Declaration of Independence of the Imagination and Man's Right to Madness

This really threw me, the chick is right.  She was only asking a question, but for some reason it hit me like a sack o' fudging potaters to the dome piece.

I want to write, I enjoy writing, I would love to be published, and I enjoy knowing people actually read my nonsense.  I have just stopped writing, as-of-late, cause I am either fried after work and so bored that I wait for 9 o'clock to roll around so I can go to sleep with out feeling like an utter loser, or I believe my thought process has been lame/stupid/trite/glib/bullshit.  I keep finding myself wanting to write, but as soon as I sit down to write, I think that my topic is trite.

Going back and rereading past entries, I realize that I enjoy entries that are more whimsical and less, obviously trying to be, poignant (by-the-by, had a little trouble spelling that word, so I double-checked the spelling, but check out the definition, aren't the first and second entries completely different than one another?!) are more enjoyable to read.  And honestly, why am I trying to craft a master-fucking-piece on the interwebs?  What happen to having fun with it?

So...

I turn around one day and I have become Jack, no mas Tyler Durden, mucho Jack's hierve el odio de todo lo que se han convertido en.  

It bothers me, but only insofar as that I am upset that I have more-or-less forsaken these beliefs that I swore were going to last forever.  Now I find myself trying, passively, to sign-up for an Ikea newsletter.  I have asked myself as-of-late, "what shirt defines me?"  I find myself getting sucked into this cultural obsession with buying, "what couch defines me as a person", if you will. 

It's not that I am even bothered with the feeling that I need to own stuff.  If nothing else, I have become quite minimalistic since I left Newburgh, and even more so since I left 'Cuse.  I can literally pack up my shit into two bags, besides my computer.  I can move with one trip from an suvee.  I am more bothered by the idea that I made these outlandish claims when I was younger.

I have suddenly realized I want nice things.  I want a nice suit, a nice couch, a nice tv (arguably, maybe just to play some wideo gamage), I want to walk into a room and not become very aware that I am in a bleach stained comic book t-shirt, and there is honestly nothing wrong with that.  

I have just become aware that I am not happy with how I present myself to the world, and you know what?  End of the day, you all are judgmental fucks that base you opinion solely on the fact that my t-shirt is faded or my sneaks are dirty!  So what do I do?  Conform to the system. 

Who am I rebelling against?  No one.  Society deems something one way and I can either go against the grain and garner people's comments or disdain, or I can hit up a Target (still have a staunch 20 dollar pants limit), hit up a salvo (Salvation army/Thrift Store, I had no clue what the fuck a salvo was so I got your back...yo!), and then I don't have to hear shit.  Yea, I might have bad taste in clothes, but I don't want to catch mummers about my "Green Lantern" T-shirt.

I think that is the crux of my entire entry; somehow, despite, fundamentally changing my belief structure to the complete opposite of what it was 5 years ago, I feel that I have actually gotten close to what I actually believe.  I notice it more and more, people are enthralled by me.  People actually listen to me, and by virtue of being who I always have been, I win them over.  I am attracting more flies with honey then with vinegar.  

I am very different then the "norm" but I get that I am.  I grasp that I do not have the same ideals and goals as the majority of people, but I am trying to work within the system to show people how stupid it is.  Clothes, money, cars, women, sex, power, do any of these actually make you happy?  No.  I know it, you know it, we all know it.  And whereby me displaying my flippancy to people, especially when I am wearing a nice button down Polo shirt, a pair of newish clean pants, my facial hair trimmed up scruffy but still "neat", my hair done even slightly, and perfumed, I have this image that I am "one-of-you", which makes me approachable, but then I spout ideas that are completely contrary to what they believe.  I am finally starting to see the pay off. 

I hear people repeat things that I said to me, why?!  Because it is actually sinking in.  I am fighting the system even better from the inside than I could from the outside.  There is no problem with that.  As long as I keep my ideals intact and remind myself that normalcy is a slipstream to death, I can survive and be happy with myself within "their" world. 

...am I becoming the warrior monk again?  ...completely without my knowledge?

EPIC!

I picked up some Nietzsche recently; it did not occur to me that I had already read this book.  It is apparently a compilation of two works, “Birth of Tragedy” and “The Case of Wagner”, I had read “Birth of...” years ago but the name being slightly different threw me off.

Now I know every piece Nietzsche has ever written (he’s like a heroin addiction I hate but can’t quit), I can recite the titles by memory, I haven’t read them all, but I have read a fair amount of them.  Why then did simply adding another essay he wrote to the title get me confused?  A girl.

 

Let me paint the scene; I am at a used bookstore slash comic shop, that is frequented by two types 1) old women looking for cheap romance novels (the romance section is jaw dropping, literally thousands upon thousands of titles) and 2) nerdy white dudes looking for a fix (star wars novels in abundance, a section dedicated to ufo’s and a section for paranormal, not to mention standards, horror, sci-fi, blah, and a massive fuck off collection of comics.  If you are a dork, they got it.).  Suffice to say, when I am in this store I can allow myself to be a complete dork marveling at first edition Orwell’s or drooling over a hardbound copy of Hesse’s “Siddhartha”.  This whole store is a safe haven for trying to act above this type of behavior.

 

With purpose I beeline it for the philosophy section (painfully smaller than even the most fringe of paranormal sub-genres, but a philosophy section nevertheless.), I whip the corner and BAM!  Cute chick; long dark hair, tight form fitting shirt, short shorts barely covering a delicious ass that taper into long smooth flawless legs.  “Fuck”.  In the real world I would be able to keep my composure, she was cute, but not drop dead gorgeous.  Normally.

 

Here in the land of Dork, I had reverted to my primal nerd.  I was in no way prepared to confront a cute girl, especially not in the philosophy section.  The philosophy section is any bookstore, ever, has been the one place that no matter how full the store was, I am allowed to be completely alone.  I never have to move around some one, and now I turn a corner and there is a smoking hottie.  I freak, I suddenly feel like I am a poser and only came into this section to rub up on her, her reaction mirrored my fears and she shuffled away.

 

I am completely flustered and have no clue what to do, I didn’t necessarily want any philosophy, just came to check the selection.  Immediately I feel obligated to buy a book to prove to her I wasn’t stalking her.  I scan the titles not really registering anything, “Nietzsche”, the petrified 11 year old boy I had become recognized the name and grabbed the first title as I fled the scene like I had just murdered a hooker and needed to disappear.

 

In my shame a slink around the store dodging her as best I can, I get to the counter and slam my books down.  I spark a conversation with the 500 pound man in a rolly chair that is “running register”, this sheepish kid is intently trying to get the guys attention that is wrapped up in a conversation with me and has his back to this kid.  He dances from foot-to-foot trying to find a moment to interject; I feel I am utterly more important than he is so every time I see him about to interject I say something else leaving him gaping like a fish on the shore.

