Our hypothesis is that the general discontent that has lead each of us to seek alternative modes of thought is spurred by our mandatory involvement in consensus reality; the laws, social rules, and patterns of behavior that we are obliged to abide as members of our society. By managing or eliminating our obligatory participation in the general consensus reality and becoming more active in the development of our personal reality we can become more content. This hypothesis is inspired by the Fourth Way philosophy and forms the root of Evolutionary Satanism, Post Modern Satanism, and the efforts of the Cthulhu Cult. These three lines of thinking are separate and distinct from one another, yet all have recognized the same problem and developed a similar approach to resolving the issue. This suggests both the pervasiveness of the problem and that the Satanist Movement is at the forefront on this issue.
Much of the discussion regarding this issue deals with its philosophical and metaphysical components, when the majority of the issue is in the management of its mundane aspects. How can an individual be expected to determine and control their personal reality when so much of their time is eaten away by predetermined mundane obligations? Exploring the potential metaphysical ramifications of a large percentage of our society awakening to their own self-defined paradigms means little if you find yourself stuck performing menial tasks in a 9-5 job in which you are miserable. In order to achieve the potential promised in the metaphysical and philosophical theories the individual must first achieve a greater control of their mundane obligations.
The model to use when approaching this issue is as follows: the reality experienced by every individual can be divided into three inter-related categories; Physical Reality (the apparent natural rules that govern objects and energy in space-time), Personal Reality (the individual perspectives and urges of the self), and General Consensus Reality (the reality defined by social and cultural standards). For our purposes at this time it would be counter-productive to discuss the theoretical reversals of the laws governing Physical Reality; we should accept that up is up and gravity is consistent in our existence as unless we are physicists paid to explore such issues it has little impact on our immediate sense of contentment. Also, we recognize that when to Personal Realities interact a temporary Consensus Reality is created. Our focus is on the longer lasting General Consensus Reality.
In this model, we will establish Physical Reality (R) as the foundation for both Personal Reality (Pr) and General Consensus Reality (GCr). A correlation can be established between the average person's sense of contentment and the ratio of Pr and GCr that governs their behavior. For most people, the more they live by their Pr, the more content they tend to be. The problem is that establishing your Pr in the presence of the GCr, especially if in opposition, requires continuous and often monumental effort on the part of the individual. It is easier to live as dictated by the GCr, but less fulfilling.
The GCr also has the advantage of being in existence for so long that it is self-perpetuating. It no longer requires an individual or body of individuals outside of it to enforce it; we all have a role in its enforcement. Even those individuals who are viewed as at the society's upper echelons are obliged to abide by the GCr with their positions often being dependent on its continued stability. In general, an individual in our society will spend the first 20 years of their life being reared and prepared for their role in society under the GCr, a role which is expected to last at least 40 years before they are phased out. During that time, the GCr permeates every aspect of the individual's life unless they choose to engage in there own Pr, but most are not even aware of this as a possible option. Thus, most people live with a minimal Pr and are grossly participant in the GCr.
The inverse; living primarily in your own Pr while minimizing your participation in the GCr is considered a kind of insanity. Linguistically, this makes perfect sense. "Sanity" refers to the state of alignment with the "Sangre", or royal will (as well as the will of the blood...again referring to the royal line). The word hails back to a time when R was defined by the King or ruler of the people ("reality" is a word that also shares in the connection to royal or regal decree). Madness tends to only hamper the efforts of those who are interacting with others abiding by GCr, which is all of us at least occasionally, thus we each tend to develop a form of functional insanity. The fact that everyone is insane should be a fore-drawn conclusion ("sanity" being actually the term defining the tolerable levels of functional insanity in an individual).
The only way to effectively live at 100% Pr/ 0% GCr would be to abandon society all together and avoid interacting with any other individuals for the rest of your life. Even when a group of individuals chooses to sequester themselves off from the mainstream GCr, a new GCr (gcr) is formed for that group. While most of us are discontent, few of us are willing to abandon our ties to society completely. In fact, many of us should find that effective establishment of one's Pr will be enhanced by proper management of one's interaction with the GCr. We should not go to war with the GCr, but instead seek ways to use the GCr to our advantage as individuals, smooth our interactions with it, and use the GCr to bolster our own Pr.
The GCr is addictive because it is easy. It cultivates apathy, and disillusionment is its primary tool for creating obedience. As children, we are told we can do whatever we wish, we could each be President of the US, or astronauts, or rock stars. We are not told in advance the odds against us achieving those goals, thus we believe that if we obey we will be rewarded with greatness. It is not until obedience is ingrained into our behavior that the illusion is ended, but then our disappointment is used to turn us toward lesser goals more befitting the GCr. You might not be President because you were born in to the wrong economic circumstances, but you might own your own business. You might not own your own business because you lack the creativity/funds/charisma to enter the market, but you might become an executive of a powerful company. You might not be an executive of a powerful company, but you might become a manager of a subsidiary branch of a chain business. You might not be a manager, but you will be an important part of the team. You might not be an important part of the team, but you will earn enough to live comfortably. You might not earn enough to live comfortably, but you will have enough to scrape by. You might not have enough to scrape by, but that is what the government is here for... and haven't we always taken care of you?
At that point, most individual's do not care. Their ambition is gone, their dreams abandoned, and their interests is only in their next meal/bed/fix/television show.
Reality (R) does have actual, mandatory requirements that are common to the human experience. We each need to eat and to sleep. We each, on frequent occasion, require shelter. One of our evolutionary enhancements over animals is our need to have purpose and our need to feel like we matter. Not the most noble traits in an animal but they have served our species well. It helps to have a "high altitude" perspective when considering the questions such as these. From a high enough altitude, for example, the purpose of humanity becomes obvious; to continue the existence of humanity as it is with any other life-form (and life itself). GCr provides a means for each individual to meet the mandatory requirements of being a human in R, and it is insinuated (though never flatly stated) that these means are not only mandatory, but the only means available. Indeed, while the means to fulfill these needs do exist in Pr, GCr has made many of these means either illegal or so difficult as to be comparatively impossible.
Let's say, for instance, you would like to eat while refusing to negotiate with the GCr. First of all, your options are going to be comparatively slim. You'll need to be a fan of nuts and roots, and don't expect the nuts and roots you find in the wild to be as tantalizing as those in the grocery. Oh, and then there is that "in the wild" part... as in the deep woods, in the elements, competing with animals who are better at finding nuts and roots than you. It will be a full-time enterprise just to find enough food to survive. Maybe those animals sound tasty? You can't go at it with a gun and bullets because they cost money no matter how you go about arming yourself. The best you can manage in the woods is a primitive bow and arrow, not the aerodynamically engineered and precision weighted machines at the store. There's a reason that in many drawings primitive peoples were thin. You could manage on your own, no doubt, but how long before you were arrested for trespassing, vagrancy, or even poaching? GCr is not going to make it easy on you.
So, we have established one condition when seeking the best ratio between our Pr and the GCr; rationality. Turning your back on the GCr exposes too greatly your insanity and results in backlash from those engaged in the GCr. Our society will only tolerate so much independence from its members before it deems the individual behavior as criminal. Establishing your Pr will require careful negotiation with the GCr, but the guide of rationality works both ways. It may be irrational to stalk your food in the wilds far from civilization on a daily basis, but it is also irrational to eat at McDonald's daily (if at all). These are two extremes on the spectrum with the appropriate balance laying somewhere around growing some of your own food, preparing the majority of your own meals, and managing your own diet based on your personal preferences and means. What that balance is for the individual is determined by their own needs and sense of satisfaction.
In order to effectively use rationality to guide our choices, the first step is to establish what is, in fact, rational. Since we are trying to create a state of being in which the Pr is more relevant than the GCr, then it follows that we should create our own definition of "rational". Personally, my definition follows risk assessment and cost analysis models and includes making use of "what works". In other words, rational for me is the least risk for the most gain, the least cost for the greatest value, and I go with that which I have experienced as effective. This leaves a great deal of room for my behavior to appear "irrational" to those who's standards are defined by the GCr. For example, there is more personal benefit in my experience in personal interaction with a self-defined "divinity" than in catering to a pre-defined, mass-consumer deity. At the same time, my experience suggests that it is more rational to cater to the idea of divinity versus being an atheist... at least it seems to work best for me. This rationality obviously leaves room for the irrational idea that "truth" is often a fluid concept and a matter of perspective.
