Life in the Blue Nowhere; or Nostalgia

There are times when I like to sit back and just think about nothing in particular; let my mind wander around and around and around and around and around, just waiting to see where it lands and where that takes me. Tonight, talking with someone I would consider a friend, it ended up landing on the subject of no small amount of weird: How I grew up.

I was an awkward child, to be be completely fair about it. I was scrawny, had freckles, wore "nerdy" clothes, and my tastes were not that of the average child of my age. Where most kids chose to eat chips, I would go for fruits and veggies. Where they would get soda or artificial juice, I wanted water. They were into sports, I was into the X-Men and Super Mario. They played during recess, I watched ants and bugs and even wildlife. It made it hard to have friends.

I say these things not to prop myself up in some weird, egotistical way, but more to provide context for the rest of this mental vomit that's the result of entirely too much meandering about in psychological/memorial purgatory.

When I was 11, I got my first real PC. I remember it well: It was a cheaply built tower with a 28k dial-up modem - top of the line for its day, really - with moderate graphics and disc space (250MB!), CD-ROM, keyboard, mouse, and old fashioned CRT monitor. My father built it for me so I would have something to play games on and go online with.

The first time I made a connection - via NetZero, if memory serves me correct - and first fired up Internet Explorer, I was hooked. My every interest was minutes away - forever by the standard of today, but back then was lightning fast - at any given point in time. I could get the absolute latest news of my favorite comics, TV shows, video games, and so on whenever I wanted, and it wasn't long before I discovered chat rooms.

Here's where it starts getting weird.

I had recently seen the movie First Kid (I'm not proud of it) and gotten the idea to even search for them from there. There was this scene where the kid is talking in a chat room called "Kid Chat." I couldn't believe this was actually a thing, so I did what any kid with enough privilege to access the Internet that age: I used it. I went to a search engine that I can't remember - maybe Lycos? - and typed in, of course, "kid chat."

I was warped (almost) instantly to a slew of results. I clicked the first one, and was connected to a chat room of the same name via the IRC chat Web server WebNet. Suddenly, I found myself thrust into a constant, seemingly unending, stream of constant conversation with people around my age, and I couldn't believe it.

I was finally, at the age of 11, able to talk to other people nave have them acknowledge my existence. The feeling was one of exhilaration and disbelief that had an unholy union to produce an emotion that can't even be described as a mixture of both that is at once gratifying, and intoxicating, therefore addicting.

Attention. Beautiful, beautiful attention.

Before I knew it, I was spending all of my time in this chat room, as well as others. I was an active member of no fewer than three chat rooms at one time, and I still remember the elation I felt at finding out that they were all a part of the same network, meaning I didn't have to have multiple connections or windows to talk to everyone.

You might be saying to yourself "Yeah, but you really don't know them. You've never met them. They could be anybody." And in certain cases, you'd be absolutely correct.

Over these (almost) twenty years, I have made many friends. While I've lost touch with most of them, there are many of them that I still talk to this very day. One of the best friends I have ever made was over the Internet. My friendship with her is something that I cherish, and she is probably the person that knows me the best out of everybody else that is a part of my life. She understands me on a level that is matched by only one other (who is also a very close friend of mine, and appreciated just as much).

During this time in my life, I learned to substitute interaction with my immediate, more physical peers with the interactions I could get at will with those that I found infinitely more interesting. These were people from all over not just the country, but the entire world. I was talking with people from all over the States, in England, Scotland - hell, even the Middle East - and, what's more, they talked right back to me.

Some would call this unhealthy, that this is no way to go about learning about human interaction, but I would beg to differ. I know that when we're online, we have the ability to be anybody that we want to be. However, in my vast experience - very close to twenty actual years' worth - everyone tends to become themselves while they're online. With the promise of anonymity, knowing we could adopt whatever persona we want, we will more often than not revert to our true personas.

You see, I feel like we all want to be known and understood, and, in turn, know and understand each other. We have this deep-seated need for companionship that, as I am walking proof of, we have an instinct to seek out however we can.

There are probably many discussions out there about the merits or disadvantages of learning human interaction in this way, but fuck them all. I have something more than studies: I have actual experience. All they'll ever have will be second- and maybe third-hand stories.

I, however, along with the very friends talked about here, helped to write a book about some of those experiences. It's free, so there's no harm in at least giving it a look-see.

This is to all my Internet friends, past and present, most of whom I've never met in person, and the likelihood of ever doing so is realistically remote: I love you all. I love having you in my life. and I can't really put into words just how much I appreciate each and every one of you, and the things we've all been through together. You all helped me through some of the roughest times in my life, and I am indebted to you in a way that I don't think I can repay. Thank you all so much for being there.

Blurble; or Into the Fire

As I sit here writing this entry tonight, I find myself staring down a fairly big and rather important life change. I'll spare you all the blasting of my personal life on a public blog. Suffice to say, things are changing, and in big ways.

In just a few short days' time, I will find myself transplanted back to the East coast; back to Maryland. I stare at this monster of a life event, and I peer at it suspiciously as I continue to puff on the cancer sticks that are slowly killing me.

I have mixed emotions about this. On the one hand, I'm rather excited because I'm being handed a very rare opportunity in life that we shall call the Reset Button. While it's not a full reset - nobody is that fortunate - it will be enough of one to change my life for the better, and for a very long time. On top of that, having the chance to see family and friends again is a rather exciting prospect, indeed.

On the other hand, as Steven Wright once said, you have different fingers. While this is an amazing opportunity, it's going to require a lot of sacrifices on my part, and ones that I'm still unsure if I'm actually willing to make or not.

The move is temporary - a time frame of three years - so there's that. But what's really bothering me about the whole thing is the unknown.

I have no idea what's going to actually happen when I get back home. I have a plan, of course; I'd be stupid not to have one. However, even the best laid plans may not bear fruit. And if that happens, fine. I can deal with that. It's what's going to happen between now and the part where the plan ends and the time frame has expired that drives me to wring my hands with worry.

If I had any hair left, I'm sure I'd be pulling it out.

It's exciting, and yet terrifying. If I had been in this position even last year, it wouldn't be as big of a deal as it is now. But with my daughter and her well-being now to factor into the equation, it completely changes everything.

I know that what I'm doing is the right thing to do. I know this because it's the harder thing to do. But that's little solace when you have no way of telling what kind of bullshit is going to pop up while you're off doing work. You can't help but wonder what will change, what won't. Pondering the unknown, the could be, and the might have been.

I am on the brink of madness.

And I feel strangely alive because of it.

Fascism You Can Vote For; or What Have We Come To

By now, I'm sure you've heard all about the nonsense going on in Missouri that is the current hot-button debate issue. It's sad that things have gotten to the point that they have, but more importantly, the response of the authorities is terrifying. What the hell, America?

We are quickly moving toward becoming a fascist police state, and it's getting closer every week. There are many people out there with varying opinions on the matter. Some are in support of the police and our government on the way that cops are carrying themselves and how they respond to the dissenters. Others, of course, are the dissenters themselves or those that support them. I've spent a lot of time talking about related topics in this blog, because it's something I feel deeply about. We cannot allow this to happen to ourselves.

Yes, this whole thing started after 9/11, when we allowed the Patriot Act to be signed into law. We sat around, telling ourselves that our liberties being taken away in exchange for security was a good thing, and since we didn't have anything to hide, it wouldn't matter because we had nothing to hide.

But then..... Edward Snowden.

Now we're suddenly finding ourselves facing a tyrannical government trying its best to disarm us, further violating our Constitutional rights, and make it harder and harder for us to gather and protest them, even peacefully, because the responses from them and their hired thugs that we call the police are getting more and more violent.

Since when did resistance to a fascist government become a bad thing? Isn't that kind of the entire reason we exist as a country to begin with?

Look, I'm not here to preach at you, but I am going to ask that any and all who read this take a good, long look at what we're becoming as a society in this country. We have tons of surplus food that gets thrown in the garbage every day because it isn't sold, and yet we have millions of starving people in our country that could really use said food. We have trillions of dollars floating around the country, most of it going to just a few, and yet we have people living in poverty that have no way out. We have a prison system that is already over-crowded and has proven time and again that it doesn't work as far as rehabilitation for the prisoners is concerned. We have problems, folks, and nobody seems to give a goddamn because they're too busy dumping buckets of ice water on their heads.

Further, they're being told that this is all for their own good. As a society, we cannot function this way for much longer. Things are reaching a boiling point, and that's scary to me, because I can't see it ending any other way than another bloody civil war.

I'm not yet calling for revolution, but I'm getting close. I cannot stand to see what we have spent centuries building go down in flames over the course of decades because of the actions of a greedy few.

The Tears of a Clown; or A Life Once Lost

Unless you've been living under a rock for the past 48 hours, you've surely heard by now that legendary comedian, actor, and all-around funnyman Robin Williams has been found dead in his California home. Apparently, it was a suicide.