 

I am completely disinterested in the conversation I am having, but deriving immense pleasure in needling this dork so I continue on this course.  Sure enough, just to remind me that God does exist (and probably doesn’t like me much), the cute girl slides up next to him and embraces him.  Too stunned to continue in my tactic the kid finally gets the guy’s attention.  “Can you cut me a break if I buy the whole first run of the “Star Wars Comics”?”  Fuck me running.  Not only does he have a cute girlfriend, he is less attractive then I am, extremely more nerdy, and an even bigger pussy then I am.

 

Just can’t win some days.

<input ... >

5 page journal entry that i fucked up trying to lj cut it so that it wasn't a massive block of text on your screen.  ...so...that was a monumental waste of my time

In reference to an LJ buddy, this is my comment I left him, original entry can be found HERE!


i'm sorry, i didn't read the entire entry, i read the first few paragraphs and felt overcome to address you, and than skimmed the rest.  a thousand apologies laid at your feet.

but;

as Christians, we are not necessarily bound by the pact of the Old Covenant; in theory Christ released us from the shackles of the Jewish Covenant. 

I personally do try to make saturdays my day of rest, my day of "leisure" (or date night, depending on my social standings at the time), i do not think it is wrong, in this modern world, for us to not adhere completely to the idiom of the Sabbath.

especially in your case; although your gnostic leanings often put me at odds with your thought process i still commend you for your, almost, fanatical fervor for Christian ideology. 

Christ, though, left us (Christians) with two Commandments that encompass, and surpass, the original 10 (arguably 9, unless you count the, i believe, three that he[Moses] destroyed in rage) in their simplicity and poetry, i.e.: "Do onto others as you would have done onto yourself", and "love no god before the One True God" (“Teacher, which is the most important commandment in the law of Moses?”  Jesus replied, “‘You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. A second is equally important: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ The entire law and all the demands of the prophets are based on these two commandments.” (Matthew 22:36-40)  scriptural reference cause i am an alcoholic moron that has a VERY limited command of the Bible.).

this is the core of my faith and my "religion", all else is forgiven and mutable.  Sabbaths and Communion and Gospels and Churches all take a second seat to the beauty that we all (humanity) most love each other and be consumed with God.  you, sir, are consumed by God and should never fear any reproach for entertaining work on the Sabbath, but also remember that other's mightn't have the ability to close up shop cause it's saturday, and you should respect them and love them because they are toiling away on God's day.

Some of us have the luxury, in this modern world, to be consumed by God, most of us can only entertain the notion of God like we would any hobby or interest, and then some of us cannot be bothered; they should all be loved, all be rejoiced in, and all should be prayed for to find the "truth" behind all their endeavors.

AND!

i haven't updated in a while, so i hope you don't mind, but i just wrote a lengthy, semi-coherent, comment that can have implications beyond your original entry, ergo, i am gonna steal the shit out of this and post it to my lj!  HAhaaaaaaaaaaa!

I have been having this massive back and forth with myself the last few days on whether i should give up on Livejournal or not.  The crux: I love to write and want people to read my bullshit.  I am just not generating a good enough foot traffic through my lj and I only have four friends that update with any regularity.  I have seriously debated jumping ship.

I will say this now to the few of you that actually read my posts: I refuse to leave Livejournal!

I might slack off even more with the updating, and especially the commenting.  But you know what?

Fuck, I have too many years of chronology to just give up on this bullshit.

I will break one promise I have made before; this will become more of my day to day bullshit life that no one cares about.

I will try to keep this as more experimental writings and more philosophical meanderings, with an amount of bullshit when I want to write, but I will try to save my more humorous rants for "mitigated accomplishments".  So please, if you like something I wrote, you think it is bad, you think I should stop writing, please.  Let me know.  This is going to become my more "serious" journal, it is replacing my physical journal, despite not being penned by my own physical hand, it still has a very personal feel to it.

So either you love this, hate this, or are completely indifferent.  I don't fucking care.

Unfortunately, I am having the "big" conversation with one of my favorite girl friends.  She says we don't talk seriously, so of course I go right to God (can't get bigger, eh?).  She proceeds to tell me that she "believes in science".  Automatically, auto-fucking-matically I have the response that most have to rancid meat.  It is visceral, it is physical, it is automatic; the whole conversation plays in my head and it ends up with her angry at me for making her feel stupid and her looking stupid.

I try to be nice.  I try to not get into it.  Hark back to my masturbation schedule and drinking habits.  No.  She at first won't let it go.

She makes a few comments that actually make me feel like she is talking down to me.  I dodge the bullet.  I get her to stop talking about it, but for the next few days I walk around thinking about how much a cunt she is.

"Why is your belief in science anymore valid then my belief in God?"
"Can you prove any of the science you claim to believe in?"
"Does quantum mechanics make any fucking sense?!"

These people sit around in this pretentious air, self bloated, with this idea "I believe in science".  But do you actually believe in science or merely regurgitate what you have heard from news sources and people you thought to be more intelligent?

And what the fuck does that even mean?!  "I believe in science"?  Like oh, suddenly a friend of multiple years that has deftly avoid this topic suddenly doesn't understand gravity?  Oh, I believe in God so obviously I can't understand that light is energy and also matter moving in a string, as well as(!), a wave?!  what the fuck?!  I just can't accept the fossil record proving some type of evolution?!  tell me where I am faltering.

depression cycle ending, hyper cycle starting!

i am being goofy and extroverted, i want to talk to people, i want to entertain whimsy and dance in the rain.

oh, the joy of neurosis!

latest and greatest idea: http://mitigatedaccomplishments.blogspot.com/

Making a real blog where I make fun of the internet culture and specific internet type peoples...fun fun.

This filthy window I have

Only let’s in the sickest light

The laziest of sunbeams

Trickles in like frothing bile

Out of a diseased mouth,

Falling on my cold body

Is it the light, or jaundice?

I can’t tell any more.

The mangled trees leave

An aching void inside me.

Barren branches clacking

Against the violent winds.

Merely motion no thought.

A need to move and be moved,

The decaying tree means more

Then my infantile lifestyle.

Beset by this clogged window

Twiddling my fingers, passing

Time until I am released.

I vomit on myself and window,

The stomach lining and blood

Add much needed color to the scene.

A violent vibrancy sponsoring

A bought of ill-advised anger.

Smashing the chair, collapsing

The wall in the process.

Strangle the cat that doesn’t

Even love me after all I’ve done.

Another bought of retching

Brings me up short.

Looking out over a wasteland

Skewed sickly brown and yellow

Through this miserable window,

My stomach trying to escape

It’s captivity from within me.

Blood let loose from palms

Cut by the walls craftsmanship,

Rivulets cascading parallel to me.

The tree waving to some friend

In the distance unseen to my eye.

Flashes of anger dance

On my mind’s eye, hatred, rage

Blood, death, life, waste, nothing!

A couple hits of speed and a paint brush make me oddly happy and satisfied.

