Relieving Yourself In The Face Of Solemnity

Lay down all thought

Surrender to the void
It is shining
It is shining
- John Lennon (Tomorrow Never Knows)

I used to believe that each day I knew all there ever was to know. The next day, I would learn a few more things and marvel at how stupid I was the day before. That's the way it is with life. Each day brings new possibilities, new hopes, new dreams and, of course, fresh concerns. Balancing the 'yings' and 'yangs' of our existence can leave us dumbfounded as we existentially grope around in our subconscious for our minds to hang our 'sense of being' and self-worth on.

For many, juggling the psychic apparatus of their various cognitive and psychological states is serious business, and good business for many institutions come circus barkers. It's really something to meditate on.

Nevertheless, I've never been much of a meditator. In fact, I'm much too full of myself for the practice and balk at any idealistic isms that preach self-nullification. Perhaps it's a defense mechanism, but for many years, I felt as if I was my own best friend. Alone with my thoughts which I could never really share, I'd entertain myself and find ways to make myself smile. I never heard voices in my head, though I would occasionally talk to myself.

That being said, I have read much about meditation. I've done the breathing and focus-defocus exercises always coming to realization that I was trying much too hard and therefore becoming a burden to my efforts. It's easy to distract yourself with your 'self' as your self can't help but get in the way. It's easy to miss the forest for the trees ... when you are a tree. And perhaps that's really the whole point of it ... to accept yourself for who you really are.

Honestly, if one was happy with oneself, why would one want to lose oneself in a crowd? If we are happy with who we are, then how could we not look in the mirror and smile? An exercise I do each day, sort of my own special daily affirmation, is too look in the bathroom and feign a constipated expression. It always cracks me up, and for a few seconds each day the stress of all that was and all that is yet to be shatter from the moment and fall to the ground.

So how do you distract yourself from distraction? Some would say by training yourself to get lost in the moment. This a far cry from suggesting we lose our minds. Even former vice-president Dan Quayle misquoted "What a waste it is to lose one's mind. Or not to have a mind is being very wasteful. How true that is." I would wholeheartedly agree, if I knew he knew what he was talking about. Unfortunately, he doesn't ... or rather didn't, so the point is moot.

What I do know is that when we lower our guard, demand less and have fewer expectations we are more apt to really enjoy any given moment. I can't vouch for living fully in each moment, because that sounds a bit too wide-eyed and pollyanish for my taste. Sorry, but it's just not in my nature to prance or frolic. Still, I firmly believe that freeing yourself from the gravity of some moments seems doable.

Still, brazenly relieving yourself in the face of solemnity will most definitely ruffle the britches of the hand-writhing and hard-washing rank and file. Some will encourage we be all that we can be. Others will admonish us to lose all sense of independent existence. In both cases, these 'powers that be' surreptitiously suggest that we surrender ourselves, not so much to a void, but to their will. In marketing, this is known as the old 'switch and bait' ploy.

There are many who are seeking a spiritual state of mind. This is a mistake. It's our minds that get in the way of the manifestation of a spiritual state. I'd suggest it's easier to shoot for achieving a spiritual state of 'spirit'. Now defining spirituality is a matter for another post, but trust me I can can definitely propose the following advice: raise your spirits and your mind will follow.

--------------------------------
Suggested Reading:

Whose Shoes Are These? (An Introspective Question)

"You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself
in any direction you choose.
You're on your own.
And you know what you know.
You are the guy who'll decide where to go."
- Dr. Seuss


Hang on for a second ...

An easy question to ask concerns how often you find yourself having to justify yourself to others. A harder question, and one I might suggest may be much more important, is how often you find 'others' having to justify themselves to you?

I just want to say ...

Do everyday conversations you have with others feel like losing battles 'you must' win? Does social banter take on the sensation that it's taking place with a fast-taking salesman on a used car lot? When speaking with others, are you simultaneously carrying on a conversation with that 'inner voice' talking in your head? Indeed, it often feels like there are so many questions and so little time. And, by the time you are ready to make your point, the conversation has already ended.

Let me just tell you something ...

For many, such situations are a daily phenomenon that ultimately lead to yet another blow to their self-esteem. Each daily interaction with others becomes a psychometric test of their self-worth, more often than not surrendering the same feeling of futility they have grown accustom to. Rather than questioning the value and certainty of the world around them, they seem hell-bent on devaluing themselves.

No. You've got it backwards, so let me explain ...

When the 'shoe is on the foot' in our lives, we tend to notice because something just doesn't feel right. In times of mental anguish, we seem to be hard-wired with a bit of genetic coding that runs a self-diagnostic sub-routine that checks for 'broken code'. Depending on the individual and his or her self-perception, this process of introspection usually yields one of two results. In some, a resounding “I'm OK” conclusion explodes in their consciousness, and life goes on. In others however, a form of overload manifests causing a cascading chain of self-destructive implosions rendering the individual … stifled. This latter individual, flogging himself as he moves to the side of the road, eventually breaks down into a quivering mass of self-questioning defeatism.

