“You understand, this struggle to live and succeed is going to kill you.”
A quote spoken to Hunter S Thompson in 1972
Fragility is a word that doesn’t really fall out of my mouth often. If it’s breakable, I probably shouldn’t be around it. I have overlooked the largest, most fragile thing in the entire universe – – life itself.
I have been using this poor blog for a battering ram the past couple of months against everything that pisses me off at that moment. I hate YouTube videos, so I write something nasty about YouTube videos. I hate politics, so I counter politics with doing an scathing post about hating politics. In other words, I’ve wasted a lot of time being hateful and using this as a catalyst for my own opinions. I do apologize, and to those of you that have been reading since, well, I think 2013, thanks for sticking around.
The original purpose for this “site” was supposed to be an open forum for spreading messages of inspiration and to open up your minds, and my own in the process, to different philosophies and ideas. Somewhere along the way I sort of morphed internally into this hateful person, in which I let my hatefulness effect my art. Maybe writing isn’t an art, but it’s my outlet. I used to paint, but it made me hateful because it never turned out on the canvas as I saw it in my head. Writing is way easier for me to use as an outlet of self expression.
“Find something you love and let it kill you.”
My life flashed in front of my eyes last night in a dear death experience. Although I’ve had several death flashes, this one particularly bothered me on a philosophical level. Why am I so hateful all the time, and all of a sudden? I remember telling people “I’m happy” and my heart and eyes would radiate that same statement. Now, when people ask me how I am, the response is inching closer and closer to “I’m hateful.” On the inside, I hate people that hate, and I think I’ve been stuck on that hamster wheel of hate for quite some time now.
Let’s deconstruct what causes hate. Simply put in a philosophical way, hatred is an evolutionary survival mechanism. T Rex probably didn’t hate much of anything, cause he was king of the dinos, but when it started getting chilly, I bet he REALLY hated the cold. (I’ve been thinking a lot about dinosaurs lately, don’t ask why). In modern culture, we hate those that are presumably a threat to us, or at least that’s where hate is supposed to come from. It would be okay for me to say that I hate the knife gang hanging outside of my house because I have a genuine fear of harm. For me to say I “hate” the all Puerto Ricans because that particular knife gang has a few Puerto Ricans is wrong. That’s not how hate is supposed to work.
Specificity is key in establishing a healthy hate for anything or anybody. My blanket statement “I hate YouTube videos” should be taken apart and given more parameters. Much like the knife gang, not all YouTube videos are created equal, some are more equal than others. I dislike certain videos about history because it bores me. Why do I want to watch what adventures other people had when I could go be creating my own? I dislike certain videos where people have opinions. Why do I want to watch something that might get me upset and want to argue. If I wanted to argue, I’d call my mom or something (just kidding, we don’t argue).
I was working last week on a particularly nasty vehicle and I made a statement that I cannot take back. It was, again, a blanket statement about hating a certain type of people. I should have specified and said “I hate people that leave their cars interiors filthier than the bottom of a dumpster that hasn’t been dumped in a few months.” Anybody, any gender, any race, any sexual orientation has the potential to be nasty, and I shouldn’t have profiled. Me dwelling on my hate didn’t make the work any more tolerable and it sure as hell didn’t get the quarter inch of grime off of every surface on the inside of that vehicle. My hate just fueled my already demeaned feeling of having to clean up after nasty ass people.
I will go on to say I do hate Thanksgiving. If you can name a single thing that is good and wholesome about it, I’ll be willing to entertain you. I hate food, I hate having to gather on a certain day because the calendar says so, I hate the idea of having to eat a certain thing because it’s tradition. I could go on. I will say this, why do we have to wait until the end of November to gather with family? Why can’t you eat tacos on Thanksgiving without being looked at as an odd ball? I don’t do holidays well. Perhaps you’ve noticed. This year, I’m going to rename it “Hatesgiving”. The negative connotation that I have with holidays is part of my survival makeup I guess you can say.
For the number of holidays I’ve had to excuse myself to the bathroom during a meal to cry because I couldn’t eat; for the number of holidays that I ran to the bathroom to throw up all the food; for the number of holidays I cried in the bathroom because I was spoken down to by a family member or in law; for the number of holidays I stayed in the bathroom because I didn’t want to make small talk; those are just some of the reasons I hate holidays. Thanksgiving in particular. Holidays are never fun for those with mental disorders.
So therefore, I feel my hate is justified, but, I’m not going to let it bleed into all aspects of life for life itself if fragile. The delicate processes of your heart beating in your chest and your lungs furnishing oxygen to your body doesn’t know hate. The struggle to survive is hard enough as it without adding hatred into the mix, without proper reasoning that it. I’ve been emotionally scared by more holidays than I care to remember, but allowing it to pull me down isn’t acceptable. I hate that concept. This year, I’m not going to let hate kill my happy. I’m not going to be a slave to making everyone else happy except for me, instead of the self hate that has consumed me, I’m going to work on self love.
This is my PSA to everybody. The holidays are tough on some of us, don’t make it any tougher than it already is by rubbing our noses in your “cheer.”
Besides, none of us get out of this thing called life alive, so why not make the best of it.
“And paper cups that hold two quarts.”