During this discussion I have mentioned several personal labels; "Satanist", "insane", "individual". This brings up another aspect of the GCr's means of control: identity. Those who live by a Pr have to create their identity, while those who abide the GCr have an identity assigned to them. Your identity is based on how you spend the majority of your time, thus in GCr your identity is typically your means of employment. Consider this: there are 168 hours in the average week as most people reckon time. On average, most people in the US spend 40 hours of that time at work, often for someone other than themselves. If a person sleeps 8 hours a day, another 56 hours of their week is accounted for. Let's say we spend just two hours preparing for our employment, including commuting to and from the work-place, each day. That's another 10 hours. Throw in just 1 hour a day for your main meal... another 7 hours a week is gone. This would suggest that the this individual would have 55 hours for their own self-definition, just shy of 8 hours a day. This does not include time spent engaged in housework, grocery shopping, paying bills, or any of the other tasks "required" to lead an efficient life by GCr standards. How many people honestly spend the spare 55 hours a week totally devoted to the cause of self-definition? Sleeping, to the uninformed observer, would be a non-activity and thus not a means of definition. For most of us, our activities during the 55 hours are often less than stellar. Our most "productive" hours are those 40 during which we are employed, thus definition comes from our employment. You may be an artist, sing opera, or write novels in your "spare-time" (that phrase always makes me shudder as on average each of us only has about 80 years of life and such a finite amount of time does not allow anything to spare), but when society takes its measure of you it is most often as what you do to earn money. In GCr, cash is the lubricant of will, another aspect of the GCr which is not readily shared with its participants. This is why you will often find it difficult to discern what many public Satanists do to earn a living. Their Pr cannot cope with the nature of the GCr selves.
This idea, that you are defined by your employment, can be a little depressing, especially for those first trying to develop their Pr while deeply engaged in the GCr. This leads many to creating "false" public identities, idealized selves that would never lower themselves to employment for another at some menial task or in being apathetic about their identity (they manage a gas station during the day but it is what they do at night that matters, right?). The problem is the misconception that developing your Pr means abandoning the GCr. You can develop your Pr in a manner that is in line with GCr. The difference is the conscious choice involved in doing so. In regards to the situation of being employed, GCr says you work for Employer X. Pr says that, regardless of what you do, you work for yourself, and contract out your services to Employer X at an agreed upon rate. The difference is a matter of perspective, but in one version the individual is a victim of circumstance, in the other they are a decisive director of their life. Their is also a heightened sense of responsibility with the latter perspective that may lead the individual to make more "rational" choices about their employment. Being guided by the whims of fate might lead a person to live paycheck-to-paycheck while someone who is "self-employed" is more likely to pay themselves from their paycheck first and build their wealth while working for another. They are also building toward their own goals while their GCr counterpart often chooses to simply (begrudgingly) accept their lot.
This demonstrates how important a shift in perspective can be. We are more creatures of our own mental landscapes than we often realize, with those of us who are active in shaping those lands enjoying more freedom and a greater sense of contentment. This shift in perspective is not merely being positive, but being self-defined. By recognizing and initiating or personal responsibility for our reality we become more powerful beings, awakened amongst the sleeping masses free to do as we choose instead of merely what we are told. It is simply a matter of choice and then the discipline to see our choices through.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Thursday, June 4, 2009
What the Hell Was I Thinking?!: World Gone Mad
Kids, what I am about to say will be proclaimed by some as "politically insensitive" at best. I would ask that any who might read such accusations regarding yours truly to consider their source.
In the wee morning hours of May 11th, 2009, an Austin police officer shot and killed Nathaniel Sanders II, and 18 year old black male. Racial tensions run high in the fair city of Austin, and this issue adds more fuel to the fire. Here are the facts, as best as I can puzzle them out from the limited news stories and conflicting reports:
Sanders had a prior drug-related conviction. He and the two gentlemen in the car with him that morning all had less-than-upstanding reputations with local law-enforcement agencies.
The vehicle itself was a vehicle of interest in relation to several crimes in the area.
According to the APD, the police were at the Walnut Creek Apartments because of a report of gunfire. They came upon the suspicious vehicle in the parking lot. The officer on the scene witnessed the driver exit the vehicle and intercepted him without incident.
Here is where things get hazy. Other officers arrived on the scene, apparently, and secured the parking lot. The original officer approached the vehicle where containing two sleeping men, one of them Sanders, who was in the back seat. It seems the officer may have drawn his weapon and opened the back door of the car to detain Sanders, or may have just opened the door without drawing his weapon. Sanders, startled by being suddenly roused, reached for a weapon according to the officer who then open fire on Sanders at near point-blank range. The other occupant had gotten out of the car and charged the officer...he was also apparently shot but not fatally. Sanders was shot to death.
The nature of the weapon Sanders was reached for, if it was a weapon at all, I have not discovered in my research. Some accounts suggest that Sanders was unarmed, but most accounts suggest that he had a pistol of some sort. The arresting officer did not employ his dash-cam when making the arrests, but another car on-scene may have captured some of the incident.
Sander's family has filed a wrongful-death lawsuit against the City of Austin. Their lawyer claims that it was a violation of policy for the officer to make the arrests without using his dash-cam, lights, or siren to wake the occupants of the car, but does not site the policy he references. Their lawyer also suggests that numerous witnesses support the Sander's account of the event (the officer went to the vehicle and opened fire with little or no interaction with the deceased).
The APD, for their part, has launched an investigation and has released as much information as they can while this investigation is pending. They have held a town-hall meeting to discuss the events with members of the community which apparently did not satisfy the majority of the people who attended.
The local NAACP is involved, demanding more information, insisting that this is a continued result of the systemic racism in the APD and Austin, in general. This is an odd statement, considering that most surveys place Austin as one of the most liberal cities in the nation. Every news feature on this story includes a quote or sound-bite of someone who suggests that Sanders was a good-boy and that the cops are evil racists who just gunned down another black male.
This is my thing. Let's just take race out of the issue for a moment. Let's say you have an overzealous police force, prone to aggressive response to minor actions, with a history of excessive use of deadly force. Let's say that is your world, that is the place you live in. If you are concerned with running afoul of this radical police agency, would you continue behaviors that brought you to the attention of that agency? Would you engage in activities that you know are illegal, or even associate with people who knowingly engage in those activities? Shouldn't your own survival instinct, if nothing else, keep you from the situation that Mr. Sanders found himself in?
My point is, that Sanders was a guy making some very poor life decisions. His manner of demise is unfortunate, but he was as responsible for it as anyone else. The local community is turning him into a martyr...worse, the national social-activists who use race to forward their agendas are fanning the flames for their own benefit, and these people cannot see that they are being used. No one is saying "we need to change our habits and our perspectives to effect change in our environment". No one is accepting personal responsibility for themselves or their community, only demanding that the people around them conform to their own demands. When you butt heads with people who legally have guns and use of deadly force, you are going to lose, especially when your cause is selfish and thoughtless.
In the wee morning hours of May 11th, 2009, an Austin police officer shot and killed Nathaniel Sanders II, and 18 year old black male. Racial tensions run high in the fair city of Austin, and this issue adds more fuel to the fire. Here are the facts, as best as I can puzzle them out from the limited news stories and conflicting reports:
Sanders had a prior drug-related conviction. He and the two gentlemen in the car with him that morning all had less-than-upstanding reputations with local law-enforcement agencies.
The vehicle itself was a vehicle of interest in relation to several crimes in the area.
According to the APD, the police were at the Walnut Creek Apartments because of a report of gunfire. They came upon the suspicious vehicle in the parking lot. The officer on the scene witnessed the driver exit the vehicle and intercepted him without incident.
Here is where things get hazy. Other officers arrived on the scene, apparently, and secured the parking lot. The original officer approached the vehicle where containing two sleeping men, one of them Sanders, who was in the back seat. It seems the officer may have drawn his weapon and opened the back door of the car to detain Sanders, or may have just opened the door without drawing his weapon. Sanders, startled by being suddenly roused, reached for a weapon according to the officer who then open fire on Sanders at near point-blank range. The other occupant had gotten out of the car and charged the officer...he was also apparently shot but not fatally. Sanders was shot to death.
The nature of the weapon Sanders was reached for, if it was a weapon at all, I have not discovered in my research. Some accounts suggest that Sanders was unarmed, but most accounts suggest that he had a pistol of some sort. The arresting officer did not employ his dash-cam when making the arrests, but another car on-scene may have captured some of the incident.
Sander's family has filed a wrongful-death lawsuit against the City of Austin. Their lawyer claims that it was a violation of policy for the officer to make the arrests without using his dash-cam, lights, or siren to wake the occupants of the car, but does not site the policy he references. Their lawyer also suggests that numerous witnesses support the Sander's account of the event (the officer went to the vehicle and opened fire with little or no interaction with the deceased).
The APD, for their part, has launched an investigation and has released as much information as they can while this investigation is pending. They have held a town-hall meeting to discuss the events with members of the community which apparently did not satisfy the majority of the people who attended.
The local NAACP is involved, demanding more information, insisting that this is a continued result of the systemic racism in the APD and Austin, in general. This is an odd statement, considering that most surveys place Austin as one of the most liberal cities in the nation. Every news feature on this story includes a quote or sound-bite of someone who suggests that Sanders was a good-boy and that the cops are evil racists who just gunned down another black male.
