I always ponder the question - would I be able to live on my own? Earn a wage at a decent job to pay the bills in some apartment? Pay for school with my own money, pinch pennies and spend whatever time I don't devote to my job to studying? Could I be entirely self-dependent at the moment? Could always get that English Tutor job, and the one at Blockbuster while I work around my classes. Could take the bus to school everyday from my shithole apartment. Could I? Is it possible?
No. I'd choke on my tongue within the first 20 minutes.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
It's an entry about nothing
I fucking hate how stupidly profound and accurate The Breakfast Club is. Struck a chord though.
I figured why I was averse to watching it was because I don't like watching or reading about people who echo eerily similar personality traits or problems. I'd much rather be one of the characters from the other movies I watched yesterday - a gunslinger from Unforgiven or a gangster from Snatch. Just goes to show you, we'll do anything to avoid issues or something of that sort. In this case, aspiring to be a cowboy or a diamond thief.
Corny ass ending though, but I'm very glad I watched it. Reminded me of RYLA, to be honest. The whole, pouring your heart out to strangers thing is just as therapeutic as it sounds. What I wouldn't give to relive that week. Guess I gotta settle for the next best thing, this stupid John Hughes movie.
Damn The Breakfast Club. I hate it because I love it.
I hope the rest of the movies on my queue provoke more shit like this. That's why I'm looking forward to The Matrix.
PS. John Bender is one cool dude.
I figured why I was averse to watching it was because I don't like watching or reading about people who echo eerily similar personality traits or problems. I'd much rather be one of the characters from the other movies I watched yesterday - a gunslinger from Unforgiven or a gangster from Snatch. Just goes to show you, we'll do anything to avoid issues or something of that sort. In this case, aspiring to be a cowboy or a diamond thief.
Corny ass ending though, but I'm very glad I watched it. Reminded me of RYLA, to be honest. The whole, pouring your heart out to strangers thing is just as therapeutic as it sounds. What I wouldn't give to relive that week. Guess I gotta settle for the next best thing, this stupid John Hughes movie.
Damn The Breakfast Club. I hate it because I love it.
I hope the rest of the movies on my queue provoke more shit like this. That's why I'm looking forward to The Matrix.
PS. John Bender is one cool dude.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Conditions
No long entry because I have a throbbing erection-headache. I just want to pose the question that I hope somebody can elucidate for me.
You "unconditionally love" your family, whatever. They haven't done anything exceptional to earn your love, your admiration, yet you do anyway. Why is it this occurs? It seems a bit irrational to me to love a table because it's rectangularly shaped. You love a table because you've had a lot of dinners on it and it hasn't collapsed over the weight of your pot roasts.
I sound like a pretty cold bastard, but this question has been posed since man was capable of thinking. Share thoughts, plz.
You "unconditionally love" your family, whatever. They haven't done anything exceptional to earn your love, your admiration, yet you do anyway. Why is it this occurs? It seems a bit irrational to me to love a table because it's rectangularly shaped. You love a table because you've had a lot of dinners on it and it hasn't collapsed over the weight of your pot roasts.
I sound like a pretty cold bastard, but this question has been posed since man was capable of thinking. Share thoughts, plz.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Justifications
Perhaps I've been too harsh. Perhaps I've been too ironically intolerant and hypocritical. Religion, for all it's irreconcilable beliefs and blatant contradictions, when taken as a larger value, is incredibly useful to society, versatile in delivering on people's needs, and provides the support and faith that people need to get on with life. But all this is ruled by a predominant veil of hypocrisy and irrationality. Is it justified that whatever benefits we get from religion are wrapped up with a contract that will perpetuate irrationality?
Religion provides the support people need when that support is taken away from them. Someone who's been trodden on their whole life, diagnosed with cancer, and simply overlooked in society is more likely to turn to religion than someone who's been pampered, educated, and encouraged to find their own way. Religion allows the weak, those who have been ragged on for all their lives, to find their way, through God, through the idea of heaven, and through purpose. People need something, the belief that their higher power will provide it will certainly be enough for them to continue their lives, to live it to the fullest.
It's nice to have encouragement, to have that certainty. Some people just aren't strong enough to stand on their own two feet, to buy into the belief of the absurdity of life and the construction of our own purpose. But if you've been down in the gutter all your life, isn't it also kind of hard to believe that a greater power is looking out for you? People are diagnosed with terminal diseases all the time, I would believe that it's very hard for them to maintain a steady belief that their higher power is doing the best it can for them. While it's nice to have that steadfastness in life, it also seems quite hard to justify its existence.