I sit here on my stool at Starbucks drinking an overpriced Americano and a free cup of water. In all honesty I think the water tastes better than the hot beverage, but that’s just me, that’s just my mood this morning. Much like everybody else in this amazing land we call America, first world problems that aren’t really problems. Yes, I’m bitching about a coffee. It’s too hot, the ice is too cold, the air is blowing from a vent above me, and chilling me out. Oh the things I could complain about, oh the things! That man over there, he closed the blinds because it was glaring off of his computer screen, I liked the sunshine, I should bitch about that. That guy over there is about 60 years old and keeps licking him thumb to flip through the newspaper that I assume he’s going to put it back in stack of public reading material.
Then there’s bro-dude, sitting at my twelve o’clock with a sort of track jacket thing with “USA” plastered across it. I reminds me of something Olympians would wear before diving into a pool or falling down a ski hill. His patriotism makes me sick. I don’t get it, then again, maybe I don’t want to get why. Does he know about the government of the USA? Does he know how disturbing it all is. Does he really believe in the land of the “free” (cough) and home of the “brave” (cough cough). Maybe, just maybe he’s not even from here, maybe he’s a foreign exchange student and thought it would make him fit in.
If it were later in the day and perhaps my veins had bourbon instead of coffee beans I would sit down, buy him a coffee and explain a few things. My lack of patriotism will probably get me in trouble, but there are a few things I think anybody wearing a “USA” sweatshirt should know, or at least ponder about while drinking their coffee beverage. Yeah, you, put down your cellular device or step away from your computer screen and do some thinking.
No, better yet, go listen to Frank Zappa. Songs like “Willie the Pimp”, “Hot Poop”, and “Weasels Ate My Flesh” sort of makes me think of what America has become.
“This here song might offend you some
If it does, it’s because you’re dumb
That’s the way it is where I come from.”
Frank Zappa “Wind Up Worin’ In A Gas Station”
Our culture has become sissies. A bunch of people offended by shit that really, in the long run doesn’t really matter. Sure, there are certain circumstances that justify caring, like if you feel your life is in danger, but most of this shit is just too much. A culture of babysat crybabies that are afraid of the real world. This is where Zappa comes in, sure, his lyrics are a bit, how can I say this without discrediting his talent, blunt maybe, but you know what, his songs make a hell of a lot more sense in the culture of today than the Star Spangled Banner, America the Beautiful, or any other cheesy song that heralds a time of yesterday when farmers actually farmed to live and didn’t rely on government handouts.
(I know, not all farmers take handouts, or the politically correct term “assistance”)
Raw lyrics like “watch out where the huskies go, and don’t you eat the yellow snow” makes a hell of a lot more sense to sing before a sporting event or any other sort of occasion where patriotic singing in needed. With songs like this, the generation for the most part that many of us are relying on for our future might learn to use some common sense. Something that is starkly void as I’ve noticed lately. Headlines such as “man walks in front of bus while texting”. Death by stupidity, but there was also a headline about “banning texting while walking.”
What. The. Fuck. What happened to “land of the free”? What happened to those “brave”? Sure, firemen are brave, some army guys are probably brave in their own special way, hell, I’m brave when I go out fishing knowing there’s a pack of wild boar across the water that could come mangle me at any moment. It seems whenever someone dies due to either lack of common sense or sheer stupidity a little bit of our “land of the free” disappears. Remember the days when seat belts were’t mandated? Seriously, if you’re stupid enough NOT to wear your seat belt, when you go soaring through the windshield and end up in a tree, you probably deserve to be there. There shouldn’t be any reason for punishment due to lack of common sense.
That being said, if I’m in a vehicle without a seat belt warning alarm, I don’t wear it. I traveled thousands of miles doing RV transport in a truck with over a million miles and grabbed for the seat belt maybe twice. My decision. If I want to get mangled in a wreck, let me be mangled. Leave me alone about it. The dummies out there that mandated there to be a warning notice on my coffee warning me it’s hot. Looking into my magic ball I foresee a mandate coming in our future that will disallow hot beverages from being more than a certain temperature. Ack. Rules, regulations, land of the free indeed.
As a self identified member of the “Underground Gonzo Press” I feel it necessary to report on the causalities of modern living due to the lack of common sense of some. The ability to become complacent and willing to adopt new rules and regulations because “they protect you” drives me up the wall, as it should everyone.
“Girl, you though he was a man, but was a muffin.” -that’s it, laws and regulations disallowing anybody from resembling a muffin.
“I can’t wait till my Fro is full-grown, I’ll just throw ‘way my Doo-Rag at home.” No hair over a certain height especially in fro form due to the fact that hair products are flammable and might potentially cause a fire.
“And as a man, who is attached to a prostitute, is unfitted to choose or judge of a wife, so any prepossession in favor of a rotten constitution of government will disable us from discerning a good one.”
Thomas Paine, Common Sense
Instead of making kids read “The Scarlet Letter” in High School, books like Common Sense, Notes From The Underground, and other counter government nanny books should be applauded. I made a joke the other day about the book Fahrenheit 451 being almost as realistic as any non-fiction book ever read. The day is coming, sooner than later, that we’ll be told what is “approved” musically, in print, and in all other forms of media. It’s already happening with the YouTube take over. Pretty soon places like Amazon will quit selling certain books and music. Songs like “Titties and Beer” won’t be available and all of the “freedom” you enjoy on the internet will be slowly whittled away to include only government approved crapola.
“Drums are too noisy.” Frank Zappa
See, I told you his was wise before his time.
“I don’t mind a parasite, I object to a cut rate one.”
