Thursday, December 16, 2010

men are pigs

men is the plural form of man, a slang term (essentially) for male, which is a species of animal harboring external reproductive organs that generate bazillions of motile seeds, at practically no cost to that organism (talk about economic potential!). specifically, this use of male is used to describe a species of homo sapiens (also referred to universally as man by human beings from centuries ago, and today by those who believe that some old man in white robes with a crown sitting up on a cumulonimbus cloud created 'man' to dominate the earth). homo sapiens true role is not to necessarily dominate but to annihilate planet earth in more and more technologically clever ways as fast as scientifically, medically, and militaristically possible. this is not what natural selection had in mind, but this is what natural selection got for creating the human brain. way to, natural selection.

i would like to say that men are not pigs, but thats only because human males have a significant amount of differences from pigs, genetically. the male species of homo sapiens, however, sure can be dicks!

but pigs can be men, too. they like to eat and fuck like the rest of us, but they do just enough to get by. never will they take more than they need nor destroy planet earth with their goings on. and they will be around here a lot longer than we will--when is the last time you saw a pig drop a nuke on another pig because that pig had lots of what the pig wanted?

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

circa survive quotes to describe my life right now

this is a bizarre thing for me to do, but i feel as though my most favorite band on planet earth--one of the imperative elements of my life that are responsible for me still being alive--have already said it best.

"infinite silence rolling right in with the dawn/this is wrong/this is wrong/and i cannot sleep without the radio on/and we fall asleep again with ties to mend/so please let the cleaning begin/evolution"

"if i could get this feeling to end/trembling idle hands holding me there"

"this is paralysis with no time at all to let go/dont call me by my full name//all this is temporary...dont talk about it/write it down but dont ask for help/i cant be honest with even myself/do you ever wish you were somebody else? move one inch at a time/youll be just fine/they pull me in but accomplishments are transient"

Saturday, September 11, 2010

never forget

kurt vonnegut did it best when he organized his novel galapagos into two halves, and i will now use those same headings.

part I: the thing was
9 years ago as i begin to write, it was a beautiful, sunny morning--not unlike the one sneaking its way past my heavy, brown curtains this morning.

i felt like garbage, and was just getting on the bus--attempting a full day of school at the behest of my mother. at 8am, i was sitting in mr. adaseks 9th grade social studies class. about 15 minutes into class, me & the rest of the advanced math students in the 9th grade were called out of class to take a beta version of the new 8th grade math exam. with the completion of each question, i grew sicker. i completed the exam, and went to the nurses office, and shortly thereafter--i received my clearance to go home. as my mother made her way to the high school, i went to the guidance office to make them aware of my leaving such that they could distribute a memo to my instructors that day indicating that i was legally excused from school and that my homework assignments were to be sent to the guidance office. but as i entered the guidance office, i was hit with some news by mr. cook: that the world trade center had been hit by a bomb. in my young ignorance, i thought he meant a US embassy, and so i asked him a question that still made a lot of sense: "which one?". he said that he didnt know--if i recall.

my mother showed up, and i asked her if she had heard of the news that which i had just received. i forget her answer. she drove me home. the construction workers of dave holleran were working on the siding of our home. they had the radio on. they were well aware of the disaster. i went into the house, put on my pajamas, and got on the long couch in our living room. i turned on the television. and inevitably: my life was changed forever. i watched as the north tower bled flames, smoke, infrastructure, and desperate human bodies, whilst insets showed recently-acquired footage of a plane flying into the north tower. i forget if the south tower had already been hit by then. but what i do know that i saw was both towers collapse. and all of the terror that ensued. all of the panic that ensued. all of the interviews that ensued. and the presidential address from the oval office.

i remember mass mobilization of us, nato, and coalition troops.  remember the invasion of afghanistan. skip to 9 years later, and i still see my brothers and sisters in uniform in a desert half-way across planet earth. i see a nation transformed by fear, hatred, and paranoia--a nation that is barely identifiable with the great & prosperous nation of pre-9/11 america. and it is sad.