Ever since hearing about it, and finding out that this wasn't just another hoax, I was absolutely floored. I simply couldn't believe it. He was a huge inspiration throughout my life. His stand-up routines were things I could watch while in one of my notorious depressive funks, and still get a laugh.

Which brings me to the point of me writing this post. Mr. Williams was someone that I respected and admired a lot growing up. My first introduction to him, like many others my age, was the certifiably insane bat from Fern Gully: The Last Rainforest. From there, I stared at the TV for hours, saucer-eyed, as I watched him give voice to Genie from Aladdin, rewinding the movie when it was done to watch it all over again. I learned that being a father was something that sometimes requires one to do rather silly things to be able to ensure that your kids grow up right when I watched him turn himself into a woman in Mrs. Doubtfire.

Then, as I grew up, I started digging into his older works in his career. I discovered the Dead Poet's Society, where he managed to teach me more about poetry and English in the span of two hours than most of the my teachers had managed to teach me in two years. I also learned from him that it's never a good idea to put kids' lives in danger during the rain, especially since you never know who's getting a blowjob just right around the corner. I watched him spin tunes as a record DJ during the Vietnam war.

He had a range of roles, and if you're really that curious, I linked his IMDb page for a reason. He could be more than just funny. There were times that he was downright dour. But all in all, he was an amazing man, and will be missed.

The reason I speak about all of this is that, underneath his veneer, his fame, his fortune, his success as an entertainer... None of it meant jack-fuck. He, like many of us int he world, suffered from chronic severe depression. It's not something that people like to think about. It's not something that they want to admit is a real problem. Since the announcement of his death, I have seen tons of people offering condolences and support. I've even seen some people be real assholes - like a guy I've been arguing with off and on in this article here (which should be read, by the way, as the article is very important, I feel, and does a far better job than most of addressing the problem) - saying that what he did was "selfish" or "cowardly." Even Conservative windbag Rush Limbaugh is getting in on this, albeit in his usual stupid ways.

Look, there is a real problem with the world today, folks, and if there's one good thing that come of the death of Mr. Williams, it's that maybe now we can stop trying to say that those who are depressed are weak and just need to "get over themselves," and we can have the conversation about it that has been needed for a long, long time.

Depression and suicide are things that I don't take very lightly. I suffer from depression and fight with it every single day. Sometimes, it's even hard to smile when I look at my daughter. Not a single day goes by that I don't think about suicide. And I know that I'm not alone in this. However, it certainly feels that way.

And that's the thing about depression: You're constantly feeling as if you're alone and that you have no way of relieving the pain that you feel on a regular basis. People react to it differently and will find different avenues to fill the void. Some people cut on themselves and tear their skin apart. Other people will separate themselves from the rest of the world until they can somehow manage to pull themselves out of their funk. Others write, or walk. There are people out there like Mr. Williams who find that a good way to keep your spirits up is the lift the spirits of others. What they don't like you to know is that these outlets only last for so long.

If you've never lived with crippling depression before, let me tell you that it's not just "Oh, I feel blue today." It's more than that. I can't really put it into words. Have you ever had something really terrible that you just had to do with your day, and it was something that had to be done later in the afternoon and you couldn't follow the advice of Mark Twain and eat the frog first thing so the rest of your day would be wonderful? That feeling of absolute dread that you get knowing that you have to do this thing? It's kind of like that, only multiplied by a number that doesn't even exist yet. And the frog for those of us that suffer from this isn't just "Oh, I have to go to court" or anything like that. It's life in general.

Many people throughout my life have told me that I'm just being melodramatic about this, that I should just "lighten up" or "think positive!" or some other useless platitude that doesn't really do anything to help. It's not that simple. And honestly, saying those things to someone that approaches you about this overwhelming feeling of dread and despair is a lot like saying "I don't care what you're feeling. Fuck off with that shit, man, because you're bringing me down and, like, I don't need that right now because my phone charger isn't working properly." And that's usually how we take it when people tell us these things. We feel as if those we care about don't really care about us.

Therein lies the problem. We have viewed depression - and pretty much any other kind of mental illness - as a sign of weakness in our fellow human beings and as something that should be treated the same way we used to treat lepers back in the day.

There are a few that we talk to who say "Man, you need help." Like we didn't know that already. But if we're reaching out to you, it's because we're trying to get that help. And then we're met with the useless platitudes that I mentioned above, and it's frustrating.

Yes, there are a lot of resources out there for those battling with depression and thoughts of suicide on a regular basis, and I'm going to do anybody struggling who is reading this a courtesy of leaving links to these helplines at the end of this post, because this is really some serious shit that shouldn't be swept under the rug.

But what happens when these resources are no longer helpful? What if it starts feeling like these resources that actually want to help you through your struggle are just giving you the same useless platitudes that you get from your friends? That's another problem for many of us, and then we end up feeling like the only way out is death, and that's when suicide looks like more and more of a better option. I mean, why continue waking up every day, knowing that your life is in the toilet and feeling like the whole world is against you when you can just simply end it all and be done with it?

Yeah, it's not really a good solution to the problems, but at least it's a solution. That's what is going through the minds of those with this sickness, and if you know anybody who is going through it, you need to recognize that. It's not selfish when it's the only way to stop the never-ending pain and torment that you live through on a daily basis. Lord knows that I've given it serious consideration in the past, have done so recently, and, knowing myself, I will give it consideration in the future. As I mentioned earlier, there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about it at least once.

It takes a lot out of me to write about this. I'm not good at expressing the feelings that I have, in any capacity. I hate myself a little more for even writing about this to begin with, because I feel like I'm just whining. I feel as if people who read this won't really get it, and will continue to tell me to just "lighten up." I really don't know what else to say or do to make people understand, or even really care.

And that's the most frustrating part of all.

Resources:

Click here if you are a cutter.
If you're on the verge of suicide, these guys can hopefully help.
For more specialized help, I'd advise using Google to track down local support.

A Sigh of Resignation; or That's a Fucking Secret and You Know It

So, after much deliberation and procrastination, I have decided to finally get around to talking about Edward Snowden.

Edward. Fucking. Snowden.

If, for some reason, you aren't familiar with this guy, Google has about 530 million results to choose from, and from all political slants. Take your pick and catch up. We'll wait. Alternately, he has own Wikipedia page.

We good? Good.

Snowden is, depending on whom you ask, a traitor or a hero. I have read about this man that I know nothing about whatsoever from various sources. I have read the ballad-like entries of left-leaning bloggers to the apoplectic, almost psychotic, ravings from the right. You know some shit has been stirred, through, when Glenn Beck throws a curveball of this magnitude.

So, I guess the question that should be addressed is: Where do I stand on this? Is Snowden a whistleblower? A hero? A traitor who needs to be put to death? Before we can really answer this, though, there are a few things that we need to ascertain, not the least of which is drawing clear lines between Snowden and Bradley Manning (who, I feel is prudent to note, only has a paltry 189 million search results on Google).

What Manning did was, in my mind, incredibly stupid. He made available information that seriously jeopardized the lives of our troops and ambassadors. He put into public view information that our enemies could have used (and most likely happily did so) to evade efforts of apprehension. While I can't really knock his reasoning for doing what he did, that doesn't mean that I have to agree with the means to his end. Even if the judge isn't buying the entire story of the prosecution. He really should have tried harder than two sources before dumping to WikiLeaks.

Before I go any further, let me clarify something specifically for Julian Assange: You are an asshole of a greater caliber than I. You can consider that either a compliment, or an insult, because I'm seriously not sure of it myself.

Now, what Snowden did was something entirely different. Yes, it's similar in the sense that he leaked information that was considered to be classified to a source who then turned the public eye towards the issues raised. The difference, however, is that Snowden did nothing more than confirm something that we already kinda figured was going on, anyway. That video is from 2010, by the way. I could probably find earlier, but to keep up with the current trend, here's some Google results.

To call Snowden a traitor, I think, is rather extreme. Is he a criminal? Oh, hell yes, he is. There is absolutely zero debate in that regard. He broke the law - not to mention his government contract, essentially guaranteeing nothing but fast food employment here on in - and definitely needs to answer for that. However, I don't believe he is a traitor. Espionage isn't really what I would call it, either. All he did was cause the American government embarrassment. That's hardly enough to warrant the poisonous rhetoric, much less recommendations of Dick Cheney. Even the reaction of John McCain is entirely unwarranted.

Now, let's take a look at the facts, and then we'll arrive at what, I feel, is a logical conclusion reached by the facts, and the facts alone.

First and foremost, cellphone users are apparently too stupid for privacy in the eyes (or ears, as it were) of our "government." According to a federal judge - that I should remind you is paid off our tax dollars - if you are willing to pick up your cell phone and turn it on, then you are automatically waiving your Fourth Amendment. In the exact words of New York Magistrate Judge Gary Brown himself: "Given the ubiquity and celebrity of geolocation technologies, an individual has no legitimate expectation of privacy in the prospective of a cellular telephone where that individual has failed to protect his privacy by taking the simple expedient of powering it off."