Times are tough all over, I get it. Life doesn’t always go your way, I understand, boy, do I ever understand. Sometimes you get dealt a losing hand and you have to make the most of what you’ve got left. Fine, but none of those things should ever, under any circumstances take precedent over self morals and humanity towards your fellow neighbor. Your life may suck, but for the love of God and all that’s holy, don’t take it out on others.
This being said, I have been sucker punched with the news that a very good friend of mine, a friend that has picked me up out of a deep dark hole on occasion, has had his personal property stolen. Being someone that knows the dirty feeling that is associated with being robbed, my heart bleeds a steady stream of red tears for this loss. This is a man, and his wife, who do nothing but bring smiles to enthusiasts faces, help with charitable organizations, and never hardly have I heard from anyone, have met an enemy. They are very possibly the sweetest people I know, and the thought that they’ve been stolen from makes me absolutely sick.
Here’s the scenario, an unmarked V Nose Cargo trailer, white, unassuming, was stolen early in the morning Saturday, October 7th. Luckily for the owners, not so much for the assailant there was nothing in the trailer, which they probably noticed when they went to pull away and there wasn’t much drag on the trailer. The scary thing about the whole thing is that back in my RV transport days we’d park stuff in that same very parking lot all the time, thinking is was secure, well lit, and had cameras. Not to mention I lived a mile and half up the road from said location, never once thinking any crime was near me. I was wrong.
I’ve got a few hypotheses.
The Foundation building is located off the main road, off of a secondary road, off of a cul-de-sac with no traffic going back there except for Foundation business only. Perhaps an errant delivery truck from Fed Ex will grace the parking lot, but rarely do any casual drivers stumble upon the building. That being said, the signage for the Foundation doesn’t actually say anything about having anything of “value” and, again, to those just driving down the secondary road where the sign is, would think of it nothing but an office building for the CCA staff to congregate and eat fudge. Even if you did have curiosity, there isn’t anything to conjure up any interest in actually thinking there is anything of value there, except maybe paperwork. This is perfect, and it really keeps the Foundation facility free from just run-amoks looking to waste time. It is really a haven for enthusiasts of the BMW marquee.
To my next point. Unless you know the area, and know the parking lot, there is no way to actually see down into the parking lot from any of the roads. You’d have to be purposely driven to go down that dead end road and get to that parking lot on purpose. In that area, for a grab and go thief for example, there are tons of other places to yank a trailer for resale out of state. Construction is abound in that area and with a simple set of bolt cutters you could find your way around any trailer lock. This being said, it seems like the culprit was targeting that particular parking lot for the simple reason that there MIGHT have been a classic Bimmer inside.
Social media is a criminals best friend. How often do we see pictures of all the cool stuff being brought in and out of the Foundation and other enthusiast museums? Just recently there were a few race cars that had been welcomed into the graces of the unassuming buildings caverns, could the thief not be someone who has been watching from a computer screen planning on what and when things were going to be shuffled around? Would a non-marked cargo trailer really be that hard to steal? It wouldn’t even have to be full of classic car, it could be full of keychains, which would actually be pretty funny.
The sunny side of the story is that nothing of real emotional value was stolen, and although it’s a pain in the ass having to file police reports and such, it could have been much worse. I’m hoping with this post, you’ll find it in your heart to share and try to find the trailer and bring these scum to justice. You can steal from a stranger of mine, and I’ll frown upon you, but steal from a friend of mine, you better believe the internet is going to find out about it.
If the thief does happen to read this, I’ll have you know, you’ve got one of the closest knit Car Clubs of America against you. You’re not going to get away with this. Not on my watch. Hopefully the camera footage will show what you were driving and a good picture of your deplorable face. (Side note, I will be posting something on every craigslist site from here to wherever to make sure it doesn’t try to get sold under false pretenses.)
Here’s the trailer, keep an eye out. There aren’t that many that are white. Maybe this is a sign, maybe if anyone out there has an un-marked cargo trailer you should take the time to blaze something on the side of it to make it stick out. Just a thought.
This us an unusually TALL trailer with inside ramps above the wheel wells.
Police have been notified.
Foundation cameras show a silver or grey crew cab Chevy or GMC. License plate not visible
“A man who leaves home to mend himself and others is a philosopher; but he who goes from country to country, guided by the blind impulse of curiosity, is a vagabond.”
I find some odd quotes once in a while, primarily when I’m looking for answers to a question I haven’t asked yet. Today, while I was scrubbing a nasty interior of a thirteen year old Chevy Equinox, I actually asked myself a question, without even almost wanting to know the answer.
“How do other people live?”
The only reason this became pertinent on this crisp fall day in the South was that the entire leather interior was covered in this thick film of sludge. We’re not talking about a little dust, this was full on sludge. It wasn’t dirt, it wasn’t food, it was just straight up mysterious black film…on everything. As I sat and scrubbed, and scrubbed and waited, and vacuumed and cursed, imagery popped into my head as to what these peoples home must look like, what these people must eat, what the hell they do for a living. The cruel and harsh reality of the situation was that I had to clean up their mess. I’m cool with that, really, I just wanted to know what the hell happened. Chances are these people probably live in a decent house, with an adequate sized television set, two honor roll children that play baseball and soccer and a dog named Chuck that knows three commands.
Trust me, when I get dealt cars like this, I really want to cut the rope and run like hell, become a vagabond and run away from my troubles as quick as my feet, wheels, or airplane can take me. The need to mend myself has always been strong, because up until recently I’ve always felt broken. There has always been something that has been dangling that I can’t fix, much like an exhaust on a car in the north after a decade of winter salt on the road. Eroded. Morality and ethically, eaten up. It’s never been that I’ve put my tail between my legs and ran for fear, it’s always been to see if there’s a green pasture on the other side of the next hill. That mentality will tucker a person out.