Can I get a word in edgewise?

When it's time to play the 'blame game', one's passiveness turns aggressive. The desire to throw the heavy yoke from one's back is a halfhearted and bitter affair. Shades of the 'garbage in, garbage out' mantra' are heard. “I'm having a hard time of late digging myself out of a hole I've dug for myself some years ago. You want to know why? Because my hole is really at the bottom of a much larger hole that was dug for me by others long ago.”

If you could just wait, please ...

Meanwhile they keep digging under the delusion that the answer to all their problems lies at the end of the deep and dark shaft they have hurled themselves into. They valiantly hope to find that what's upside down in their lives, may in fact become right side up at the end of their struggle. So, they keep digging and banging their heads on the walls around them as they sink lower and lower into the abyss.

Let me interject ...

Yes, some people think that their problems are sort of like the Earth. If they dig down far enough eventually they will find that what's down is up. Of course, this is a poor analogy because way before they reach 'China' they will invariably fry themselves silly in our planet's molten core (13000°F). Yes, people like this tend to miss the big picture, and it's the 'little things' they miss that ultimately will be their undoing. Coincidentally, did you hear about the man who tried to walk around the world? He drowned.

Can I just finish, please?

Sometimes, being able to see the 'big picture' simply means viewing it from another angle, and yes it is generally true that there are many angles to all things in life. While we can't turn our heads completely around, we can at least 'turn the other cheek' especially in regard to ourselves. To be honest, even a 90 or 180 degree turn may be all that's needed to give ourselves a different spin on things. But first, we need to remove the blinders we have grown so comfortable wearing, especially if we want to catch the 'first ray of the new rising sun' in our lives.

Let's cut to the chase ...

Yes, the sun can shine out your ass, too. However, first you must learn to embrace and love yourself. Put an end to all the self-questioning and self-doubting you humiliate yourself with. Accept yourself for who you are and stop seeking justification from within, and especially from others. In fact, if you find others having to justify themselves to you, I'd argue that's probably a good thing. Indeed, the shoe IS on the other foot. Wear it proudly.

Suggested Reading:


Suggested Listening:

Contrarian Pseudo Babble: A Play With No Parts

PROLOGUE:

[An encounter outside the Katywonkered Cafe']

THE PHILOSOPHER:
Before setting off on a voyage, the pagans gather for a feast.

The mind vomits forth ... and none are saved.


ACT I

THE PRACTICAL ONE:
So, where are we off to?

THE CYNIC:

Lord only knows. Nowhere fast from what I can see.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

Well, that's a great attitude to have. Don't you have a plan?

THE CYNIC:

What do you think I sit around plotting my every step?

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

Planning. You mean planning your every step.

THE CYNIC:

Six of one, half a dozen of the other. Who cares! Let's just get on with it, then.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

Sure but I'd just like to know ... like, where we are headed.

THE CYNIC:

North. I'm sick of downtown. Hell is overrated.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

Fine. We'll take one step at a time.

WORRY WART:

I just hope I don't get hungry along the way.

THE CYNIC:

Of course you'll get hungry! That's your whole ball of wax.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

Ball of wax?

THE CYNIC:

He get's hungry, that's what his life is about. And, if he's not hungry he worries about it and the stress makes him eat. He's a nervous eater that one is, always weighing us down. He's almost as bad as you.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

Me?

THE CYNIC:

Dealing with the little practicalities of life. Always sweating the little things.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

And you on the other hand?

THE CYNIC:

Me? Why, I like to stuff myself to oblivion until I'm sick. Lord, give me those two minutes of complete satiation ... and then I'm sick, deservingly so.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

What's the point of that?

THE PHILOSOPHER:

It's like whacking off.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

Well, I can relate to that, but just so you realize you've probably just bit the hand that feeds us.

THE CYNIC:

Who?

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

The readers. Like, you've probably just blown off half of them with that comment.

THE CYNIC:

Who cares! I doubt they've even read this far. Judgmental assholes. We need them like we need a hole in the head.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

And their money?

THE CYNIC:

What money? Clicking on one of these crappy text links embedded in the post costs them nothing, but that's just too much to ask of them, I guess. Right? Heaven forbid they might actually sprain their finger. Lord! It's not like we're really expecting them to actually risk a hernia by pulling out their credit cards and buying something below in the 'suggested reading' section.

THE ARTIST:

I'm not in it for the money.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

But you need to eat ...

WORRY WART:

Did anyone bring a sandwich?