Doing a quick paint job for my boss has a cathartic effect on me, releasing more tension then maybe it should.  Helping realign my perspective back to my minimalistic, stress-free, monastic life style...

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/29017808/

This is a brave new world...

1. I hate when people fill out bios on superfluous websites.  I don't need to know you are single on Singlesnet.com, I don't care that your facebook list all the minutia of your life, fuck myspace.
2. I hate when people start out said bios with, "I don't know what to say...", if you don't know what to say, abstain.  It is better to look like a fool then to open your mouth and prove it.
3. I hate when they end with "...if you want to know just ask.".  No fucking shit, thanks for the heads up that you are obviously looking to communicate with other people through today's sock puppet.
4. I hate when they use tween speak inside of said bios.  Don't, just don't.
5. I hate when people tag photos with "I look so ugly in this." You don't think you do, or you wouldn't have posted it to the fucking internet.
6. I hate tween speak in general, I hate that my spell check knows what tween fucking speak is.  I hate that it has wouldn't underlined but not fucking tween.
7. I hate when people define themselves as "into everything".  No you aren't.  Shut up.  Stop lying.
8. I hate it when the person's picture shows them as obviously as overweight but their activities include a whole plethora of sports and "working-out".  Liar.
9. I hate when chicks think they are being clever by taking pictures that obscure their body.  Sweetie, we don't need to see your body to get that you are fat, we automatically assume you are a whale because you are hiding the fact.
10. I hate when people have pictures of their animals as their profile picture.
11. Or when they tell me I "must love" animals to talk to them.  No I don't.  Fuck you.
12. Fuck tween speak in general.  Do not sully my language because you are too fucking lazy to type two extra letters.
13. Fuck emoticons.
14. Stop with the surveys.  Just stop.  It was bad enough when I got the stupid emails on AOL, now it is just annoying that I have to check my email to find out that I have a message on a website that I have to log-in to to find out that you want to know my five favorite foods.  You don't want to know, you don't care, and I don't care.
15. I hate when people leave overly complex away messages.
16. Or when they leave instructions for me to call their cell phone.  I don't want to call your cell, if I wanted to speak to you I would have...wait on it...called your fucking phone!
17. I hate when people are constantly changing their status on websites.  I don't need minute to minute updates on how your day is going.  I don't care that you are in class, or cold, or hungry, or tired.  Fuck yourself.
18. It is the letter P, it is not a tongue sticking out, it is a P.  It doesn't denote that you are being funny or sardonic, it's a fucking P.
19. I hate it when people think they are being cute, or clever, and write in lower case, upper case, lower case, et cetra.  That is so ASCII/BBS old school.
20. Seriously.  Fuck emoticons.
21. Just because it is a text message, or an instant message, or an e-mail (especially e-mail), using some fucking grammar.
22. I get that your myspace/facebook profile defines you as a person, I get it, I don't need to spend fifteen minutes loading your profile cause you need to have an animated-dancing, pink, teddy-bear background, and 47 pictures of what type of fairy you are, or if you were a animal what type you would be, or whatever other idiotic survey you took that repersents you at very deep personal level.  My bandwith is important to me!
23. Why do you have an overabundance of pictures from some party you were at were you aren't even in the majority of them?
24. You do not have multiple hundreds of friends.  I know you don't, you know (at some base level) you don't, other people know you don't.  It's one thing to try and meet new people it is a completely different story when you needlessly exaggerate your popularity by friending anyone and everyone that has ever agrigated in your "similar fields".
25. Your font style does not define you!
26. Fuck "lol".  You are not laughing, no one has ever laughed and "lol-ed".  Stop.
27. Why is it not cool to ask a chick friend what they are wearing via text message?
28. I hate when people talk about their online profiles in the real world.  Please stop hinting that you want me to friend you in a casual conversation, do not tell me that you updated your default picture, or changed some minute detail on your page.
29. No, seriously, fuck tween speak.
30. Check out my facebook at Josh Bandersnatch.  AnD CoMmEnT oN My EnTrY! ;-P!!!!! TaTiLy NeW pIcS 4 u 2 c!!!!

"i am queen mab
queen of the faries and  wood nymphs"

"that is cool how are the woods?"

"how should i know?!
it is merely a subprovince of mine!
should i slum it in all the provinces under my rule!?"
should i inquire as to the ogres and imps
that lease land in my western caves!?
next you will say that i should check the condition
of jub jub birds nest"

"apparently if was all a farce to him makes it even more stupid"*

"i love things that are deemed farces
if we all thought of life as farcical life would be so much more pleasant"

"just a frightened little kid inside."

"why do people always need to validate relationships?
why is closer always tied off with a bow of knowing the other person
was annoyed and molested by your behaviour?
especially in a romantic sense, when two lovers first meet
they are full of whimsy and gaiety
cut to the end and their lips drip poison for the other?
but see the poison drips far and wide, drips from ear to lip to ear...
it is a spreading disease of corruption
we choose to remember our own lives,
we weave a tapestry through the prism of mentality
and to conjecture as to my meanderings is a slippery slope
for one who might not know who this is
albeit those closest to me still fall
into error when trying to define my thoughts

the taste of venom wells upon the lips and mouth
reminding me of the visage you once potrayed
it seeps through my veins into my core,
pulsing with the beat of my heart
bringing back the frothing rage that compliments my new attire"

"that is the big difference between you and i"

"i would peg down our major difference more in the anatomy department
and the whole royalty thing"

"what?
what the fuck does that mean?"

"i am the queen mab
lord of the fairies and wood nymphs"

"and i?"

"what would humpty dumpty say about your airs?
he told me that i was the most regal royal he has laid eyes on upon that fine day

"well why are you being mean to me?"

"perception of events
i believe i am being whimsical and speaking in prose
you perceive aggression

"your saying your the king and i am plain
like plain is a bad thing to be"

"queen!
i am queen mab
lord of the fairies and wood nyphms
you might think about usurping a thrown and seizing a title
whilst i was born into my noble lineage you will find the nobles
are not very picky about the aquisition of titles

"wanna get married?"

"some day
to a good strong squirrel
with spider web wings and emerald eyes"

"too bad my eyes are blue"

"ah, one day i shall pluck out my king's noble eyes
and sell them to fill the larders during a particularly tough winter
but dare to dream has always been my mother's advice
the suns hath set and the night's chill is upon my naked form,
and then the question that haunts my dreams arises
yet again to the fore of my mind:
are we done playing my game already?
if only to find a participant with similar stamina,
poor old humpty can out spin me,
the grumpy old devil is not to my par any longer"

that was kind of a transcript from a instant message conversation, i cleaned it up a hair...i don't know i like some of the phrases in it...kind of poetry, i guess.

I feel like a rapist, merely lacking in intent. 

Prowling the streets at night, I exude an aura of evil, it is merely a self-defense mechanism that might be overly developed.  It keeps the riff-raff away,  I see how women respond to my downward turned glance, inflated chest, furrowed brow, and clenched fist.  Randomly cackling at some unheard joke and making faces to amuse myself complete the look of a deranged sociopath on the hunt for his next victim.