I could say of myself that I’m a hybrid of vagabond and philosopher. I want to heal and help people, at the same time I’m not content on sitting in one place waiting for people to come to me for philosophical assistance. Especially in the high-speed-internet-junkie-YouTube-Watching-fiend, people aren’t necessarily looking for answer next door. People aren’t going down to the local dry good store and chatting over the cracker barrel about what’s going on in the world. This is good, broad horizons are great for the soul, but that the same time can leave a person wondering. Much like me wondering what’s over that next hill, we can all wonder what’s to behold on this next link that we see. This isn’t going to be a political post, nor anti-internet post. Far from it, it’s about being free.
“Simplicity is ultimate sophistication.”
Leonardo Da Vinci
(side note: I’m aware of the ways of the world, and there’s always going to be somebody that will say something negative about anybody that I quote. I in no way lead any sort of credence to one person or another, and if I quote them, it doesn’t mean that I idolize them. Quite the opposite, I’d respect anybody if they brought up a good point about something.)
Two kids, a dog and an SUV. Let’s throw in a house on a cul-de-sac, a masters in business and a country club membership. Or opposite, section eight housing, food stamps, and a twenty year old sedan with a sagging headliner. Our lives are what we make them to be, and to what priorities we set for ourselves. At a younger age, early twenties maybe, I was married, living extremely happily in a happy house in a happy neighborhood living very simply. We ate very well, we had more fun than most people should have, had a garden that would rival most country settings, and most of all we had each other. We were happy. I grew complicated with age, and became restless, needless to say I thought I needed more. I wanted things I hadn’t had before, only because I had never had them. It wasn’t to say that I would like them, it was just me being a flake.
Stumbling through six years of complexity, I realized that that lifestyle was where I wanted to be, but there was no way back machine to take me there. I tried the trophy soon-to-be-wife that would smile with a blank look in her eyes at company Christmas parties, pretend I liked to go hunting for pheasants and deer when deep down inside I was praying none would come across our path, I’d pretend I wanted to…well….you get the point. Every damn thing I did was complicated, it made me put up a false front and pretend everything was okay…psychologically this isn’t healthy. I needed simplicity.
I’m not going to lie, life is ridiculously simple right now, and I’m loving it, but some people disagree. We live an incredibly fulfilling life with a very healthy balance of work and play. This mean we don’t live in a house on a cul-de-sac, but honestly, what do we need that for? We work hard, we’re honest human being, we want for nothing, and we ask for no hand outs. Would life be easier for us somewhere else, no. Not by a long shot. Our happy home is an RV, sitting on an amazing span of acres upon acres of trees, prairies and an incredible river of fish. We have a roof over our head and all the luxuries of any other home you could ever want, but without hassle, without 2300 square feet of living space that we feel the need to fill with crap. Without the need to pay HOA fees or cut the lawn at regular intervals (okay, I love to cut the grass, but that’s not the point.)
I’ve lived the RV lifestyle for an accumulated two and a half years now, and honestly, I couldn’t be more thrilled. Being a little girl, I would yearn for our weekends in the woods camping. I remember camping when I was tiny in this bumper pull trailer that my “Pa” had, I remember our first tent camping trip in my Moms Trans-Am…I was in the back seat with all the camping equipment piled around me like an igloo. I remember the trips up to the “Northwoods” of Wisconsin with Steve, our landlord actually (long story) and spending an entire week up there with two of my best friends playing in the mud and being simple. We didn’t have elaborate European vacations, we didn’t need them. Whatever was given to us was enough. I’d take a leaky tent in the woods over a luxury hotel right now any day.
We come home from work, the two of us, in a one-slide fifth wheel and honestly couldn’t be happier, unless, perhaps, we were in the West somewhere.
This is a cautionary tale, one that more people should listen to, and even more should heed, especially when young, without children that is. Become simple, know your needs. Home doesn’t need to have a concrete slab, home doesn’t have to have a direct line to a telephone pole, home can absolutely have an axle and wheels. That interior that I cleaned this morning was just a screaming example of stagnant living, or just a slob.
I chose to think they’re too miserable to care, and that could all be alleviated with an RV.
Don’t tell me that you can’t have a “normal life” in an RV. It’s fall, and one of our favorite things to do in fall around here is to buy a pumpkin, plant Pansies and cultivate a fall garden. Cold beer in one hand, a hand trowel in the other, I’m happy.
Don’t tell me I can’t do that in an RV. I’m happy here. It’s simple….no vacuuming required.
I’ve been a bit preoccupied with fishing lately, so my efforts to make my own movie Channel has been delayed by a little bit. It doesn’t mean it’s not going down, quite the opposite. I’ve got a scheme.
I’m going to add to the “what doesn’t matter” theme and add a bit of The Onion-esque humor creating a lighthearted view of the politics and current events. Honestly, the need to watch me just complain about burning my hand on the stove is probably pretty low. Me making fun if stupid criminals, college sports, and perhaps the weather might make more sense.
Let me know what you’d like to hear me yap about. If you provide me with a good topic, I’ll give you a shout out on the channel.
And… If you would like to sponsor “The N. Weed Show” find me on PayPal 🙂
In the meantime, go buy a pumpkin… Local economy is counting on you.
