Some Fun With Identity Thieves

10:34am Maximillian
Hey!
You there?
?
10:35am Derek
Hey Max
how's things?

10:36am Maximillian

Not too good here
I`m in a huge mess as we speak
I need your help urgently

10:37am Derek
oh?
what's going on?

10:38am Maximillian

I`m currently out of state now
And i need you to help get back

10:39am Derek

what can I do to help?

10:39am Maximillian

I need you to loan me some few cash down here to my name via western union money transfer

10:40am Derek
oh yeah?
how much are we talking?

10:40am Maximillian

I`ll refund it back as soon as i find my way back home
$820

10:40am Derek
yikes. that's a pretty tall order
where the hell are you anyway?

10:41am Maximillian

I`m far from home
I`m stuck in London,England

10:42am Derek

Jeez. How have you been?
it's been a long time

10:42am Maximillian

I`ve been out of state for about 2 days now
Do you know how to get the sum down to me here
?

10:43am Derek

pretty sure I do.

10:44am Maximillian
Good

10:44am Derek

hey, why'd you fly all the way to England just to need to come back two days later?

10:44am Maximillian

I`m at a local library as we speak
Pls be fast

10:44am Derek

yeah right. Max at a library
that'll be the day
c'mon, where are you really?

10:45am Maximillian
London

10:45am Derek
some whore house or something?

10:45am Maximillian

I`m at kentish town at the moment
Darek i don`t have much time on here to spent

10:45am Derek

weird. hey, you remember that time we all went to that club in Granite Bay, man that was a heavy duty night.
hey, what's happened to your grammar?
you used to be really good with your words.

10:46am Maximillian

I need you to help get this done on time

10:46am Derek

oh? why the urgency?

10:46am Maximillian

You kidding me

10:46am Derek

yes
yes I am
I'm sorry

10:47am Maximillian

Its too scary and brutal here

10:47am Derek

in London, England?!
the most proper place in the world?

how much did you say you needed?

10:47am Maximillian

I need to get flight ticket back home in time

10:47am Derek

in time for what?

10:47am Maximillian

$820

10:47am Derek

out of curiosity
wow, you can get a flight out of london to the US for $820 in one day?

10:48amMaximillian

Lucky i still have my passport with me as an identification to pick up the moneyhere
here

10:48amDerek

that is lucky
wow, you can get a flight out of london to the US for $820 in one day?

10:48amMaximillian

That`s what the embassy told me

10:48amDerek

which embassy?

10:48amMaximillian

It ill be better if you can help wire the money online now as we speak
US embassy here in London

10:49amDerek

oh yeah?
Hey did you run into a guy named Thomas?
he's a buddy of mine from high school
he might be able to help you out of a jam
you remember him right?

10:50am Maximillian
Hey!

10:50amDerek

hello

10:50amMaximillian

How much can you afford to loan me
?

10:50amDerek

What about the Embassy again?

10:51amMaximillian

The embassy told me to get a return ticket

10:51amDerek

how come?
is there some situation?

10:51amMaximillian

The prob is that i did`nt book a round trip ticket and all money i got on me have been stolen by some muggers who attacked me

10:51amDerek

hold on
you were attacked?
man, are you okay?

10:52amMaximillian

Yea
I was mugged at gun point last night

10:52amDerek
damn

10:52amMaximillian

That`s why i`m on here

10:52amDerek

just like the good'ol day huh max?

10:52amMaximillian

My wallet and card were stolen away from me

10:53amDerek

oh no.
that's horrible
what can I do to help?

10:53amMaximillian

That`s the point
I need you to help wire the require sum online now to my name
Via western union money transfer

10:54amDerek

you need money?
how much?

10:55amMaximillian
$2,000 Usd

10:56amDerek
yikes. that's a pretty tall order
did you go to the embassy yet?

10:56amMaximillian

Can`t you get that for me?
Already been there

10:57amDerek
what did they say?

10:58amMaximillian

I`v been told to get a return ticket
How many time have i say this
I told you already earlier
How much can you afford to help with?

11:00amDerek

Hey, do you remember Thomas? I hear he's working out there. He had to get out of the county, on account of that psychopath Helen. Damn she was nutty. I remember you guys were really tight. best friends. He might be able to help.
I'll call him
for you
where are you again?

11:01amMaximillian
Fuck u
Bagga

11:01amDerek
whoa whoa whoa

11:01amMaximillian
Idiot
11:01amDerek
what's with all the language?
ok ok
I'll wire you the money

11:02amMaximillian
Wasting ur father time

11:02amDerek
just stop calling me names?
wasting my father time?

11:02amMaximillian
You fucking with me

11:02amDerek
Max, c'mon, we're buddies, you know I wouldn't do that

11:02amMaximillian
I need you to help me out of mess

11:02amDerek

I hear you
what can I do to help?