The main problem I have mostly with religion is mainly that buying into it promotes irrationality. The very concept of an abstract, almighty being unconditionally loving every person on earth, even the scum like child molesters or murderers and allowing forgiveness is absurd. I haven't even belittled it, Straw-Manned it, if you will (Logical fallacies don't fly with me), that's the concept. It is inherently absurd when you take into consideration the logical rationalities that rule the earth and heavens. Quantum physics and astronomy and astrology govern how the stars and planets and neutrinos and the like behave. Evolution dictates animalistic behavior and adaptations. All of this is supported with evidence and verification. I cannot believe in something that has absolutely no proof whatsoever. But I digress. With the acceptance of religion comes the acceptance of its tenets, and its tenets are, like I just said, inherently irrational. As more and more people begin to accept the irrationality and the hypocrisies and contradictions, they're perpetuated. They're made permanent and integrate themselves into society, as plainly evidenced by the progression of society over the past thousand years. The belief of a God is so commonplace now that atheists and agnostics are now the pariahs and are not accepted. It's an unfortunate trend.
So while I fully believe that religion is useful to the people who need it, we really could do without it. Existentialism, the school of thought I subscribe to (and the best, hell yeah!), isn't for everyone. Not everyone can self-enlighten and realize what it is that makes them happy. Some people need help to bring about this realization. And that's absolutely fine. The problems I have with it, however, are the fact that the help that comes, the cavalry if you will, stays with us. The baggage isn't going away any time soon. The backwards and oftentimes hateful passion that it inspires really could be directed at something else - something useful. But I suppose its the price we have to pay to maintain a society that can function after being beat down throughout its life.
Religion provides the support people need when that support is taken away from them. Someone who's been trodden on their whole life, diagnosed with cancer, and simply overlooked in society is more likely to turn to religion than someone who's been pampered, educated, and encouraged to find their own way. Religion allows the weak, those who have been ragged on for all their lives, to find their way, through God, through the idea of heaven, and through purpose. People need something, the belief that their higher power will provide it will certainly be enough for them to continue their lives, to live it to the fullest.
It's nice to have encouragement, to have that certainty. Some people just aren't strong enough to stand on their own two feet, to buy into the belief of the absurdity of life and the construction of our own purpose. But if you've been down in the gutter all your life, isn't it also kind of hard to believe that a greater power is looking out for you? People are diagnosed with terminal diseases all the time, I would believe that it's very hard for them to maintain a steady belief that their higher power is doing the best it can for them. While it's nice to have that steadfastness in life, it also seems quite hard to justify its existence.
The main problem I have mostly with religion is mainly that buying into it promotes irrationality. The very concept of an abstract, almighty being unconditionally loving every person on earth, even the scum like child molesters or murderers and allowing forgiveness is absurd. I haven't even belittled it, Straw-Manned it, if you will (Logical fallacies don't fly with me), that's the concept. It is inherently absurd when you take into consideration the logical rationalities that rule the earth and heavens. Quantum physics and astronomy and astrology govern how the stars and planets and neutrinos and the like behave. Evolution dictates animalistic behavior and adaptations. All of this is supported with evidence and verification. I cannot believe in something that has absolutely no proof whatsoever. But I digress. With the acceptance of religion comes the acceptance of its tenets, and its tenets are, like I just said, inherently irrational. As more and more people begin to accept the irrationality and the hypocrisies and contradictions, they're perpetuated. They're made permanent and integrate themselves into society, as plainly evidenced by the progression of society over the past thousand years. The belief of a God is so commonplace now that atheists and agnostics are now the pariahs and are not accepted. It's an unfortunate trend.
So while I fully believe that religion is useful to the people who need it, we really could do without it. Existentialism, the school of thought I subscribe to (and the best, hell yeah!), isn't for everyone. Not everyone can self-enlighten and realize what it is that makes them happy. Some people need help to bring about this realization. And that's absolutely fine. The problems I have with it, however, are the fact that the help that comes, the cavalry if you will, stays with us. The baggage isn't going away any time soon. The backwards and oftentimes hateful passion that it inspires really could be directed at something else - something useful. But I suppose its the price we have to pay to maintain a society that can function after being beat down throughout its life.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
The Burden: Entry 2
March 25, 1991.