never forget those who were lost that day. never forget those who were lost in the subsequent war. and never forget what our country was before it was consumed by fear, hatred, and paranoia.

part II: the thing is
the terrorist attacks of 9 years ago today turned this country into a land unsafe for muslims & those of the islamic faith--a peace-loving demographic who are separate, and who do not associate and who do condemn those extremists who kill in the name of their god. and it is sad. there are extremists of beliefs--be it religious, political, ideological, moralistic, etc. if a roman catholic rapes a woman, does that mean all roman catholics are rapists? no. if one feels the absolute need to make the association, here is the correct one to make: a rapist also happens to be a roman catholic. here is the incorrect association to make: roman catholics are rapists.

but unfortunately, the majority of this country's citizens are so stupid and blindly follow their political and religious leaders that when considering the orchestrators of the terror attacks on 9/11, they eagerly make this association: muslims are terrorists--the islamic faith preaches terrorism. NO. this is absurdly incorrect. if you must make the association, this is the correct one: the orchestrators of the terror attacks on 9/11 are muslims, and they justify terrorism by twisting the quaran until it spills out a message of hate--despite the fact that the quaran is in fact a book that preaches peace, and charity (coincidentally, it was in that very same 9th grade social studies class in which my classmates & i were taught the peaceful messages within the pages of the quaran.)

this enrages me to the point where my blood boils and my skin welts. there should be no question about the building of an islamic community center near the site of the world trade center. it is their constitutional right to establish a religious community center on private property. what is disturbing is that those who would be the first to throw the constitution in ones face are also the first to say that the imam responsible for the building at this site cant do it. wrong. they can. read your constitution before you chuck it at somebody.

pastor terry jones is a bigot. a bigot who has no understanding whatsoever of the religion nor the demographic that he is so stupidly & violently attacking. let us revisit the aforementioned logic: terrorists are muslim, and use the quaran to justify terror, even though that is NOT the message of the quaran. so to say that "islam is the devil" is such a ignorant thing to say. because it is not, pastor jones. it is even more ignorant because he admitted on national television to having not actually read it. how can you classify a holy book as "the devil" when you havent even read it? bigot. and then go and decide to burn the quaran--an unquestionably violent act--drops one to the same senseless, violent level on which all terrorists representing any ideals slither. and not only that: it feeds into what terrorist organizations like al-qaeda want: they want us to become violent. they want us to fight. and by inciting violence--not only against terrorists, but in your ignorance, against all of the islamic faith--you are helping them, and NOT this country, mr. jones. you are a mindless, soulless bigot who--like the terrorists behind the 9/11 attacks--is using your god to justify violent action against an entire demographic of peace-loving people. by definition, sir: that makes you a terrorist. and even though youve called this off, i know deep in your black heart you hate all who followed the islamic faith, and believe that all of them are terrorists, and believe that your god has enlisted you to mobilize this country against not only international muslims, but its own natural-born citizens & immigrants. you sir, are stupid, brainless, heartless, gutless, and downright evil. i am an atheist, but i still leave you, sir, with this: may you rot in hell.

muslims are not evil. those who are of the islamic faith are not preaching violence. but our country will blindly follow the naive, and our own religious extremists right the doorsteps of mosques nationwide, and deliver their own message of hate.

and that is sad.

Sunday, August 29, 2010

its been a summer

for the past three weeks i have been attempting to put this summer and its many memories into words. but every time i feel ive succeeded at doing so i become convinced that these words are for me only. that being said, i will disclose nothing of the past four months.

suffice it to say: ive learned more about who i am, and who i want to be. i have become ever-more motivated to do some of the things i have kept saying i will do but as of yet have not done. i have utterly confused myself and enlightened myself all at the same time.

i have grown.

several days ago i felt the chill of fall upon me. thoughts of dark beer, flannel, orange leaves, and fireplaces came to mind. and i was welcome to it. but upon reflecting on this summer and all of its memories, i am sad to see it go, and might actually give anything to get it back to do all over again--not changing a thing.