“Man is a short-sighted creature, sees but a very little way before him; and as his passions are none of his best friends, so his particular affections are generally his worst counselors.”
Daniel Defoe, The Life an Adventures of Robinson Crusoe
Your opinion matters to me as much as college football, climate change, or politics. Here’s the thing though, although I have my own opinion on these things might not jive with yours, it doesn’t mean that I’m going to take it to the podium and make you listen, until now. I’ve sat stagnant in the sidelines for too long seeing videos posted, posts written, and websites created all for the soul reason to bully others into you seeing things their way. Bullies, that’s what the world has become all of a sudden, a bunch of ego-crazed bullies that want to inflict their opinion on your.
It’s almost as if the entire modern culture has become one of war, not of a violence with guns level, but a war of opinion. “My sports team is so much better than yours, you suck.” “I disagree with your outlook on politics, so I’m going to argue with you about it.” “Pineapple on your pizza, what the hell is wrong with you, I’m going to give you seven reasons why pineapple on pizza is the best.” Leave me alone about it, I’m not going to cheer for your team, I’m not going to see eye to eye with anyone on the planet, simply because there is nobody else like me on the planet. What people have to understand in modern society is that there isn’t anybody like anybody else in the planet. You are unique, and you’re entitled to live a unique lifestyle.
“What is unique, Latin for asshole?”
Here’s the deal. My entire life I’ve been led to believe everyone else has better opinions on life and mine should be subject to change depending on the validity of others argument. Better sources for information, more reading of the topic, more syllables in their statement, all volley points in a good argument, but why argue? Why should you let your ideas and beliefs be subject to change just because some other individual, which is probably bored, wants to try to impose their way of thinking or lifestyle upon you? What makes you so weak as to sway in the breeze like a dried reed? Are you really content in being in an entire field of reeds that have dried in the same way as you have and have the same inclination to bend when told to?
I remember a sleepover in about seventh grade with my best friend. We had procured some tequila and drank it, very gingerly, and got deep in conversation. I asked her “would you rather be a picture in a frame that hangs in every hotel room in america or be rare painting that is under guard in a museum somewhere. She wanted to be a rare painting, and at the time I wanted to be the mass produces prototype of what people thought was an acceptable thing to look at. In the long run, I think that was the fulcrum of my existence. Which way was I going to teeter, was I going to be a reed that bent, or an oak that stood. Did I develop the taproot of life, or was I comprised of a million tiny feeder roots that didn’t ground me anywhere?
Let’s talk drugs for a little while…drugs are cool (not in the aspect of taking them, but in the way that they interact with the neurotransmitters in our brain). Some will crawl into your brain and pretend to be the transmitter and make it work overtime (in extreme laymans terms), others with go in and bully the hell out of the neurotransmitters and make them their bitch. Those drugs will cling on like a leech and such the ability to function out and put their evil ways in.
In the pharmacology world, there are antagonist and agonists, and honestly, in everyday life, we experience the same thing with human beings. You have those sheep that hide in the herd and try to implant ideas that are somewhat along the lines of the herd mentality, then you have those that stand at the the sideline, waiting for an opportunity to attack, then infiltrate. This is what modern media has become. You have those that want to yell and scream to get their point across and those that pretend to be your friend, pulling you in closer to gain your trust.
In psychology, you have the submissive and the dominate characters. Those submissive sorts will flock to the antagonists and vice versa. How many times to we look towards news feeds, television news, or YouTube and see those that pretend to be your friend, talk really nice (agonists) and try to make you see things their way with a dulcet tone of friendship and acceptance. Then you have the bellowing Tuba (the antagonist) that wants to use volume, words, and pure shock value to try to scare you into seeing things their way. My favorite example was from my childhood, I couldn’t tell you what the guys name was, but he used to have a news program in Chicago (maybe Richard Bay?) and he’d yell in such a way that you were afraid NOT to listen to him.
“Clothes make the man, naked men have little or no influence on society.”
So don yourself in your most influential garb, get yourself a YouTube channel and watch the world fall to your feet at the great opinion in which you speak. Wait, what?!?! You don’t know how to have your own opinion without being spoon-fed by a like minded individual or something that is barking statistics at you? No worries, you can be neither an agonist nor an antagonist, you can just be an antist, which is my new movement. Every where you look there are different “lives matter” “fill in the blank strong” and “#whateverthefuck. It’s absolutely nauseating.
That’s why, in a sheer stroke of intolerance to modern news, media, and especially YouTube (except Roadkill), I’m going to start my own YouTube page. I’m not going to spend an hour and a half curling my hair and putting makeup on to be “pleasing to the eye” and attract horny lonely guys that could care less of what I say, but watch my video on mute watching my tits. I’m not going to go to foreign lands (aka a blue screen that LOOKS like I’m in …I dunno, Indonesia) to try to grab the sympathy view (that poor girl, having to cover a story from that godforsaken land. I certainly am not going to be politically correct, only because I’m not political. Knowing me, I’ll probably do it from a picnic table in the woods somewhere and rant on why I think the NAACP should join forces with the NCCA. The NRA should make friends with PETA.
I’m sick of YouTube movies telling me what to think, this is my rebellion, this is me becoming not an antagonist, not an agonist, but an antist.
“I think I could stand anything, any suffering, only to be able to say and to repeat to myself every moment, ‘I exist.’ In thousands of agonies — I exist. I’m tormented on the rack — but I exist!”