"But... but.... that's not right! Surely the liberal Democrats have our backs in this!" you might say. Well, Billy, are you ever wrong! Both parties are actually 100% A-Okay with this entire system! As a matter of fact, days after the leak, Republican Saxby Chambliss (probably the douchiest name ever) and Democrat Dianne Feinstein both outraged against Snowden and his actions, and actually stood in support of the NSA! How about that?

Now, it's not exactly a secret that this isn't exactly the first time that our government has been exposed when it comes to spying on us. Hell, we had almost the exact same scandal not even ten years ago. The problem is that we're too focused on some incredibly dumb shit and we shouldn't even care about it. These things have absolutely no merit in our day to day lives. I get why people would want to watch the white trash stereotype perpetuate itself - particularly after being enlightened to the idea of white privilege - but I cannot fathom why anybody would actually care about the birth of a new generation of people that our forefathers fought against to free us from tyranny, and bring us to the great nation that we're supposed to be.

When the founders of this great nation first drafted the Constitution, they did it to free us from tyranny. They did it to keep us from the very things that are happening in our government right now. What they are doing to us with this NSA thing isn't what they would have wanted. Any person who can look at me and honestly say otherwise.... well, I can't imagine such a person exists.

Especially if they understand that, despite government assurance, they most certainly are using data collected against Americans. This alone should tell you what they're intending on using it for. You think you're safe from this? You're not. And the fact that we even caught wind of this is because we were suddenly looking for it. Why were we looking for it, though?

Edward Snowden.

I understand why many people would jump to the conclusion that he is a traitor, though. He flew to Hong Kong. Now, that's actually very, very important. Hong Kong, despite popular belief, isn't really a part of China, anymore. It's more what you would call a Chinese territory, much like how we consider Puerto Rico and the Caribbean Islands are territories of the United States. The difference, if it isn't already obvious, is that they are entirely autonomous from the controlling lands. Well, in the spirit of accuracy here, Hong Kong is more semi-autonomous versus fully so, but the point does remain that Hong Kong is not China. If he really wanted to sell our information to the enemy and really betray the country, don't you think Beijing would have been the more logical place to go for such an action? You can't tell me that they wouldn't have welcomed him with open arms. Instead, he went to the place that would have bought him the most time to plan his next move.

That move ended up being Moscow, but by the time he landed, his travel papers were no longer valid. It's not as if he wanted to end up there. I'm almost positive that he was hoping to beat the clock and head into either Havana or Ecuador, where his American money dollars would have stretched a lot further than they would in Russia. I admit that this speculation stems from what I would do were I in his position. However, his luck gambling ran out and he ended up in Russia, of all places.

As many news sources have pointed out (see earlier link to Snowden search results - a few are on the front page), it's not like Russia is an ideal place to be for anybody, least of all an exile. Yes, Russia granted him asylum for one year, but what then? There are only two reasons why Putin would pull such a move, that I can see.

1) He simply couldn't resist giving the United States a black eye. Given our current role on the global stage, we aren't exactly very well-liked by anybody right now. When the people that you call your allies are keeping relations with your enemies, you know you're in a bad spot. And our few allies that weren't mad at us are - on an official capacity, anyway - outraged at the fact that we are also spying on them. Combine this with the rapidly deteriorating relations between Russia and the United States, add in a bit of Cold War mentality, and have a desperate expat with classified information about the inner-workings of the United States, and you've got one hell of an opportunity to make America the Brave a complete fool. What Communist dictator could possibly resist?

2) He really, really wants that information. Let's not forget that he's a Communist dictator who has proven that he has very little regard for anything but his own motives, time and again. Various violations to basic human rights, as well as lots of oppression towards the LBGT community (though that might be a play from America's book), doesn't exactly paint a pleasant picture of what is most likely in store for Snowden. If Putin gets all Cold War on him, Snowden is going to wish that we caught him instead. Again, for the sake of clarity, Vladimir Putin is a fucking Communist dictator who clearly is out of fucks to give. If he decides that he wants what Snowden has in its entirety, you can be damned sure that he's going to get it. To what ends he'll use it is anybody's guess, because he really is nothing if not unpredictable.

So, where do I really stand with Edward Snowden? I personally think that he's a hero. He's a criminal, sure, but he's a damned heroic one. I have done my best to explain the facts, as I see them, and provide you with the sources I used to get to my conclusions.

At the end of the day, you can feel how you want about Snowden. I won't hold it against you. Just remember that without people like him - or rather, his courage - we wouldn't have the great nation that we do. He took a look at something that was happening to his fellow man and said "No, this will not do." He took a stand. He did something that many people do not: What he felt was right, and what's more, is he owned up to it. Feel him a traitor. Consider him a coward. Lift him up as a hero. Do what you will. But be sure to give him the respect that he deserves in the sense that he did what he felt was right, regardless of what it's going to cost him.

Ad Hoc, Ad Nauseum, or The 13th Step

Before we start, I'd like to apologize for not giving this blog the attention that it deserves. I've been quite busy in life outside of the Blue Nowhere, what with getting engaged and now studying to take my LSAT exam in a desperate attempt to claw my way out of lower-class mediocrity. Also, work.

That being said, we're just going to jump right in to the hot-button topic that has been getting under my skin. I know that there's a lot of different things to talk about going on right now, from where I stand on the issue of Trayvon Martin (I'm not touching this subject with a ten-foot pole on this blog) to the latest scandal of the White House (too many jokes, not enough words in the English language), all the way to what I feel about Edward Snowden (maybe later). But that's not what we're talking about today. Today, we're going to revisit the topic of addiction, and how I feel about it.

This won't be the first time that I've railed against modern-day addiction "treatments" on this blog. Nor will it be the last, most likely. Not unless shit changes, and fast.

Now, as I say this, I want and need you all to understand something: I am an addict. I am also a former addict. How can this be, you ask? Simple. I have an addiction to nicotine that I am currently a slave to, but I've also kicked various other addictions in the past, including cocaine.

"But, Rob," you might say. "You are always going to be an addict! There is no getting better!"

Wrong.

The modern-day approach to treating addiction is exactly what causes people to say that, and what's worse is that they honestly believe every single syllable. This is a problem, because the programs that we force addicts in to and provide for those that truly want to get better are crap. I have said before that all they do is wear down a person's self-worth and convince them that they are sick and that there is no getting better. This is only half-true, and it's directly their fault. They talk up the first 12 steps of recovery (which, I might add, are designed to convert people into Christianity), but constantly neglect to mention the 13th step, which is as follows: Get the fuck over it.

You see, addiction is not the problem with those that develop it. Indeed, it is their attempt to solve the problem that leads to the addiction to begin with. If you cannot understand this simple concept, then you have no business attempting to lead others down the path of recovery yourself. It just cannot be done effectively.

Listen: I started doing various drugs and consuming more alcohol than what could be considered safe - much less reasonable - because I had a hole in my life. A big one. And I filled it with what was easily and readily available at any and all hours of the day: Substances.

I grew up as a social outcast. I had just two friends until I hit high school. I was that weird kid at recess who was never asked to join the soccer games or the kickball matches, or even to come play on the monkey bars. Even those regarded as the nerds and other rejects ostracized me. You all know the kid that I'm talking about. Hell, some of you might even be "that kid." That was totally me, and let me tell you, it fucking sucked.

Now, things didn't exactly get better for me until many moons later. Before then, I had to deal with my share of the shit that life shovels into your face if you dare come above ground for longer than it takes to get a breath of precious fresh air. I was taken away from my home (but only after the physical abuse ended), and ended up experiencing things that no child should ever have to endure. By the time that fiasco was done, I was a very angry and callous child. I wanted nothing to do with anybody. I had to come to terms with the fact that I was a damaged individual, and at the ripe old age of 11. To make matters worse, those that I went to school with regarded me as a ghost or some other kind of supernatural phenomenon that was better to be talked about in private circles than out in the open. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

It wasn't long before I started using escapism to cope. My choice to follow the path of addiction came subtly, at first, and it wasn't what you expect. Then again, what in life is?

Anyway, my first addiction was books. It changed - rather rapidly - from wanting only science fiction to branching out to mainstream and independent fiction, to start dabbling in literature and non-fiction, making the final leap into philosophy. I was - and still am - a voracious reader. It's not strange to find me reading two or more books at a time (I prefer a different book for each week day, in case you're curious). It was the final leap into the more... shall we say "exploratory" philosophers such as Timothy Leary and Terence McKenna that things took a turn that was awkward, and yet incredibly fun.

My very first drug was acid. I know it's not your typical gateway drug, but let me tell you: it was one hell of a gateway. After my very first experience - trying a mere two hits - I was fascinated. The connections that your mind can make after being introduced to that very special plane that one can only get after ingesting psychedelics.... well, that's another post for another time, not to mention that possible inappropriateness of unintentionally advocating the usage of psychoactive ingredients in a post that talks about getting over addiction.