as i reflect on all that was and all that might of been, i can only quote new found glory: "its been a summer".

peace.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Jeffery's Folly


Jeffrey was a peculiar fellow. His peculiarity was exemplified when transplanted into social situations.
During times of his life, he was as inept as a boy rose by wolves—and even appeared as such. During other times, he was a socialite not unlike any popular celebrity. And other times, he was in between the two. Regardless of how he was performing socially, Jeffery still had a habit of missing certain social cues that if picked up, had the potential to advance his life in any number of aspects. Thus did Jeffery miss out on quite a lot—he wasn’t what you would call “privileged”.
Take—for example—a phone call he received from a new friend of his that he had recently made during a stint of social competence. This was a friend with whom he often got very drunk. She was a pretty girl, and not only did Jeffery enjoy getting sloppy with her, he also genuinely enjoyed her company, and soberly, too—something he had not known for quite some time. She was also a stagnate girl, who’s life—she felt—had become monotonous and boring—limited by her home and hometown.
Anyway: Jeffery was in his mothers house during a weekend visit to his hometown back in the country—he had moved to the city in search of some larger life, and he had yet to find it. His mother lived on a hill—his father used to live there too, but now he lived on another hill.
Life happens.
He was down the hill in the village at his friend’s parent’s house, where a fire was roaring in the backyard. He was sucking down beer in silence as he was eaten alive by mosquitoes and the like, listening to the racist comments of his friend’s friends and family.
Finding it difficult to stay awake any longer, he decided to walk back up the hill—beer in tow. There was a full moon that illuminated the village around him, and the hill as he ascended it, and the cornfield and the farmland adjacent to his mother’s house. He liked that.
He made it indoors, and cleaned himself up—scrubbed hard at those damned bug bites. After drying up and getting dressed, he received a phone call. It was from his new friend. She was drunk too.
“I want to do bad things to you,” she said.
“Um.”
“If I were there right now, I’d do bad things to you.”
“Well,” Jeffery began, “maybe if you tried doing nice things to people for once, you’d find yourself further along in life!”
Jeffery’s friend spit like a rabid animal—she hissed like a cat. “You are a little fucking weirdo!” she exclaimed. She hung up the phone. Jeffery didn’t know it, but back at her own house, she threw her cellular phone out the window—she pulled at her hair.
From that day forth, Jeffery never heard from her again. And to this day, he could still not figure out exactly why.