This is my thing. Let's just take race out of the issue for a moment. Let's say you have an overzealous police force, prone to aggressive response to minor actions, with a history of excessive use of deadly force. Let's say that is your world, that is the place you live in. If you are concerned with running afoul of this radical police agency, would you continue behaviors that brought you to the attention of that agency? Would you engage in activities that you know are illegal, or even associate with people who knowingly engage in those activities? Shouldn't your own survival instinct, if nothing else, keep you from the situation that Mr. Sanders found himself in?
My point is, that Sanders was a guy making some very poor life decisions. His manner of demise is unfortunate, but he was as responsible for it as anyone else. The local community is turning him into a martyr...worse, the national social-activists who use race to forward their agendas are fanning the flames for their own benefit, and these people cannot see that they are being used. No one is saying "we need to change our habits and our perspectives to effect change in our environment". No one is accepting personal responsibility for themselves or their community, only demanding that the people around them conform to their own demands. When you butt heads with people who legally have guns and use of deadly force, you are going to lose, especially when your cause is selfish and thoughtless.
Friday, May 29, 2009
What the Hell Was I Thinking?!: National Blow-Off Day
I was on my way through town this morning, heading south out from Austin's core as others headed north toward what I assume was their jobs. Traffic going my way was markedly thinner than the stop-and-go crush of the northwardly flow. I found myself thinking "I wonder if that is what it looked like in Egypt as the people left the slave-district to build Pharoh's pyramid." The whole 'going-to-work' thing took on a sharp focus for me at that moment. People, I believe, go to work for one reason: the Pharoh says that they have to.
Anyone who has talked to me lately knows that I have really been hung-up on the imposed systems of our society. Probably the last two decades of my life has been an on-going exploration of and resistance to those systems that exist and define our lives. Whether lately I have been getting "better" or "worse" about these issues is a matter of relative opinion; I am becoming more frustrated and more prone to act. Thus, a new blog and a "new" idea.
Obviously, I use the idea of "Pharoh" symbolically. This Pharoh is the systems of order that are imposed on each of us almost as soon as we are born. Boy/girl, rich/poor, good/bad, quick/slow, motivated/lackadaisical, producer/consumer, content/disillusioned...we are given pre-defined sets of options leading each of us to be better slaves for the Pharoh. Ideally (for the Pharoh), we buy his bullshit about satisfaction with our lot, accept what he passes off as entertainment to keep us pacified, envy our immediate "superiors" in the system just enought to strive for the baubles that they have, and never...ever look up from our set tasks to wonder if we might be better off without the Pharoh. What keeps us from just taking our own measure of goods and walking off into the desert?
Wisely, the system keeps each of us thinking that we are individuals, and that as individuals we are powerless against the unified might of the Pharoh and his resources. As a matter of fact, ideally we ARE a part of his resources he would use against any individual that would decry him and his methods. "Keep your head down." "Don't rock the boat." "Quit complaining." "Just do what you are told." Some people are so dependent on the system that they will fight and die to defend it. The possibilities frighten them. There are beasts in the desert, waiting to devour them. Without the protection of the Pharoh, they are lost.
The power of the Pharoh, of the system, is in its ability to demonstrate how through the unification of its resources (you and me) it is able to make its will reality. Our will as individuals, we are told, is not worthy of manifestation. Obey the system, the police-man is your friend, A is A just because.
I watched the cars drive north as I went south, and wondered what would happen if they all just turned around and went home. The Pharoh says they have to go to work. They have to work not to have the things they want, but to earn the things they need. The wants are delusional, established by the system, to make us easier to motivate. Maslow suggests a hierarchy of needs that I won't detail here. Suffice it to say that the Pharoh, the system, has established laws that make it illegal or extremely difficult to achieve the most basic of those needs without assuming a position within the system. Food, one of the most basic needs, grows everywhere. You can pick it from the trees, pluck it from the fields, and hunt it in the forests. That is, unless the Pharoh manages the trees, controls the fields, and makes hunting game nearly illegal. We have allowed an artificial gambling house to arise in our reality and encompass us; all the tables are rigged, all the decks marked, and the house wins always. The means to satisfying your basic needs are regulated by the government, therefore you are under their control.
What would happen if they all just turned around? The flow of cash powered by the consumer/worker-drone is the life-blood of the system. If the slaves cease to work, the system ceases to function. He that can destroy a thing controls that thing.
Obviously, the consequences of such an act would be dire...but what if it were not a permanent cessation of the normal paradigm? What if, for one day, when the bees were supposed to go about their tasks for the queen, they all instead just did what they wanted? What if, as an act of defiance of the system, everyone just took one day, together, and did not go to work? We would have a true National Blow-Off Day. For 24 hours, business would have no choice but to either close their doors or else the owners would need to work the registers themselves. The point of the demonstration would be to convince ourselves that the individuals are truly empowered, that our lives are in fact our own. I am not talking about a holiday, a pre-scheduled and system-ordained break from work. I mean a true, "everyone calls in sick" day.
The conditions of the experiement would be simple. Everyone would agree to do this on the same day; let's say Monday, August 17th. Nobody likes Mondays anyway, and we could all use a three day weekend. Everyone just calls in sick. You don't take a vacation day. You don't give your manager/boss/supervisor/division co-ordinator/corporate masters any warning. Even if they know it is coming, the point is that the system should not have time to prepare to cope with the stoppage.
Everyone would also agree not to patronize anything that would require that one of their fellow wage-slaves be at work to service them. Hopefully, everything is closed by 11am anyway, but just in case someone doesn't get the memo NO MONEY FLOWS ON MONDAY, AUGUST 17TH! Some could see this as anti-capitalist. That is untrue. I suggest that everyone prepare for the 24 hours when the system stops; gas up your cars, buy plenty of food, make certain to have your games/rent your movies/have your sex lotions all in your favorite flavors...whatever. Preparation for the National Blow-Off Day might actually stimulate the economy, but the slight increase prior will not be as impressive as the 24 hour lull. The point is that you turn your back on the system for 24 hours.
Be prepared for anything. If everyone does stop working the power could go out (how did we manage before electricity?), the police and emergency services might be inactive (what will we do if mom and dad isn't around to protect us?), and hospitals might not be staffed (what about our boo-boos?). Take care of yourself and your family. Go camping. Take your family out to the woods and enjoy one another's company. Call in sick from deep in the forest and then shut off your cell-phone. Invite some friends over and light a bon-fire...whatever. It is one day of irresponsibility.
And, let us dare imagine that this idea actually catches on. When the system compensates and we see the smiling face of Obama-hotep or whoever wears the Pharoh's mask at that time announcing that the government has adapted the National Blow-Off Day to it official holiday calendar, be prepared for an underground call for a new National Stay Home Day on a different date. Revolution is a part of our heritage; we became a society by giving the king the middle-finger. It is time to start stretching that digit again.
Anyone who has talked to me lately knows that I have really been hung-up on the imposed systems of our society. Probably the last two decades of my life has been an on-going exploration of and resistance to those systems that exist and define our lives. Whether lately I have been getting "better" or "worse" about these issues is a matter of relative opinion; I am becoming more frustrated and more prone to act. Thus, a new blog and a "new" idea.
Obviously, I use the idea of "Pharoh" symbolically. This Pharoh is the systems of order that are imposed on each of us almost as soon as we are born. Boy/girl, rich/poor, good/bad, quick/slow, motivated/lackadaisical, producer/consumer, content/disillusioned...we are given pre-defined sets of options leading each of us to be better slaves for the Pharoh. Ideally (for the Pharoh), we buy his bullshit about satisfaction with our lot, accept what he passes off as entertainment to keep us pacified, envy our immediate "superiors" in the system just enought to strive for the baubles that they have, and never...ever look up from our set tasks to wonder if we might be better off without the Pharoh. What keeps us from just taking our own measure of goods and walking off into the desert?
Wisely, the system keeps each of us thinking that we are individuals, and that as individuals we are powerless against the unified might of the Pharoh and his resources. As a matter of fact, ideally we ARE a part of his resources he would use against any individual that would decry him and his methods. "Keep your head down." "Don't rock the boat." "Quit complaining." "Just do what you are told." Some people are so dependent on the system that they will fight and die to defend it. The possibilities frighten them. There are beasts in the desert, waiting to devour them. Without the protection of the Pharoh, they are lost.
The power of the Pharoh, of the system, is in its ability to demonstrate how through the unification of its resources (you and me) it is able to make its will reality. Our will as individuals, we are told, is not worthy of manifestation. Obey the system, the police-man is your friend, A is A just because.
I watched the cars drive north as I went south, and wondered what would happen if they all just turned around and went home. The Pharoh says they have to go to work. They have to work not to have the things they want, but to earn the things they need. The wants are delusional, established by the system, to make us easier to motivate. Maslow suggests a hierarchy of needs that I won't detail here. Suffice it to say that the Pharoh, the system, has established laws that make it illegal or extremely difficult to achieve the most basic of those needs without assuming a position within the system. Food, one of the most basic needs, grows everywhere. You can pick it from the trees, pluck it from the fields, and hunt it in the forests. That is, unless the Pharoh manages the trees, controls the fields, and makes hunting game nearly illegal. We have allowed an artificial gambling house to arise in our reality and encompass us; all the tables are rigged, all the decks marked, and the house wins always. The means to satisfying your basic needs are regulated by the government, therefore you are under their control.
