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.
Friday, April 30, 2010
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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