THE PHILOSOPHER:

The bread of existence is found at the end of the meal.

THE CYNIC:

Fuck Off!

THE PHILOSOPHER:

And so it is written.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

Um, let's get back to the money issue. Does anyone ...

THE CYNIC:

Don't worry. We can make some more, just like the 'powers that be'.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

Really? And how do we do that exactly? By hook or by crook?

THE ARTIST:

We can write the next hit 'country song'. I mean if the 'Duck Song' can get almost 60 million hits on YouTube ... why can't we ... um ... you know ... um ... (muttering) just saying.

THE JUGMONGER:

Howdy Folks! I'm fine. How Are You?

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

It's about time you showed up.

THE CYNIC:

A day late, and I would imagine a dollar short, as usual. No one sends him any money either.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

You know, money doesn't grow on trees. Hey, got any bread, man?

THE JUGMONGER:

Heck, I just came over from way over yonder and couldn't even find me a pan to handle with, let alone a pot to piss in. I'm so hungry I'm fartin' cobwebs over here.

THE PHILOSOPHER:

A rolling stone grows no moss. Feel free to ramble on.

THE CYNIC:

So basically you show up empty handed just to deliberately waste our time. I don't buy it. Someone needs to shake him down. I bet he's holding.

THE JUGMONGER:

Well, look at the time! I got to get goin'! I reckon I'll catch y'all on the flip flop.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

Like, don't you have anything to contribute?

THE ARTIST:

Something from the Bard, perhaps?

THE JUGMONGER:

I tell y'all what, I'll leave y'all with some words of wisdom: "Everyday above ground is a good one!" Know what I mean? I think y'all do.

THE PHILOSOPHER:

That sounds familiar.

THE CYNIC:

So does "suicide is painless". Somebody shoot me ... or him. Please!

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

Oh come one. Enough with the sarcasm, already.

WORRY WART:

Yeah. We need to focus here. It'll be dinner time soon and it's getting dark.

THE PHILOSOPHER:

Darkness seeps in through the brush of night curtailing the thoughts of effervescent dreamers and suffocating the whims of bright thinkers.

THE CYNIC:

Blah, blah, blah. (mocking) I'm alone with my thoughts, ready to eat my own brain.

THE PHILOSOPHER:

Into the soup of primordial ooze is from whence you came.

WORRY WART:

Did someone say soup?

THE CYNIC:

You guy's are ruining everything! You're spoiling my trip!

THE ARTIST:

I've hardly said a word, lyrically speaking.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

Don't blame us for your problems. You're the one that keeps dragging us down. You and your self-destructive tendencies. You're your own worst enemy and you know it. Mr. Paranoid and Mr. Procrastination rolled into one.

WORRY WART:

Who? Me?

THE CYNIC:

Wait, quiet down. Who's that idiot over there?

THE ARTIST:

He looks like a kindred spirit. What's with the Cheshire smile?

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

He looks like he's laughing himself silly.

THE CYNIC:

Great, just what we need, another clown. Look at him, he's laughing at his own jokes! How pathetic.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

Maybe he'll have something interesting to add. Lord knows we can use a bit of levity here.

THE ARTIST:

Per chance to crack wise ... said the joker to the thief.

THE CARD:

(laughs) That's sounds like something I would say! What a card! I'm really too much! Speaking of 'cracks', did you hear about the guy who went to see his proctologist, Dr. Ben Dover? (laughing incessantly).

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

Oh Lord. Fecal humor.

THE WORRY WART:

I think I'm getting queasy...

THE PHILOSOPHER:

The dung beetle thanks the sacred cow for more than just its musings.

THE ARTIST:

How now brown cow.

THE CYNIC:

What an ass.

THE CARD:

Now, see I wouldn't have said "ass". I would've said something like "butt" (laughs), you know? A "butt" is a lot funnier than an "ass".

THE CYNIC:

You would know.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

What's the difference?

THE CARD:

Well, I've been the "butt" of many jokes, but I've never been the "ass" of a joke! (laughs). Lord, I crack myself up.

THE CYNIC:

Ok, time to dump this one.

THE CARD:

'Farting' is such sweet sorrow. (ROFL) Hey wait a minute! Did someone say 'dump'?

THE ARTIST:

It's much too late for goodbyes.

THE CYNIC:

Forget him. Time to get back to my wallowing in my own misery

THE PHILOSOPHER:

Let the writhing of the hands begin in earnest.

THE CYNIC:

(hurt) Who asked you anyway?

THE PHILOSOPHER:

I and the universe alone. That's enough for me.

THE CYNIC:

That's enough out of you.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

All right. Let's just keep it together here until we get to where we're going.

THE CYNIC:

Who said we we're going anywhere?

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

You did! You said we're going North.