Saturday, May 29, 2010

Johnny's New Shoes

            Johnny was an impressionable young man who—because of his stubbornness and lack of sufficient funds—always found himself one or two years behind the fashionable styles of the day that he was mislead into thinking he needed to conform to feel cool—or get laid. Whatever.
            He had sworn once—when younger—to never own a particular brand of basketball shoe, because it didn’t fit in with the scene with which he most closely identified. Lo and behold: several years later, they became all the rage in his scene. But in his stubbornness—he resisted.
            But after some time had passed and he felt as though his life could be augmented by a new pair of shoes—thus began his search for the perfect pair of that brand of shoe—the one he swore never to purchase, let alone wear.
He searched high—he searched low. He scoured the internet. Flew through shoe department stores. His hopes for finding that magical pair that would clearly lead to his becoming maddeningly popular were diminishing.
All until one day—when browsing a store in which he had not for some years—he finally found them. And on sale, too. It took only seconds before he fished into his back trouser pocket to retrieve his wallet. Out came the plastic. Swipe, went the plastic. Back into the wallet—its bed—it went.
It was a sunny day. And when Johnny got home, and he laced up those shoes. He put them on. And he went for a walk about the city in which he resided. He was so proud of those damned shoes. His face was beaming. Surely: everybody who saw him walking tough with those shoes must surely be jealous—that they didn’t own a pair of shoes like that. Surely: they must be thinking that this Johnny is quite something else.
That’s not what a group of what some people would call gangbangers thought, when they saw Johnny gallivant through their territory. The head honcho, a fearsome man, saw those shoes. And—just as Johnny thought when he first laid eyes on them—he wanted those shoes.
He and his cronies followed Johnny around the corner of a quiet side street. They caught up to Johnny. They knocked him down.
“Those shoes—I want them,” the head honcho said.
Johnny merely looked up in disbelief. He was a weak young man, not capable by any means of defending himself from the hoards of gangbangers encircling him and the head honcho.
But those damned shoes that made him something special, also gave him this: a sense of toughness. What he falsely associated with bravery.
He said no.
He tried returning to his feet, only to be knocked down again—this time with a pair on brass knuckles.
Seeing double—triple—quadruple—he attempted to return to his feet again. This time, not to brashly stand up to these men—but to flee.
He was allowed to his feet this time—he attempted to run. Attempted to break through the group around him.
Not wanting to bother with this worm anymore, the head honcho reached into his jeans. He pulled out a 9mm pistol. And he blew Johnny’s brain out all over the quite side street.
People are easier to search when they’re dead, he thought. And what did he care? Now he owned those shoes. And get this: not even one drop of Johnny’s blood—not one blob of his brains—stained those miraculous shoes.
The head honcho bent over to remove Johnny’s shoes. He kicked off his own. He unlaced Johnny’s shoes—his shoes—and slipped his feet into them.
His toes barely passed the tongue. He tried shoving—ramming—his feet in at any angle to get those shoes on. All to no avail.
So Johnny’s shoes didn’t fit. And if he wasn’t going to be wearing them—the head honcho would be damned if anybody else was.
The head honcho was done with this situation. So he called off his gang. They returned to their home.
And on the way, the head honcho put his gun back into his jeans. He lighted a cigarette. He took a long, deserving, accomplished drag.
And he tossed those shoes into a dumpster.
And he didn’t look back.

Monday, May 10, 2010

absolution via recognition of hypocrisy: an overdue crock by yours truly

I have been meaning to discuss this for some time now. But as with many things these days—I haven’t had the time to do it. And so now, as I drift to sleep on a Sunday evening—it would seem that I have found the time. Here goes.

Everybody is a hypocrite and this is not news—I know that I certainly am one. But I feel as though those who openly acknowledge their inherent hypocrisy are absolved of that black mark—I know that I certainly am one.

I am a humanist, a freethinker, and a socialist. I do not believe in an afterlife and so perform the civic duties that I do for the sole purpose of contributing to the overall wellbeing of the community in which it is that I act. I believe in egalitarianism, and engaging in any action—political, governmental, social, etc.—that will contribute to those ends.

I am not religious, and I am not a capitalist. I believe that religion is a tool designed in ancient times to control people with promises of a utopian afterlife and the fear of being denied that reward based solely on how one leads both ones social and personal life, the same way parents control their children’s behavior with promises of Santa Claus bringing presents on Christmas morning, or the Easter Bunny bringing candy on Easter Sunday, or the Tooth Fairy retrieving ones extracted teeth in exchange for pocket change and the fear of being denied these gifts. I believe that capitalism is a tool designed in not-so-ancient times to make the “deserving” rich richer and the “undeserving” poor poorer, and to hell with the middle class. If you’ve got the cash, why mess around?

That all sounds pretty legitimate though, right? Here is where the hypocrisy comes in:

I am scientist, and so believe to the very core of my being in Darwin’s concept of Natural Selection—believe that those organisms that are beneficial enough to have the genetic and phenotypic adaptations required to survive deserve to survive, and that those that are not do not deserve to survive. If I were talking about humans, say, that would sound a lot like capitalism to me. Hypocrisy!

But before exposing further hypocrisy, allow me to offer an explanation—the glue, if you will, that holds all that I am writing together. It its through installing this glue, so to speak, that I will expose more hypocrisy. And then I think it will all make sense—we shall see.