So, after realizing that everything that I had learned about pretty much anything at all was complete and utter bullshit (yes, this is how I felt at the time that everything spiraled), I started experimenting with just about anything. To date, the only substances I haven't tried are (intelligently) the experimental ones that supposedly mimic the effects of the real thing, crack, and heroin. Rotten stuff, every one on that list, and any wise man would do well to stay far the hell away.

Anyway, so my addiction to escapism started to go. Soon, though, it became an addiction to the feeling of disconnect that comes with any form of intoxication. I was unknowingly trying to fill the hole in my life that was left there through not only the circumstances of upbringing and being practically friendless, but also my unwillingness to accept the fact that I was the one who put myself into this position to begin with due to my incapability of seeing how I could have done things different to better not only my situation, but myself, as well.

As addicts tend to be, I eventually went overboard. I developed a nasty habit with cocaine - a self-indulgent drug if there ever was one - and we all know the story from there. As much as I hate to say it, I became the stereotype coke head who couldn't handle it. Lost the girlfriend, the job, the home, the friends.... all that good stuff that we constantly take for granted.

A lot of people don't know this, but I went through the 12 steps. Not through any stupid organization that is meant to do nothing but perpetuate its own existence, but through the sheer power of God and the free will that He gave to all of us.

I'm not going to preach at you here, because again: That's not what this is about.

And, I think because I have done it this way, I realize that there is, indeed, a 13th step of getting over yourself, and now that the preamble is out of the way, we can get down to the real meat of the discussion.

My addictions - save for nicotine - various as they were, are a thing of my past. I realized something that I don't believe is possible in the "treatments" that we're forcing legitimately sick people into, and that's what the root cause of all of my problems was me. It wasn't something that I'm genetically predisposed to (something that a leading addiction medicine specailist is calling bullshit on anyway) or that I was a victim of circumstance or any of that other nonsense that people spout when it comes to this nonsense. At the end of the day, the problem was myself, and my inability to cope with terrible things that happened in my life, since I had very little in the way of being taught proper coping mechanisms, instead being allowed to indulge in other escapist behaviors that eventually led to drugs and their invariable abuse.

To anybody who has been/currently is in the "treatment" programs, let me ask you: How often do they ask you about your past? Your trauma?

And then we wonder why our current systems continue to fail, time and again. They are absolutely refusing to address the real causes of the problems that people are having. Rather than helping the addict travel the proper path to recovery, the one where there is a 13th step, they choose instead to take them down the path of those that are feeble. Rather than giving them the strength to face their trauma and get over it and realize that drugs or alcohol or sex or goats or newspapers or what-the-hell-ever is not the answer that they're looking for, and that depending on such things as a way to deal with it is not going to give them the peace that they seek.

Instead, they lie and cheat and manipulate those attending into thinking that they are worthless scum who will never get better. They choose instead to keep these people from getting better, truly, and brainwash them instead. And what's worse? Everyone thanks them for it.

My name is Rob, and I was an addict.

Social Disparities; or A Work Put Off

Whether or not you readers know this, I am a Feminist.

Now that I have your attention, let me explain, and try to avoid what is known as "mainsplaining" as much as I possibly can with my admittedly infantile knowledge of the movement as a whole. The best place that I can think of to start is the beginning.

Before I came to understand the Feminism movement as a whole, I, like many of you who would actually read this thing probably have/do, pictured a Feminist as something like this:

So, anyways. I wasn't ever exactly directly disrespectful towards women. Not knowingly, anyway. Thing is, I was a huge fucking asshole and never even realized it.

Up until running into a string of true Feminists - and not the loud ones that are just using Feminism as an excuse to spew hatred and ruining it for everybody else - who all blasted me for being a chauvinist, I had always considered myself "old-fashioned" in my dealings with women. Without ever realizing it, the way I dealt with women as a whole, from simple mannerisms as opening doors (more later this post, if I don't get too sidetracked) right down to the way that I would talk with them, was all perpetuating a gender role within society. "Old-Fashioned" is really just another way of saying "I'm stuck in a culture of prejudice."

Gender roles are, briefly, for those that aren't already in the know and somehow can't divine what I'm talking about when I say that term simply by how it's worded, are ways in which the system of privilege that our society currently operates on oppresses us into filling certain niches. Women are widely "known" to be the weaker of the two sexes, being far too emotional to think rationally or critically, and are therefore relegated to their gender roles of caretakers. Men are supposed to be the providers in our little system that we've constructed for ourselves. And by we, I mean men.

You see, any woman working in the professional world - regardless of its area - will tell you about the inequality that they face on a regular basis in the work environment. The facts, no matter how you want to view them, are still the facts. Specifically, men earn more than women, on average. Granted, there are a ton of variables that can explain these disparities, but at the end of the day, the numbers are what the numbers are.

"But wait a second, Rob!" you might say. "Women make choices differently than men do! There has to be some kind of explanation as to differences of jobs taken versus money earned!" And you'd be right to bring that up. It's been touched on before, and I'm sure you're still more than welcome to perform some digital necromancy on an old thread to throw in your two cents. But before that, I'd highly recommend getting to and reading very carefully paragraphs 5 and 6 in that article, and tell me what the problems are.

Here's a hint: There are men and women who do exactly what she describes in both paragraphs. For example, there are plenty of female prison guards throughout the country, even though it is still a male-dominated work environment. Every single thing that this woman writes while describing what men "gravitate" towards is just noise. That's all it is. She's doing nothing but perpetuating this system.

To make matters worse, as a society, we accept this, for the most part. Seriously. Just pay attention. How often do you hear someone make a joke at women's expense? Here's a good one: "Of course she didn't realize she just cut me off. She's a woman." Implying that because she's a woman, she inherently isn't observant enough to drive or had any business driving to begin with. This is a problem that goes by usually with a chuckle, but if you're perceptive enough, rarely ever in earshot of a woman (unless it's said in actual jest, but still).

Or, perhaps more recently, the debacle that was Seth MacFarlane's performance at the Oscar's. In a room full of talented women who worked hard to get to where they are today, and in an industry that is notorious - and even famous - for being a town full of misogynistic jerks with their heads so far up their own asses that their entire diet consists of the fecal matter that spews from their mouth. The last thing they need is to be reminded that millions of people everywhere saw their naked bodies. We're not talking even Feminism at this point, either. We're crossing the realm into the outright absurd amount of disrespect that we are constantly throwing at each other.

Don't get it? Well, think of it this way: We've all done things in our lives that we're not exactly proud of, but we do have our own justification for doing so. Do you ever appreciate someone bringing those things up to you, especially at a formal event? Then why would you accept it from someone else? Just because the guy is famous for acting like a 12 year old, you do need to keep in mind at all times that he is famous for acting like a fucking 12 year old.

As I mentioned earlier, the image of the stereotypical Feminist stands out in both sight and sound. Understand that these, truly, only make up a very small percentage of the Feminist population, from what I've seen. It's like comparing Westboro Baptist Church to all of Christianity and saying that they are good examples. They represent the extreme minority, and don't even come close to accurately depicting what their beliefs really are, choosing instead to use them as a conduit to spread a doctrine of hatred and intolerance.

Makes a little more sense now, doesn't it?

Look, I'm not asking you all to agree with me. What I'm asking you to do is maybe consider the idea that maybe, just maybe, there is perhaps more to this Feminism thing than just topics that make you uncomfortable talking about. If that's the case - and truly the case - then don't talk about it. You can easily find comprehensive literature from professional Feminists. Otherwise, at least consider that Feminism is, at it's very core, an idea of equality for all.

A Modest Proposal; or The Death of a Sales Pitch

I've been arguing with myself recently. The argument has been between my heart - something that I have only recently begun listening to - and my mind, which is something that has been around and a comfort to me for as long as I can remember and usually as loyally as any other friend could possibly be. As a result, I have learned to think over feel and take the "rational" decision every time.

Understandably, this has led to several disputes in the past. Many of these have driven wedges between myself and those that I care about, mostly because I usually end up choosing the wrong option. Donna, you pointed out to me last night that I was doing it again, and if I kept doing it, it would drive a wedge between us. I may not have reacted as you wanted, but what you said sunk in.

You asked me if I was happy, and how I could know if I never really understood happiness to begin with. The answer is that you remind me what it is to be happy. With you, I feel complete.

Cheesiness aside, let me explain.

I was talking to a friend tonight, who has been in similar situations, and he advised me to be... well... me. What I mean is that he said the way he solved is to do what I realized I always do for everyone else but truly myself. He said to third-person perspective the stance and think about what really, truly matters in the relationship.

I did this - and promise to continue doing this - and I came to realize that I am happy with this relationship and know that I'm happy because when I look at us from this perspective, I find that I make you happy, for whatever reason, in ways that nobody ever could and probably ever will. I find myself confident in this, and that confidence is what lets me know that yes, I am indeed happy. In the words of Arthur Dent: Yes. Undoubtedly, unequivocally, unabashedly yes.

I love you, sweetheart, and I'm sorry that I was letting me get in the way of myself. I hereby promise to start working on changing all that. I'm not going to lie: It's going to take some time, but dammit, you're worth it, and so much more.