THE ARTIST:

(sings) ... where seldom is heard a discouraging word.... (hums)

THE CYNIC:

"North" is not a place. It's a direction. Forget it. Let's stay here and spin our wheels.

THE PHILOSOPHER:

Actually, it may be a state of mind. Sort of like "home" ... the rise and fall of limbo.

THE ARTIST:

(sings) home, home on the range (hums)

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

Well, I've been waiting for you all day. Stop spinning your wheels and let's get a move on.

THE ARTIST:

(sings) ... spinning wheel, got to go round. Talkin' bout your troubles it' a crying shame (hums)

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

(tsk) that's not funny.

THE COMIC:

I'll be the judge of that. Here's comes the judge, here comes the judge... (fade out)

THE CYNIC:

This is pointless.

THE PHILOSOPHER:

No, there has to be some point to this all. It's called Karma.

THE CYNIC:

So now I'm supposed to just accept my fate?

THE PHILOSOPHER:

Indeed. It's is inevitable.

THE CYNIC:

Well, sorry but I don't buy that.

THE ARTIST:

(sings) how much is that doggie in the window... (hums)

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

That's pretty much the dogma of life. That's the way it goes.

WORRY WART:

How can you be so calm about it?

THE PHILOSOPHER:

I'm not calm. In fact, I've got a plethora of existential angst.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

(nods to the direction of THE CYNIC) I thought that was "his" problem.

THE PHILOSOPHER:
No. He's just suffering from insecurity. Mr. Passive Aggressive don't you know.

THE CYNIC:

Oh! A lot you know, Mr. know it all! I suppose you think you've got it all figured out.... life, the universe and everything, huh?

THE PHILOSOPHER:

You don't need to know the answer when you already have the solution.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

Huh? What does that mean? Can you be just like a tad more practical?

THE PHILOSOPHER:

Not intentionally, no. Effort requires motive. I am motiveless, spurned on by a drive to brave the face of insanity.

THE PRACTICAL:

Oh my God! This is ridiculous. This ... this will never work. You know, we may as well just go home and start from scratch.

THE PHILOSOPHER:

Ah, but see that's part of the problem. We can never really go home, can we?

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

Are you asking me?

THE ARTIST:

(sings) home, home on the range (hums)

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

We've been here before.

THE CYNIC:

There's just really no point in going on. You know ... I just want to stick my head in the ground and make the world go away.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

Sure, as if that will really solve anything at all.

THE CYNIC:

I can't keep going on like this. I need a break.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

And, what will you do with it once you get it?

THE CYNIC:

Live the good life ... or who knows, maybe I'll just fuck it up anyway.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

See, you know, like that's why you need to get organized.

THE CYNIC:

Forget that! It's too hard. Who wants to waste a whole day being anal retentive? Better to slack off and call yourself a creative type.

THE ARTIST:

I'm a better improvisor than organizer.

THE PHILOSOPHER:

Oh ye of fanciful dreams!

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

Ah! Now we are getting somewhere. You use wit and sarcasm to front for your lack of willpower and drive. I know you. You work your ass off for a couple of hours and then you fart around for the rest of the day. You've got no self-control. You are the master of the art of self-distraction.

WORRY WART:

I'm getting hungry.

THE CYNIC:

I get tired.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

You get bored.

THE CYNIC:

I want something better in life.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

Bullshit! You don't want to work hard.

THE ARTIST:

But I'm the creative type.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

Even artists need to be organized. Practice makes perfect.

THE CYNIC:

Perfection is for the establishment. I'm a non-conformist.

THE ARTIST:

And what of the karma of the struggling artist?

THE PHILOSOPHER:

Fate will lend a hand.

THE ARTIST:

And what of the muse?

THE CYNIC:

What are you talking about? It's the muse that distracts me and fills my head with romantic notions ... that ultimately leave me depressed.

THE PHILOSOPHER:

Inebriated with words of delusion.

THE ARTIST:

They're inspiring!

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

They're motivational!

THE PHILOSOPHER:

It's divine providence, perhaps.

THE CYNIC:

It's a lot of crap. That's what it is. It's bullshit. You're just playing to my ego.

THE ARTIST:

When the calmness of the waters, settle over my head. I will see visions of my music dancing around me like the wind gusts of a tornado.

THE CYNIC:

Absurdists galore! Why can't you write something that makes sense ... and make us some real money for once!

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

He tries. But he's not trained as a writer.

THE CYNIC:

He just makes this stuff up, and we all have to suffer.

THE PHILOSOPHER:

He must follow his own path, though the path to glory is not necessarily paved with gold.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

So, what's it paved with?

THE CYNIC:

It's paved with dog shit. That's what it's paved with. And with every step we take, there is just another steaming pile to tread on. It's all bullshit, man.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

Why are you always so negative? It's sooo frustrating to be with you. Most of the time you're just being contrary!