...this could all be in my head though.

I can see guys exerting typical alpha male behavior when I encroach upon them and their mate.  Everything about their mannerisms screams fear.

Related note:

The itty-bitty pieces of material slug tightly across perky nubile feminine flesh remind me that I am in fact not gay.  Watching a trio of early twenties-late teenagers lather lotion, adjust bikinis, tee-hee, and giggle at each other, noting the wonderful curves each process or how something so innocuous as attempting to remove a smudge from a mound of boob-meat can drive me fucking nuts.  I can't help but keep glancing over, keep looking at each individually delectable body part in turn.  Ugh, drives me fucking wild.  Then just like every other good dream, the alarm clock sounds crashing the illusion. 

My headphones fall silent for all of two seconds and her piercing shriek "stay away from me you fucking one legged bird!" cuts over the din of the beach revelers.  Just like that I find myself wishing I was gay.

You could just hear it in her voice that she was trying to get attention, they all are.  These innocuous actions aren’t, they are meticulously planned and staged actions for the direct outcome of drawing attention, of having guys look at them.  The entire idea of the bikini is merely another modality of the same latent expression, i.e. “look at me!”

Not to mention that you are on a public fucking beach!  There are kids and mothers and foreigners and teachers and priest and grandmothers and every other type of person milling around that you do not piercingly scream the fucking f-word.  It’s just tasteless.

If have figured out the perfect way to not eat!  Only buy black beans, undercook them in the Crockpot, and add bacos!  It is such a bland flavor and ill textured food source you will constantly ask yourself if you are hungry enough to actually eat the shit.

What else.

Oh, Obama.  Does anyone else have this deep fear that he is “the black president”?  I keep hearing how much he is going to change shit-he’s black, how Martin Luther King’s dream came true-he’s black, he’s going to shake stuff up-he’s black, he’s for the average man-he’s black!  Blah, blah, blah.

Why is no one talking about how he stuttered taking the oath for office?  Why does no one see that he is still a Politian, still bred for success and raised up in luxury?

I am afraid that white guilt is going to make excuses for anything this guy does or that America will expect less then because he is black.  It’s a disservice to the President.  He is the President first black second.  He isn’t the embodiment of King’s ideal, the American people are, although I have suspicions that people voted for him because he was black not for his politics; king’s dream was to live in harmony, all people of all colors, Every American that voted Obama encapsulates King’s dream.

I voted McCain…can’t always pick the winners I guess.

What an affront to this political figure though.  I keep hearing comments about how he is going to fix things, even though, upon questioning, the person has no tangible reason for this belief outside of the fact that he himself is different.  And is he really that different?

Are political figureheads ever really that different?  They all come from money, and money begets money, they are sent to private schools and sheltered away from the lower classes.  They are groomed to go to the right schools and join the right clubs.  Politicians are made not born.

He will hopefully get the rest of the world off our nut sack for four years.  It is slightly amazing that parties were happening in London watching his speech live.  That’s good for foreign affairs, and I know so many people voted him into office based on his foreign policy, not because he said he was going to pull out of Iraq and tax refunds.

Which if anyone is reading the papers, the earliest we can pull out is 2010, the Iraqi government doesn’t want us to leave until the situation is stabilized, they merely want large control of American military operations.  And wasn’t Bush ridiculed for offering to fix the economy with a tax refund check?  Why is Obama’s plan less ridiculous?  Oh, wait, that’s right because he’s black.

I don’t even know what I am saying, political rant turned into axe grinding.

I wrote the most offensive statement I have ever thought-up, I give you…The Insult:

“Just cause your daddy only told you he loved you when you were wiping his cum off you face...(insert appropriate action)”

A dear friend of mine forced me to stop whining about having writer's block, and I quote, "just write something", she needs so desperately for me to offer up my unique brand of rambling soliloquy which sponsored me into procuring a twelve pack, sparking a cigarette, and vomiting my latest moronism onto the keyboard.

Here I am, knock, knock, knocking on the door of 26 years old.  Supposedly I am part of this magical demographic of 18-35 year old men with a disposable income and filled with a deep technolust that sponsors us onto buy every new doodad and gadget that will make our lives easier, while simultaneously bequeathing copious amounts of top notch puss onto us.

I say mythical because I barely make it from pay check to pay check.  I have had to ask for an advance on "next week's pay" every week for three weeks now.  After the necessities, shelter, beer, cigarettes, and porn, I don't have enough left over to get anything but Raman and knock-off brand Spam (more like actually being ecited to round up a buck to get the knock-off brand Spam).

Even if I trim off the silly things like shelter and porn, where am I supposed to get this magical income that allows me to buy all this crap?  How am I supposed to get laid if I can't get the new iWhatever?

Yes, this thought did occur to me while I was eating a 15 dollar plate of Ribs at a dive diner, looking at apartments on my brand-new slider phone.  Taking virtual tours of condos on the beach of this affluent county I live in over my 3G network while wolfing down a ridiculously overpriced meal.  And, yes, I am writing this on my brand-spanking-new computer with a massive 20 odd inch screen, more memory then I can masturbate to in a year, and more ram then I can lag down.  ...I might also be listening to my new mp3 player...

These were not purchases though, merely clever marketing and happenstance.  I noticed this when I was sitting on the beach the other day, halfheartedly doing a crossword, the waves crashing softly, the vibrant sand, the sun over my shoulder, the clear blue water hypnotically moving in...and then out...in...and then out...in...you get the point.  While enjoying all this serenity, all I could think about was how bad I wanted a Corona.  Fucking marketing.

Am I actually part of this demographic or am I just a poser pretending to be in this demographic?  I don't personally think any body in my age bracket is truly in this demographic but we have been very subtly told that we are supposed to be this group that can get these inane items that will solve our problems and fix our lives, ergo we do whatever it takes to get said items.

Basically, I am still a ten year old boy, Christmas is around the corner, and I am going to do whatever I need to to get that Sega Genesis, I am not going to get a paper route and save every dollar I can to get it.  I am going to beg my parents, I am going to get my parents to give me lunch money for the month upfront and buy it and then not eat.

Is that what they mean about a "disposable income"?  Is it merely that I would rather mis-budget my income, or call in favors to get the newest and best thing just so I have the latest and greatest for a few minutes?

Who knows.  I am going to go watch porn on my cellphone just because I can and you can't!

I still don't have a cell phone, still no access to a computer except at work and I am too busy to update, apparently I am getting a promotion and a raise with a computer tacked on, so I will be updating soon, and playing warcraft 3...AT with the Twins and Spam Boy will be epic.

Thanksgiving... oh thanksgiving.  The beginning of the holiday months, the beginning of family, and food, and drama, and drinking, and annoyance, and family, and family, and family...

Bah.

I am completely incommunicato, completely.