11:03amMaximillian
You telling me all sort of rubish

11:03amDerek
rubbish?
you've been in London too long

11:03amMaximillian

How much can you afford to send

11:03amDerek
send what exactly?

11:03amMaximillian
Money
You`re telling me story

11:04amDerek
I am?
ok, how can I send it
?

11:04amMaximillian

Western Union

11:04amDerek

They have Western Union in London?

11:05amMaximillian

Yes
11:05amDerek

wow
will wonders never cease huh?
hey, did you try the embassy?
that's pretty bad that you were attacked.
11:05amMaximillian

Iya la yai

11:05amDerek
and those Britts are always so proud of their manners
Iya la yai?

11:06amMaximillian
Hey you talk to much
too much man

11:06amDerek
you're always saying that
that hurts my feelings
I can't help it.
these keyboards make me all nervouse

11:06amMaximillian
Then bye
Forget it

11:06amDerek
no
wait

11:06amMaximillian
I`ll never forgive you

11:06amDerek
ok
I'll loan you the money
how much was it again?

11:07amMaximillian
$2,000 USD

11:07amDerek

yikes! That's a pretty tall order
when do you need it by?

11:08amMaximillian
Now now

11:08amDerek
oh yeah?
why so fast?

11:08amMaximillian

I need it now to get a flight ticket
Stop all this shit

11:08amDerek

a flight ticket to where exactly?

11:08amMaximillian
I said you should`nt ask me anymore question

11:08amDerek
you did?
was that a question...?

11:09amMaximillian

I`ll remove you from my friends on Fb now if you still continue to ask questions
11:09amDerek

wait, please don't do that. please.
what can I do to help?

11:10amMaximillian
Fuck it

11:10amDerek

you never used to cuss so much max

11:10amMaximillian

You must be kidding with your parent and not me

11:10amDerek

what's happened?

11:10amMaximillian

Ashole

11:10amDerek

are you okay?

11:10amMaximillian

Get lost

11:10amDerek
umm...
where?

11:11amMaximillian

If you`re serious you`ill have done the transfer and not keep on asking how much and how could you help
Just fuck it

11:11amDerek

but why?

11:11amMaximillian

I`ll be removing you straight away

11:11amDerek
okay okay, remove me then
but I won't loan you the money if you do

11:11amMaximillian

You`ill have done the transfer

11:11amDerek
what transfer?

11:11amMaximillian
Lolz

You don`t have money
Bye

11:12amDerek
Max, I'm crushed. is that all mean to you?

11:12amMaximillian

Fuck your generations

11:12amDerek

Fuck my generations?
I don't understand...

May the Sky Walker Be In You

I was re-reading an email to a friend where we were discussing the merits of examining the feeling of a friendship/relationship (human or otherwise) and the word "feelings" stood prominent. When I feel around the edges of the word and what it means to me, a big chunk of it seems to be culturally driven. We're a culture of cowboys and injuns, where action reigns supreme over inner contemplation. Not that cowboys and injuns isn't an interesting way to take life by the horns mind you, but I've been thinking lately about feelings and their connotations, and typically, when the word "feelings" is brought about, the word is uttered in my mind as feelings, painted by exasperation and slight disdain, which makes sense from a cowboy perspective, because what does gelding a bull have to do with your feelings (italics don't really punch the exasperation very well, but whatever), point in fact, I would imagine that, by practice, one would want to be as far away from their feelings as possible whilst engaged in the act. But if somehow the take on feelings could be psychologically re-framed in such a way so as to associate the cowboy sense with it (a sense of hardness, or toughness, wrapped in a flour tortilla of humor and sprinkled with severity of action to do what's necessary), I wonder what that would do to the notions of cowboy. To me it seems the word "Jedi" would be appropriate.

Let me s'plain...no, is too long, let me sum up:

I was in the shower today (bear with me), and washing my hair, and I suddenly became aware of my actual hair. Not that I felt for every strand, but that I had an overall sense of my hair, kind of as its own entity. "My Hair". I could feel its essence and existence and the relation I had to it, and I was thinking, it's not like I can feel my hair when I'm not touching it, it just sits atop my noggin. Nor can I see it, but as I touch it, with my hands, there's a kind of feeling and associated image that comes up, almost like an understanding of some sort.