THE CYNIC:

I beg to differ. Anyway, if you don't like it, then why don't you just get the hell out of here and leave me the hell alone. All of you! Just fuck off. Get the message.

THE ARTIST:

(sings) message a bottle ... (hums) message in a bottle (hums) ....da da da da da ... (sings) Communication break down. Its always the same. I'm having a nervous breakdown. Drive me insane! (hums)

THE PRACTICAL ONE:

Ok, if that's the way you want it. I'm walking.

THE PHILOSOPHER:

Have a good trip.

EPILOGUE:

[time passes]

THE PHILOSOPHER:

Time will tell.

-----------------------------------------------

Suggested Reading:

Suggested Listening:

Lie To Me! Fabrications, Fables, Fairy Tales And Fibs

"He gives speeches, but they put him back in bed where he wrote his satire."

- Brian Wilson, 'He Gives Speeches' (original lyrics)

I think it was in kindergarten when I remember being told the story of little George "I cannot tell a lie" Washington and the cherry tree he confessed to his father he had chopped down. Through this vignette, my classmates and I were admonished to always tell the truth. The only problem was that often told tale ... is a lie, a fabricated fable of fibbing fiction. It was actually created by biographer, Mason Locke Weems, as an anecdote laudable to Washington's character and as an "exemplary to his countrymen". Nevertheless, this fractured fairy tale is almost as hallowed as the national anthem.

When I was 2 years old, the US Congress passed the 'Gulf of Tonkin Resolution' granting President Johnson the wanton power to take military action as he saw fit in Southeast Asia, ostensibly to combat the spread of communist aggression. The passage of the resolution, enabling Johnson to launch America full-tilt into the Vietnam war, was predicated on a fabricated set of events suggesting that American naval vessels had come under unprovoked attack by the North Vietnamese.

When I first heard the above tale, I remember being skeptical. I'm not sure why my 'bullshit detector' went off that day. Perhaps it was the result of a burgeoning character flaw or a latent psychic ability to perceive the teacher's own insincerity in her own overly dramatic rendition of the fable. Some might say that my lack of gullibility at that tender age speaks volumes of my character or my perception of ethics. And, indeed early on I began to question my moral constitution. In retrospect, I was 'looney' to do so.

When I was 3 years old, my sister told me about a cow that jumped over the moon. My grandmother, whose stock reply to most things was "tell it to Sweeney", later cracked that the moon was made of cheese.

As a society, we seem to be obsessed with lies. Parents spend eons of time drilling the words “don't lie to me” and “be honest!” into their children's heads. Fairy tales and fables regularly espouse 'golden rules' and long-winded speeches on ethics. Yet, we allow 'big business' concerns to lie to us on a regular basis under the pretenses of marketing. Similarly, I don't think patriotism has anything to do with our accepting that some politicians and lawyers actually lie for a living. Incredibly, the 'powers that be' of government even enact laws of impunity, pardoning such actions under the guise of national security. Yes, it's a bitter pill to swallow, but one that's administered every day.

When I was 4 years old I remember my pediatrician telling me he had to look in my ear to see if there was a puppy or elephant hiding in there. A moment later, brandishing a hypodermic needle about two feet long, he dismissed my fears by telling me, “this won't hurt”.

Teachers lie to us, transmitting historical revisionism with out a thought, and in many cases without knowledge of the fabricated fiction they force feed us. After all, if it's written in the history books ... well then it's must be accurate. The truth is that we know the truth, but we dismiss it anyway, waving it away like a cloud of smoke.

When I was 5 years old, Lucky Strike cigarettes launched an ad claiming that 20,679 physicians suggest that 'Luckies' are 'less irritating' than other brands, and that the 'coffin nails' represent “your Throat Protection against irritation and against cough”.

Hollywood films makes us believe that which is unbelievable, and we love it. In fact, we expect movies to defy our expectations in this respect. Ask George Lucas, who replaced "Muppet" Yoda with 'computer generated image (CGI)' Yoda.

When I was 6 years old, I convinced my first grade teacher that I could speak Chinese. I did so by counting to 10 in mono-syllabic utterances that sounded more like 'Klingonese' than anything Asian oriented. She was so impressed she fawned over my abilities in my mother's presence at their first parent-teacher meeting. My mother, nonplussed, rebutted the claim forthwith. Upon returning home, she asked me why I had lied to my teacher. I responded by asking her if she spoke Chinese.

Scientists are still working on revising the absolute laws of physics, given what we now know or don't know about sub-atomic particles and quantum theory. Nevertheless, schoolchildren are still taught that said laws are absolute.