Mood: Curious.
My client had hired me to tail his wife, to see if she was up to some funny business, which I could only infer to be her fucking some nigger cock or freebasing. It's money, but shameful money. I fucking hate this job.
I'm wearing some very nondescript clothes. Those detectives you see on TV and read about in books, they're nothing like the real deal. Sam Spade, Phillip Marlowe, Sherlock Holmes, the archetypal private eye, they're awesome. Hardboiled, gun-toting, cynical P.I.s. The reality of the matter is much simpler. We provide a service for paranoid husbands and wives, to give them information they don't want to know. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it might as well have killed some humans like some goddamn plague.
Anyway, this client of mine, a real schmuck. Short, little guy with glasses and a stutter contacted me and asked me to tail his wife. Apparently she claims she goes running in Golden Gate Park, but he doesn't buy it. I told him it'd cost four hundred greenbacks, which he forked over pretty quickly. All cash too. I had two suspicions, insights that the guy wouldn't like to hear. Rich, wealth, affluence leads to nothing but boredom. Where do you go when you reach the top? I figure if he can spare four hundred for a few hours of what amounts to stalking, he can spare some cash to drive that Maserati he has. To afford that Armani suit. Ironic how the man who has everything can lose everything over so trivial an issue.
It's an easy job. I just walk behind her, no problem. Get in my car when she does. Stay three car lengths. She ends up in some place in the Tenderloin. The guy who answers the door looks real happy and real suave. That swanky Latin charm. I fucking knew it. Tell the client what he probably already knew. This is how all of my cases go, and it's fucking abhorrent. It's easy, it pays alright, and I don't have to do much, but so is managing a liquor store.
He doesn't take it very well. I offer some insight, to which he responds violently. Those guys, Phillip Marlowe, whatever that I mentioned earlier. They carry a piece. I can't. So what does the big bad Private Eye do when his client takes swings at him? Fucking runs. Runs away like a pussy.
I hate this job.
Mood: Curious.
My client had hired me to tail his wife, to see if she was up to some funny business, which I could only infer to be her fucking some nigger cock or freebasing. It's money, but shameful money. I fucking hate this job.
I'm wearing some very nondescript clothes. Those detectives you see on TV and read about in books, they're nothing like the real deal. Sam Spade, Phillip Marlowe, Sherlock Holmes, the archetypal private eye, they're awesome. Hardboiled, gun-toting, cynical P.I.s. The reality of the matter is much simpler. We provide a service for paranoid husbands and wives, to give them information they don't want to know. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it might as well have killed some humans like some goddamn plague.
Anyway, this client of mine, a real schmuck. Short, little guy with glasses and a stutter contacted me and asked me to tail his wife. Apparently she claims she goes running in Golden Gate Park, but he doesn't buy it. I told him it'd cost four hundred greenbacks, which he forked over pretty quickly. All cash too. I had two suspicions, insights that the guy wouldn't like to hear. Rich, wealth, affluence leads to nothing but boredom. Where do you go when you reach the top? I figure if he can spare four hundred for a few hours of what amounts to stalking, he can spare some cash to drive that Maserati he has. To afford that Armani suit. Ironic how the man who has everything can lose everything over so trivial an issue.
It's an easy job. I just walk behind her, no problem. Get in my car when she does. Stay three car lengths. She ends up in some place in the Tenderloin. The guy who answers the door looks real happy and real suave. That swanky Latin charm. I fucking knew it. Tell the client what he probably already knew. This is how all of my cases go, and it's fucking abhorrent. It's easy, it pays alright, and I don't have to do much, but so is managing a liquor store.
He doesn't take it very well. I offer some insight, to which he responds violently. Those guys, Phillip Marlowe, whatever that I mentioned earlier. They carry a piece. I can't. So what does the big bad Private Eye do when his client takes swings at him? Fucking runs. Runs away like a pussy.
I hate this job.
Monday, November 3, 2008
The Burden: Entry 1
March 11th, 1996.
Mood: Purgative.