It’s no secret, I absolutely love Fyodor and his Russian cruel look at humanity and people in general. It’s an extremely refreshing read, at least for me, in a world of over glamorized lifestyles of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Not all of us can relate to such things, and be it as it may, I’m a much more simplistic person. I need something to relate to, I need something that I have something in common with, I need something that resonates with the psychology of my soul. Shades of Grey or whatever the fuck it was called does nothing for me, and I sort of pity the individual that needs to read something like that to be amused in life. I’m a deeper sort of being, perhaps a bit heavy on drinking at times, but I’d rather have a bourbon and read Russian novels than be submerged in a fiction that glorifies decadence and lack of moral compass. (Sure, I’m a fan of Hunter S. Thompsons work, which is an illumination of all of those things, but it was more based on personal experience, glorified at times, but this man actually lived like that.)
That’s exactly why when I woke up this morning I focused on three things:
- I wanted an egg, just one, and I hate eggs
- I wanted bourbon and ginger tea, I had a belly ache
- I wanted to read something raw, something that would distract me
Truth be told, I had a rattling evening and needed to turn to something to alleviate my churning mind. This same mind would reel at the aspect of the evening last night, but we all evolve. In a chaotic mindset, the world is constantly coming to an end, everything is the worst case scenario, everything is shitty, your life sucks. You’re never good enough, you’re never attractive enough, you impress nobody. I lived decades like this, and proudly the high water mark broke and suddenly rolled back, surprisingly without medication or booze. I rolled along in the backseat of my car (although, I’m not even sure who it actually belongs to anymore, everyone drives it but me) looking out the window and chatting via messenger with someone I knew from middle school.
Fucking Middle School, the rash on my ass that I had to sustain for two years. I remember crying as my mom drove me to my first day. That’s where I became broken, that’s where my mind broke. It was all about me though, I was so self absorbed I never put things into a broader perspective. Certainly my mom didn’t want to see me cry, but she had no choice, certainly I didn’t want to go to a scary new school, and most certainly my sister didn’t either. I was too involved in my own head to take into account the other people that were hurting. They got over it, I turned it into certain varieties of addiction and disease. Some say mental disorders aren’t really diseases, that you should just “think yourself out of it”. Fuck you, I say. Just like someone contracts syphilis, people can contract mental diseases. It’s a circumstantial thing.
Here’s the thing though, I survived. I’m not sure how, but I survived. I still “exist”. This is why that line from The Brothers Karamazov has always resonated with me (or, at least since I read it for the first time. Trials and tribulations of a set of siblings and their parents. Not to drag it out, but it involves bar fights, love triangles, school kids getting picked on, pretty much my life growing up. I survived, I still exist, but for the longest time I thought I was the only one that suffered, I was the only one that had this rough start. For some reason, this book, written back centuries plus ago made me realize that life has always been shitty. Siblings feud, bar fights happen, but life goes on.
This is what woke me up last night, a total stranger, only knowing them from middle school and by chance Facebook brought us together as “friends” had a similarly shitty lifestyle in middle school. Going into middle school I thought I was the bottom of the barrel, scourge of the earth, I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone. Perhaps it was the teenage emotions kicking in at the time, or just the realization that I wasn’t like most everyone else, it weighed heavily on me at that time. It was obvious, but therapy wasn’t really in the cards, hell, I don’t recall even going to the dentist.
“Red shoelaces, thanks.”
I didn’t really get thrown into a rational mindset about the entire situation until I found myself sitting at a bar in Atlanta watching a woman who had to be about 50 dance in front of me on a stage wearing nothing but a half shirt pulled up above her shoulders and some ridiculously ugly heeled boots.
Nothing else. Period. It was a full frontal and rear experience. I wanted to look away in shame for this woman, but at the same time there was a sense of compassion that led me to cheer her on. If that’s all you’ve got to hold onto is dancing nude infront of a bunch of people drinking beer in a very, VERY dark basement bar, well, you need some support. For all the times I’ve needed support and people have overlooked it, I sympathized. She pretended to be having a good time, doing her “job” but there was a certain amount of pain in her eyes. Maybe she got forced to go to a scary new middle school, maybe she had to go through a divorce, maybe she got sexually assaulted by a family member. Who knows, we all bleed. She was existing, and I was proud of her for it.
I don’t say it often, especially of people in that situation doing something like that for a living, but I wish I could be her. I wish I could throw my insecurities of my body aside and dance naked, however, I have a hard time even getting in the shower, let alone prancing naked. I dated a guy that whenever I was out of line would say “I dated a stripper, she was hot”, which would always lead me towards self hate and shame. After seeing this stripper, well, to each their own.
The circle comes around and I can’t help but ponder on life and it’s little qualms. If I were still severely anorexic, where would I be now, would it be better off than drinking? If I hadn’t loved my dad more than my mom, would my sister still talk to me? If I succumbed to modern literature would I be as deep as I am now?
All things that absolutely torment me, that coupled with social media. Seeing a post mentioning how “adorable” my little sisters engagement announcement cards put me in a funk. I thought of that stripper, wondering if she had a sister, and if they got along. I’m not receiving an announcement, and I’m okay with that. I see a post about how happy my mom is in her new home, which I didn’t know about until she was already moving. I am an island, but I exist.
“Halloween masks, Easter baskets, a Christmas Tree.”