If I were to close my eyes and touch some random object, but I had never seen it before, then I wouldn't necessarily know what it was, but what's funny is, something would come up; some kind of image and/or feeling provided by what some might call “mind”, but I don't think that's the case. I think the mind only acts as a filter for the curious inquisitor. As if, as soon as the question comes up some kind of energy is supplied from what I could only call the ether, for lack of a better word at the moment, which is then translated into something a little more palatable for the sissy mind to stomach (maybe I'm being too harsh on the mind here, but don't we, when we're not affected by something, say, if some food dropped on the floor, some people may be repulsed by the notion of picking it up and tossing it back, but those who couldn't care less would probably give a bronx cheer to the sissy who couldn't "handle" it). If things weren’t palatable, then we’d probably drive our poor minds to insanity anyway, so I concede that the filter is necessary to a certain extent, but maybe there’s something to dismantling those repulsive reactions, so that the food of life comes in and is tasted without filter or judgment, or assessment of any kind. But that’s way outside the scope of this paper methinks.

So then I thought, well, what if I don't touch something, can I get the same kind of sensation (the sensation that I'm feeling something with my fingers first, and my hands second) just by dwelling upon it? Which made me to realize that that’s what I do with my friendships. It's like I'm touching them with an invisible hand [on the examination of the quality of connection within my relatioinships]. But then, okay, if I were to dwell on other things, all of which are in relation to me (a.k.a. the compilation of my experience/ego self) how would I be able to utilize it in an everyday scenario (which totally changes the concept of feelings from feelings to: just, feelings. as in "mind your feelings Luke" and so forth).

One example of an everyday situation I got from Joan yesterday. She's in this "noise" band, but she's not really into it, for whatever reason, and so, in observance of her behavior during rehearsals (she falls asleep, wishes she were elsewhere, yadda yadda) and by minding her feelings, she's determined that it isn't for her. But realizing that, is minding her “just, feelings”. Okay, I agree, this runs along the lines of what you were talking about earlier (do what makes you happy and stuff), so it's definitely something we're doing all the time anyway, but what is it that makes us happy? It seems to me that this fucking crazy, careening out of control bus with no breaks (yes, breaks) is culturally/socially/heritage-ally driven, so our historical reference point seems to create/reinforces/enforces what makes us happy, or that even the "pursuit of happiness" (jesus, we're driven from that far back?!) is what we should be tailoring our feeling experience around. I use the word “enforces”, because it seems like, if we are to deviate from that norm, then there's a sort of "frowning upon" that occurs about the use of our time or some such ridiculousness.

So then, to take it back to the Jedi realm, it seems to me, that outside of the pursuit of happiness, which, I understand doesn't necessarily mean that the things we do are only segmented in blocks of what we do (i.e. play in a noise band, travel the globe, blah blah blah), but that, within the framework of the things we do is everyday reality, and given that we have those pursuits, within the thrill of the chase there's the minding of our feelings in accordance to something. Is there a way to make it about nothing (no reference) and just mind our feelings (those knife edge sensations that arise, not the, sissy, mamby pamby "emotions" that are typically attributed to them) moment to moment for whatever it is that may come up? It kind of turns every second into an adventure of epic proportions because we're just paying attention to the way every thing in every second feels and whether those kinds of sensations can be utilized in whatever way imaginable. eg. like a mother fucking Jedi, biznatch, or, just, Jedi. To me it changes the set to one’s eyes to such a degree that there’s a certain kind of intensity, some kind of badass cowboys and injuns, sniffing the air and feeling for what’s what coming up around the next bend, could be a’scaplin’ or could be a nothin', but clarifying those feelings seems to lend a kind of sixth sense, if we were to keep to the idea of "just, feelings", as opposed to our feelings...

Rambling Rants Fed by the Food of Mood

Bored, bored, bored. Feeling a strange boredom settle in. Busy but bored. Bored busy. There must not be much fulfillment in what I’m doing (a.k.a. work). I’m working a job that is great by today’s standards and I’m pretty sure that there are some people out there, in the world, who would kill for this opportunity – in a more literal sense than metaphorical. Hob-knobbing with executives at a high powered company for decent pay and easy work, but I know there is more to life than working for “the man”, living paycheck to paycheck, or, saving up enough to point out the fact to everyone else that I don’t have to work paycheck to paycheck, or blowing the wad I get for the work that I do on cheetoes and heroine or some such.

I’m attempting to make this job a study of life in the corporate world. This helps me get by most days with a modicum of interest, but when I find myself actually enjoying what I’m doing (i.e. the tasks that have been requisitioned of me), my inner voice chimes in and says, “ah ah ah, no you don’t, you know this is not what life is about. Why even attempt to gear your mindset? Just keep doing what you’re doing or else I’ll bug you with boredom until you do. Just so’s you know...” Great, but then how I am I supposed to get any flippin' work done?!