Donna, I was going to save this with some elaborate treasure hunt, but fuck it. I want you to know that I'm committed to this, and that you complete me in ways that no others ever could or will. I want you to marry me. Will you?

Heffalumps

As I write this, it is of course an ungodly hour of the night/morning, depending on your overall outlook on such matters. On top of that, I find myself back in the intellectually devoid cesspool that is Franklin County, Pennsylvania. Thankfully, my time here will be short - a few days, at most - and I won't have to be subjected to the aura of decay and stagnation that permeates the environment here like an oil spill.

It's sad, really. I have spent a good amount of time away from this place, and upon my return, I find that very little has changed. A few new buildings have sprouted up, mostly more chain companies trying to penetrate the more bucolic environs of America in hopes of gaining even more of those fat-ass dirty dollars that we all seem to be so obsessed with, but the people are just the same as ever.

It strikes me as sad, however. I feel for these people the same way that one feels for the broken and destitute who have nowhere else to go. These people are born here. They live here all their lives, doing their best to carve out some kind of niche for themselves. They find someone that they can stand for longer than ten minutes at a time and procreate. They raise their children, and then die here. They never leave. The children go on to perpetuate the cycle.

This breaks my heart.

I think it's mostly because I cannot fathom the idea of wanting to stay in one place your entire life. Some people are content with that, and that's fine, but do you ever stop to really think about what the world outside of your town of choice might be like? There's literally an entire planet full of wonders and amazing things to witness and experience, and you can honestly sit there and tell me that you don't care about all that, that this land you're on is the only land you care about? I would - and do - find that very hard to believe.

But listen to me, sitting here, waxing eloquent about the merits of travelling and expanding your horizons. That's hardly what I want to talk about.

Come to think of it, I'm not entirely sure just what it is that I do want to talk about. I am about to see one of my best friend's married, and shortly after, I am undergoing the Great Migration and moving out to California. As of August the 6th, I will officially be a California resident. Things are about to move in a great way; I can feel it in my gut.

And yet here I am, sitting in Chambersburg, wising that I was somewhere else. I really hate this town, and already I can feel it poking and prodding at my very soul, trying to suck me back into its sweet oblivion. No, my friends. This will not do. This will not do at all.

Until the next time I remember that I have a responsibility to this blog.

Socially (Un)acceptable

I recently made a Facebook status the other day, saying that people in Alcoholics Anonymous are usually too fundamentally broken to realize that they've turned themselves over to a broken concept and a failed ideal. As you can imagine, this was met with mixed reaction, mostly toward the negative.

While I expected this fully, what I found to be the most interesting was why the negative comments were... well... negative. For the most part, it seems that people took what I said at face value and were offended before even really thinking about it. Again, I expected this to happen, but it came from people I never would have imagined would react to something I said of this caliber in this way.

As it turns out, they have/had some reason or another to defend this organization, and that's alright by me. If the system - broken as it is - works for you, then go for it. It doesn't work for me, because I can't help but to see it for what it really is: a business designed to keep you coming back. Let me elaborate.

I am an entrepreneur. I have decided that I am going to start giving back to the community that has given me so much. I start looking around at my options, and I see that most - if not all - of them have been done to death. So, what do I do? Simple: follow the rules of business. It's worked out for me well in the past, so why wouldn't it apply here?

To start, I need to create a market. This isn't always the easiest thing in the world to do, because you can't always convince people that they really need what you have (E.G., the Shake Weight) and trying to do so can be quite expensive. I start looking around and I notice something: The town I'm in has a ton of drunks. Ah-ha! That's it!

I go through the proper channels of setting this up, talking about my crusade against alcoholism and the evils of addiction. It's great PR, plus it makes people a lot more willing to give me what I want. You know, "for the greater good" and all that. Everything gets the green light, I get some volunteers to help set up shop, and open my doors to the poor, the sad, the desperate, and the broken. Let's do some good deeds.

The first few weeks are slow, sure, as there are people coming in and out. After a while though, it takes off like a shot. Suddenly, almost overnight, you're regional instead of just local. Soon after, you're national, as the news of what you're doing takes off. Government grants start pouring in. Free money! This money has to be re-invested into the program, though, and as I read the fine print, I notice that the more people enrolled into this program I have, the more money I get.

This sets certain cogs into motion. I start remembering how to run a proper business, and my mind sticks on one thing in particular: It's always cheaper, and therefore more profitable, to continue doing business with an existing client than it is to open a new account altogether. In retail, it's called "repeat business." So, how do you get that?

Well, since we created a market that let people know that alcoholism and addiction really do exist and are terrible, terrible things, wouldn't it be just as easy to convince them that they'll always be sick? That they can't do it without you?

As it turns out, it's a lot easier than you might think. All you have to do is beat it into their head that they will never not be an addict or alcoholic ever again. Ever. And when you have a whole group of people convinced about this, it becomes easier to make the newcomers buy into it, as well. After all, we're all only human, and if we have several other humans telling us the same thing for long enough, we start to believe it ourselves. It's only a matter of time. Hanging out in the barber shop and all that.

So, now that I've explained all this, does it start to make sense why I feel the way I do? At the end of the day, AA does good work for the community and for society, but I sometimes wonder what the cost really is. It's still a business, after all. There are people who work for this organization who all need a paycheck - particularly in the administrative side of things. The money has to come from somewhere, and that somewhere is the government through grants. The more people that AA has enrolled in its program, the more money it gets to keep things operational.

With this in mind, it's not really in their best interest to get you sober and keep you that way. Why else would they keep telling you "you can't, you can't, YOU CAN'T!"? This isn't proper or even reasonable behavior. In any other social setting, someone constantly telling you that you can't do something is considered rude and even unpleasant to be around, and yet we still have this group saying "NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!"

This is the problem with any kind of organization that has a foreseeable end-goal. It's not self-perpetuating enough, and if the goal is hit, what comes next? This, my friends, is the dirty truth of organizations like AA and NORML. Yes, they are doing a lot of good, but at what price? They intentionally roadblock you in the name of helping you, but really for the sake of more money.

Am I really the only person that sees something wrong with this?

Listen, folks. I'm not saying that you should boycott this organization, or write rage-filled letters to them, or anything else like that. I want to clarify that all I'm doing is what I always do: Telling you how I see it, and why I see it that way.

I'm also here to tell anybody struggling with addiction of any kind right now that you can do it. You can overcome it. All it takes is the proper desire to do so, and the acceptance of yourself in its entirety. Once you accept yourself, the rest of what AA teaches you comes along naturally. You can't keep denying yourself. You are sick, yes, but there is a cure, and that cure is yourself! You really can do this, and if you need that help of a group of people going through the same or similar circumstances, then by all means go for it. Just don't let them convince you that you will never get better again, because that's a load of crap. There is an end to this disease.... you just have to want it.

Filtration Units

There have been many times throughout my life that I have gotten into trouble for not thinking about what I was saying before I said it. It's happened so many times that I've completely lost count, and it pains my head just to even consider thinking about it.

You see, the problem is that I tend to say exactly what's on my mind at the time, and that doesn't always sit well with people. They tend to react to truth - any kind of it - with defensive hostility. As soon as you say something that they aren't comfortable with, they start snapping and figuratively saying "Hey! Stop pissing in my Cheerios!"

After having spent some time considering the subject, I kind of want to talk about my conclusions on it.

I have noticed in my twenty-seven years of existence that when someone asks for your input, they aren't being very clear about what it is that they're actually requesting. Usually (not always, as there are exceptions to every rule) they are asking you to agree with them or take their side on the situation. They are not actually seeking out any kind of alternate perspective on it, but instead seeking out some kind of validation for their own feelings. They want someone else to say "It's alright to feel that way. You are totally justified in this."

I can certainly understand that for some situations, such as when you just turned down a job based on some moral principle, despite how much it paid. However, for the most part, people seem to want justification for being a jerk towards someone else, or because they are uncertain about some decision that they just made in one situation or another.

Again, I can understand the need for validation (Lord knows that I have experienced it enough to understand) but what I can't understand is the uncertainty in what you're saying/doing. Why would you doubt it? For all the talk of "having filters," people seem to be really unsure of what it is that they're doing.

I am beginning to draw the conclusion that people filter too much, and that's causing everybody to be unsure of what it is that they're doing. We are being told time and again that we have to be careful not to make anybody angry with our words, and this is resulting in way too much coddling and pussy-footing as far as I'm concerned, and the way I see it, it's preventing true progress from being made.

You see, we are rapidly getting to the point where to tell the truth to someone, you have to tell about ten lies just to start getting to the point. Example:

What You Say: Maybe pink isn't a color for you....
What You Mean: That shirt is hideous and you look like a reject from the 90's.

Yes, one is considerably meaner than the other, and the first way certainly spares some feelings.... but so what? The truth is the truth, and we should never, ever be ashamed of telling it at any given time, and certainly we shouldn't be so afraid to hear it.