It is scary, not having a cellphone, or, moreover, not having anyone's phone numbers drives me further into the reclusive arena.  If you ever want to talk to me, friend or random livejournal friend even, go to omitted you can talk to me on the livechat, or you can call customer support, fifty fifty shot you get me.  ...Buy some body jewelry too, we have some nice earrings, let me know I know you and I will get you the hook up.

Florida is amazing, the beach and weather have swayed me to the dark side.  I got a place literally 20 feet from the beach.  It is overpriced and underfurnished, it is one bed, a minifridge, a tv...that's it...floor to ceiling mirrors though, which my ego simply adores, for the monthly cost of 800 dollars.  It is maybe 8 by 10, that might be bigger then it is.  But the veiw, the veiw makes the room worth it, right over the beach, swathed in natural sunlight at seven am waking me from my slumber.

I am going to get a computer soon, until then getting in touch with me is hard.  Goto omitted.  I love the site, love the job, I am rapidly taking over the office, getting creative input on the site and business model.  The first job I had that feel like it could be a career.

Hawaii in 2013!

Culture shock:

Is it October and eight hundred fucking degrees outside?  And humid?  What the fuck?!

this is obviously not New York.

I am in Florida.  ...With my sister...

I got in today around 5 a.m. and have been running hard ever since.  Her and I have been bleary-eyed talking about the past, we have established ground rules, we have hung out all day, we went shopping, she listened and asked my opinion, she bought me lunch, she bought me cigarettes, she bought me a big ass bottle of wine, she has treated me like a man... no good will come from this.

Have her and I matured?  

Have we grown enough as people that the seven year age difference, the thought that she raised me, the psychological abuse she waged out on to me, the horrible things she did to me as a child, have diminished? 

I don't know...

I have missed my sister.

I really have.

I forget that I love my family, they come second to me (God gets first slot, then them, and believe it or not, I get third billing on my own playlist).  No matter what I am going through one of my immediate family will take care of me, they get it.  

I am lost.

I am a drift at sea looking for a safe harbor.

I abhor calling in their help, abhor it.  Mainly due to the fact that they don't even seem to notice.

Kelly took me out for a day, showed me around the new city and allowed me to sway her opinion on all sorts of things, from where she was going to buy me lunch, to what kind of coffee pot she was going to buy me, to even what kind of toaster oven she'd get and where she'd put it.

And the most beautiful and (genetically) binding statement she could ever make:
(Scene: Her standing in line to buy me a carton of cigarettes)Her: Do you want a twelve pack or something?
Me: (Shifty-eyed) Not really.
Her: If you fucking want it go get it now (and then she literally quotes me without ever knowing these words have been formed in my mind let alone escaped my mouth), the honey-moon period is ending tomorrow!

She screams after as I go get a big, big, bottle of wine.  ...I am drunk.

I genuinely miss Syracuse, I really do.  I miss "my house", I miss macs, I miss the Twin, I miss my (suddenly and very deep) friends, I didn't say bye to Tara, or Ben, or a whole slew of people, and I miss Sab's, and 12 brothers, and Mo, and all the other minute details that I never really noticed I loved about Syracuse.

Yes, I want to go back there right now, and if I had the money I would crawl back with my tail between my legs, I won;t.  And I wouldn't even if I had the money, I am just being a drunk romantic.  Yes, shit between Kelly and I will degrade, we will fight, well will argue, we will hate each other; and you know what, I can actually be myself around her.

I have at most four people I can be myself infront of (Kelly, Brooke, Mom, Greg...Dad...not so much...).  It is weird... they have always tried to make me strive for better while still allowing me to be an utter fuckup.  They won't admit it readily, but I am, and always will be, their baby brother, and I need protection.  Some dark anscetral manly part of me that I have long since forgotten stirs in me and wants me to exert the kind of man I am becoming; I want to show them that, "no, I have not grown like you wanted me to, yes, I read comics and play video games.  Yes, tomorrow I am going to try to get a job at the very local comic shop; but yes, I can keep a house, I can find a bargain, I can keep clean, I have grown up, I have just grown up and away from you guys."

I feel as though this might actually bring the family closer together; Brooke and Kelly are best friends, I didn't even know that my one sister got pretty all over again.  I didn't know that my other sister was getting the shit kicked out of her by some scum fuck that I will hurt whence I see him (pascifism be damned, I will not let some fucking cock suck hit my sister, especially enlight of it happening enough that she thought I already kew... throat slitish!).  I havebeen, maybe, allowing myself to be out of the loop, but I stand by it, I have always been chasing after them.

I still bought both of 'em the last round of birthday presents three years ago, the last birthday presnt I remember was from Brooke on my 17 birthday (eight years ago) when she got me a pack of cookies and watched half a movie (she didn't want to watch but I did).  Kelly...I don'r know if she ever bought me an actual birthday gift.

My newphew is hyper...super hyper...like I was...super like I was...

I don't think I can handle it....

I am doing good though.  I am.  Very good day.

Tomorrow I will update all about how harrowing my adventure down her was.

It's Monday, around 3 o'clock in the afternoon, I just odered a rum and coke.  This is the first time I have ever drank in the afternoon, well except weddings and the occassional birthday party.  This is the first time I have ever consciously gone to a bar by myself in the middle of the afternoon.  Technically this isn't a bar, technically it is a strip club.  Another first, besides my eighteenth birthday and my friend's bachleor party.

I don't really know what I am supposed to be doing. 

I am staring straight ahead at the bar fidgeting with my drink, but the giant mirrior reflects back a girl on a pole trying her best to get a few bucks out of the other five or six guys in here with me.  The darkened lights and horrible 90's rock have a dizzying effect on me.  If I weren't checking my watch as if I actually had an appointment to be somewhere, I wouldn't have any clue if I had been here an hour or a year.

The song changes.  I try not to notice the girl slinking off the stage collecting her few articles of clothing and a few dollars, but the mirrior catches everything.

I am going to leave after this drink, I promise.

A slower song starts to play, the lights dim even more.  The disheartened DJ says something uninteligible over the P.A. system and then she comes out.  I see her reversed in this mirrior, but I am transfixed.  I turn around on my bar stool to actualy look at this girl.  She is a vision.  She is perfection.  I am in love.

I am not the first guy to fall in love with a stripper, heh, that's how they pay thier rent I would assume.  And, honestly, what am I but completely average?  I am Average height, average weight and build, light brown hair cut to a respectable medium length, brown eyes, I am Christian, and middle management with limited advancement oppurtunities.  Heck, I was even a B student in college.  I am the way these girls pay their rent.

Grabbing my drink I float over to the stage with my feet never touching the ground and my eyes never leaving her's.  I somehow end up in a chair stairing up at her.  Every step bringing her closer and making her even more perfect and flawless.  The song plays for an eternity while she spins and gyrates.  I absorb every nuance, soak up every inch of her body, I forget to actually give her money.