What would happen if they all just turned around? The flow of cash powered by the consumer/worker-drone is the life-blood of the system. If the slaves cease to work, the system ceases to function. He that can destroy a thing controls that thing.
Obviously, the consequences of such an act would be dire...but what if it were not a permanent cessation of the normal paradigm? What if, for one day, when the bees were supposed to go about their tasks for the queen, they all instead just did what they wanted? What if, as an act of defiance of the system, everyone just took one day, together, and did not go to work? We would have a true National Blow-Off Day. For 24 hours, business would have no choice but to either close their doors or else the owners would need to work the registers themselves. The point of the demonstration would be to convince ourselves that the individuals are truly empowered, that our lives are in fact our own. I am not talking about a holiday, a pre-scheduled and system-ordained break from work. I mean a true, "everyone calls in sick" day.
The conditions of the experiement would be simple. Everyone would agree to do this on the same day; let's say Monday, August 17th. Nobody likes Mondays anyway, and we could all use a three day weekend. Everyone just calls in sick. You don't take a vacation day. You don't give your manager/boss/supervisor/division co-ordinator/corporate masters any warning. Even if they know it is coming, the point is that the system should not have time to prepare to cope with the stoppage.
Everyone would also agree not to patronize anything that would require that one of their fellow wage-slaves be at work to service them. Hopefully, everything is closed by 11am anyway, but just in case someone doesn't get the memo NO MONEY FLOWS ON MONDAY, AUGUST 17TH! Some could see this as anti-capitalist. That is untrue. I suggest that everyone prepare for the 24 hours when the system stops; gas up your cars, buy plenty of food, make certain to have your games/rent your movies/have your sex lotions all in your favorite flavors...whatever. Preparation for the National Blow-Off Day might actually stimulate the economy, but the slight increase prior will not be as impressive as the 24 hour lull. The point is that you turn your back on the system for 24 hours.
Be prepared for anything. If everyone does stop working the power could go out (how did we manage before electricity?), the police and emergency services might be inactive (what will we do if mom and dad isn't around to protect us?), and hospitals might not be staffed (what about our boo-boos?). Take care of yourself and your family. Go camping. Take your family out to the woods and enjoy one another's company. Call in sick from deep in the forest and then shut off your cell-phone. Invite some friends over and light a bon-fire...whatever. It is one day of irresponsibility.
And, let us dare imagine that this idea actually catches on. When the system compensates and we see the smiling face of Obama-hotep or whoever wears the Pharoh's mask at that time announcing that the government has adapted the National Blow-Off Day to it official holiday calendar, be prepared for an underground call for a new National Stay Home Day on a different date. Revolution is a part of our heritage; we became a society by giving the king the middle-finger. It is time to start stretching that digit again.
What the Hell Was I Thinking?!: Telemarketers
I have no idea how or when it happened, but I have somehow ended up on telemarkerters' lists. For a while, I was getting as many as a dozen calls a day from mainly three different sales groups; some folks who wanted to help me complete a degree, a company interested in helping me start my own home-based business, and some group that wants to extend the warranty on my car. Of the three, the third is by far the worst.
I do not hold a grudge against telemarketers. I have worked in their industry myself; I know it is a thankless job. Unscrupulous companies hire even less savory agencies to market their wares to the public via our electronic communication devices; phones, text, email, and the like. No one knows better than a telemarketer how much it sucks to get a call from a telemarketer. The better telemarketting agencies play by a set of rules; the first two companies I was dealing with provide an automated way for you to be removed from their database, and if you ask who they are and what they want they are mostly open with their responses. I am off of their lists.
Company number three; extended auto-warranty, is another matter.
The call goes something like this:
Our records indicate that your manufacturer warranty on your automobile is about to expire. If you would like to extend your warranty through this exciting offer, press one. Otherwise, press two to be removed from our list. Thank you!"
You get that statement from an automated system. Pressing two does not remove you from their list, however. It possibly just confirms that a live person owns that phone number. Pressing two, several times, seemed to only increase the frequency of the calls. I checked 800 Notes, a database for tracking the source of unwanted marketting calls, and just saw my own experiences being shared by others. So, I went on the offensive.
The next call I recieved, I pressed one. The young man who came on the line asked me to verify the year, make, and model of my car. I responded by stating that his system indicated they already have access to my auto records and that he should tell me what the year, make, and model of my car is. He hung up immediately.
Call two was a woman. She asked that I verify the year, make, and model of my car. I responded with a "1968 Dode Charger", a vehicle clearly long out of warranty. She quickly rattled off a script advising that their records were in error and that my vehicle would not qualify for their program and 'click', she hung up.
Call three was another guy. I told him I had a 2005 Honda Accord. He explained the programm, adding an additional 100,000 miles to my warranty and another 5 years for only $2500. I elected to pay it off as quickly as possible, selecting to make a $650 down payment and 11 equal monthly payments. He transfered me from his desk (the telemarketting agency) to a "specialist" (the company actually selling the warranty).
The guy I got on the phone had that cock-sure New Yorker accent. He asked me to verify the year, make, and model of my car. I asked if he should have the information I provided the last agent, and he responded that the information did not transfer over. I told him: 2005 Honda Civic.
He reviewed the plan I selected. It took me a minute to get a word in, but when I finally did, I asked if Honda was providing my warranty.
"No, but our warranty will be accepted by any authorized Honda service station." said the specialist.
"So, what is the name of the company providing my warranty?" I asked.
"Warranty Service Center." he responded.
"What state does the Warranty Service Center operate from?" I asked.
At this point, the sales specialist sensed something was up. He advised that if the program was not exactly as he described, I could simply return everything and be fully refunded. Of course, that did not answer my question. I pressed on, and he asked for the vehicle identification number to my car.
He was getting flustered, so I advised that I do not have a 2005 Honda Accord, that I was purely interested in finding out who was calling me 3-5 times a day despite my asking to be removed from his call list.
"So, your trying to commit warrnty fraud?" he asked.
"Yeah, buddy, I am trying to commit warranty fraud. What's the name of your company and what state houses their headquarters?" I responded.
"Can I have your vehicle identification number?" he asked.
"You mean for the car I just told you I do not own?"
"I'll need to place you on hold for 25 minutes." he said. Then...silence.
I imagine that "warranty fraud" is a thought that sends chills down his spine, given the industry he is in and the possibility that "warranty fraud" is the game he is playing. They only had my phone number at this point, so there wasn't any concern on my part regarding retrobution. Besides, who would convict me for fucking with a telemarketer?
He came back on, "24 minutes remaining."
"What are we waiting on?" I asked.
"You wanted to waste my time, so I am wasting yours."
Now, anyone who knows me knows that I have nothing but time to waste, especially if something or someone gets my attention. These people became my hobby when they called over-and-over again. I happilly sat on hold.
"23 minutes remaining."
"Buddy, I am happy to burn up your 25 minutes on hold. Your people call me 5 times a day! When these 25 minutes are up, they will call back, and I will do this again."
Instead of waiting 25 minutes, he just hung up.
It has been more than a week since I have gotten a call from his telemarketting agency. It is too bad, I miss that guy, and hope we can share 25 minutes of his frustration and my amusement again sometime soon.
post note: These are the same people that have recently made national news. The Texas Attorney General is taking matters into the clutches of the government.
I do not hold a grudge against telemarketers. I have worked in their industry myself; I know it is a thankless job. Unscrupulous companies hire even less savory agencies to market their wares to the public via our electronic communication devices; phones, text, email, and the like. No one knows better than a telemarketer how much it sucks to get a call from a telemarketer. The better telemarketting agencies play by a set of rules; the first two companies I was dealing with provide an automated way for you to be removed from their database, and if you ask who they are and what they want they are mostly open with their responses. I am off of their lists.
Company number three; extended auto-warranty, is another matter.
The call goes something like this:
Our records indicate that your manufacturer warranty on your automobile is about to expire. If you would like to extend your warranty through this exciting offer, press one. Otherwise, press two to be removed from our list. Thank you!"
You get that statement from an automated system. Pressing two does not remove you from their list, however. It possibly just confirms that a live person owns that phone number. Pressing two, several times, seemed to only increase the frequency of the calls. I checked 800 Notes, a database for tracking the source of unwanted marketting calls, and just saw my own experiences being shared by others. So, I went on the offensive.
The next call I recieved, I pressed one. The young man who came on the line asked me to verify the year, make, and model of my car. I responded by stating that his system indicated they already have access to my auto records and that he should tell me what the year, make, and model of my car is. He hung up immediately.
Call two was a woman. She asked that I verify the year, make, and model of my car. I responded with a "1968 Dode Charger", a vehicle clearly long out of warranty. She quickly rattled off a script advising that their records were in error and that my vehicle would not qualify for their program and 'click', she hung up.