I see you're reading my diary. Peering into the depths of my mind, the inner sanctum of my mental machinations. That's good. Shows either you're interested or perhaps just flicking through. My money's on the latter, you're probably thumbing through this as you go through my belongings. Just like everyone else - I'm of no consequence. Pawn this rant, cast it aside for those sparse few cents you need to pay off your drug dealer. Go on. Maybe the pawn shop owner will be more interested in what I have to say, or perhaps the sad chap who sorts through the recyclables, discontent with life. I have more in common with that guy than anyone else, but you'll never know because you're not reading this, are you?
Still here, are you? Still indulging in my miseries? Are they intriguing to you? Do I write well? Are my problems of interest? Well, if you've stuck around long enough to read this, maybe I'm doing something right. We'll see how it goes. So I guess I'll talk about some of my problems.
I recently lost someone, though not in the conventional sense. She was very dear to me, we were very close. And one day, she was gone. Taken away from me in a flash of thunder. At first, I felt nothing but anger and vengeance at those who abducted her. Nothing but seething hatred for her and her kidnappers. Then I realized she left of her own accord, abandoned the life she led here, the glories of the mundane and comfortable to stake her own claim in the world. My blindness could not see past the selfish fact that she left me. I didn't want to be happy for her successes. I just wanted my hatred to be mollified. And I harbored it for a good while, kept my feelings close to my chest. I drowned them in alcohol, marijuana, and the company of others, but nothing could quite fill the void left in her wake.
And one night, while intoxicated, I found myself violently assailed by an inebriated stranger, his fist knocking me out cold in the middle of Golden Gate Park. I was unconscious for some time, waking up to a beautiful and vast blue sky. And lost in that infinite blue I was woken up. Snapped out of my trance, realizing my hubris and folly. If she were here, she'd want my support, whatever I could offer. What she didn't want in her time of need was venomous thoughts of poison. But she wasn't here anymore. What did it matter? I could improve myself, but if there was no one to judge, why change?
I moved towards the final step, acceptance. It's what those new-age doctors call the last step of dying. And in a way, it was true. What is death but the passage of another person to another place? She left, went to another place, effectively dying. She was dead to me. No contact, no calls. But what happens after the death? Mourning. Remembrance. And that's what I did. I didn't linger on her metaphorical death. I remembered and honored it. But maybe she's still out there. Alive. Doing well. I hope that's the case. And I hope she hasn't forgotten about me.
Still reading? Well, good man. I didn't think I could captivate you. A rant on a lost woman who may or may not be alive, I suppose, is somewhat interesting. Have I hooked you? Is my writing perhaps exude an aura of intrigue? I hope so. But you know what I've realized in writing this entry? It's a very nice way to get things off your chest. Burdens. Onuses. I'll see you next time, if you care to read.
Peace and Love, Captain Jeremiah First, former Second Infantry Division.
PS. Thinking of doing this as a serial. What do you think?
Mood: Purgative.
I see you're reading my diary. Peering into the depths of my mind, the inner sanctum of my mental machinations. That's good. Shows either you're interested or perhaps just flicking through. My money's on the latter, you're probably thumbing through this as you go through my belongings. Just like everyone else - I'm of no consequence. Pawn this rant, cast it aside for those sparse few cents you need to pay off your drug dealer. Go on. Maybe the pawn shop owner will be more interested in what I have to say, or perhaps the sad chap who sorts through the recyclables, discontent with life. I have more in common with that guy than anyone else, but you'll never know because you're not reading this, are you?
Still here, are you? Still indulging in my miseries? Are they intriguing to you? Do I write well? Are my problems of interest? Well, if you've stuck around long enough to read this, maybe I'm doing something right. We'll see how it goes. So I guess I'll talk about some of my problems.
I recently lost someone, though not in the conventional sense. She was very dear to me, we were very close. And one day, she was gone. Taken away from me in a flash of thunder. At first, I felt nothing but anger and vengeance at those who abducted her. Nothing but seething hatred for her and her kidnappers. Then I realized she left of her own accord, abandoned the life she led here, the glories of the mundane and comfortable to stake her own claim in the world. My blindness could not see past the selfish fact that she left me. I didn't want to be happy for her successes. I just wanted my hatred to be mollified. And I harbored it for a good while, kept my feelings close to my chest. I drowned them in alcohol, marijuana, and the company of others, but nothing could quite fill the void left in her wake.