The song ends and she glides off stage.  Cursing myself I return to the bar, finishing my rum and coke, which was mainly coke, in one swallow.  I slam the glass down, "One more...make it a double."  I felt so masculine, those words had never left my mouth.  I didn't even really know what it means.  Is it two drinks?  Like a big glass of soda with two shots of rum?  Is it two shots of rum with less soda?  I didn't know. 

When the bartender returns with my drink I ask him who that last girl was and when she'd be back on.
"Candy.  There's three girls on, one song, one girl, do the math."  He responed in a very dry rehersed fashion.

I become giddy, a wave of butterflies whells in my stomach.  Two songs to go, and the girl that was on was already well in to her retuine, well I assume she was, she was almost complete naked so there couldn't be much more left.  

I hardly realize that I am gulping down my drink, trying to figure out how long an average rock song from '94 was.

I finish my drink before the girl finishes her dance.  I turn around almost out of disgust, why would any one want to watch her when Candy was coming back on.  I don't notice the bartender refill my drink because I am lost in thought trying to figure out if that is her real name or a stage name.  Luckily I left the remainder of my twenty on the bar.

Out of the corner of my mind I hear the song wrapping up.  I scramble back to the stage as the girl is collecting her tips and clothes.  I try to find the same seat I was in and get settled before Candy comes out, I try to act as though I was calm and collected.  I don't think I did a very good job.

Then she comes out.  Even more gorgeous then when she left last.  She was wearing this blue mini skirt combo thing, the blue perfectly complimented her eyes and tanned slightly olive tinted skin.  I stare up at her the way Neolithic man stared at the first eclipse, I watch her the way the childen watched the Virgin Mary in Fatima.  This is the closes thing to a religous experience I have every had. 

Through the haze of bliss I fumble out a bill.  I reach up to han it to her and she pushes her knee toward my facing, arching her heel, and nodding toward a garter belt.  I freeze.  Blank.  Don't know what to do. 

I am twelve years old again, reaching a fumbling hand out toward Sara Fallenigans breast again, feeling like I should know what to do but can't for the life of me come up with it.  She clasp my hand and guides the bill into her garter, my heart races, and, embaressingly, my mouth waters as the electricity arcs between her hands and mine.  Then the added bonus of touching the smoothest most supple thigh I have ever touched.  She smiles at me and sinks onto her knees infront of me.  Getting down on all fours she shimmys to my ear and breathes into me "Want a private dance, go talk to Butchy."  She motions toward the DJ.  "My name is Candy."

In a flash she is off the stage.  I am completely befuddled, I have completely lost motor control, unable to move my head, let alone my body.  I wait a full song before even trying to move my body.  I have to move in stages to get control of my body, so I pause for a moment at the bar with my empty glass.  The bartender, being a real pro, has my glass filled up agian, and then I slowly shuffle toward the DJ booth.

"See something you like buddy?"  The DJ says from behind dark glasses.
"Ca-ca-candy...?"  I sputter.
"Ca-ca-candy?  Yea, she can do that to a guy, can't she?"  He puases, I d't know if I should reply so I just nod, "You're a smooth one man, just grab a seat at the bar, she'll come get you when she is ready."
"Oh ok, ok, ok."  I couldn't stop stuttering.

I am back at the bar, my nerves are shot, and the drinks were starting to kick in.  I could feel my head swirl a little as I tried to do the math on how much alcohol I had been consuming.

"To be continued"

Instructions: Please answer the questions below as directed in each section. You will be marked for grammar, spelling, cleverness, creativity and boob-size. Please keep in mind that while this is not an application for a job, your performance on this test will be a reflection of your ability to achieve certain positions once out in the real world. When the clock strikes the hour, you may begin. You have sixty minutes to complete the test.

Section One: Multiple Choice (Answer All, 5 points)

When submitting answers via email, please copy and paste the question and then your answer selection beside it.

Q1. Six months into our relationship, I go away to a tropical location with my family for a week over Christmas. This vacation was planned as a family event two years prior to meeting you. This is:
a) A great opportunity to get some things done without me around.
b) A great opportunity to attempt to sleep with my college roommate and/or my boss.
c) A sign that you are probably just a casual thing that I could toss aside at any given moment despite the fact I bought you probably the most thoughtful gift you've ever received and written you a letter for every day that I'll be gone, inciting you to 'Go on the Defensive.'
d) Occasion to have a sexy dinner at home the night before I leave, and a mini 'welcome home' party when I get back that’s guest list is just you, me, a bottle of wine and a pack of condoms.

Q2. We've talked every night for eight days (not including the dinner/opera show I took you to on Saturday night that was followed by possibly your worst performance in bed ever, or the Monday night that I came over and we spent the evening making Rachel Ray recipes and watching Heroes followed by the best oral sex I've ever given you), with conversation time averaging about an hour per night. On a Thursday night, when on a deadline, I express a need to get off the phone so I can finish some work and go to bed at a reasonable hour. You:
a) Express your feelings of devotion in three words or less, then and quickly say goodbye after confirming plans for tomorrow night are still on.
b) Say goodbye, but then immediately begin talking about something that we hadn't discussed as thoroughly as is scientifically, legally or religiously possible two nights prior.
c) Take that as a sign that I'm abandoning you, and begin to point out that because of it I have commitment issues, that you're clearly not my priority, and then cry.
d) Say goodbye, but manage to do it with such menace and venom that I stay on the phone for another three silence filled hours, broken only by fits of gentle weeping and suicide threats.

Q3. I'm throwing change at your cleavage, which is readily on display in that loose fitting tank top you wear around my place on Sundays after brunch. Do you:
a) Wing the largest of the coins at my head, with an evil glare and then refuse to speak to me for the rest of the day.
b) Encourage my behavior, and allow me to purchase Afternoon Delights from you at discount prices.
c) Cry.
d) Cry and pick a fight with me, taking my actions as a total lack of respect for you and then begin to point out that because of it I have commitment issues, that you're clearly not my priority, and then cry some more.


Q4. We're having a fight. You:
a) Throw me out of your apartment, then thirty minutes later send 17 texts and attempt to call 13 times in the space of six minutes.
b) Give me space when the discussion gets too heated for rational thought, and redress your complaints in a calm manner when we've both had a chance to cool down.
c) Flip me the bird.
d) Wail on my junk.
e) both c and d
f) realize that the fight is about nothing, and begin creating fictional problems and make wild accusations about my obsession with material goods and having a wandering eye.
g) f, then d, then c.

Q5. I play [video games OR tabletop gaming OR fantasy football]. You:
a) Want to join in, because it looks like hella fun.
b) Leave me to it, in the hopes that I'll leave you a few things to participate in on your own.
c) Attempt to get me to quit, and use tactics like nagging, vandalism and emotional sabotage as an effective campaign against what you call my 'nerdy addiction.'
d) c, but also include deriding me to your friends.

Section Two: True or False (Answer All, 10 points)

When submitting answers via email, please copy and paste the question and then your answer selection beside it.

Q1. Rationale and Reason are the same thing.