Call three was another guy. I told him I had a 2005 Honda Accord. He explained the programm, adding an additional 100,000 miles to my warranty and another 5 years for only $2500. I elected to pay it off as quickly as possible, selecting to make a $650 down payment and 11 equal monthly payments. He transfered me from his desk (the telemarketting agency) to a "specialist" (the company actually selling the warranty).
The guy I got on the phone had that cock-sure New Yorker accent. He asked me to verify the year, make, and model of my car. I asked if he should have the information I provided the last agent, and he responded that the information did not transfer over. I told him: 2005 Honda Civic.
He reviewed the plan I selected. It took me a minute to get a word in, but when I finally did, I asked if Honda was providing my warranty.
"No, but our warranty will be accepted by any authorized Honda service station." said the specialist.
"So, what is the name of the company providing my warranty?" I asked.
"Warranty Service Center." he responded.
"What state does the Warranty Service Center operate from?" I asked.
At this point, the sales specialist sensed something was up. He advised that if the program was not exactly as he described, I could simply return everything and be fully refunded. Of course, that did not answer my question. I pressed on, and he asked for the vehicle identification number to my car.
He was getting flustered, so I advised that I do not have a 2005 Honda Accord, that I was purely interested in finding out who was calling me 3-5 times a day despite my asking to be removed from his call list.
"So, your trying to commit warrnty fraud?" he asked.
"Yeah, buddy, I am trying to commit warranty fraud. What's the name of your company and what state houses their headquarters?" I responded.
"Can I have your vehicle identification number?" he asked.
"You mean for the car I just told you I do not own?"
"I'll need to place you on hold for 25 minutes." he said. Then...silence.
I imagine that "warranty fraud" is a thought that sends chills down his spine, given the industry he is in and the possibility that "warranty fraud" is the game he is playing. They only had my phone number at this point, so there wasn't any concern on my part regarding retrobution. Besides, who would convict me for fucking with a telemarketer?
He came back on, "24 minutes remaining."
"What are we waiting on?" I asked.
"You wanted to waste my time, so I am wasting yours."
Now, anyone who knows me knows that I have nothing but time to waste, especially if something or someone gets my attention. These people became my hobby when they called over-and-over again. I happilly sat on hold.
"23 minutes remaining."
"Buddy, I am happy to burn up your 25 minutes on hold. Your people call me 5 times a day! When these 25 minutes are up, they will call back, and I will do this again."
Instead of waiting 25 minutes, he just hung up.
It has been more than a week since I have gotten a call from his telemarketting agency. It is too bad, I miss that guy, and hope we can share 25 minutes of his frustration and my amusement again sometime soon.
post note: These are the same people that have recently made national news. The Texas Attorney General is taking matters into the clutches of the government.
What the Hell Was I Thinking?!: Geek Love
This Sunday, I purchased the X-Files box-set. It is the complete series, all nine seasons, and the movie. When word got out that the government was going to switch from analog to digital broadcasts, forcing everyone in the U.S. to purchase either digital televisions or converter boxes, I planned on simply buying certain television shows in full on DVD. My girlfriend and I do not watch a lot of television anyway, although we do have an impressive collection of movies that the recent economy has only helped increase.
I love the X-Files. When I saw this box-set for sale, and the deal I was going to get on it, I had to get it. I feel that this will be the perfect Sunday Night replacement for football during the off-season. Kind of a weird juxtaposition isn’t it? I am replacing football; a jock entertainment, with the X-Files, geek entertainment. I freely admit that I have some indulgences that are clearly “geeky”; Star Wars, Star Trek, Stargate (put the word “star” in front of just about anything and I will check it out), X-Files, comic-books, anime, horror-films, collectible toys, video-games. I drink wine, read history and philosophy, and dabble in occult subjects. I have passions for things that most people do not even bother thinking about. My girlfriend just kind of laughs at these little excursions into geek-dom. While I have my moments, she says it is nothing compared to the level of geek she has endured in the past.
I write this as I am preparing for a tattoo appointment I have this afternoon. As a tattoo-artist, I am about as far from being a “geek”, culturally, as you can get. “Rock-star” is about the only thing less “geek” than tattoo-artist. You could call me a “tattoo-geek”, a label with which I would totally agree, but that is not the kind of geek I am talking about. I am talking about the mildly intellectual and uber-socially ill-equipped geek. I was amongst them at one time…oh about 20-25 years ago before I decided to write my own labels rather than being defined by others and emulating the best of what I observed from social-survival strategies.
High school can be hell.
My girlfriend and I, fond of conversation and intellectual exercise, have discussed the “geek” and the attraction of the “geek” on several occasions. Between the two of us, we have had a great deal of geek-experience. What we believe separates the true geek from the rest of us socially well-adjusted types is solipsism. “Solipsism” is a word typically only a geek would know, meaning projecting your values, feelings, and perspective on others and then being disappointed when you discover that they think for themselves. In other words, you are so wrapped up in who you are and your personal drama that you expect the rest of the world to just fall in line with you. The idea that some people might not agree with your assessment of self and circumstances is something many a geek just cannot deal with.
The typical geek is so deeply engaged in whatever intellectual distractions they follow that they are stunted in many of the other areas of experience the rest of us take for granted. Most geeks are male; we are all socially awkward in the best of circumstances, so geeks arise from our gender in greater numbers. Being male, we are driven to try to shine in some manner in order to attract a mate. Our primate programming usually tries for social acceptance initially through physical prowess; sports and the like, but not all of us are born with the pre-requisite traits for greatness in that arena. As we discover this, we throw ourselves in another direction (for me, it was art). The idea is that, if we are the best at something, someone is bound to notice and the accolades of those persons will help us bed the prom-queen.
Quickly, we see this delusion fall apart, yet the geek never lets it go. Plenty of pop-culture material exists were the geek gets the girl to convince him that he still has a chance with enough hope and a positive attitude. So, he buries his head back into computer-engineering, video-game design, role-playing, or whatever little peer-groups has accepted him as one of their own and awaits the day when he is on stage, being given the award for top-monkey in his field, and the honey at the front table with the low-cut dress and the come-hither eyes smiles at him. The rest of us looked around those peer groups and saw that they were woefully short on women, and went to find another game where the chicks were either paying attention or playing themselves.
And that, geeks of the world, is the crux of this discussion. We who don’t share in your social-retardation actually got out and studied women in their own environment, not through the lens of some sci-fi romance novel or pithy medieval adventure. Geeks believe that women want to be treated like princesses, placed high on a pedestal and worshipped, given flowers and candies and jewelry…and with enough diligence, adoration, and patience she may bless the poor wretch, though undeserving, with a few nights of partying with his child’s-excuse-for-a-penis in her panty-palace. The geek becomes so enamored with the idea of romantic fiction that he convinces himself that women are above the dirty perversions of “lesser” men, and that he need only prove his devotion and chaste adoration.
Meanwhile, someone like me with a more honest and worldly understanding of women is banging away on the “princess” they worship.
Geeks of the world, listen-up. Women are more like men than you will allow. That is your problem. Up there on that pedestal, it is hard for them to breath. Sure, we all enjoy someone thinking that we are above and beyond our peers for a while, but imagine having to be that way day-in and day-out. Imagine having to deal with the look of disappointment when you want to just have a good-time and the geek you have been entertaining is all about love and a relationship. Ladies want to be treated like people; they want to be admired for their individuality and have the freedom to do whatever little sordid, perverted, dirty thing their “heart” might desire. They like being appreciated for who they are, not who you want them to be.
Worse, you know what happens when you DO get the girl? You’re like a dog who chases cars and finally catches one. YOU get hit in the head! You have wooed and romanced and adored just like your hero in that film you love, and she is thinking while all this is fun you have to have a real side to. She knows you cannot be this deep, and she is RIGHT! Once all the wooing has been successful, you have nothing left to say. There is nothing else to offer. That is why all those stories end at the kiss; after that the hero becomes a pretty boring schmuck. He goes right back to whatever obsession he indulged in before, especially now that the bud-is-off-the-flower with his lady-love, if you know what I mean. Of course, she is now trapped in this hell of occasional-worship-as-long-as-she-keeps-playing-the-role-he-expects. Suckers, the both of them.
You tell geeks this stuff, though, and they don’t listen. That is why they are geeks. I had a friend that couldn’t figure out why he didn’t get the girl. He would SERENADE them at parties, that is how deep he was in geek-hell. I tried telling him, but he told me that “if they don’t want me for who I am, then I don’t want them”. Sorry, pal…nobody wants you for who you are, because who you are sucks. It sucks because you won’t let people be who they are, you expect everyone to cater to you and your self-deluded world. At least this way, you don’t get to add to the gene-pool.