My belief in natural selection and my feelings towards it are at the species level—not necessarily the level of the individual. Which is not exactly what natural selection addresses. I believe bacteria, yeast, and other unicellular organisms deserve to survive, because they have been around the longest, and show incredible capacities to mutate and adapt. Same goes for everything up to and including chimpanzees. I do not believe that human beings deserve to survive. We do not mutate or evolve in order to survive—we instead blow to smithereens (in one way or another) anything standing between survival and us. Developed nations have completely eradicated any selection pressures required to evolve and thus, will be swiftly eradicating pending some vicious plague—you name it. For goodness sake: the reason most people over a certain age have neurodegenerative diseases is because the stupid human brain wasn’t made to last that long. “well then lets just jazz them up with some meds and some pills and you can live more than three times longer than a human being should! What does it matter if you can't remember what you ate for breakfast! As long as you are wasting precious resources! Fun fun fun!” Undeveloped nations—the inhabitants of which still have to kill with their bare hands in order to obtain nutrition—will certainly be far better off than we will be. That and, their lives more closely resemble those of our ancestors—bless them and their mental simplicity. The overdeveloped human brain is the bane of this planet’s capacity to support life. Shame on us.

But we are all here, and we cant help that—I know I certainly didn’t ask to be born on a planet where countries own other countries, and will turn lush ecosystems into craters if they cannot achieve otherwise. And here we have a vast spectrum of religions—the majority of which preach something like this: treat each other well, and you will live forever in paradise. I know that I will live at least a few more years, and will inevitably become worm chow—the atoms that make up my very existence, that have assembled into me over the past 22 years will once again be released back out into the universe to do what they will. There is no paradise in store for me. But I also know that despite religion being mostly bunk designed to turn wild animals into robots, the message of universal kindness and equality certainly is beautiful.

Which brings us back to humanism. If we’re all here, we may as well make our stay pleasant for everybody. It doesn’t and shouldn’t matter what it gets you—in this life of the next. Human beings are so adamant about this concept of morality and right and wrong. It’s a stupid thing to be sure—in the face of natural selection, which is so harsh on other organisms, which lack the nuclear weaponry required to easily get what they don’t have—but if you can’t beat ‘em—join ‘em. Which is to say: it doesn’t and shouldn’t matter whether your prophet or god or preacher or anybody says you should be nice and receive a just reward—you simply should be because “it’s the right thing to do”. That alone should be gift enough.

Which brings us back to capitalism and socialism. Religion is still tossed in here too. Most people who will eagerly throw a bible in your face also seem to be associated with the conservative party. They tend to be ultra-patriotic and will just as eagerly throw the United States Constitution in your face, as well. What they don’t get is that our Constitution supports making life one hell of a joyride for those who can afford it—and straight up hell for those who can’t. What they also don’t get is that contained within the Christian Bible is one of the most ancient, socialist documents ever recorded in writing: the Sermon on the Mount. You know the story, so I shall not repeat it here. But Jesus—whether you believe in his divinity or not—certainly said some wonderful things. His message: treat each other well. Capitalism says—in effect: “suck it, Jesus”. Oh, if only they knew! The hypocrisy! No absolution for their ignorance!

What’s the take-home message here? The human brain is the worst outcome Natural Selection could have provided. We have improvised the means to turn this green rock into a wasteland in the event one group of people without those means who have what those with the means wants doesn’t want to give that up. Bully for them. We have also devised a form of government that allows those who already have more than enough money to effortlessly extract it from those who barely have any—and in this world we have created, currency is everything—what does it matter if you’re a nice person or not? We have also devised this illusion of divine magic that confines the human race to a set of rules that—if followed—will have you sucking down Pina Coladas up in the stratosphere for all eternity and—if not followed—will have you getting poked by a trident repeatedly by a man with red skin for all eternity. But this illusion of divine magic masks an idea that is illusory only because a majority of human beings fail to recognize it or exercise it, that which is this: be nice to everybody—we’re all in this together. We have also devised a system of government that caters to this idea—but most people find it a bad idea because they don’t want to share what they have with everybody else or, because they don’t want to share what it is that they expect to get with everybody else.