When you tell someone the pure, unadulterated truth, something strange happens. The strange thing is that they react. React! Why is there any reaction to the truth beyond acceptance and understanding? I simply cannot understand.

I know the old saying that "the truth is harsh." Well, I posit that the harsher the truth, the more real it is. Reality is not a place of happy sunshine lollipops and rabbits. It's a harsh land out there, reminiscent of America as portrayed by the Fallout series, and you have nothing in this world - truly - if you don't have honesty, and more importantly, an honest idea of what honesty is.

Confusing, I know, but bear with me.

I think that people are lying to themselves about what honesty is. As a species, we seem to have this collective idea honesty means "agreeing with me." Sorry to break it to you like this, but that's a load of crap, and if you have this view of honesty, then you need to pull your head out of your ass.

Someone being honest does not mean that they are going to agree with you automatically. It means that they are going to tell you how they see the situation, and, if necessary, tell you what they think should be done in it. This means that they will sometimes agree with you - maybe even mostly - but there will be times that they don't, and as your friend, relative, mentor, and so on, it is not only just common decency but their responsibility to tell you the truth when they don't agree with you/your actions, and why.

They are not trying to change your mind. They are not trying to say that you're a bad person. They are simply telling you why they think that you are wrong. Let me say that again, only with emphasis on the important part: They are simple telling why they think you are wrong!

So, we all know that perception is reality, right? Well, I'm sure we all know the saying, yeah, but do we really know what that means? That means that everybody is perceiving the truth differently. This makes the truth - and honesty in general - a tricky concept. You can't just take one source of anything and say "This is the truth," because you just simply don't know. You have to look at the same thing from different perspectives to see what it really is.

Have you ever had a friend that everybody else swore was an asshole, and yet they treated you with nothing but respect and kindness? It's kind of like that. If you know someone like that, chances are they were being completely honest with someone and they didn't like it. Now, how they were being honest - and that's a discussion for later that probably won't happen - is entirely up in the air. Maybe they were honest about who they were really and screwed someone over, or maybe it was that they said or did something despite the opinion of the other person; who knows?

Further, who cares?

It has nothing to do with your relationship with that person.

Again, another discussion for a later time that will most likely never come.

I digress.

There are many different views on what is true and what is false, and as human beings we are blessed (or cursed, depending on how you think about it) with a brain that, despite its clunky design (David J. Linden lovingly calls it a "kludge"), does some rather amazing things for us in our day-to-day lives that we completely take for granted. One of these things that it allows us to do is examine something and see it for not only what it really is - or what we perceive it to be - but to look at it for what it could be.

When you look out of your window, what do you see? What does your brother see? Maybe your pets? What is it, really, that you see? I'm sure that if you asked the people listed, they would tell you. Perhaps it's what you see, as well, or maybe they are looking at the same thing in a different way. Your brother could see a creek where you see a stream. Pretty much the same thing, the only varying principle in their nomenclature being their size. Sure, it's not a very distinctive difference, but when it comes to the nature of communication, it can mean everything. Which paints a more impressive picture in your mind? Stream, or creek?

This is where things get tricky.

If someone were to ask you and your brother what you saw out of the window, your accounts would be similar enough, but the one detail that differs is that he says creek where you would say stream. Neither one of you is lying, as far as either of you are concerned, but that would be entirely up to whoever asked you the question. This person now has to formulate what was really seen based on the information that they have. Ultimately, it is up to them to decide on what is there - creek or stream - and that then becomes their truth.

With me so far? Good.

Now, I want to make this very clear: There is a world of difference between having a different view of the truth and outright lying to someone. Lying is something that you only do to manipulate a situation to your advantage - or rather, perceived advantage - in some fashion or another. This could be the advantage of favor, or financial gain, or some perverted sense of self-interest. Even though I am just as guilty of being a liar as any one of you currently reading this entry, I still don't understand the driving factor behind it. I have taken to a different method altogether, but I'll save that for a later entry.

When it comes time to tell the truth to someone - the truth as we see it - we hesitate because we are taught that nobody's feelings should ever be hurt, because that's just wrong. We are taught that if we just don't hurt the feelings of others, the problems of the world will just magically vanish one day. Yeah, a beautiful concept, but human nature is never going to let that happen, especially not with this kind of conditioning.

We are being desensitized to the truth and how to take it every single day, and there are various reasons for that. I intend on going into them at some point, but not tonight. Tonight, it's all about the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.

The sake of the feelings of other people - both in general and towards us as people - is clouding our judgment. Sometimes, Sally needs to hear that she's turning into a bit of a whore. The harsh reality of a situation can shock someone back into sense, and realize what it is that they're doing. It can be a benefit to them, rather than a detriment, if they would just take the time to realize that you're not attacking them.

We can't be honest with each other, because we run what we want to say through so many filters that we are taught we need from an early age that we are forgetting our own humanity in a vain attempt to be more humane toward each other. If we would just say how it is that we really feel and make what we really want clear to other people right from the get-go, then I think the world would be in a better place.

Now, I'm not saying to go out and be a dick to people, because that's not the point of the truth. If you are using the truth to intentionally hurt people, then you are a monster of the highest caliber and I hope that there's a special place reserved in Hell for people like you. You are the ones that ruin the truth for everybody else.

That being said, I challenge you all to stop talking with filters, unless the situation deems it necessary (IE a job setting). But when you're not being paid to have certain courtesies, just start telling the truth! It's not that hard. Just look at something and say "Hey! That's not right!" or "Hey! This is awesome!"

Don't forget to clarify why. That helps a lot.

So the next time you are talking with someone and you find them blunt and direct, you should be thankful that you're talking with what is probably an honest person. That, or an absolute jackass.

I could just be a sociopath, though.

Celebrations

For those of you that don't know, I am currently in California, on an extended vacation that had a mission, not to mention the time needed with Donna and the opportunity to unwind.

The mission: Find a job, and secure housing. This mission has been half-way successful, as I have secured gainful employment out here.

Incidentally, this is just one of many fortunate events that have been happening lately, though, regrettably, I cannot talk about all of them to their full extent and will instead choose to not talk about them at all. That's not the point, though. The point is that I have been blessed greatly, and I am seizing the opportunity that I hear knocking.

Today - also incidentally - is the day that I celebrate yet another year of somehow managing to avoid an act of stupidity on such a grand scale as to kill myself. Yes, it is my 27th birthday, and I am spending it with some really good friends.

That being said, I feel the need to express my viewpoint on the traditional views of birthdays, how they are celebrated, and so on.

Oddly enough, this is where I start to get into trouble.

The current tradition of celebrating one's birthday is something that we are indoctrinated in to from an early age. We are taught from day one that the day that only amounts to either what I said at worst, or, at best, the day that marks your anniversary of your exodus from the womb.

My problem with this is that we are taught how to be selfish from an early age, fed by the illusion that you are deserving of material desires simply because you didn't die some how for another year. This isn't really what I would call healthy, as the path of the Fear starts with selfishness, usually. While there are, admittedly, other routes to it, the most traveled is the one of the selfish prick.

I admit that I wanted stuff growing up as a kid, but in my defense, who the hell doesn't? We were kids. There isn't a kid alive right now that wouldn't take a toy if you told them nobody had to pay for it, and there wasn't any harm in taking it. Congratulations! Here's a prize, just for standing there!

That being said, it starts to give the unchecked a sense of entitlement. Tie this into the fact that kids are being told more and more at such a young age that they are special, ad nauseum, you can connect the dots to people becoming more selfish and more materialistic than what is necessary.

Growing up, I started to connect these dots. I weaned myself off, slowly, by asking for less and less each year. It got to the point that by the time I was in my late teens, I wouldn't ask for much of anything beyond requesting a specific kind of dinner to my mother, who would usually oblige if it were possible on the short notice I am apt to give.

I have always hated the ideas of the traditional birthday party, because it only enforces the idea that you are somehow special or important for a single day for nothing more than standing there and existing. I know the idea is comforting to some, that they can have at least one day a year of some sort of significance, but I honestly believe that they are missing the point.

I believe that the point of a birthday is to celebrate, absolutely, but not exactly overtly. One should take the time through the day to reflect on what it is that they have accomplished in the past year. After all, each year we make it through without the Universe unfolding in a way that kills us, we become stronger, wiser, and, smarter.

Hopefully, anyway.

People always look at me funny when I tell them that my birthday is just another day to me. That's because it is. The only thing that I treat differently about it is that I take time to think about what all I have done in the past year, and assess on how I feel about it. I look at it from all angles, my mind some times going to darker places, but I find it necessary. I look at everything I've done - achievements, advances, mistakes, and so on - and examine it and learn from it what I can.

When I have a birthday, I absolutely want to be around other people, but it's only people that I feel like being around. That's pretty much any other day for me, and the fact that I choose one troupe over another is absolutely nothing personal against anybody that wasn't there. The reason is because to me, it's just another day.