Me, I am a geek. I am a geek about women. I don’t know it all yet. I have not “cracked the code”. Just a few zippers. My girlfriend says she was attracted to geeks partially because they did go so far in trying to impress her and because she felt so sorry for them, being socially inept as they were. Every time, though, once the sheen wore off, they were just a self-indulgent asshole who didn’t know her, just the ideal they expected of her. Being treated like a real person is worth more than all the delusions, all the poetry, all the flowers, candy, and jewelry in the world. Being treated like an equal is the route that lead her to true-love. Learn from this, oh geeks of the world. Your love-notes, gifts, adoration, stalking, and threats of self-annihilation for your lady-love are meaningless. Treating a woman with respect means respecting her as a person with all the urges and drives any of us have. Let her be who she wants to be.
That, and most geeks seem to be small in the pants. Put down that Mac tech manual and pick up the Kama Sutra or something. You aren’t going to impress her with that thing unless you learn how to use it.
I love the X-Files. When I saw this box-set for sale, and the deal I was going to get on it, I had to get it. I feel that this will be the perfect Sunday Night replacement for football during the off-season. Kind of a weird juxtaposition isn’t it? I am replacing football; a jock entertainment, with the X-Files, geek entertainment. I freely admit that I have some indulgences that are clearly “geeky”; Star Wars, Star Trek, Stargate (put the word “star” in front of just about anything and I will check it out), X-Files, comic-books, anime, horror-films, collectible toys, video-games. I drink wine, read history and philosophy, and dabble in occult subjects. I have passions for things that most people do not even bother thinking about. My girlfriend just kind of laughs at these little excursions into geek-dom. While I have my moments, she says it is nothing compared to the level of geek she has endured in the past.
I write this as I am preparing for a tattoo appointment I have this afternoon. As a tattoo-artist, I am about as far from being a “geek”, culturally, as you can get. “Rock-star” is about the only thing less “geek” than tattoo-artist. You could call me a “tattoo-geek”, a label with which I would totally agree, but that is not the kind of geek I am talking about. I am talking about the mildly intellectual and uber-socially ill-equipped geek. I was amongst them at one time…oh about 20-25 years ago before I decided to write my own labels rather than being defined by others and emulating the best of what I observed from social-survival strategies.
High school can be hell.
My girlfriend and I, fond of conversation and intellectual exercise, have discussed the “geek” and the attraction of the “geek” on several occasions. Between the two of us, we have had a great deal of geek-experience. What we believe separates the true geek from the rest of us socially well-adjusted types is solipsism. “Solipsism” is a word typically only a geek would know, meaning projecting your values, feelings, and perspective on others and then being disappointed when you discover that they think for themselves. In other words, you are so wrapped up in who you are and your personal drama that you expect the rest of the world to just fall in line with you. The idea that some people might not agree with your assessment of self and circumstances is something many a geek just cannot deal with.
The typical geek is so deeply engaged in whatever intellectual distractions they follow that they are stunted in many of the other areas of experience the rest of us take for granted. Most geeks are male; we are all socially awkward in the best of circumstances, so geeks arise from our gender in greater numbers. Being male, we are driven to try to shine in some manner in order to attract a mate. Our primate programming usually tries for social acceptance initially through physical prowess; sports and the like, but not all of us are born with the pre-requisite traits for greatness in that arena. As we discover this, we throw ourselves in another direction (for me, it was art). The idea is that, if we are the best at something, someone is bound to notice and the accolades of those persons will help us bed the prom-queen.
Quickly, we see this delusion fall apart, yet the geek never lets it go. Plenty of pop-culture material exists were the geek gets the girl to convince him that he still has a chance with enough hope and a positive attitude. So, he buries his head back into computer-engineering, video-game design, role-playing, or whatever little peer-groups has accepted him as one of their own and awaits the day when he is on stage, being given the award for top-monkey in his field, and the honey at the front table with the low-cut dress and the come-hither eyes smiles at him. The rest of us looked around those peer groups and saw that they were woefully short on women, and went to find another game where the chicks were either paying attention or playing themselves.
And that, geeks of the world, is the crux of this discussion. We who don’t share in your social-retardation actually got out and studied women in their own environment, not through the lens of some sci-fi romance novel or pithy medieval adventure. Geeks believe that women want to be treated like princesses, placed high on a pedestal and worshipped, given flowers and candies and jewelry…and with enough diligence, adoration, and patience she may bless the poor wretch, though undeserving, with a few nights of partying with his child’s-excuse-for-a-penis in her panty-palace. The geek becomes so enamored with the idea of romantic fiction that he convinces himself that women are above the dirty perversions of “lesser” men, and that he need only prove his devotion and chaste adoration.
Meanwhile, someone like me with a more honest and worldly understanding of women is banging away on the “princess” they worship.
Geeks of the world, listen-up. Women are more like men than you will allow. That is your problem. Up there on that pedestal, it is hard for them to breath. Sure, we all enjoy someone thinking that we are above and beyond our peers for a while, but imagine having to be that way day-in and day-out. Imagine having to deal with the look of disappointment when you want to just have a good-time and the geek you have been entertaining is all about love and a relationship. Ladies want to be treated like people; they want to be admired for their individuality and have the freedom to do whatever little sordid, perverted, dirty thing their “heart” might desire. They like being appreciated for who they are, not who you want them to be.
Worse, you know what happens when you DO get the girl? You’re like a dog who chases cars and finally catches one. YOU get hit in the head! You have wooed and romanced and adored just like your hero in that film you love, and she is thinking while all this is fun you have to have a real side to. She knows you cannot be this deep, and she is RIGHT! Once all the wooing has been successful, you have nothing left to say. There is nothing else to offer. That is why all those stories end at the kiss; after that the hero becomes a pretty boring schmuck. He goes right back to whatever obsession he indulged in before, especially now that the bud-is-off-the-flower with his lady-love, if you know what I mean. Of course, she is now trapped in this hell of occasional-worship-as-long-as-she-keeps-playing-the-role-he-expects. Suckers, the both of them.
You tell geeks this stuff, though, and they don’t listen. That is why they are geeks. I had a friend that couldn’t figure out why he didn’t get the girl. He would SERENADE them at parties, that is how deep he was in geek-hell. I tried telling him, but he told me that “if they don’t want me for who I am, then I don’t want them”. Sorry, pal…nobody wants you for who you are, because who you are sucks. It sucks because you won’t let people be who they are, you expect everyone to cater to you and your self-deluded world. At least this way, you don’t get to add to the gene-pool.
Me, I am a geek. I am a geek about women. I don’t know it all yet. I have not “cracked the code”. Just a few zippers. My girlfriend says she was attracted to geeks partially because they did go so far in trying to impress her and because she felt so sorry for them, being socially inept as they were. Every time, though, once the sheen wore off, they were just a self-indulgent asshole who didn’t know her, just the ideal they expected of her. Being treated like a real person is worth more than all the delusions, all the poetry, all the flowers, candy, and jewelry in the world. Being treated like an equal is the route that lead her to true-love. Learn from this, oh geeks of the world. Your love-notes, gifts, adoration, stalking, and threats of self-annihilation for your lady-love are meaningless. Treating a woman with respect means respecting her as a person with all the urges and drives any of us have. Let her be who she wants to be.
That, and most geeks seem to be small in the pants. Put down that Mac tech manual and pick up the Kama Sutra or something. You aren’t going to impress her with that thing unless you learn how to use it.
What the Hell Was I Thinking?!: A Stroll Through Austin
I am quirky kind of guy.
I enjoy an occassional stroll through town. I like to leave behind the hussle and bussle of my studio and occassional just wander, like a free man, through the streets of Austin. I might stop at a bistro and enjoy a latte. I might sample the offerings and a down-town eatery. I might view some art at a gallery (always looking for inspiration) or occassionally find a balconey from where I can look down upon the flotsam and jetsam of society and feel superior. I am not a nice man, but I have a nice life and it is fun to be me.
One of my "quirks" is my urge to rub elbows with the "seamier" aspects of society. I am just as likely to be at a strip-club as I am the opera, as often at a bar on 6th st as a restaurant in the Hill Country. There can be as much honor, as much beauty, as much intelligence and energy in the low-life as there is in the high-life. The major difference is that the weak in the low-class set are more obvious than in the high-class.
As the three fans and regular readers of this blog already know, the number of transients in Austin was a bit of a culture shock when I first moved here. The panhandlers are everywhere. The only place I think I have seen more panhandlers is in Hamburg, Germany. I have learned to manuever around and through the obvious transients; they have definite rules they have to abide by that keep them just within the public tolerance. When they violate the rules, their fellow transients suffer.
The surprise that awaited me on this particular stroll was the number of people who, based on their mannerisms and mode of dress, where not transients and still found the need to ask a stranger for something. The first encounter was a woman in a nice dress who crossed my path as I walked toward the bank. It was a warm, March day, and I was in shorts and a t-shirt...definitely not screaming "money" with my clothes. She didn't appear to be in need, but asked if I had $.75 (the one-way fare for the bus). I simply smiled and told her "no". She immediately went on to another woman who, as I walked into the bank, handed her a dollar.
