seen the enemy, and he is me - you - us.
It will not change until the fire has passed. And then generations will come and go. And run the same course.
"Lather, rinse, repeat."
There ain't nothing new under the sun.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Truth or Consequences
As I look over my life – or my life since becoming an independent adult – I have come to the conclusion that life is a bitch. A real, true bitch. And then you die.
You know what really just sucks about that? It doesn’t have to be this way.
Sometimes I really and truly do not feel like carrying on anymore. I do though, because I don’t wish to leave my wife and family with the pain that “pulling the trigger” would cause. It’s not fair to them. Suicide is like that – it is a very selfish act.
I have to admit that I do find the thought of not having to deal with pain and suffering to be very inviting. But it is so much more than that.
Truth is dead. I suppose that here and there one can still find pockets of truth. But these days, people have gone so far as to tell themselves lies. Don’t believe me? “I can charge this and pay it back later.”
Yep, truth is dead. Whether I’m dealing with individuals, institutions, or government, lies are the order of the day. But nobody really gives a shit.
Many of us say we do, but we don’t really care. I know this, because nothing ever changes. We never do the hard work to find the truth. We just accept the bullshit we’re told, and then we move on and watch more TV. Or charge more junk we don’t need. Or eat more food we don’t need. Or take more drugs we don’t need. Or have sex with our hot neighbor or coworker.
Name your vice.
We get pissed off and shout down and vote out the current political party in charge – never bothering to figure out both parties are two sides of the same coin. It’s a mirage, a bunch of bullshit meant to give you the illusion you have some degree of control. You do not. Your country is a government by the plutocracy, for the plutocracy, of the plutocracy. But you don’t really care. You’ll argue with me instead of bothering to figure out what’s happened to your country.
Liberty, to most of you, means being able to buy more cheap, imported shit from Walmart. What it does not mean, to you, is “The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.” 90% of you have no idea who said that, and you won’t even bother to find out. Don’t feel too bad – I don’t want to give up my life for a bunch of lazy, lying, murdering fucks either.
Don’t forget, American Idol is on tonight. And to hell with your mortgage – the government will pay it. Save money? Are you fucking crazy? I just bought a big, power-sucking TV, and I’m going to watch some sweet porn on it.
So… I guess we get what we get.
As I look over my life – or my life since becoming an independent adult – I have come to the conclusion that life is a bitch. A real, true bitch. And then you die.
You know what really just sucks about that? It doesn’t have to be this way.
Sometimes I really and truly do not feel like carrying on anymore. I do though, because I don’t wish to leave my wife and family with the pain that “pulling the trigger” would cause. It’s not fair to them. Suicide is like that – it is a very selfish act.
I have to admit that I do find the thought of not having to deal with pain and suffering to be very inviting. But it is so much more than that.
Truth is dead. I suppose that here and there one can still find pockets of truth. But these days, people have gone so far as to tell themselves lies. Don’t believe me? “I can charge this and pay it back later.”
Yep, truth is dead. Whether I’m dealing with individuals, institutions, or government, lies are the order of the day. But nobody really gives a shit.
Many of us say we do, but we don’t really care. I know this, because nothing ever changes. We never do the hard work to find the truth. We just accept the bullshit we’re told, and then we move on and watch more TV. Or charge more junk we don’t need. Or eat more food we don’t need. Or take more drugs we don’t need. Or have sex with our hot neighbor or coworker.
Name your vice.
We get pissed off and shout down and vote out the current political party in charge – never bothering to figure out both parties are two sides of the same coin. It’s a mirage, a bunch of bullshit meant to give you the illusion you have some degree of control. You do not. Your country is a government by the plutocracy, for the plutocracy, of the plutocracy. But you don’t really care. You’ll argue with me instead of bothering to figure out what’s happened to your country.
Liberty, to most of you, means being able to buy more cheap, imported shit from Walmart. What it does not mean, to you, is “The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.” 90% of you have no idea who said that, and you won’t even bother to find out. Don’t feel too bad – I don’t want to give up my life for a bunch of lazy, lying, murdering fucks either.
Don’t forget, American Idol is on tonight. And to hell with your mortgage – the government will pay it. Save money? Are you fucking crazy? I just bought a big, power-sucking TV, and I’m going to watch some sweet porn on it.
So… I guess we get what we get.
Monday, April 12, 2010
MOVING ON
I went into my oldest son’s bedroom this morning to shut off his alarm clock. He’s got it set so that when he does sleep here at home, it comes on automatically each morning. Unfortunately, he doesn’t stay here much anymore. He’s engaged to a bright, sweet, young woman that I liked instantly when we met, and he pretty much spends all his free time with her. I am so very happy for both of them.
I sat down on his bed in order to facilitate the securing of his alarm clock. A simple matter really – just a press of the right button. I found that button and put an end to the radio voice. Silence quickly took hold of the room – the only noise being the hum of his computer off in the corner. Sunlight filtered in through his partially open window blinds. I glanced at his desk and saw so much of his life there. His music, some DVD’s, envelopes and paper, hand-written notes to himself and even a few boxes of .45 ammunition. There was a Ghost Busters ghost and an R2D2 robot. All things that told me he’s busy, but having fun too.
His walls spoke of various facets of his life. There’s a Metallica poster or two, drawings made by his friends, name-tag stickers you have to wear when you go to the gun range, a note from his great-grandmother telling him to seize life and kick its ass (not in those words, but you get the idea). There are posters from computer games and there are also things related to Kung Fu.