Q2. A cheerleader AND/OR schoolgirl outfit is a wardrobe must.

Q3. Talking in your 'cute voice' just before you put my balls in my mouth is sexy.

Q4. Learning body language and communication cues is important.

Q5. 'Anchorman' and 'Superbad' are hilarious movies.

Q6. "But it's cute when I do it" should be a legally viable defense.

Q7. Chest hair is gross.

Q8. Bono is probably the most important political figure of our generation.

Q9. Sex is an important part of a relationship, and should be had frequently, often, whenever possible - within moderation, of course.

Q10. A relationship is metaphorically a two way street. So is your butt.

Section Three: Short Essay. (Answer ONE, 5 points)

Please select one of the following questions and answer it as fully as time will allow. Please try and be as descriptive as possible, and where applicable, come up with at least TWO convincing arguments to support your case. Arguments must be backed up with cited evidence, not anecdotal perspective.


Q1. If I was a crime-fighting vigilante by night, what efforts would you make to support my cause about the rising threat of evil in this city?

Q2. Please come up with a convincing game-plan for having me come shopping with you, keeping in mind my retail oriented attention span is about twelve minutes, and I am prone to wandering after flashing lights and shiny things.

Q3. Please argue why you are (do) or are not (do not): 'Down to Earth', 'Have a sense of humor' and 'Laid back'. Bonus if you can include evidence to confirm that you truly do avoid 'head games.'

Please submit answers via the email link provided. Please also keep a copy of this test and your answers to submit to future suitors for reference. Remember to ensure your name, number and bra size are clearly written at the top of your paper, and don't forget to attach a photo (3/4 length or full).

Losing my grip.  I can feel a psychotic episode brewing inside of my mind.  I am going to lose my tenuous grip on reality; all the trappings, temporal displacement, getting dreams and reality mixed up, experiencing intense deja vu, more vivid intense nightmares, headaches.  Macs said it sounds like a bad acid trip.  I've got maybe a day, two if I bite the bit and meditate a lot.

Whatever though, I knew it was coming.  Could feel it in my bones growing.  Every drink designed to push it down and away further. 

I went to sleep sober the other night and had forgotten how to sleep without just "passing out".  My liver/kidneys/ulcer/head have organized a resistance movement against their master and are raging war against my internal organs.  First they annexed my spleen, then conquered the lungs, I think it is all down hill from here.

Since I know I am going to have an "episode", since it is written in stone, I decided to stop drinking.  I can't push it away any longer, it will win, I will lose.  Sure enough this chick shows up with a bunch of friends and wine and is trying to force me to be social. 

I am updating my livejournal, lazily sipping on a shitty tasting can of Bud (the no longer all American beer), trying to muster up enough energy to go talk with these people and yet keep myself in a demure enough state to enter into a restless night's sleep to awaken at 6 a.m. and try to finish the house we are painting before the rain hits.

I don't want to be here.

Don't want to be out there. 

I wanted a nice quiet night in which I could regroup my scattered consciousness.  To no avail.

But this chick is here, and she most definitely knows that I have a massive crush on her and she has been teasing me relentlessly.  Macs says it's karma, I say he's a douche.  She is buzzing around me trying to get me to come outside and be social, trying badly to get me to talk to her, and desperately trying to read want I am typing.  Life is funny.

Here I am again.

My deadline to leave Syracuse has come and gone (the fifteenth was supposed to be the day).  I don't even know how I am going to leave the state now.  I know I have to at least leave the apartment I am in.  These girls are stressing me out beyond all belief, hence the ulcer.

I am going to go be social.

Next update; a short story.  Promise.

A living room full of people I don't want to hang out with, playing music I don't like too loud.  I want to leave but won't, why you ask, why?  Why would I leave a situation I hate when this chick is here?  Why would I enjoy myself when I can just bask in the glow of her apathy?

So pitiful.  Slipping further into losing self-respect.  Spiraling into a void of discontent.  

I need to get out of Syracuse.  I need to get out of this state.  Start fresh, start new, all over again.

What's the point, my life will just repeat itself over and over again.  I'll just keep falling into this same pattern, this same cycle.  The same people, the same conversations, the same relationships ad nauseam. 

Where am I this time?  What has happened, where have I been?  Have I been awake?  Have I been asleep for the past week?  The Past month?  The past year?  The past decade?

I don't know.

Something needs to change.

I need to change. 

I can close my eyes real tight and pretend the real world doesn't exist; I can keep telling myself I am still just a kid and not yet a man, but every day ticks by driving me closer to this inevitable conclusion that I have to grow-up.

My plans to leave Syracuse are in serious peril; I don't know where to go but have to go.  I can't stay here any longer.  It only gets worse, every day it gets a little worse; tack on the fact that I am drinking pretty much daily just to try to quell my mind.

But then, inevitably, there is a girl.  All the standard bullshit that comes along when you meet a girl, "I feel like a better person, I like thinking about her, I like making her happy, blah blah blah".  The sad story repeats itself again, I don't know if she likes me she doesn't know if I like, things are being misread, things get weird, then they get good, blah blah blah. 

If I were anymore trite I would start vomiting uncontrollably, everywhere.

But I am what I have been for, what, a decade?  Two maybe?  Have I ever really changed.

I am bored, bored with myself.  I just don't know how to entertain myself anymore.  I just want to be alone...well alone with this girl.

What to do what to do what to do?

I can't crash with my sister in Florida and now I don't know what to do.  I don't want to move down there, I was guilt tripped in to it.  But I don't want to stay here.  It does make more sense to stay, but just commit to New York (Get my license back in order, pay my taxes, set up a payment plan with college), all shit I would have to do in any other state but at least here I have a small group of friends. 

I am so stressed about this.  I don't think anyone has caught on.  Haven't noticed me vomiting from the stress.

And then again, there's this girl...

Would I stick around to pursue things with her?  Probably, but what if it doesn't work out, more blah blah blah.

Blood is pouring out of everyone of my openings.  I have been vomiting, mainly, blood and, assumedly, stomach lining for about three hours now.  I have pissed a thick stream of blood twice now and when overwhelmed with a racking cough, blood. 

I won't tell people about this, I'll keep it to myself.  I have decided the lifestyle I lead and have to deal with the consequences of my actions like a man.  Even if I feel like my internal organs are liquefing and trying to escape from any opening they can.

I experienced a rare moment of weakness last night.  An intense desire to not spend the night alone, and an even more intense desire to have sex with someone, anyone.  My sexual appetites have become so malformed though, I feel the need to break the person down, I need an unhealthy amount of degradation before or during the sex lest I am not really entertained by it.  Unless I actually care for the girl, but my ability to care for a member of the opposite sex wanes as the days slip through my fingers.

Even the act of sex doesn't excite me like it used to, which was always subpar in comparison to my male friends.  I knew yesterday that I wanted the sensation of being desired more then the actual act of sex, and an orgasm would have been nice.  Everything in between the beginning and the very end of sex is boring and banal.  Especially during the summer; the thought of a hot sweaty body laying near by me is more then slightly repulsive.