This makes it awkward, though, when I'm in a situation like I am as I write this. People feel as if they should go out of their way to give me some sort of special treatment, and I feel weird accepting it. I don't expect special treatment on my birthday, because special treatment of any kind makes me feel dirty, somehow.

I'm not saying that everyone should take it to that extreme, but I would posit that everybody could use a revaluation of their current philosophies on birthdays. Presents are fine, and I'm not saying that you should give it all up. I tend to take my philosophies to the absolute limit, but that's mostly because of my personality.

What I am saying is that instead of expecting people to go out of their way to be nice to you, or acknowledge your presence, realize that this is a time for more internal celebration than external. Be around people that would make you feel most relaxed at the time, or good, or whatever positive emotion you enjoy the most, and just exist and reflect. Celebrate for yourself that you have lived another year, and look forward to another one.

The Adventure takes us many places on this coil. There are far too many things to see and do, conversations to have and people to meet all along the way that it just isn't worth it to be selfish. It only leads to the Fear, and that's not where you want to be.

Or I could really just be a sociopath.

Responsibly Irresponsible

Well... That was certainly a shock. I went to link something to a friend of mine and found that, for some reason, my blog had been removed. I'm not entirely certain who did it, or why, but it seems to be back now. Obviously.

The weirdest thing about that is that I never received an email or any other kind of contact regarding any kind of violation that would result in my ramblings becoming removed for one reason or another. The only thing I can figure is that whoever did it got mad that I didn't have anything valuable in my inbox and decided to be a jerk and yank the blog.

So, anyway, I'm sitting here at a friend's house, doing my good deed of the week and agreeing to watch his spawn for him while he works tomorrow/today/meaningless title to a title-less concept, and on the way, I started thinking about responsibilities and what mine are, and how I always put them off until the very last minute.

For example, I have yet to file my taxes, mostly because I am a fool.

That aside, what amazes me is just how responsible I am about my irresponsibility, paradoxically. I was discussing with a good friend the other day about this very thing, and that's what planted the seed. We were talking about how we always put things off until the last possible minute, but it always manages to get done and done on time, correctly, the first time. For the most part.

Or something along those lines.

Really, what it boils down to, is that I feel the need to live for the adventure of living, and not for the sake of it. Life is short - too short to just take for granted and let slip you by. We aren't getting any younger and we sure as hell can't live forever. Not in a physical sense. So... why not experience anything and everything you can?

I'm not saying go hog wild and completely blow off responsibility by getting yourself hooked on hard drugs because who the hell cares anyway kind of thing, but I am encouraging the taking time off from work and doing more than just lazing about the house in one fashion or another. Ever wanted to go to Maui, for example? What, realistically, is holding you back? Chances are, nothing that's of any real consequence anyway, so why not go ahead and do it?

I have had many adventures in my time due to many factors, such as a willingness to take stupid risks in the name of entertainment and good old-fashioned American mischief, and a lack of proper impulse control. My friend has a hard time of getting me out of the house to just come and hang out, but at the slightest suggestion of adventure or something out of the ordinary, I jump at it, because.... well, again: Why the hell not?

Example: If all someone wants to do is hang out, I'd rather sit at home and play a video game. However, if someone wanted to go knock on every door in Baltimore until we found someone he was looking for, I'd be all over it, because that just sounds like an afternoon to me.

Look, I'm not saying to do stupid things like going around, knocking on doors, but I am encouraging you to go out and do the things that you really want to do. Why sit around inside, sulking, when you can go for a hike or to a cafe or something to meet someone new? Why pass up the opportunity to make the day an interesting one, rather than a dull one?

What is stopping you? Honestly?

I say that what's stopping you is nothing more than you just not really thinking about it. The thought to do something out of the ordinary crosses your mind, but chances are, you dismiss it immediately because why bother with the unknown? You may not be doing anything interesting right now, but at least you know what to expect.

Am I right?

Probably not, but it was worth a shot.

I also just got to thinking about the things that I write here. When the blog went down, I realize that I've been taking it for granted. It's a lot more important to me than just some place to dump random thoughts. It's also a portfolio, of sorts, as there are many sub-sections that I have that are not available to the public (at this time) view, many of which contain other writing projects and even a few completed works. It was then that I realized that in my taking it for granted, I was being responsibly irresponsible with it. Sure, I posted in it, but not with the regularity that it deserves.

I won't go on some tangent, promising you more frequent updates, because that will probably never happen. I don't share all of my thoughts with you all, because I'd never stop writing. While that's awesome, it's also not exactly realistic, because I don't have a way to make money off of this talent.

Another reason that I write in this blog is that I feel what I have to say with any particular entry is important. At first, at least, and then I go back and read what I wrote and usually feel lousy about it afterward. Some would say that's me being self-aggrandizing, and they'd be right, most likely.

I feel particularly lousy about this writing now, even before it is completed, but that's alright by me. I'm sure someone can glean some form of meaning from it somewhere, and if that's what happens, it doesn't really matter how I feel about it, after all.

Or I could just be a sociopath. Who knows?

How Christianity Ruined the World

I've been sitting around lately, unable to formulate a thought coherent and cohesive enough to put onto this thing, and therefore, have been letting it and other projects collect metaphorical dust. What I didn't know then, but do now, is that there has been something on my mind lately and I just couldn't put a finger on it.

Now, as I go into this, some may begin to question my sanity, and I'd have to assure them that this is only proper, and that I encourage it to be done with every person that you encounter on a daily basis. Just in case.

What's been on my mind is the lack of progression as more than just a society, but as a race in general. If there is intelligent life out there besides human beings, I'm confident that they've already found us, made contact, and then said "To Hell with these people. They're too violent."

It amuses me to think that they have Cockney accents.

Not only are we a violent species, known throughout history as far back as we can trace it to be killing each other (read here for further reference) - scientifically and religiously, both! - but we are also very easily led.

The problem with this is that we kind of let it happen, and have been doing so for countless ages. Ever since mankind first got drunk and said "To Hell with moving around! I'm staying here!" and the first real city formed, we have decided that we needed a leader. The problem with this is that there are people out there who only see opportunity and grab for it whenever possible, and they are usually pricks of the highest caliber. In today's day and age, we call them lawyers.

Back then, they were referred to as "Your Majesty."

Oh, we also continually refer to one as "Your Holiness."

I cannot believe that we, as human beings, believe that the Pope is the mortal voice of God, and that everything that flows from his mouth is Divine. I'm not saying that every Pope has been a prick, because there are certainly many cases of the opposite. The problem is that there are just as many cases of douche-baggery in the Papacy. This has led to many a bad decision being made with seemingly good intentions, but the weed of corruption is there, and its roots are starting to form in the lower echelons of the Catholic hierarchy, as is evidenced by many recent events.

While I and many more have a long list of complaints about the decision-making capabilities of the "mortal voice of God" that is conveniently elected, there is one in particular that I feel has made a devastating blow on humanity as a whole: The decision to go at odds with science.

Many people say that it's because science is an evil thing that exists only to disprove the existence of God. I understand how some people would come to those conclusions, seeing as how quacks and charlatans abound in every profession that you can possibly think of. The opinions of this special breed of jerk exist solely to anger others, and should be excused as such.

Any good scientist will tell you that they just aren't sure about the existence of God Himself, even if they dispute happenings in the Bible. Being uncertain about something isn't the same as outright not believing. To feel and see it otherwise is simple foolishness, and if this is how you react to the things that science says are happening and how it is that way, then you should be ashamed of yourself!

Or pat yourself on the back, because my list of railings against science are equally long. We may get to talking about that later, but for now, more to the point.

In the days of the Renaissance, the Church got offended by things that scientists and other creative minds were saying and doing. There was a cultural revolution going on, and they feared losing their grip of power on the people. A silly and needless fear, to be sure, but one they felt was valid nonetheless. They declared these free thinkers to be sinners, heretics, and blasphemers. They oppressed them into submission.

Those that resisted were the ones who formed what was to be forever known as the Illuminati, but again, that's a different discussion for a different time that is probably never.

I feel that it was around this time that creative minds went into hiding. This is evidenced at the fact that the only real technological jumps we made in the years following were, for the most part, for the purposes of killing each other, or preventing ourselves from being killed long enough to kill someone else first. This vicious cycle was brought about due to not only the metaphorical war being fought against science, art, and so on, but the physical ones that were constantly being fought "in the name of God."

It seems that the Church began to forget about the 11th commandment that Christ Himself brought to us: Love thy neighbor as you would yourself.

I find that the Church and those belonging to the far Right tend to be the first to cry out when their freedoms - the one of religion in particular - are being tread upon, but are also the first to plow right over the express freedoms of other individuals "in the name of God."

What kind of God tells us to do one thing, but then expects something else that can only be described as the almost-polar opposite? Certainly not the God that I believe in, because the One that I know shakes His head at such things.

This can probably be linked to the fact that many belonging to the far Right tend to believe more in knowing their Bible than they do in knowing God, and taking such old language so literally as to become completely blind to love of anyone that is outside of this bubble of yours is shameful to Him, and what He really wants for you. For all of us.