I’m tired of “existing” trying to fulfill other peoples parameters. As my new “friend” from middle school asked me last night “are you a good person when people aren’t around.” The answer is yes, I will hurt nobody but myself intentionally. As in the Fyodor book, the brothers ended up hurting each other unintentionally, which in fact broke the family. Living a “pretend” lifestyle will do nothing but slaughter your attempt at actually existing. You’re on false pretenses. There isn’t a Halloween. You are not the mask you wear. There is not an Easter Bunny, those baskets don’t make you a better person. Don’t get me started on the brutal massacre of innocent Fir trees for that ridiculous celebration people call Christmas.
Thing is, I’m jealous. I’m jealous of my sister. I want to have “adorable” announcements. I want to have that house on a cul-de-sac with grass and a sidewalk, I want to have squabbles over dirty socks on the floor and why it took so long to go get a gallon of milk. I’m jealous, and this causes resentment.
However, as I am right now, I could have cute announcements and a big wedding, but it wouldn’t make me happy, because I would be existing in a reality that is meant to impress others. I could have that house, but for whom, do I need all that room or will I just be existing in the exceptions of someone else? My projected jealously prevails, but I’m go on with life. Living in a shadow of jealously, be it from a sibling, a stripper, or a sports car, it’s no way to live life.
“Leave me alone, I know what I’m doing.”
I’m never going to be special. I eat junk food, I drink beer, i enjoy psychedelic music. None of these things will make me a super model, but fuck it, I exist.
“Luck is a very thin wire between survival and disaster, and not many people can keep their balance on it.”
Hunter S. Thompson
I’ll make it short and sweet.
Luck is an intuitive instinct that nothing is going to happen to you, and when it does, it will be in your favor. Webster might define it as something a little different, but in modern day speak, it’s a bit more simplistic. Luck is when you go out on a day that the weather calls for rain without an umbrella, you drive with tires that are too bald on that same rainy day, you haven’t slept well in a week a feel drowsy but drive anyways on that same day, you broke up with your girlfriend and keep thinking about it on that same rainy day. Luck will ride you through, right?
Most of the time, yes. There will come a time that your luck will run out. Most of us make decisions depending on survival, such as having to get to work even though you don’t have good tires and you’re at risk of hydroplaning, yet you drive anyways, it’s survival. You have to have a job in order to survive, to provide your home with shelter and food. Prioritization over practicality takes over and that’s where luck comes in. I’ll raise my hand and say that I’m the most guilty of “living on luck” than anybody else. My luck has run out several times, but I keep going.
Except, maybe, Charles Bukowski, whom wrote a book about it. It was pretty much an accumulation of raw poetry and notes about gambling with life, also known as living on luck. This coming from the guy that lived out most of his life chasing a dream, but being drowned in a pool of booze and easy women. If anything, that’s disaster in it’s own form. Although he was slap dab in the middle of disaster, it still took a bit of luck. How did he know that one of those trashy women weren’t going to drug him and take his last five bucks in his pocket? He was a lucky bastard. He escaped death from over-drinking and overall, over decadence that he could never afford.
He skipped out on that lifestyle at the age of 49 and took a big bite out of the sandwich of luck by leaving his stable job to chase his dream of being a full time writer.
“regret is mostly caused by not having done anything.”
Sometimes you just have to make a decision, even if you already know it’s a bad one. I will say, there are lots of people out there that have made bad decisions and I feel no sympathy for them. There are certain things that you need to do, without wavering. You need to brush your teeth, if you don’t, and they fall out. I feel no sympathy. If you run out of gas, although the needle read empty for miles, I feel no sympathy. If you drive without insurance and wreck your car into another car and are liable for not only your car, but the other as well, I feel no sympathy. You’re living on luck.
You’ll be lucky if your teeth don’t fall out.
You’ll be lucky if you coast into an conveniently places fuel stop.
You’ll be lucky if nobody pulls out in front of you.
Paranoia is one thing, total disregard of all bad things that can happen to you is another thing. Paranoia is the opposite of luck.
On the other hand, luck is a very, VERY good thing. You’ll never get anywhere unless you take chances. Bukowski took his life in a different direction and decided to live on luck and do something different full time. I lived on luck and traveled across country to chase a dream, living on luck on so many different levels. My friend traveled to Washington to chase his dream on the chance that it was going to work out for him, living on luck.
Luck, overlapping talent, equals success. That’s exactly why you don’t win the lottery. Luck by itself only opens you to vulnerability, however, luck coupled with talent will actually get you someplace. My friend was extremely talented at what he did, however, his luck was that there wasn’t someone more talented than he to take that position. He could have stayed complacent and not even tried, but he “lucked out” to find the position and went for it.
Luck, on the other hand can bite you in the ass. Take for instance an uninsured friend of mine that wrecked his truck into a guardrail. His luck ran out in a few ways. He got ticketed, his truck wasn’t able to get fixed and he lost his privileged to drive. There’s a bit BUT here. If the guardrail wasn’t there, he would have gone clear off the side of a mountain, into a tree, into another tree, flipped and died. So, in the grand scheme of things luck can be a pro, however, when it runs out, you’re sort of screwed. In his case, if he actually had insurance, would that assure him that the guardrail would actually be there? Cosmically, just because you have an insurance policy on your body, car, house, or even cell phone, does that eliminate it from harm, or are all of these things just subjected to luck?
I’ve been living on luck for so long, I can’t even remember when this psychological mindset overtook me. I think we’re all living on luck in some way, shape, or form. If you look at your day to day processes, how many things would change if you didn’t produce a safety net or plan? Could you live recklessly? Are you confident enough in yourself that you won’t need an overpriced health insurance policy, or are you afraid you’re going to come down with swine flu that is going to cost you multiple thousands of dollars to treat? Are you willing to live on luck?