So I make this a study of the human spirit, the human interaction, the human condition in an enslaved nation colony masquerading as a nation’s dream, and I find that I’m actually enjoying the navigational aspects of dealing with angels and demons, helpers and snakes, dog eater’s (no racial confluence intended) and backstabbers, snivelers and champions. It’s all found in here in this little patch of Universe, the stories of old that we refer to, shaped and molded into the present human experience, and I see that all people play a role in their own way whether it’s out on the farm in Lithuania, or under the white hot lights yet another poorly constructed porn set where the women look only half like they’re enjoying themselves, but really you know it’s more that they've sold their manufactured dignity for a decent chunk of change (no offense or judgment ladies, the service you provide is an exemplary one, although most men are too embarrassed to admit it), and what they’re doing has little to nothing to do with who they are, or who they would like to be, or who they’ve accepted or expected themselves to be. I study all this, but when I get down to my actual duties with any gusto it’s like I run into a brick wall of some kind, and then I end up writing it all down instead, when in my head I go, “Okay, back to work…after one more paragraph…” And how am I going to stop the stream once it’s started anyhow?

The boredom is an angry buzz in my midsection, causing my mind to flare up like a hemorrhoid on a hot sunny day at the local sweat shop. I try to breathe it away, which works to a degree, but it comes back once I set to it – my job that is. I guess really all I want to do is write things down, and have my voice heard for whatever reason I feel that it should, and I’m sure that can be judged several billion different ways, but fuck it, when I do what I’m compelled by my energy to do, that’s when I feel the most fulfilled. And then I ask the questions: why doesn’t everyone do that? Why don’t I do it more often? What is this aversion I have to sitting and writing out the things that I see? Fear of failure? Fear of succeeding? I could easily chalk it up to laziness, but that’s just a cop out. How can fail at writing anything? Here I am, writing. SUCCESS!

Maybe there’s the fear of failure I might see projected from other people’s eyes (as if they could possibly dictate what I feel is good, honest, earnest, artistic output), eyes that I can’t see when I’m writing, and even if I did, and they judge me “failure”, what’s it matter? Others may judge me successful. Why not listen more to them? Why not adhere to what they’re saying instead of their alter-egos (adherence is beside the point I suppose)? Everyone seems to have their audience (just look at the television, I like Chandler and Rachel, Kramer and Elaine, JD and Dr. Cox) and in this world of opposites, I guess that would imply that everyone has an anti-audience, or, those who would walk, or not care for what it is they’re experiencing from you, but if that be the case, then there’s no way any one endeavor can fail or succeed in an ultimate sense, so the fear is totally baseless. But then the tricky part is when the event horizon of performance comes to pass. Will I step up, or bow out? I guess that’s the mystery of it all, but since it’s not happening now, then it would seem that there’s no need to fret and worry about it till it is, if then even...

So now there’s this other side of the wooden nickel freshly taken, that side that says once you are in it, then bring what you’ve got with your utmost intensity, with your utmost concentration, knowing full well that there are those out there who will be wanting the same thing as you, to bring something of substance, and that there's not enough room for the two of you, and if they see that you have the wherewithal, maybe more than they do themselves (which is, like, umm…how could that be? You’re you, and you bring you to the situation every time, so someone being better or worse than you doesn't really exist, and if you’re looking out from your perspective and seeing that they’re getting more approval than you are, then maybe it’s not because they’re better than you in any way, just that the alleged approvers are seeing someone bringing something a bit more authentic, because that one person has let go of the role of saboteur and has decided to dive headlong, as headlong as they can, or maybe they're remembering what they saw on TMZ the night before), and you’re about to bring something real, they’ll try to stop it, because somehow, your success equates to their failure in some way, but then understanding that if/when they do make such an attempt, it’s because of their own fear of success or failure and that they haven’t figured out that they should bring their own intensity to the situation, and that really the only measure of success or failure comes from inside their nutty minds, and they apparently have some reconciliation work to do.

To me, it would seem, that if you’re bringing who you are to the table, then that’s really all you can do, for true, that will equate success in your own mind; it’s the only thing that quiets the fretful buzzing in your head/system. And if you’re busily attempting to sabotage another’s attempt to be who they be, then you really are succeeding at doing what you want, and you really are being yourself, only, what do you really want to be? Someone who plays off rhythm, or sings lackluster and off key when another is attempting to play their heart out just so they’ll trip up, or do you want to be the one who steps up in their own story and plays their heart out? Not to topple them for your own selfishness, but to augment the expression in a harmonious fashion. Then again, I guess you really are playing your heart out while sabotaging, only, what’s in your heart are all of the emotions and fears that create the general make up of the saboteur… You’ll be the automatic antagonist in a story where someone else plays the hero that you want to be, you’re sucked in to their story and you can’t get out. NNNNOOOOOO! Whatta fuckin' nightmare that sounds like. And whoever said that there couldn’t more than one hero in a story hasn't read enough comic books (did someone say that?). Do you ever see Batman trying to thwart Superman when flying in and saving a burning bus full of children that's careening out of control toward an oncoming hijacked train full of elderly passengers who were lazily enjoying their golden years, but unbeknownst to the lot them, the train is headed for an unfinished portion of track that leads over a thousand foot cliff? Me either. Heroes in the comics work together to bring down the villain in order to restore the balance and affect the super pose. True, not the end all be all kind of pose, but something to try out at the very least.