When I was 7 years old, the Nixon administration dramatically increased funding for the voluntary sterilization of low-income Americans, statistically represented by Americans of color. In light of the 'Family Planning Services and Population Research Act', government funded sterilization programs organized at the behest of the Department of Health, Education, and Welfare (HEW) were accelerated. With respects to Native Americans, it is later revealed via anecdotal evidence that procedures are carried out on patients who were often misinformed of said procedures.

It seems the hardest thing we can do sometimes is be honest with ourselves. You'd think we'd have some inner defense mechanism that prevents us from psychologically pulling the wool over own eyes, but we obviously don't. Many seeking the "truth" of their existence and their shortcomings are easily led astray by nefarious types offering reams of rhetoric and who offer salvation in exchange for blind faith and allegiance.

When I was 8 years old, I kind of figured out that the tooth fairy didn't exist. The handwriting on the encouraging notes she left under my pillow was just too close to my mother's. I recognized it from those notes I had to take to school explaining my frequent absences.

We embrace the concept of 'sometimes its better not to tell the truth' when it's convenient. When faced with adversity we justify, rationalize and defend our actions, regardless of whether we were selfless or self-serving when acting either in our own or in others' regard. Claims of moral ineptitude fall on our defiant deaf ears.

When I was 9 years old, the Watergate scandal exploded. Journalists everywhere feigned a 'holier than thou' attitude. Nevertheless, the news media regularly bends the truth in the name of gaining ratings. Of course, the media doesn't lie, so much as it just withholds the truth. No comment needed.

We really are our own worst enemies. It's ironic how we take take perverse pleasure in watching the witty con-artist shake down his mark, unless the mark is us ... which is exactly what we tend to be when we're desperate and willing to believe anything or anybody, especially those we hold dear.

When I was 10 years old, I convinced myself, that the religious life my family began to live didn't suck. It did, but still I went on convincing myself for another 15 odd years … very odd indeed.

Nevertheless, rather than putting faith in ourselves we're asked to put our faith in science, religion, government and in others. Question the ethics of these purveyors of 'the truth' and you get self-righteous indignation. Indeed, as any schoolchild will tell you, "he who denied it, supplied it."

Suggested Reading:

  

Suggested Listening:

Trackbacks / Pingbacks / Links:

http://encyclopedia.jrank.org/articles/pages/6242/Forced-Sterilization-of-Native-Americans.html#ixzz1X74GZrFI
http://civilliberty.about.com/od/gendersexuality/tp/Forced-Sterilization-History.htm
http://encyclopedia.jrank.org/articles/pages/6242/Forced-Sterilization-of-Native-Americans.html
http://xroads.virginia.edu/~cap/gw/gwmoral.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gulf_of_Tonkin_incident

I Told You I Was Trouble: Amy Winehouse RIP (1983-2011)

I cheated myself,
Like I knew I would,
I told you I was trouble,
You know that I'm no good,
 - Amy Winehouse, 'I'm No Good'

 He walks away,
The sun goes down,
He takes the day but I'm grown,
And there's no way, in this blue shape,
My tears dry on their own.

- Amy Winehouse, 'Tears Dry On Their Own'

What the hell's the matter with you?” is a question that's often been fired at me point blank in varying contexts, by an even more varied collection of people. Parents, sibling, employers, and colleagues have all hurled this inquisitive barb in my direction. My answer? Well, in general, I'd suggest that the question is moot.

To be honest, I think it's a strange question, because more often than not, it's a question that's asked through a veil of perception that gnaws away at the inquisitors' sensitivities... or expectations. In fact, I'd argue that it's not really even a question, but more of a statement of exasperation, spoken by a chafed few who have yet to fathom that there are just some things, situations or people that they can't control in life.

For better or worse, some people have self-destructive tendencies. Maybe the term 'self-destructive' is a bit overkill in relation to some, yet on the other hand, its an understatement in relation to others. Nevertheless, in our society's ever mangling penchant to label and pigeon hold everything, terms tend to have more function than brains.

Usually, when non-conformists fail to conform, as is their nature to do so, they tend to be embraced by some and vilified by others. Ok, so it goes without saying that we can't be loved by all people, all of the time. That's a given. Regardless of who you are are or what you stand for, some people will love you and some people will hate you... even on principle! For non-conformists, this seems true to the extreme.

Yet, there are those odd occasions, when some non-conformists actually succeed in breaking through into dizzying heights of mainstream popularity, much to the dismay of their detractors' bile. When this occurs, industries spring up around such new found 'celebrities' as everyone scrambles to jump on the grandstanding bandwagon to gain purchase, or stranglehold. But wait, it's gets stranger, as an eventual realignment of sentience takes place.