His book shelves are loaded with books of every stripe and fashion. Science-Fiction, Japanese & Chinese language books, novels, self-help, National Geographic, on and on. It’s really hard to describe – you just have to see it. On his dresser are a massive sword and some other Chinese martial arts accoutrements. There are statues and toys still in their boxes (he collects that sort of thing). There’s a fighting spear in one corner of his room, and right across from that is all of his massage-therapy stuff (he went to school and got his license). On one bookshelf is his tea-making stuff. There’s tea and an electric water heater.
To look into and visit Paul’s room is to see the boy that became a teenager and then a man. Memories, good memories, sluiced over and through my thoughts like the sunlight that dappled his bedspread and the carpet beyond it – lighting the silence and the memories as they tugged at my heart. And then, even though they were thoughts I didn’t want, they crept in – silent killers of happy thoughts. I tell myself all of the time to live my life with no regrets, but I can’t seem to forget over-disciplining him, or not spending enough time with him. I should have taught him more about working on cars and hunting. I taught him to fish pretty well, and I taught him how to shoot and handle a pistol, so there is that. Yet, no matter how I carve it up in my mind, I will never, ever get quite the same chance to make up for those things in which I failed.
Simultaneously, it was both satisfying and very difficult to sit there in his room and think upon these things. Just like writing this has proven to be. Those of you that have had children move on; you know what I felt and feel. It’s like when you hear that old Harry Chapin song, Cat’s in the Cradle. You just know, and you have to check yourself.
But I have to move on. We all do. Good luck, Paul. I love you and I promise you that raising you and your brother has been a privilege and a pleasure. I wish I could do it all over again. That you turned out as wonderful and amazing as you are is a testimony to your own inner strength and character – not my son-raising abilities. Of course, your mom had a lot to do with your up-bringing, and we both know about her character and strength. I wish you and Sam the very best, and you know that you can count on our unwavering support as you start your own family. Obviously this is not goodbye, it's just me trying to make sense out of your empty room, and the slice of my heart that feels like it doesn't want to let go.
I went into my oldest son’s bedroom this morning to shut off his alarm clock. He’s got it set so that when he does sleep here at home, it comes on automatically each morning. Unfortunately, he doesn’t stay here much anymore. He’s engaged to a bright, sweet, young woman that I liked instantly when we met, and he pretty much spends all his free time with her. I am so very happy for both of them.
I sat down on his bed in order to facilitate the securing of his alarm clock. A simple matter really – just a press of the right button. I found that button and put an end to the radio voice. Silence quickly took hold of the room – the only noise being the hum of his computer off in the corner. Sunlight filtered in through his partially open window blinds. I glanced at his desk and saw so much of his life there. His music, some DVD’s, envelopes and paper, hand-written notes to himself and even a few boxes of .45 ammunition. There was a Ghost Busters ghost and an R2D2 robot. All things that told me he’s busy, but having fun too.
His walls spoke of various facets of his life. There’s a Metallica poster or two, drawings made by his friends, name-tag stickers you have to wear when you go to the gun range, a note from his great-grandmother telling him to seize life and kick its ass (not in those words, but you get the idea). There are posters from computer games and there are also things related to Kung Fu.
His book shelves are loaded with books of every stripe and fashion. Science-Fiction, Japanese & Chinese language books, novels, self-help, National Geographic, on and on. It’s really hard to describe – you just have to see it. On his dresser are a massive sword and some other Chinese martial arts accoutrements. There are statues and toys still in their boxes (he collects that sort of thing). There’s a fighting spear in one corner of his room, and right across from that is all of his massage-therapy stuff (he went to school and got his license). On one bookshelf is his tea-making stuff. There’s tea and an electric water heater.
To look into and visit Paul’s room is to see the boy that became a teenager and then a man. Memories, good memories, sluiced over and through my thoughts like the sunlight that dappled his bedspread and the carpet beyond it – lighting the silence and the memories as they tugged at my heart. And then, even though they were thoughts I didn’t want, they crept in – silent killers of happy thoughts. I tell myself all of the time to live my life with no regrets, but I can’t seem to forget over-disciplining him, or not spending enough time with him. I should have taught him more about working on cars and hunting. I taught him to fish pretty well, and I taught him how to shoot and handle a pistol, so there is that. Yet, no matter how I carve it up in my mind, I will never, ever get quite the same chance to make up for those things in which I failed.
Simultaneously, it was both satisfying and very difficult to sit there in his room and think upon these things. Just like writing this has proven to be. Those of you that have had children move on; you know what I felt and feel. It’s like when you hear that old Harry Chapin song, Cat’s in the Cradle. You just know, and you have to check yourself.
But I have to move on. We all do. Good luck, Paul. I love you and I promise you that raising you and your brother has been a privilege and a pleasure. I wish I could do it all over again. That you turned out as wonderful and amazing as you are is a testimony to your own inner strength and character – not my son-raising abilities. Of course, your mom had a lot to do with your up-bringing, and we both know about her character and strength. I wish you and Sam the very best, and you know that you can count on our unwavering support as you start your own family. Obviously this is not goodbye, it's just me trying to make sense out of your empty room, and the slice of my heart that feels like it doesn't want to let go.
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