I have to clean the house again, the constant struggle of cleanliness in a household of two single men always feels like a losing battle.  Every morning I wake up to find little piles of debris that him and I have scattered throughout our common areas. 

I am forcing myself to ingest some soup in the hopes that I can put a layer of something over the blood and coffee that currently reside in my stomach. 

Another bout of drug induced insomnia.  Too much speed to go to sleep and now the hour approaches fast that will have me whisked away towards an extension ladder and a bucket of paint.  We are to head out any moment now and I refuse to move until at least nine when I go take a shower that will take approximately one half hour, maybe more, probably less.

I ate some more speed a few moments ago, hoping that I can just ride the vibe and work the day and then crawl into my bed and die.  The idea of having to do any kind of taxing thought process makes me want to vomit a little.  Doing the fine minutia of the edges on this house makes my head reel.

But the hour is upon me and I still have yet to shower...

This is my first legitimate day off in weeks, how do I spend the first half?  Video games.  After I got my prerequisite 2 pots of coffee in me and a good shower (despite still having paint all over me) I scuttle outward into this beautiful day that Central New York is experiencing.  I go sit in on a Kung Fu class where a friend teaches.  I say "sit-in" in the looses form; my "sitting-in" on a class normally constitutes me disrupting class with my pacifist philosophy and being a tad combative in the flaws of learning a martial art without having a basis in philosophy.  But I want to get to that later on this entry.

I meditate for a few minutes at the class, makes me feel a thousand percent better (not hyperbole, literally 1000%, I have a meter.).  I try to find Twin to play Go with but he isn't answering his calls, so I return to the domicile... which is where you find me currently...well not currently cause, you know, you are reading this in the future, so we are actually in two different times and I will probably be in a different place by the time you are reading these words...whatever.  You get the point.

My first topic:

For those of you that actually know me, you have probably noticed a void in the journal, I have very tactfully remained silent in this journal about a problem I have been having for a while now; I remained quiet at first because too many characters that are involved in the problem read this and then it developed into a feeling of immaturity to drivel on the internet about something so trite.  What has changed?  Well because the problem can't keep her fucking mouth shut everyone I know knows something about the situation and because I feel good enough today to not care about being childish.


Spam boy is coming over to get me to go hang out with him so I have to wrap the post up in a bit of haste.

So, ever so quickly, back to today.  I am hanging out with this Kung Fu class; I make a joke about sparring with one of the guys and the teacher (Ben, "Sea Foam" hence forth.), Sea Foam starts laughing and then sobers up and says "could you even do that?"  He is speaking in regards of me being a pretty devote pacifist and the question actually touches my heart a little that he is worried about my moral code.  I think he also started to feel like an ass for egging his student into sparring with me. 

I start laughing and say "yea, of course I can spar, I loved to spar.  There is no problem in sparring with a guy, shit, if I was that much of a pacifist I couldn't even play video games, cause when I am playing an FPS (first person shooter) I know I am killing mother fuckers and that is ok."  He replies something about it being in the mind and I agree.  It is such an idiotic pleasure of mine to go to his class and preach my message of peace unbound. 

He teaches "real world" techniques; his whole fighting philosophy is a "you or me" philosophy and he imparts that upon each student, so I love rolling in, over weight, untrained, a smoker, either drunk or hung over, and start talking about: A) differing fighting styles that I am well read on (I have zero practical application for what I know, but I am book smart when it comes to Tai Chi, ninjitsu, jujistsu, Kendo, Iaito, tae kwon do, Two Sword (Musashi), Karate, Taoism, Confucianism, and a few others (I know a few other names but refuse to even try to take a stab at how to spell them, I know I misspelled a bunch of the names but don't feel the desire to look up the actual spelling) which names escape me.  B) Enlightenment, where I basically try to say it is more important to "become" then to know how to defend one's self.  Sea Foam is a militant black Muslim as well, so I do well to mention Gandhi and Martin Luther (subsequently, those two men fall just out of reach of the top four or five "All-Time Greatest Men" list, which are Jesus (number one with a bullet, He is basically his own list.), Buddha, and Socrates, the other two, with a gun to my head, would probably be Miyamoto Musashi ("The Book of Five Rings" amazing, read it!  It'll teach you how to fight and how to attain some kind of higher being.), and either Lao Tzu ("Tao Te Ching") or Epictetus ("The Handbook").) he always counters with Malcom X, so our argument always kind of devolves into a difference in opinion.  Where he sees pushing I see pulling, where I see pushing he sees pulling.  We get along famously though despite our differences in philosophy (he actually said the nicest thing to me the other day, it melted my heart to the point I didn't know how to respond.  Sea Foam: "I am really gonna miss you when you goto Florida, I feel like we, you know, like, we...get each other, despite all the differences." Me:"Hell yea, cause I am the shit!", I felt like such an asshole for handling the compliment so badly that later on that night I made it a point to apologize and thanks him vigorously.).

Whenever I am around him I can actually feel myself being the "mirror of equanimity" that I always say I am.  I can actually feel myself giving him a different opinion then he might have; I show him that not all white people are racist, not all Christians hate on Muslims, and that no matter what happens to me I still feel that violence begets violence.  I feel that him and I maintain a balance, we quite literally embody the yin and the yang. 

I have been having this feeling for weeks now.  This feeling that I am giving you back what you give to the world.  No moral judgment, no emotion, it is cold and emotionless; if you are being an asshole I will out asshole you, if you are being violent I am passive, if you are passive I am violent.  I said such to Vapid (which comes later in the story that I swear will get to) and it is when it really solidified in my mind. 

I also made a promise to Sea Foam that I would be back to at least observe a class.  I told him that I would be meditating during it which he says he likes.  So I plan on going to his class and meditating as opposed to going to church and feeling the bad vibe of the "Christians". 

We also got talking about meditation proper; I prattled off what I am able to with meditation (not to brag merely to edify (and a little bit bragging), I can mildly astroplain, mild telepathy, mild empathy, I can slip into a trance like nothing, I can see flashing colors, I can sense chi, can teach others to sense chi, can "lose" my body, I can block out the entire world, and at least two other things I can't remember the names to.  I say this to his class, they all kind of stare at me as I continue to say that everything I know is simply parlor tricks and that all I really want from meditation is to "shut the fuck up for ten minutes, fuck, for one minute".  Which is the truth. 

In a very rapid time I learned a bunch of very nifty tricks to do to myself, but that is all they are.  Tricks.  I want true enlightenment, not how to walk on water; I know (some how) that if I wanted to learn how to conquer the self and learn to beat death or walk on water or see the future, or any other bullshit parlor trick, I could teach myself, given the time and ability, but these are all transitory.  They are nothing in the light of pure being; so I don't cultivate these gifts anymore. 

I do plan on being back there next Saturday, I plan on being in my postures whilst they try to learn their bodies.