I don’t know how many people actually come into this life with that kind of attitude, so it must be a learned thing somehow gathered along the way. Anything learned can be augmented with learning of another kind though, I suppose. I wouldn’t say that there should be some kind of erasure of previous learning, because it seems like all experience creates the depth of the man (or woman, take it easy ladies), but the habits/recursive processes that prior learning has created can be altered to focus that energy on yourself in your own life to create your own painting (of which the center is not always the coolest place to look at). Unless, of course, villainy is what you’re truly after, which may or may not be the case, all I’m saying is…what was I saying again? Oh yeah, bored, bored, bored…

The Energy

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

The Energy

Current mood:  energetic

The energy neither comes nor goes; it's you who slips out of focus.

Is it the attention that waxes and wanes?

Why does the attention wax and wane?

Interest is the great motivator of the attention span, like for a sled dog driver, interest is the whip, so somehow find an interest in yourself (a.k.a. your energy, not what you think you are as it relates to the world and its view at large, because their view is built upon everyone else's view who ever existed before them just like yours).

I ask myself these questions, but where do the answers come from?

Are they from the same place the questions come from? 

Why would something ask itself a question and then turn around and supply itself the answer?

No response; a faint chuckle. 

A cosmic joke?

If a Little Fig Fell

Thursday, November 13, 2008

If a Little Fig Fell

Current mood:  artistic

I just wanted to write something down, have an iddy biddy diddy hummin' inside my noggin. I wonder what I would do if I could write down a word or two every now and then, probably something else like I do. And I wonder what I could do with all the time in the world to just put it all down on paper, probably something else just like we humans do. So for now I guess I'll lament my lack of time to even find the time to rhyme although I know that's just a fallacy (see?). I blind my mind by the wherewithall to do anything and everything I've ever wanted to and then complain that I'd rather be writing it all down – what comes up inside. It's the experience though; I have to admit, not the etch-a-sketching, that seems to hit the tree of my life's fruits, and down come all the things that make up my dreams and everything else too so it seems…

A Humility Thing

Saturday, October 04, 2008           

A Humility Thing

Current mood: Humble

So I've been working on this humility thing. It seems to me that true humility is a quality of greatness, but the act of humility is an easy one to create. It's like once a human being figures out the rule that humility is a very attractive quality, and it is very well received socially, and it can open a lot of doors, they work it to their advantage. I pretty much prefer to be up front with who I am and what I believe in (even though I've found a trapdoor in that), and I do Appreciate that quality in others when I encounter it, although it's a rarity. I say pretty much, because I've found that sometimes there's a need to be roundabout, but with an understanding that roundabout is the only straightforward route available at the time. Sure there may be some places that I find difficult to explore, like when someone feels bad about themselves right in front of me, well, I feel bad about myself sometimes too, so I'll sit in awkward non-acknowledgement until the moment passes or I'll find something else to talk about to subvert that feeling of inconsistency in the moment, which could be construed as a graciousness in not pinpointing an embarrassment, but that doesn't seem to be a true grace. A true grace from my perspective would be to acknowledge that sensation/feeling in some gentle way (sometimes I'm not so gentle I know. Is that my lack of humility?), so as to help another out of a perpetuation of their ego. A perpetuation that really doesn't need to be there for the situation to unfold, but acts as a domineering father figure shouting from the inside out to cripple our ability to gain the necessary momentum to be ourselves at all times (although I guess to see it that way is another perpetuation).

Is it my place to do this? I don't know. I would love it if (and do love it when) someone were to acknowledge when they see a place in me that I'm not acknowledging; that place where I'm not coming across as true unbeknownst to me. It'd be like they were freeing from the confines of my own…bullshit? Maybe bullshit is too harsh a word. What would be a good euphemism for bullshit…oh, euphemism, that's perfect! So it'd be like they were freeing me from the confines of my own euphemism, which, to me, would be the true grace, because there are those who would seek to elicit those places in others in order to gain some strategic upper hand – oh they're not entirely sure what they can get out of this person, but why clue them in on something they don't know is inhibiting them?

Some people, out there in the world, actually hold the keys to some prison cells we've built for ourselves, for the very reason that they were an inmate too at one point. Apparently the act of doing this is an imposition, from a social perspective, and it's an arrogance (i.e. lack of humility) to presume, which, to me, to think that the assumption of presumption is "this or that" smacks the toad ridiculous. I mean, how else are we going to know when we're falling on our faces, or when our perspective isn't coming from true places? It's got to get brought in the first place to be explored. But instead we seem to hide that piece of ourselves behind the façade (myself included) of euphemistic social graces, which, don't get me wrong, really do help when the situation is brand new, but only because that's the way the dance steps are programmed.