And one night, while intoxicated, I found myself violently assailed by an inebriated stranger, his fist knocking me out cold in the middle of Golden Gate Park. I was unconscious for some time, waking up to a beautiful and vast blue sky. And lost in that infinite blue I was woken up. Snapped out of my trance, realizing my hubris and folly. If she were here, she'd want my support, whatever I could offer. What she didn't want in her time of need was venomous thoughts of poison. But she wasn't here anymore. What did it matter? I could improve myself, but if there was no one to judge, why change?
I moved towards the final step, acceptance. It's what those new-age doctors call the last step of dying. And in a way, it was true. What is death but the passage of another person to another place? She left, went to another place, effectively dying. She was dead to me. No contact, no calls. But what happens after the death? Mourning. Remembrance. And that's what I did. I didn't linger on her metaphorical death. I remembered and honored it. But maybe she's still out there. Alive. Doing well. I hope that's the case. And I hope she hasn't forgotten about me.
Still reading? Well, good man. I didn't think I could captivate you. A rant on a lost woman who may or may not be alive, I suppose, is somewhat interesting. Have I hooked you? Is my writing perhaps exude an aura of intrigue? I hope so. But you know what I've realized in writing this entry? It's a very nice way to get things off your chest. Burdens. Onuses. I'll see you next time, if you care to read.
Peace and Love, Captain Jeremiah First, former Second Infantry Division.
PS. Thinking of doing this as a serial. What do you think?
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Decisions, decisions.
The package deal you get with life is decisions. Maybe you'll buy Fallout 3 instead of Fable 2 over the weekend (like me!). Maybe you'll choose to go to UC Davis instead of UC Berkeley. Maybe you'll become a lawyer instead of a big-shot movie director. Maybe you'll be miserable instead of happy. It all hinges on the choices we're confronted with in life. How you go about these decisions determines everything. Effectively, our lives are nothing more than a compilation of decision and effect. One thing leads to another, in a chain of consequences. But all of it is played out by us, the actors on the stage of life, pardon the incredibly cliched metaphor.
And the path you walk is never certain. You may abandon it and choose something else. The comforting certainty behind life is that you will always be uncertain, in a cruel twist of irony. Always will you wonder "what if?" But I find that pondering the alternate consequence is a waste of time. It will never happen, unless you go back in time and make it so. Abandon what you're doing, perhaps, and maybe you'll change and gain the alternative. Half of life is wondering what life is, but it's not about wondering what life could be. If it could be something, go out and make it that way. Summon what energy you have to achieve what you want.
We all make stupid choices in life. "Oh man, I shouldn't have robbed that old lady." "Oh man, I shouldn't have shot down that sexy Asian dude." "Oh man, I shouldn't have thrown my puppies into the washing machine so I wouldn't have to wash them." Our lives shouldn't revolve perpetually around them, which is evoking the "don't think about what could be" argument again.
I guess my entire point is simply this: contemplate your choices. Weigh the risks and benefits. And if your call was wrong, don't linger on it. Move on. Move past it. If you killed someone, repent. That kind of thing. Bad example that may be, but it conveys my point adequately enough. A life of regrets and wonder is, in the words of Eddie Vedder and the awesome band that is Pearl Jam, "LIFE WASTED!"
PS. Do we, do we know when we fly?
And the path you walk is never certain. You may abandon it and choose something else. The comforting certainty behind life is that you will always be uncertain, in a cruel twist of irony. Always will you wonder "what if?" But I find that pondering the alternate consequence is a waste of time. It will never happen, unless you go back in time and make it so. Abandon what you're doing, perhaps, and maybe you'll change and gain the alternative. Half of life is wondering what life is, but it's not about wondering what life could be. If it could be something, go out and make it that way. Summon what energy you have to achieve what you want.
We all make stupid choices in life. "Oh man, I shouldn't have robbed that old lady." "Oh man, I shouldn't have shot down that sexy Asian dude." "Oh man, I shouldn't have thrown my puppies into the washing machine so I wouldn't have to wash them." Our lives shouldn't revolve perpetually around them, which is evoking the "don't think about what could be" argument again.
I guess my entire point is simply this: contemplate your choices. Weigh the risks and benefits. And if your call was wrong, don't linger on it. Move on. Move past it. If you killed someone, repent. That kind of thing. Bad example that may be, but it conveys my point adequately enough. A life of regrets and wonder is, in the words of Eddie Vedder and the awesome band that is Pearl Jam, "LIFE WASTED!"
PS. Do we, do we know when we fly?
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