Our society has a bad habit of perverting 'the unique and different' in a profane attempt to remould them in its 'socially correct' or 'fashionably sensible' image. When that fails, then at some point it is inevitable that what goes up must come down... usually in spectacular flames. Indifference sets in as interests turn to seek out 'the next big thing' and the 'haters' are let out of the closet, and into the arena, to mercilessly pick, peck, poke and point fingers, in true vulture fashion. Ok, so I know that vultures don't actually point fingers, but well ... you know what I mean.

There are those who just enjoy stating the obvious. I don't. I've written before about defying the expectations of others and of engaging in self destructive career nullifying behavior. On that note, you can pout all you want, roll your eyes, and drop your jaws to express the best alveolar click (tsk) you can muster, but how do you really respond to the following:

 - "We're just on different wavelengths."
- "We live on different planes of existence."
- "We don't see eye to eye."
- "You just don't get me."
- "I don't need your approval."
- "I don't need your help."

Yes, some people don't want your help, advice, wisdom, or good intentions. Some people just want to be left alone to do 'their thing'.

Last night, I learned that Amy Winehouse shuffled off her mortal coil. She was a phenomenally talented singer and songwriter that bridged Jazz and Soul Music … and defied our expectations, sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worse. Yes, she was troubled, she told us so ... and her death, though still unexplained as of this writing, is a tragedy. To me, one's death is tragic when you don't see it coming; it's horrific when you do.

Nevertheless, the media, eyes wide shut, has already begun to cliche ad nauseum over her initiation into the '27 Club', her life defining hit song 'Rehab', and her vices to which have already been attributed to her death, even before any facts have been revealed. But hey, that's what sells the news, right? On the CNN website, the marketing suits couldn't wait more than a paragraph into her obituary before inserting an advert to promote an upcoming episode of Dr. Drew titled “How can someone so talented be so self destructive?” Its pathetic. It's profane.

Amy Winehouse was an artist that many things to many people in life... and will continue to be as such in death. I mourn her passing, the loss of her talent, her art and her potential. Of course, there's much to be said about how she lived her life, but it's really a moot point now. So I prefer to remember her for what she left us. And yes, it's true that but for her legacy of music, no one was saved ... but I would argue, that the lives of those who were touched by her music were truly enriched.

Amy, Amy, Amy – you'll be missed for all that was and all that could've been.

PS. Thanks for reading. This is just one of those mornings, I really wish I hadn't sworn off Baileys in my morning coffee. For this post there's no questions, because the obvious 'why' thunders loudly. Here are some videos of what we lost. If you choose to see only what you want to see, then at least close your eyes and listen. Your comments, as always, are welcome.

Suggested Listening:

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Doomsday: The Day After Nothing Went POOF

Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we: For such as we are of, such we be.

- William Shakespeare

Well, it seems as if following the warnings of 'End Times', we are all still here. In fact, the only things that went 'POOF' yesterday were my popcorn maker and Harold Camping's false prophecy of Judgment Day ... again. Yes, he pulled this back in 1994, too. But hey, I guess the media would prefer we not buy into that old saying 'once a joke, twice a dope'. News ratings were up, twits twittered and tweeted their brains out on Twitter, and all in all a good time was had by all, except perhaps for the new age Mayans who are still holding out for the apocalypse on Dec. 12, 2012.

Nevertheless, let's be honest: as you nodded and laughed with the skeptics, how many of you worrywarts with sweaty palms and irritable bowel syndrome (IBS) clenched your butt cheeks together while you feigned smiles and expelled hearty guffaws that would put Santa Clause to shame? Yes, in the comforting isolation of your own homes, how much hand writhing and skin shedding was really going on?

Face it. I'd imagine there were a fair number of people with conflicting feelings on the whole doomsday phenomenon. In psychological terms, this is what's known as cognitive dissonance. As Wikipedia defines it, it's that "uncomfortable feeling caused by holding conflicting ideas simultaneously". Passive-aggressive types know all about cognitive dissonance. For those who are guilt laden for one reason or another, this cognitive disequilibrium prevents them from ever really enjoying anything in life. It's a shame, too, because some of those 'if the world ended today' jokes and #endoftheworldconfessions tweets were a hoot!

Cognitive dissonance raises it's ugly head in other areas of life, too. There's a phenomenon known as 'buyer's remorse', for example. Poor souls exhibiting such behavior are often found spending all Sunday at the mall herniating their wallets, and then wasting most of Monday waiting in customer service lines trying to return everything ... except for those corn removers and that pair of kinky boxer shorts with the vibrating elephant trunk.

Why is self delusion and denial still alive in 2011? While "nothing much to speak of" spread across the datelines yesterday, some twits were still tweeting about Y2K. Lord! Talk about hold outs! It's been 11 years since the Millennium and I get the feeling that there are some zealots out there who steadfastly continue to set their computers back a year each December.