So there is a dance going on, and the music plays only on the inside, the steps only with the perfect dance partner, and round and round we dance, like circling the rusty drain of thirty-four year old bathtub haphazardly adorned with chips and crust rings. The question that arises for me is what happens when we hit the center? Are we sucked into a dark oblivion never to be found again? Or is it that the way looks dark and fraught with terror because we don't know? Mayhap on that side is rainbows and flowers, or some delightful vision from the Wonka Factory. We don't know though, maybe a few do, and they tells us, "Go there."

Go there?! Are you nuts? That's the spirally drain of a thirty-four year old bathtub! The lord only knows what's down there. True, but maybe amidst the soapsud encrusted hairballs and urine caked pipe walls, there really is something to behold. I mean, we already know what's up here, a painful dance of tension and release, self gratification and torment. And if you're saying, "man Bernie, what a bleak outlook." Don't give me that euphemism, because we all go through the ringer at some point in time (the crazy thing to me is it's a ringer created by habitual mind), it's seems to be the way we live life, and looking away from it seems to elicit a clichéd moment of awkward non-acknowledgement, for those who would rather look to see it, and maybe change it. For those who would agree not to see it, well, I guess they would dance away for a new release created by the tension of that moment. Yearning for the clock to strike a certain time, the month to toll a certain chime of week, away from whatever slavery in which they're confined that day. But, we all do this to some degree otherwise we wouldn't need that "ah-ha!" moment to bring us to, so we're all the same in that way, all of us superficial, tokenistical, superfantastical, sometimes submersible, ultra lovable human beings, so we can give each other a break instead of pressing the white hot iron to the sensitive spots we see, because if we're all the same, then the things that we do that might be construed as sinister, malicious, or just down right not cool, are completely forgivable by way that we all do it too!! "Ah-Ha!!".

Okay, okay, the "ah-ha" moment aside, to bring things back into scope, it may be bleak to see things as the ever-present-tensions-in-need-of-release kind of way, because it sounds like we haven't the ability to do what we really choose, because our choices have been predetermined, in part, by and large, by what those before us have (i.e. seek a release of built up tension) and you'd be right (get over it, huh? Just because I released that tension? Jeeez. I know. I like being right too…more release? Yowza, it doesn't seem to stop), but it seems to me that only when things become their bleakest is when we ever want to look any further than our own noses, even though the noses is the closest we come when juxtaposes to the superimposes of structures we lay down on our world (i.e. a marriage and it's resultant biohazards, an empire that aspires with it's giant footprint leaving behind a trail of mangled paychecks, a followed dream for which we fought our way upstream only to find that the world still ignores what we think we are because it's that world that wants to be free in that way too, etcetera and such…), and right under the hair that seeks it's breath of fresh air on the rim of a nostril, I'm told, is this moment in full flair. It's a world outside of the ideas and philosophies we ream and shape into the dream, but only when we find, as we stare out at the grand picture, that our dream is empty and devoid of anything real do we think, "What the hell happened? I thought this was supposed to be the bees pivot points… Why do I feel like smoking down a joint every single time I find this place?" Because, I feel, we think we're the dream, but just as we can't be the piece of sculptured stone, or the pretty painted bone, we can't become, are not the results of, the happenings of things, because we already are those things in full happenings, and it seems to me that the only thing that makes it empty is that piece of us that stakes a claim on what it would call "territory", and will fight for it to the death if need be. When you write the song, you let it go, just like the note that's sung, it's not like you can cram it into an exposed armpit. Why would you want to?

I look inside of myself as deeply as I can nowadays, and I see all this turmoil, this turbulence, conflict, division, derision for the dichotomy, which splits me more ways from Anydays, and in all of these fragmented pieces that have staked their claim for a piece of the pie of a life unseen, each one of those slivers is not really me, they're more programming than anything else. Taught and programmed how and what to feel and why and when to feel it and who or where to feel it about, it's almost as if each one of those fragments is in some way, not really "me", but a short iteration of "me" into a longer perpetuation of the "me" I think of as "me" but isn't really me, an instance, so to speak, that arises into each situation for which it was designed, let's go with: "I like spinach," I don't like lima beans or vegetables in general," "I'll have a piece of that steak because I like it," but only because my Mom or Dad liked it, because if they had said "ewww" to it every time I went to have a bite, just like they did when they were changing my diaper, I bet there would be an instance of me that says, "Yuck, how can anyone eat steak," which leads to, "I can't believe that person eats steak," unfolding into, "There's just something about that person I don't like, maybe it's because they eat steak and I don't," which iterates v. 3.1 in the form of, "I don't really like anyone who eats steak," and then, "Let's kill anyone who eats steak, because they kill cows and the cows need justice for the easily and readily countable years of insult to species," then we can allow the cows to flourish and grow out of control and eat all the green grass and Funyuns, and then I guess there won't be any greener grass on the other side of any fence, but maybe that's a good thing, for me and for everybody so maybe that's the way it should be, and maybe I should begin to work at convincing everybody/anybody who will listen (ad infinitum, ad nauseum, domo arigato mister roboto…).