When I left the bank, I walked to the bus-stop. I prefer to walk on a nice day, so I leave my car at home and take the bus downtown. Lo and behold, the woman who had asked me for money and received it from another was sitting with a woman at the stop, and the woman was handing her a dollar! The shifty beggar saw me coming and realized she had been caught, and gave me a look that was both fearful and pleading. I ignored it and her in general, and waited on the bus. The woman from whom she had plucked another illicit dollar from walked off.
And the beggar got on the bus and used a bus pass to pay for her ride.
En route to my destination downtown; Congress Ave, I was asked for a cigarette twice, roughly $15 in different amounts, and for the use of my cell-phone. I denied all of these requests; I don't smoke, you need to do a trick at least to get my money, and I'll be damned if your crack-head friends are going to be calling me later looking for you. None of these people were transients. Some of them were kids, all of various ethnic backgrounds. These people had adapted to the panhandler environment by panhandling themselves. They don't need the money, per say, but they know that they can get it while going through the public and just asking. Some will walk up to you, nice as can be, apologize for bothering you, ask for a dollar, and as soon as you say politely "no" they ignore you and move on as quickly as possible. The rude little shits don't even have the sense to maintain the illusion of being in need!
The most surprising display of "humanity" I witnessed that day was at the stop on the way home. I stood at the stop with a man of African descent, another man of Eastern origin, and a woman with Latin or Hispanic features. All of them were well dressed in different modes. The African fellow had out his laptop and was checking his email. Keep in mind that I was wearing a t-shirt and shorts.
A black woman walked up to us, eyed us all individually, and asked me for a dollar! She did not even bother asking anyone else...just the white guy! What the hell? I had my fill at that point. I asked, "Lady, are you serious? Your going to ask me for money and ignore everyone else? Is anyone here offended that she asked me for money because I am the only WHITE guy? Are you some sort of racist?" The woman was stunned, and just walked off as fast as she could without breaking into a run. The black guy on the laptop just chuckled.
Yep. Loosing faith in humanity, one leech at a time.
I enjoy an occassional stroll through town. I like to leave behind the hussle and bussle of my studio and occassional just wander, like a free man, through the streets of Austin. I might stop at a bistro and enjoy a latte. I might sample the offerings and a down-town eatery. I might view some art at a gallery (always looking for inspiration) or occassionally find a balconey from where I can look down upon the flotsam and jetsam of society and feel superior. I am not a nice man, but I have a nice life and it is fun to be me.
One of my "quirks" is my urge to rub elbows with the "seamier" aspects of society. I am just as likely to be at a strip-club as I am the opera, as often at a bar on 6th st as a restaurant in the Hill Country. There can be as much honor, as much beauty, as much intelligence and energy in the low-life as there is in the high-life. The major difference is that the weak in the low-class set are more obvious than in the high-class.
As the three fans and regular readers of this blog already know, the number of transients in Austin was a bit of a culture shock when I first moved here. The panhandlers are everywhere. The only place I think I have seen more panhandlers is in Hamburg, Germany. I have learned to manuever around and through the obvious transients; they have definite rules they have to abide by that keep them just within the public tolerance. When they violate the rules, their fellow transients suffer.
The surprise that awaited me on this particular stroll was the number of people who, based on their mannerisms and mode of dress, where not transients and still found the need to ask a stranger for something. The first encounter was a woman in a nice dress who crossed my path as I walked toward the bank. It was a warm, March day, and I was in shorts and a t-shirt...definitely not screaming "money" with my clothes. She didn't appear to be in need, but asked if I had $.75 (the one-way fare for the bus). I simply smiled and told her "no". She immediately went on to another woman who, as I walked into the bank, handed her a dollar.
When I left the bank, I walked to the bus-stop. I prefer to walk on a nice day, so I leave my car at home and take the bus downtown. Lo and behold, the woman who had asked me for money and received it from another was sitting with a woman at the stop, and the woman was handing her a dollar! The shifty beggar saw me coming and realized she had been caught, and gave me a look that was both fearful and pleading. I ignored it and her in general, and waited on the bus. The woman from whom she had plucked another illicit dollar from walked off.
And the beggar got on the bus and used a bus pass to pay for her ride.
En route to my destination downtown; Congress Ave, I was asked for a cigarette twice, roughly $15 in different amounts, and for the use of my cell-phone. I denied all of these requests; I don't smoke, you need to do a trick at least to get my money, and I'll be damned if your crack-head friends are going to be calling me later looking for you. None of these people were transients. Some of them were kids, all of various ethnic backgrounds. These people had adapted to the panhandler environment by panhandling themselves. They don't need the money, per say, but they know that they can get it while going through the public and just asking. Some will walk up to you, nice as can be, apologize for bothering you, ask for a dollar, and as soon as you say politely "no" they ignore you and move on as quickly as possible. The rude little shits don't even have the sense to maintain the illusion of being in need!
The most surprising display of "humanity" I witnessed that day was at the stop on the way home. I stood at the stop with a man of African descent, another man of Eastern origin, and a woman with Latin or Hispanic features. All of them were well dressed in different modes. The African fellow had out his laptop and was checking his email. Keep in mind that I was wearing a t-shirt and shorts.
A black woman walked up to us, eyed us all individually, and asked me for a dollar! She did not even bother asking anyone else...just the white guy! What the hell? I had my fill at that point. I asked, "Lady, are you serious? Your going to ask me for money and ignore everyone else? Is anyone here offended that she asked me for money because I am the only WHITE guy? Are you some sort of racist?" The woman was stunned, and just walked off as fast as she could without breaking into a run. The black guy on the laptop just chuckled.
Yep. Loosing faith in humanity, one leech at a time.
What the Hell Was I Thinking?!: Sleep Apnea
Folks, about ten years ago, if you were hanging out with me and told me that you could not participate in one of my out-until-6am evenings of insanity because of sleep apnea, I would have ridiculed you mercilessly. My perspective would simply have been that you should have a cup-o-joe and get over it. As my friend, Eric, would have put it, I can be a real prick.
Now, I find myself suffering from the malady. It sucks. It sucks in a way that someone who suffers from lack of sleep thinks things sucks, with the addition of being able to go to sleep brining no relief. You wake up tired. Worse, you have trouble focusing on anything for too long, and your memory is shot. You gain weight, feel depressed, and increase stress on your heart. It sucks.
I am writing this mainly for the benefit for a couple of people. My brother, Jon, hasn't heard from me in a while. Here's why, man. He has generally the same body-type as mine, so it is likely that he will experience the same deficiency. He can also pass the word on to my sister and father, should they ask what the prodigal son has been up to. I am also writing this for my friend and mentor-in-ink, Kyle, who has probably also wondered why I have fallen off the face of the earth. I am not that fun to hang out with right now.
So, anyway, sleep apnea. Sleep apnea makes it hard to focus. What is going on is that in my sleep, I stop breathing. Yay! It has nothing to do with weight, age, or apparently any of the other factors you might think would apply. It seems that, in my sleep, I become so relaxed that my airway just slumps shut. I sleep, snore, stop breathing, wake up enough to start breathing, snore, stop breathing... I never actually wake up completely, and I never get any deep sleep. My body never recovers from the trials of the previous day, thus everything is thrown into overdrive all the time to compensate. I tend to be cranky, cynical, caustic, prone to sudden shifts in mood, and a real son-of-a-bitch.
Plus I am tired...all the time.
The first sign of trouble was back when I was in the Army. During a training mission, we were out in the woods with alot of pollen. I mean like raining down fuzzy gunk pollen on everything. I am sawing logs in my army-issue harsh-climate sleeping bag (THE ultimate piece of military equipment) when my crew-chief wakes me up. My platoon sergeant and first sergeant are right along with him, and i am trying to recall if I had covered my tracks with the latest caper I pulled that could have caused some trouble. A medic comes cruising along and I feel like shit. At first, I can't even tell what is being said, then I pick up my crew-chief telling the medic that I wasn't breathing right. Yep, he was worried that the shit in the air was going to kill me in my sleep. Good times.
Over the years, girlfriends and two ex-wives have danced in-and-out of my life. I am a poon-hound...I can't help myself. I have chased, and caught, alot of tail. There are alot of women who can attest to my nocturnal habits and the apparently alluring manner with which I conduct my womanizing. I respect women, I really do...just some parts more than others.
Sleep apnea makes you lose focus.
Many of these ladies who have shared a matress with me have pointed out that, in my sleep, I snore heavilly. Sometimes I even stop breathing. I, more often than not, wondered why the young woman was still present, having exhausted my intertest in her the night before.
My daughters, shining examples of the potential of the female species, have also noted that I tend to snore, loudly. I never heard it, so I never thought it was an issue. They have complained that, in a room down the hall and around a corner with the door shut and a stereo playing Suicidal Tendencies they can still hear my nocturnal vocalization of a "good" night's sleep.