When a meteor could turn this planet into space dust at any minute, does it really matter who owns what and how much?

This has all been a load of shit.

“I thank you for your attention.” - KV

Sunday, February 21, 2010

from winter brings the spring again

at this very moment, i am in a state of indescribable, curious peace, whose origin is debatable. i cannot explain how i feel except with the word, “ethereal”. and yes. i know this seems to happen to me a lot.

my best guess is that this peace results from the current state of my immediate environment, and the immediate circumstances of the day. it is sunny out, with intermittent clouds. how wonderful is that? moreover, it is nearly 40 degrees outside and the wind is barely strong enough to generate a light breeze. because of these meteorological conditions, i have decided to open the windows—and to keep them open.

as the cool, fresh air pours into my apartment, the thick, stale air of a winter passed is forced out—and it certainly is welcome to. as the cool, fresh air pours into my apartment, the particular scent that is the city of albany fills my nostrils for an extended period of time for the first time since the winter chill forced me almost permanently indoors for the season. i detest being stripped of the freedom of being able to go outdoors and take a walk, sit out in the sun and read—to enjoy that fresh air.

it is with a heavy heart that i accept the coming of the winter each year, for i suffer tremendously from seasonal depression. the sun bids us good night before the working day even ends. the air is chilled so low that everything organic seems to slow to a molecular halt. it is all so disheartening.

but now, with daylight savings a mere three weeks away—and the spring equinox only a week beyond that—the sun stays up later, providing that skin- and sprit-warming light. and it is of a survivable temperature outdoors.

keeping in mind the beginning of the transition between winter and spring, i think it is the feeling of the breeze through my windows, the sound of the outdoors flooding my ears—the smell of the fresh air—that has got my brain all abuzz. abuzz with the knowledge that warmer air and longer days are upon me. abuzz because this scent that my brain is encountering for the first time in a long time has it delving into and swimming through all of the good memories that this air reminds it of—be they of springtime or not.

this has no witty conclusion. there was no wit in this post. i was merely motivated after months of perpetual silence to deduce in typed words why i was feeling how i was—and i felt like sharing it—why not?

and i have come to that conclusion now.

and i am happy.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

identity crisis

part I: pacific sunwear.

it would seem that in mere hours, every reflective surface i peer into is contaminated by things that i thought would work—things that were supposed to make me happy—content with both myself and my surroundings. i try too hard—far too hard, i know i do—to assimilate the images forced down my throat. i am never an original construction. my existence is a haphazard assortment of items that i can barely afford—slapped together with vanity.

i am a fool.

part II: the death of cynicism in exchange for a tired heart

i have been a champion for some time now of anti-relationship notions, and pretty much anti-anything-having-to-do-with-other-human-beings notions. but nothing ever lasts half as long as you hope that it will. this—too—is no different. some may call it natural for a lone human being to desire human contact—human contact of a particular kind. oh certainly—i have finally started making friends in albany and am enjoying my developing social life there—but that is not quite what i am talking about. admittedly—and painfully so—i am talking about the peculiar desire one may feel when they long for a friend. a mate. a significant other. a girlfriend. call, it what you will. it comes with great scathing to my immense sense of pride in my independence that i say this—bring this up—even dare to think about it. i try not to, for i had myself convinced for a very long time that it was hopelessly and inexplicably irrelevant. it still is. but apparently that doesnt seem to matter anymore. i am doing nothing to remedy these desires in way of satisfying them—that is more hopeless in and of itself than its very existence. it is pointless. and therein lies the problem. it is a problem one has no control over because one cannot—hard as they try—govern the way in which human beings bounce around planet earth and into each other.

thus, i am left to contemplate these odd desires while not being able to do anything about them except wonder where i have recently went wrong that i am no longer satisfied being entirely alone.

i betray myself.

and whats worse: i dont even have the capacity to engage even if it were right in front of my face.

so what the fuck.