It's a humbling thing when I find myself in cozy silent solitude. A time when there's no one else around upon whom I can exert my influence; the realization strikes me that the only influence I exert is on me, and any attempts exercised on the "outside" are cursory, illusory, because it's really still only me who is influenced by my own projection (for a decent portrait of projection of ego, see exhibit A: the last paragraph, and see exhibit B: this entire diatribe). I've found that, if I'm willing to listen, I can tune in to those little programs and I can "hear" them, pointing me in the programmed direction. "Eat a snack", "Play your guitar", "What's she doing now", "Never mind, she's doing this or that", "I did well in Improv the other day", "I'm really good at making funny voices" and so on and so forth. The interesting thing to me is there's a feeling that accompanies each one of these little instructions or depicted scenarios, and it's like I'm in the grips of a drug, some bring about bad trips, some bring about good trips. The projection of me and my habitual thought patterns, patterns that seem to recur whenever the familiar scuttles from the underbrush and takes flight. I, being the predator that rains its influence on what it considers to be "outer" (if only to take a break from influencing myself in whatever way) take off in hot pursuit, the taste of coercion dripping from my incisors already sighing the breath orgasmic with a lusty satisfaction smeared on my jowls, like a toddler in his high chair under improper care, or inattentive supervision. But I can't damage by way of exertion anymore – fuck me do I try though, not out of malice, more out of a repetitive retaliation; an automated response to behavior that's inconsistent with my own house of cards – and every time I do it's like I end up the remains of a once pristine 8 ½ x 11, crumpled up and tossed into the garbage can that contours itself into the shape of mind (what shape is that again…?). But being squashed up into the creases of my forehead, and not comfortably, was never my idea of a good time, even then it seems like my idea of a good time puts me there too. Why does that happen? I have no idea; maybe it's a humility thing, or the lack thereof. So by way of intelligent response I shift into the forms of the martial art of moment (a deep and treasured, honored tradition that's spans the space between my DNA), an art that seems to determine it's masters by their depth of humility, and the dance continues, until somehow I realize that the music that's playing is played by "me", and the steps I dance trace the outlines of "me", and the partner I seem to dip and sway is the dipping and swaying of "me". "Me", huh, now the concept of that smacks the toad ridiculous...

Let’s Have Sex Instead of Putting Out the Kitchen Fire...

September 19, 2008

Let’s Have Sex Instead of Putting Out the Kitchen Fire...

I yearn for justice; burn for it in fact. There's a piece of me, on the inside (maybe it's the outside) that still feels the sting of the steel gauntlet smashed across my face, and that piece churns toward the return favor of an eye for an eye. The object of said seek (without naming names to protect the… umm… innocent… ahem…from those who would follow through on retribution in my name) knows this is inside of me, because it knows what it's doing. It's as clever as I am in its clarity, a shadow-me that understands me more deeply than I do on some level, but still I burn.

This unsettled seeking leads me astray from my own business, the business of getting down to the bottom of me (figuratively, you sicko, but funny to imagine the literal), the business of letting go those outrageous, egregious, indignities suffered at the hands of my own projection of self-protection and survival. Because, if the claim to nationalistic pride is moot and the need to self identify by heredity has been given the boot, then the want to validate me by the behaviors of those I see is completely beside the point too, which, when understood this way, works to actively free me of a prison of my own design, or one of my own worldly training.

Could be culture that's the culprit here, but if I can see it then it makes me an accessory by default, or by dumb misunderstanding. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm beating on myself too badly (or maybe I am, but denying), because how long can I allow my shoulders to stoop under the weight of social programming (there ain't no real thing, even though it does feel like I've placed an awkward, gangly thirty-three (33) year old, one-hundred thirty pound, five foot three inch, screeching, scrambling, virgin, fighting tooth and nail as I take him to get over his fear on my back)? It's this programming that tells me to fight back, and hand over the come-uppin's, but who's really done anything to me?