I have a big nose. I figured it was part and parcel with such romanesque features.
It was a change in my daily routine that truly brough the attention to the fore front. Jamy, my current and thus far favorite fleshy fun-land, mentioned with some concern that I would stop breathing, often, in the night. I began to notice that I was tired all the time. I was only getting 7 hours of sleep, when I used to get 10-11. It did not occur to me that 10-11 hours of sleep is abnormal...I just thought I liked sleep and I play too hard. I mean, I tend to be a night person. I do most of my artwork at night while listening to industrial music or watching horror films. I wonder what it says about me that I create erotic images while watching some monster slaughter a group of stupid teens...
Sleep apnea...no focus.
Anyway, my self-asphyxiation in my sleep was scaring my girlfriend, so I decide to visit my doctor one day a few months ago. She's a little sweety who didn't waste her college money on drawing lessons. She also has the utmost respect for tattoo artists, treating me like a fellow professional instead of some schlub. She is always going on about my tattoos, how her sister has tattoos and likes my work, how she is too scared to get a tattoo but would love one (a different one every time). She could just be trying to get a free tattoo out of me, which is funny because she hasn't exactly offered up a free doctor's visit.
Focus.
I tell her that I am tired all the time, and I don't know why, and that my girlfriend is freaking out about the breathing-thing. She checks me out, checks my weight and blood pressure, whatever. One day I am going to go into her office with my pants down and ask her if this looks swollen. Anyway, she says that my blood pressure is low and she sees no problems, but that based on my symptoms I probably have sleep apnea. She arranges for me to see a specialist.
The specialist was another little honey. She checked out my throat and pointed out that there was no obvious cause for blockage. In fact, I have one of the smallest uvula's she had ever seen, but could tell that I had it where it counts elsewhere. Clearly, I making up that part. It is so obvious that there is no need for anyone to state it. As she explained in detail what she thought was going on with me, I fell asleep in her office. It isn't that she was boring. I was just that tired.
Next stop on this parade of cute medical persons was my monitor during my first sleep study. This chick was one of the sweetest women you could meet who's job was to attach a series of devices to you in a manner that would have made the Marquis de Sade wince. Then, the quirky little country girl told me to go to sleep! I had wires stuck to my head, my chest, my legs, and a full-color, infra-red camera all monitoring the process.
The study, unfortunately, did not measure nocturnal arousal.
In the morning, my torturess explained that during the night I had awoke over 700 times. Yay!
The "cure" is an interesting device that you wear in your sleep. It is a CPAP mask, designed to use air pressure to keep your airways open while you snooze. I am tethered to the device all night, and fearful of its effects. The word is that the CPAP will allow me to sleep properly; which will reduce the stress on my body, improve my focus and memory, and even potentially cause weight loss. The reason for my concern is that it could also mellow my mood, making Jason a cooler, calmer, more relaxed, and (dare I say) jovial person.
I am kind of proud of my caustic nature. It would be a shame if I started exchanging pleasantries with strangers or tolerating the acts of stupidity that sometimes mar my exchanges with humanity. What the hell will I do if I somehow end up "normal"?
Now, I find myself suffering from the malady. It sucks. It sucks in a way that someone who suffers from lack of sleep thinks things sucks, with the addition of being able to go to sleep brining no relief. You wake up tired. Worse, you have trouble focusing on anything for too long, and your memory is shot. You gain weight, feel depressed, and increase stress on your heart. It sucks.
I am writing this mainly for the benefit for a couple of people. My brother, Jon, hasn't heard from me in a while. Here's why, man. He has generally the same body-type as mine, so it is likely that he will experience the same deficiency. He can also pass the word on to my sister and father, should they ask what the prodigal son has been up to. I am also writing this for my friend and mentor-in-ink, Kyle, who has probably also wondered why I have fallen off the face of the earth. I am not that fun to hang out with right now.
So, anyway, sleep apnea. Sleep apnea makes it hard to focus. What is going on is that in my sleep, I stop breathing. Yay! It has nothing to do with weight, age, or apparently any of the other factors you might think would apply. It seems that, in my sleep, I become so relaxed that my airway just slumps shut. I sleep, snore, stop breathing, wake up enough to start breathing, snore, stop breathing... I never actually wake up completely, and I never get any deep sleep. My body never recovers from the trials of the previous day, thus everything is thrown into overdrive all the time to compensate. I tend to be cranky, cynical, caustic, prone to sudden shifts in mood, and a real son-of-a-bitch.
Plus I am tired...all the time.
The first sign of trouble was back when I was in the Army. During a training mission, we were out in the woods with alot of pollen. I mean like raining down fuzzy gunk pollen on everything. I am sawing logs in my army-issue harsh-climate sleeping bag (THE ultimate piece of military equipment) when my crew-chief wakes me up. My platoon sergeant and first sergeant are right along with him, and i am trying to recall if I had covered my tracks with the latest caper I pulled that could have caused some trouble. A medic comes cruising along and I feel like shit. At first, I can't even tell what is being said, then I pick up my crew-chief telling the medic that I wasn't breathing right. Yep, he was worried that the shit in the air was going to kill me in my sleep. Good times.
Over the years, girlfriends and two ex-wives have danced in-and-out of my life. I am a poon-hound...I can't help myself. I have chased, and caught, alot of tail. There are alot of women who can attest to my nocturnal habits and the apparently alluring manner with which I conduct my womanizing. I respect women, I really do...just some parts more than others.
Sleep apnea makes you lose focus.
Many of these ladies who have shared a matress with me have pointed out that, in my sleep, I snore heavilly. Sometimes I even stop breathing. I, more often than not, wondered why the young woman was still present, having exhausted my intertest in her the night before.
My daughters, shining examples of the potential of the female species, have also noted that I tend to snore, loudly. I never heard it, so I never thought it was an issue. They have complained that, in a room down the hall and around a corner with the door shut and a stereo playing Suicidal Tendencies they can still hear my nocturnal vocalization of a "good" night's sleep.
I have a big nose. I figured it was part and parcel with such romanesque features.
It was a change in my daily routine that truly brough the attention to the fore front. Jamy, my current and thus far favorite fleshy fun-land, mentioned with some concern that I would stop breathing, often, in the night. I began to notice that I was tired all the time. I was only getting 7 hours of sleep, when I used to get 10-11. It did not occur to me that 10-11 hours of sleep is abnormal...I just thought I liked sleep and I play too hard. I mean, I tend to be a night person. I do most of my artwork at night while listening to industrial music or watching horror films. I wonder what it says about me that I create erotic images while watching some monster slaughter a group of stupid teens...
Sleep apnea...no focus.
Anyway, my self-asphyxiation in my sleep was scaring my girlfriend, so I decide to visit my doctor one day a few months ago. She's a little sweety who didn't waste her college money on drawing lessons. She also has the utmost respect for tattoo artists, treating me like a fellow professional instead of some schlub. She is always going on about my tattoos, how her sister has tattoos and likes my work, how she is too scared to get a tattoo but would love one (a different one every time). She could just be trying to get a free tattoo out of me, which is funny because she hasn't exactly offered up a free doctor's visit.
Focus.
I tell her that I am tired all the time, and I don't know why, and that my girlfriend is freaking out about the breathing-thing. She checks me out, checks my weight and blood pressure, whatever. One day I am going to go into her office with my pants down and ask her if this looks swollen. Anyway, she says that my blood pressure is low and she sees no problems, but that based on my symptoms I probably have sleep apnea. She arranges for me to see a specialist.
The specialist was another little honey. She checked out my throat and pointed out that there was no obvious cause for blockage. In fact, I have one of the smallest uvula's she had ever seen, but could tell that I had it where it counts elsewhere. Clearly, I making up that part. It is so obvious that there is no need for anyone to state it. As she explained in detail what she thought was going on with me, I fell asleep in her office. It isn't that she was boring. I was just that tired.
Next stop on this parade of cute medical persons was my monitor during my first sleep study. This chick was one of the sweetest women you could meet who's job was to attach a series of devices to you in a manner that would have made the Marquis de Sade wince. Then, the quirky little country girl told me to go to sleep! I had wires stuck to my head, my chest, my legs, and a full-color, infra-red camera all monitoring the process.
The study, unfortunately, did not measure nocturnal arousal.
In the morning, my torturess explained that during the night I had awoke over 700 times. Yay!
The "cure" is an interesting device that you wear in your sleep. It is a CPAP mask, designed to use air pressure to keep your airways open while you snooze. I am tethered to the device all night, and fearful of its effects. The word is that the CPAP will allow me to sleep properly; which will reduce the stress on my body, improve my focus and memory, and even potentially cause weight loss. The reason for my concern is that it could also mellow my mood, making Jason a cooler, calmer, more relaxed, and (dare I say) jovial person.
I am kind of proud of my caustic nature. It would be a shame if I started exchanging pleasantries with strangers or tolerating the acts of stupidity that sometimes mar my exchanges with humanity. What the hell will I do if I somehow end up "normal"?
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