I'm not going to turn this into a preaching session, don't worry, but that is some food for thought.

The Church has since been fighting against some of the most brilliant of innovations in technology, not the least of which was stem cell research. They have constantly lobbied Congress to pass abortion laws nation-wide, all because they can't separate their moral stances from their political ones. They have constantly stuck their noses where they don't belong for far too long and impeded on us for so long that we have suffered for it by not being where we should.

Too often does the religious Right preach messages of hatred, intolerance, and fire and brimstone. They have made us afraid of anything that is on the Outside. They have taught us to fear anything that is different, because if it's different, it is against God.

Despite us being told to be fruitful and multiply, we are taught that sex is an evil and dirty thing. Despite being told to love our neighbor, we continue to speak and show hatred towards them, and further try to impede on their rights to be happy, just because their vision and lifestyle of it doesn't match ours. We are being taught, from a very young age, to match the image of God deemed appropriate by one guy, whereas God wants us each to represent Him in His way.

We have strayed very, very far from these principles that were given to us so many thousands of years ago (the world is not 6000 years old, thank you very much) by the One that we say we follow and love with our lives and all our hearts... the One we refer to as "Father."

And yet we disrespect Him so.

It's no longer just affecting small groups of people, though. It's now gotten to the point where the whole world has been held back, and now we're in a situation where the excrement has hit the air conditioning as a result. Our very planet is facing issues that, I believe, had science been given a fair chance to grow alongside with religion instead of constantly against it, we would have already had solutions to these issues by now and they wouldn't even be of concern.

Or I could just really be a sociopath. Who knows?

Eh?

I'm feeling the need to rant. About what, I don't know yet, but something tells me that we'll be seeing a full-fledged entry here soon. Hopefully I'll have time at work today to mull over the details.

A Preview Of Another WIP

Here's a bit of what I'm currently working on, and it's actually holding my attention. It has no title yet. I'll decide it later, maybe.


What the hell is going on here, I wonder? Why can't I see anything? Why is everything made of agony? These are some of the more filtered thoughts running through my head as I begin to come around.

I attempt to roll over, and this proves to be the worst idea I've had since.... well, whatever the hell it was that got into my head that got me into this situation to begin with. The pain was unimaginable. It resembled something that would normally be reserved for only the harshest descriptions of Hell the place, not the expression.

It's around this time that I decide that I'm just about done with this blindness. With much force of will - and I assure you, noble readers, there was much of it despite my horrid state - I managed to open my eyes.

The world slowly came into focus. The process was expedited thanks to me somehow managed to coerce my leaden arms into functioning just enough to rub the nights eye mucus from my face. A glance at the digital alarm clock on the nightstand, finding that it's far beyond the night before. In fact, it's closer to the very next night.

With a loud groan that could shake the dead, I manage to sit myself up straight. This causes a lance of pain from behind my eyes as if someone shoved a red-hot poker through my frontal cortex. My eyes close, and the dreaded blackness returns, along with the Fear. My forehead falls to my hands, and the agony resumes.

Holy shit, what did I do? Further, when did I get an electric alarm clock? This thought disturbs me into actually looking around at my surroundings, which honestly hadn't before held any kind of import into me. What I see evokes only one thought:

I must be in Hell.

The room I'm in, which I can only assume was of the cheap motel variety that was popular for travelers, adulterers, swindlers, drug dealers, prostitutes, drug addicts and so on back in the 20th century, and really haven't changed much since then. I find stains and odd mold on the carpet, and the furniture is all rotten. The smell in the air is that of fungus dead twice over, with newer, more superior and therefore more smelly fungus to take over.

I look up, my sense of clarity getting sharper with each passing minute as the pain behind my eyes dulled to a small yet persistant throb, at the window. There are Venetian blinds - who the hell still uses those? - covering the window. I sigh, wondering just what backwoods town I've managed to land myself in this time.

Gritting my teeth, I stand up, feeling the white hot pain shooting throughout my body. Every motion seemed to bring more and more pain, and of course, the Fear as well. After standing still for a few moments, I blink a few times and wait for the world to stop spinning. When it finally does, I open the door and step outside.

The sights awaiting my eye orbs was not what I was expecting at all. Rather than the familiar hustle and bustle of city life that I am so accustomed to, I find myself standing on the second floor of a seedy motel, staring out at what can only be described as scorched earth. The ground was hard soil, sun-baked to cracked perfection. The office of the motel was, like the rest of the structure, in dire need of some general repairs and a new coat of paint.

Sighing, I close the door behind me, not even caring whether or not it's locked. It's time to get some goddamn answers. I walk down the steps, each one creaking its protest as I put my weight on it, the wooden planks looking just as bad as the furniture inside of the small room.

I head over to the office, my eyes now darting around, taking in my surroundings. Really, there wasn't much else to see beyond the various cacti in the desert and a few of those ever-living shrubs that are sold to unsuspecting consumers, even to this day. Shaking my head, I walk into the main office.

Behind the counter sits a fat man wearing thick glasses, reading a dirty magazine. His long, black greasy hair is pulled back into a ponytail, which does absolutely nothing for the widow's peak on his head that seems to have gained far more territory than what most men are comfortable with. He is wearing a white tank top - also known as a "wife beater" due to it being the choice garment of blue-collar workers who like to drink a whole lot of alcohol and then beat their spouses - and it seems to not exactly be a clean garment, judging by the foul-looking green blotch of a stain that can be seen on it. A long, thick cigar hangs from his mouth, permeating the atmosphere with pleasant-smelling carcinogens.

All in all, this guy was a total Neanderthal.

I clear my throat to get his attention. "Excuse me."

He looks up at me from his book, raising a thick bushy eyebrow as a form of query. "Whaddya want?"

What a question that was! I wasn't prepared to be questioned; rather, I was fully prepared to do the questioning. As a result, I wasn't exactly on guard in my reply. "Well... I was wondering.... that is...."

"Come on, wanker! I ain't got all day! Tryin' to run a business here!" the motel worker said, not even bothering to hide his magazine, and blatantly ignoring the wall clock that was in desperate need of a battery change, differing by a good three or four hours from the digital clock in the room, and sitting still, silent, and very dead.

"I came from room 204... I don't remember ever even checking into this place. Truth be told, I'm not even entirely sure where 'here' is. What can you tell me?"

"Room 204? Hell, kid, I thought you left days ago!"

I blinked at him, perplexed. "Days?"

"Yeah... you came here about four or five days ago, all hopped up on..... something."

Well, as much as I wanted to argue with the guy, I knew that I simply couldn't, as this isn't exactly out of the ordinary for me. That certainly explains the condition I woke up in! "You wouldn't happen to know if I mentioned anything about where I came from, do you?" He grinned at me then, placing his magazine down. "Boy, you didn't need to say word one. You came in from the City."

"The City?"

"Wow. You must have been really whacked out, kid. Here, let ol' Gus show you." And with that, he places his meatpaws on his desk and used them to support himself a bit as he lifted his bulk up out of the cheap office chair - also stained - and walked around to my side of the counter. He pulls on some sun glasses and heads to the front door. "This way."

I follow him outside and walk to the road. He turns off to the left - not being entirely sure where I am at this point, I couldn't tell you what the cardinal direction was - and I follow his fat, sausage-like finger. Down the straight, two-lane narrow asphalt road, I see large structures in the distance. The unmistakable sign of civilization! I'm saved!

"About how far off is that place?" Gus furrowed his brows, quite obviously trying to think harder than he probably has in years. At last, the answer comes. "About ten miles, give or take."

Damn. Too far to walk. I sigh, shoving my hands in my pockets. I quirk up a bit as I feel something in my pocket. Several somethings, actually. I pull my hands out and take look. There is a half-full package of cigarettes, a matchbook, two vials - one with white powder, and one with a greenish-blue thick liquid - a cell phone, a set of keys with a FOB attached, and a folded up piece of paper. I thank Gus for his help, getting a grunt as a reply, and head back to room 204 to further examine the items in my possession.

Entering the ramshackle room, I close and lock the door, trying my best to ignore the fact that this lock seems about as useful as nipples on a medieval breastplate. I sit down on the bed, Indian style, and pore over the contents of my pockets.

The phone is I mess with first. As luck would have it, it's completely dead. A quick scan of the room shows that there is no charger for it anywhere. Why would there be? If I really just spent the past four or five days or longer in a haze of drugs and debauchery again, it would only make sense that I would lose things of import like this. Now if only I could figure out how the hell I got this thing to begin with.

The next item on my list to examine is the folded paper. The keys couldn't possibly belong to me, as I don't own a car. I'll have to find their proper owner, or toss them into the desert somewhere, hopefully to be swallowed by an iguana monster. The vials could wait, as I had a good feeling what was in those.

The paper is folded into the shape of a shuriken. This is odd, as I lack the manual dexterity required for such artwork. Further, there is hand-writing on it, and what's more is that it's legible! Cleary, this can't be mine!