Yes, zealots, and especially Bible thumpers, die hard. In the face of ridicule, they stand behind their beliefs and convictions. And, in some twisted way, as they hold their 'the end is nigh' signs, they exhume confidence - a trait we all value and aspire to attain. They look you straight in the face with spinning eyes and furrowed brows and have no bones in decreeing you're going to hell. Moreover, doing so brings them bliss and peace of mind - two other elusive states we all desire.

So, perhaps there is something to be learned from all this doomsday talk. Perhaps we should reexamine our belief systems and the conventions we hold so dear, while we seek ways of addressing our individual and collective human frailties.

Of course, if you really bit into this doomsday fairy tale and are less willing to eat crow, I guess you could maintain that no one was saved, nor was anyone raptured or enraptured ... and that come doomsday, October 21st you will have the last laugh ... briefly, before you go 'POOF'.

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PS. Thanks for reading: Did you spend Judgment Day mulling over the state of humanity? Were you planning on singing with the angels or playing cards with the sinners as we wait for the NFL lockout to end? Are you still holding out for 2012, or are you just trying to hold onto your sanity? Let me know. I'm a good listener and won't judge you. Really.

Suggested Listening:

     

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See Me Seeing Through You

Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind. ~Dr. Seuss

The other day I read an article about the efforts of a nudist colony to attract newer and younger members to complement their existing and perhaps sagging aging community. The article quoted some recently joined 'members' who squealed excitement at the feeling of being 'truly free' as they danced around a maypole of some sorts. 'Freedom', as I believe one member expressed in delight, was defined as being able to reveal ones true nature to others. Yes, I imagine that for some, there is a certain amount of bliss, if not pride, that can be derived from the ability to openly and honestly advertise 'what you see is what you get'. For others no doubt, such freedom, alas, falls … short.

Anyway, 'the point' is that this all got me thinking about honesty and openness, and to what extent we think others see us as we really are, assuming we really know who we are. It's easy to question this latter point, but I think it's more interesting to fathom just how well people really know us, especially in terms of understanding whether we are transmitting false signals about our personae or whether others are just plain reading us wrongly. As usual, it ultimately leads to exploring the great divide between 'us' and 'them'.

Speaking of 'great divides', let's not forget that some people are sadists and enjoy being assholes. At least, in a twisted way, you can't really accuse them of being fake with you. They have no problem brandishing a sign that reads 'caveat emptor', let the buyer beware, and then bashing you over the head with it. You'd either be a fool to pollyannishly think otherwise, or a masochist. Either way, you're going to get sucked into one hell of an emotional black hole.

OK, so assholes, notwithstanding, there are people who, by their own definition, are open books. I'll discuss these types in a moment. However, in contrast, there are those who put on airs or adorn themselves with all manners of masks and game faces as they promenade through life's social gaieties pretending to be what they are not... and perhaps desperately hoping that people will not see through their veils and just accept them as they want to be seen. With these types, 'the masks', it's kind of hard to see on whom the bigger mind game is played. Regardless, eventually disappointment rains down on all involved, leaving a partly clouded hue of resentment on both ends of the relationship. After the damage is done, they're famous for their parting words "who do you think I am?"

What of the 'open book' types? Well, you can take them or leave them without psyche splitting repercussions, be they sinners or saints, bleeding hearts or empaths, clown or intellectuals, wallflowers or slackers. You can deal with them on your own terms and not feel the mental stress of needing to keep score. In the best of them are found truly beautiful people who exhibit openness and honesty, and a genuine lightness of being. They may leave you with a smile, or a feeling of warmth. In the worst of them are found a 'laissez-faire' attitude; the 'devil may care', but you most certainly will not because all contracts are not binding.

As for me, I like to believe I'm an open book, even though I think too much. I hate mind games because I've played them on myself for so long and I've learned that life is hard enough without the added mental stress. I don't feign airs, but I can see through most foggy mists. Still, I'm mostly harmless; I don't usually have ulterior motives, and if I do, you generally should be flattered, rather than nervous. I espouse 'unconditional love' and strive to live and let live. Nevertheless, I must confess, I seem to unintentionally unnerve the unnerved, and enervate the zealots and proselytizers who seek to remake me in their image.

Yes, it's unfortunate that many people, especially the masks, want me to be something other than who I am. And, I'm happy with who I am, even if that means being misunderstood or disappointing others who are more interested in all things other than my happiness. Does that make sense? If not, let me explain it this way: I'm not a nudist. I'm happy if I've made you smile. I'm equally happy if I've pissed you off.

PS. Thanks for reading. Are you concerned by how you appear to others, or is that just how you really look? Let me know. By the way, if you are thoughtful enough to wonder how people take you, you obviously are OK in my book. :)

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