Why the hell am I writing a blog, and who the hell cares? Who the hell want's to read the shit that I have to write?
Well, frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.
My mind is a strange, strange place. And that isn't to say that I'm "special" or "different". Everyone's mind is unique and strange in strange and unique ways. How that is expressed is just as different as the individuals are. As such, I find myself in a place where my expression of my strange mind has developed in a way that is not conducive to full self actualization.
I can't scream what I'm thinking to every passerby (no matter how much I want to). I cannot force-feed my ideas and opinions to people who don't care or don't want to hear it. But I have so much that I want to say, and so much to get off my chest (so to speak). And what better way to do so than to write them down, and catalog them.
So, you don't have to read what I write. Most of it probably doesn't make sense, anyway. This shit isn't for you. It's for me. But if you read it, and like it, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Friday, July 26, 2013
Monday, July 22, 2013
People Suck, and I Love Them.
Seriously, I fucking hate people. They are selfish, parasitic, and flippant. But they are so much more as well.
One of the core tenets of beliefs is that there is no such thing as a truly 'evil' person. Well, at least with most people. Yes, there are serial killers and rapist and disgusting human beings, but those are literally one tenth of one percent of mankind. The majority of people are good men and women, just trying to do what they think is right.
So why do I hate them? Well, I don't. I've never met an individual for whom I had abject disdain. Because persons never fail to show me something new, something intricate, something exciting. And this excitement makes me seek, actively, new, interesting people with whom to spend my life.
These experiences that I've had, with so many people have led me to truly love those with whom I spend my time, regardless of what foibles and weaknesses they have, and has changed fundamentally how I perceive people, as a whole.
Which brings me to a chance encounter that I had while at language school in Monterey, California. I had been there for all of 2 months, just plugging away with a jug of Blue Kool-Aid. Things were generally not too bad, and being in the military had made my temperament much more even keeled. I was sitting at the designated smoking area, enjoying a nice cigarette, when up walked a dude wearing a v-neck t-shirt, suspenders, a newsboy cap, and suede saddle oxfords. I remember looking at the kid and wondering what the fuck was up. Most people hanging around would never have worn such anachronistic clothing. I can't remember exactly what had sparked a conversation, or if I was merely eavesdropping on his conversation with someone else, but we started talking about many an important thing, namely the blues. I would mention an old, dead Black man who cut a record in 1928, and he would come back with two more. This kid is now one of my best friends.
Had I been the same misanthropic person I was many a year ago, I would never had even looked his way. I would have simply thought he was an asshole and walked away. Hating.
One of the core tenets of beliefs is that there is no such thing as a truly 'evil' person. Well, at least with most people. Yes, there are serial killers and rapist and disgusting human beings, but those are literally one tenth of one percent of mankind. The majority of people are good men and women, just trying to do what they think is right.
So why do I hate them? Well, I don't. I've never met an individual for whom I had abject disdain. Because persons never fail to show me something new, something intricate, something exciting. And this excitement makes me seek, actively, new, interesting people with whom to spend my life.
These experiences that I've had, with so many people have led me to truly love those with whom I spend my time, regardless of what foibles and weaknesses they have, and has changed fundamentally how I perceive people, as a whole.
Which brings me to a chance encounter that I had while at language school in Monterey, California. I had been there for all of 2 months, just plugging away with a jug of Blue Kool-Aid. Things were generally not too bad, and being in the military had made my temperament much more even keeled. I was sitting at the designated smoking area, enjoying a nice cigarette, when up walked a dude wearing a v-neck t-shirt, suspenders, a newsboy cap, and suede saddle oxfords. I remember looking at the kid and wondering what the fuck was up. Most people hanging around would never have worn such anachronistic clothing. I can't remember exactly what had sparked a conversation, or if I was merely eavesdropping on his conversation with someone else, but we started talking about many an important thing, namely the blues. I would mention an old, dead Black man who cut a record in 1928, and he would come back with two more. This kid is now one of my best friends.
Had I been the same misanthropic person I was many a year ago, I would never had even looked his way. I would have simply thought he was an asshole and walked away. Hating.
Friday, July 12, 2013
An Old Soul
"You have an old soul".
"Your tastes are so ecclectic."
"You're so weird."
Weird. That is what I've been called my whole life. I was a child with little or no friends. I didn't talk to anyone aside from my family. I felt... different. And people always treated me different. As I grew older, I began asking why everyone talked to me and treated me this way. Am I not the same as everyone else? Maybe I am different. Maybe sitting and looking at old album covers in complete silence for 3 hours is weird. Maybe reading the World Book Encyclopedia (1976 edition) from Volume A to Volume R (The rest were missing), is weird. Maybe trying to always know the right answer to all questions is weird.
Well, I didn't think it was weird. To me, that stuff was normal. Reading medical textbooks and encyclopedias for hours was a normal thing for me. I would listen to Sam Cooke, or Benny Goodman for hours on end. I would rather sit inside and read than go outside and play. And people don't do what I do. Why don't they?
And therein lies my paradox. The search for understanding. Why is what I do weird, and what you do not?
I've yet to meet someone who has asked themselves or others "How am I different and why?" At least actively. But I've found, over many years, that that is alright.
Wow, that was a lot of saying nothing and I am not disappointed with it. Basically, what things boil down to is that I am different, and weird, and have esoteric knowledge with no relevance to anyone or anything. The question is, how do I move forward in my life, knowing and feeling these things that breed insecurity, and foster lack of confidence?
It's simple: Love yourself and live yourself. It is so simple. If you don't love yourself, how can you give love to another? If you don't live for yourself, how can you live for another? Build yourself up, with knowledge, and strength, and then go out in the word. And because the people around you do not do this, you're going to be weird in that society, but you will have the strength of character buy building a foundation.
What else needs to be said?
"Your tastes are so ecclectic."
"You're so weird."
Weird. That is what I've been called my whole life. I was a child with little or no friends. I didn't talk to anyone aside from my family. I felt... different. And people always treated me different. As I grew older, I began asking why everyone talked to me and treated me this way. Am I not the same as everyone else? Maybe I am different. Maybe sitting and looking at old album covers in complete silence for 3 hours is weird. Maybe reading the World Book Encyclopedia (1976 edition) from Volume A to Volume R (The rest were missing), is weird. Maybe trying to always know the right answer to all questions is weird.
Well, I didn't think it was weird. To me, that stuff was normal. Reading medical textbooks and encyclopedias for hours was a normal thing for me. I would listen to Sam Cooke, or Benny Goodman for hours on end. I would rather sit inside and read than go outside and play. And people don't do what I do. Why don't they?
And therein lies my paradox. The search for understanding. Why is what I do weird, and what you do not?
I've yet to meet someone who has asked themselves or others "How am I different and why?" At least actively. But I've found, over many years, that that is alright.
Wow, that was a lot of saying nothing and I am not disappointed with it. Basically, what things boil down to is that I am different, and weird, and have esoteric knowledge with no relevance to anyone or anything. The question is, how do I move forward in my life, knowing and feeling these things that breed insecurity, and foster lack of confidence?
It's simple: Love yourself and live yourself. It is so simple. If you don't love yourself, how can you give love to another? If you don't live for yourself, how can you live for another? Build yourself up, with knowledge, and strength, and then go out in the word. And because the people around you do not do this, you're going to be weird in that society, but you will have the strength of character buy building a foundation.
What else needs to be said?
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