I did not proof read to, well, live on the luck that everything is spelled properly.
Pictured below is my friend that lived on the luck that he was going to rock his job across the country, which he did. His luck was with him, mine was not.
“The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.”
I sat next to an old black man at the bar the other day and had a very enlightening conversation about suits. Suits being a metaphor for sex, how that turned into the conversation is beyond me. He referred to always having that old suit that never lets you down, that you keep it hanging in the closet, just in case you have to use it. Then there are some of those suits that get all full of holes and you have to patch them together. Then there are some that just don’t fit right and give them away to Goodwill. Some days I feel like a suit full of hole, but that doesn’t get me down, I mend fairly well. I’d like to think my suit will be remembered long after I’m done wearing it.
As for the old man, he cracked me up, but I couldn’t help but think “damn he’s old.” He got up to leave, and I wondered how much longer he was going to live for, he was that old. I wondered if that was the last time I would see him or not. I didn’t even know the old timers name, but I still feel a sort of sadness thinking about it. It put me in a sort of dark place. Aren’t we all going to die anyways? I’ve always heard some sort of saying along the lines of “you only die if you stop living.” Given his personality, I’m guessing he’s going to go on living for a long time. Does he know that though, has he ever really thought about it? Is he afraid of it?
I’ve been around a broad spectrum of people, and it seems that those who really devote their lives to living instead of being afraid of death get along with me more than those paranoid of everything. I once dated a guy that wouldn’t wear deodorant for fear that the aluminum or something or other in it would give him cancer. He stunk, especially in the summertime after working outside all day, we’d go out somewhere and I’d be embarrassed because even after a shower he had a certain funk that the whole world could smell. It didn’t keep me from staying with him though, I accepted the fact that he believed the deodorant was going to kill him.
Fast forward eight years, he died, not from the scary deodorant, but something else. He spent all that time afraid of something that didn’t kill him. That makes me wonder about some of the choices that we all make regarding how we approach life. I can’t say I’m afraid of much, snakes, bread, and vaseline. All very unreasonable fears, but I’m not so afraid of them because they’re going to kill me, only because somehow I’ve gotten a very negative connotation with them. Come to think of it, I think the only thing that can actually kill me is me. I’m like a cockroach.
I understand the conscience effort that people make in their day to day lives to prolong their time on earth by decision making. What influences us to make those decisions in the first place. Why did that old timer next to me at the bar have a burger and onion rings but leave two? Why don’t I like bread? Who told the ex that deodorant will kill him by giving him cancer of the arm pit?
“Garbage in, garbage out.”
A new way of thinking, in the 21st century at least, is to peer into the media and be influenced by others think, say, or do. Let’s put it in perspective using something we can all understand – rocks. (I don’t like to brag, but I have an awesome rock collection). We can get even more technical and use geological terms:
Uniformitarianism – Pretty much the theory that actions in the past creates the current state of things. In a simple way, the present is a key to the past.
Catastrophicism – Bad shit happened to the earth, that’s what formed what we now enjoy in nature.
Our selves, our souls, our behaviors are all based on something, we don’t just happen, just like rocks don’t just happen. The earth didn’t just happen, there has to be a reason. What influences us nowadays isn’t the same as it used to be, we are prone to looks for catastrophes that will influence what we do. The old saying “history repeats itself” is sort of obsolete in this modern society, with most of our news coming from the internet being written by got knows who, how are we to know what to believe? We focus on all the bad shit and form our decisions on the bad things that are out to get us.
YouTube is a huge proponent of modern day Catastrophicism. Anybody and their inbred brother can go on and make a video, and yes, I’ve made videos, but who’s to say that some of these people are credible enough to believe. The quantity of people out there making videos to either make you hate something or someone is ridiculous. When did society get so hateful, and why, pray tell, do they feel like they need to influence others to think the same as they do. Just because you’ve got internet access and are able to shoot a ridiculous film while you’re walking around blathering about mindless dribble does not make you qualified to influence others opinions. Society has become too influenced by what others think as opposed to what we’re supposed to do.
How did people survive before all this? How did they make decisions? Nature, that’s how. We all have carnal needs for food, clothing, shelter, but shouldn’t those things be chosen by what we feel we need? Food videos crack me up, trying to lead a cleaner, healthier lifestyle? Get rid of everything that actually tastes good. I can promise you if there are videos out there telling me that I was going to die because I eat red meat and drink beer, I’d probably just flip the bird and tell them “don’t tell me what to do.” People have been eating red meat for centuries, and there hasn’t been a global die off of people.
Maybe we should all spend more time forming ourselves into who we really want to be instead of being influenced by what other people are telling us. Going back to those rocks, they formed due to nature being nature, dinosaurs did their thing (sad that they had to go, but I see no way we could coexist) without being told how to be dinosaurs. I have a very firm policy of I won’t tell you what to do if you don’t tell me what to do. The more you try to push something on me, the more I will ignore you. I like to figure stuff out myself and let nature be my guide.
“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming “Wow! What a Ride!”
Hunter S Thompson
I’m not telling you what to do, but life is a lot more peaceful after I quit taking everything so seriously. I’m going to continue to drink good beer, have lots of sex, and eat cheeseburgers all of which could probably kill me, but at least I’ll die with a smile on my face.