If someone does something that I disagree with, and maybe that something is even seen to violate a belief I've held firm in my understanding of human decency, then maybe I should take a look at that reference point – see its nature and its origins, and wonder why I feel that it keeps me safe, when obviously it doesn't? Is it because I know what I believe in, and by knowing what I believe in and would stand up for, I can operate with clear confidence as I make my way in the world? But wouldn't defining myself by what I would stand up for automatically make me stand up when that definition is challenged? And, enter someone, anyone, who wouldn't give two shits for a pile of gold about what I believe in, couldn't that button be pushed by them at anytime, and wouldn't I be forced to stand upright like a tiny toy soldier on display, bearing my rifle and bayonet? You might ask yourself, "Why would anyone get off on that?" which would echo my own sentiments, but then again, why would anyone get off on getting off? Why is it, for some people, they would get off on the notion of feet being rubbed on their face? It's not for me to decide or say what does or does not get someone off, but it would seem to me that people can get off on some pretty peculiar things (relative, of course, to what I might find peculiar…maybe another reference point to examine), meaning that the feeling of control that one might get by finding a button to push on another human being could be tantamount to a fiendish foot fetish.

So my ready run has found me an encounter with a hardcore, tale of erotica, button pusher, and my buttons are always on an open display – I sort of make it a practice to keep them exposed just so's I knows what it is that will make me stand at attention upon somebody's whim – like some carnival freak who incites mass public appeal – and I don't guard the buttons I know exist, because that would be operating out of a fear (not only that, but I kind of like to hand over my buttons just to see what someone will do with them, and it allows me to understand my pressure points so I can massage them in to oblivion), it would make me stand on vigilant guard, which would also curtail my interactions with just about everybody, unless I trusted them with my buttons, which would force me to operate in the world in such a way that would make me be very particular about whom I let into my life. And as the ball of yarn unrolls in the underpinnings of my not-so-silent-anymore subconscious, I realize what an exhausting endeavor it is to live a life with these particulars in place. I guess it could be argued that that's just the way it is, and it ain't no thing to keep your guard up, well, okay, be that way if you want, but it occurs to me that, in the entirety of this much too long sentence, I've seasoned liberally with the words "force" and "make", implying to me that we have no choice but to do so, and that, to me, is not living very freely, and if the operation be one of the seven layers of, then the fear of the button be the constant blazing inferno that keeps me there, not the button pusher, so my quest for justice, vengeance, just desserts, payback's a bitch, or what goes around comes around seems invalid. My feelings surrounding the situation, however, seem pretty real.

So, if by invalidation, it's not about seeking retribution, because the situation doesn't really exist in any real way, but my feelings about said situation are very real, and keep me from being happy, or present to my experience, then it would seem to me that I need to reconcile the way that I feel inside. And I don't mean to extricate myself from the situation in order to make myself more comfortable, so that I can be present for the remainder of my days only to die with my comfortable ego lying comfortably on a cozy deathbed and I'm either writhing in agony, or slipping away in my sleep just to do it all over again the next time around this merry-go-round we call life, because the way I understand it, if a similar situation arises (a talent for which the Universe seems to have an uncanny knack), then I get it that I'll be sent right back to the rack for a little bit of pre-ego game stretching. Not only that, but I'll have an undercurrent of fear pervading my life (my being) of the situation coming back, so I wouldn't be free in such a respect. But man, oh man do I burn for retribution!

It really only distracts me, this wrathful fomenting, from what I'm really about. It's as if someone, let's say Randy Johnson (a pitcher in the major leagues for those who just went, huh? He throws a fastball upwards of 100mph) threw an apple at my head, and now my ability to walk in a straight line is compromised, because, not only, after finding out who threw the apple, am I searching for a resolution outside of myself, all the while that I'm doing so I don't know peace. Peace on the inside. Because it fucking burns! But I could go through my entire life, or multiple lifetimes in this struggle and not ever get the admission I so desperately seek, so what else can I do but resolve my feelings to the situation in order to let go?

"It's like this," Johnny De said to me, "Where is your ego?" (since the only place to look is inside myself), "Look for it. You can't find in there, because when you're looking for it, you're present, and, it doesn't fucking exist" (author's note: I embellish with the fuck word, because sometimes it conveys the point beautifully. Johnny De in no way, shape, or form used the word during the delivery of said moment. not that he wouldn't, just that he didn't) Whoa…he's right, if I search for the justice seeker inside myself I can't find him. There's no purchase to find for my gripping hands, no hands to grip with, I'm just looking. Present. I don't rightly feel incensed when I'm just looking for it. And since I can see that there's nothing in there to touch or feel physically, then I'm chasing a puff of smoke with sandpaper. How am I supposed to catch a puff of smoke with sandpaper? So just looking doesn't actually cause me any harm, and when I do so, for some crazy reason, everything within range of my six senses just springs into view, because now, here I am, just looking. Cool, huh? *sniff sniff* is there something burning?