The Ghost of Man's Past

In July 2013, I decided to start writing a blog.  I have no idea why.

That's right, I just sat down and started writing one day.  And it was largely stream of consciousness, un-reviewed first draft bullshit that I exceeded in quality when I was 14 years old.

But it was an exercise in what it means to pick up a skill that had been languishing for many years.  I love writing.  I love organizing my thoughts in text, spelling out my emotions on paper.  Because writing, more so than any other form of communication, is inherently indicative of the author.  Not only because of the creation of the words recorded, but also because of the choices made in every step of the process.

THE GHOST OF MAN'S PAST

I decided to call my blog The Ghost of Man's Past/Unconventional American because these are fragments of thoughts that permeate every one of my ideas and creations.  

The Ghost of Man's Past refers to all of the cultural, evolutionary, and other anthropological baggage each member of Homo Sapiens carries around in and around their bodies every minute of every day of their lives.  It is the need to find other members with whom to connect.  It is the ineffable gravitational pull between a male and a female.  It is the hatred that we place on outsiders, warranted or not.  It is the barbarous violence that has led to the deaths of many and the glory of few.  It is the warmth of a new life on a mother's bosom, and the coldness of life lost as sons and daughters weep.

All aspects of life have ties, strong and loose, to these ghosts.  So ubiquitous are these spectres hiding in our DNA and language, that people seem to discount and ignore them.  

So my goal is to highlight them.  Much like the Hawthorne Effect or the Observer Effect, ideas and concepts tend to take on different properties and manifestations when observed.  And that is what this is: an observation.

UNCONVENTIONAL AMERICAN

For most of my limited time on this Earth, nearly all of it has been spent in the United States of America.  However, I don't think of myself as a "Mainstream American".  The irony of the nomenclature "Mainstream American" is that it is implicitly contradictory.  Throughout the history of the United States, progress, change, and culture has been wrought in the furnaces of the periphery.  Music, science, poetry, athletics, invention; all have their roots and branches tainted with the stains of us who are by many, considered outsiders.  

As with the ghosts of man's past, my goal is to highlight the unconventional.  To show to the world what it truly means to be an American.  Because even the conventional American is affected by this unconventional environment.

Coffee and Cigarrettes

Coffee and cigarettes.  These are drugs.  And boy, are they wonderful.

I find myself enjoying these things more and more.  To the point where I am becoming a snob about them.  To the point where if I am not careful, they will become a crutch.

"Virtue consists, no in the abstaining from vice, but in not desiring it."

What am I really desiring?  Do I want to feel like an old man, weathered and tempered in the difficulties of the world, using these classical drugs to shrug off the contemporary stress of the world?  Do I want to stroke the side of my personality that needs to strike at the tenets of "Classical Manliness".

I suppose that the answer is in the question.  One may say that desire is the root of all evil, and when someone does anything and everything to fulfill that desire, they are truly evil.  One may also say that without desire, and the fulfillment therein, no one will truly feel the complete satisfaction of obtaining something.

In the concrete world, coffee and cigarettes are merely stimulants that do wonderful things to the human brain.  In the abstract, they are devices through which an individual can facilitate their desires.  In and of themselves, they are nothing more than tools through which to seek a desire.  Or a virtue.

In the end, it all boils down to control.  Do I control my desires?  Do I control the tools that are placed in front of me?  Do I control my own mind, and mastery of my own body?  I don't know.  I'm gonna drink some coffee and smoke a cigarette, and think about it a bit.

Oh, 13E5

Today, I found out that I made the rank of Staff Sergeant, which is E-5 in the United States Airforce.

I have no idea how I feel about this.  Am I happy that I've achieved the next rank in my Air Force career?  Am I excited by the pay raise in my future?  Do I really care at all?

Fuck, I don't know.

I don't know if I'm ready for the responsibility.  I don't know if I'm ready to be a role model.  I do not know if I'm ready to take the lives and careers of young Airmen into my hands, and mentor them to become good at their jobs, and in life.

Will I have the courage to do what is right, even if it's difficult?  Will I have the courage to say what is needed, when it is needed to be said?

I've known many non-commissioned officers in my military career, some good and some bad.  Most just mediocre.  I especially do not want to fall into the last category.

My main mantra in life is "Fuck mediocrity".  So with this new chapter in my life, I will be either the best fucking NCO in the United States Airforce, or I will crash and burn.  Either way, it's going to be one hell of a ride.

Shut the Fuck Up!

 **WARNING** This is a rant.  Read at your own risk **WARNING**


"I don't want to get bulky."

"There are too many people in the gym."

"I don't want to be a gym bro, bro."

"I'm trying to lose weight so I'll just run."

"I'm a girl and I don't want to lift weights."

"I don't want my cardio to go down."

"I don't want to get too much muscle."

Fuck you all, and your excuses. 

These are real excuses from people I know.  And every time I hear them, I hold my tongue.  Or at least, I try.

In reality, these are fucking fallacies that people use to excuse their laziness, and inability to work hard to improve themselves.  Lifting weights and getting strong is the most misunderstood form of exercise there is.

Ladies, you are not going to get "bulky".  Are you fucking kidding me?  Do you really think that you're gonna magically produce the amount of testosterone needed to look like an NFL linebacker, just by doing heavy barbell back squats?  Shut the fuck up, you retarded, skinny-fat whiners.

Lifting weights does not make a man a "Gym Bro."  Yes, there are douche bags (they usually hang out by the dumbbell racks and the curl bars), who "totally blow up their biceps" every time they go to the gym, and they might even be the majority, but don't call me a fucking bro when squat 3 times as often as I bench press.  Stop being fucking lazy and go lift something heavy. 

The masses do not seem to understand the benefits of simply lifting something heavy on a regular basis.  What is more important to you, as a human being, than being able to pick up something heavy, off the floor, without hurting yourself?  Do you really think that running 3 miles a day is going to help you carry your own groceries when you're 75?  Fat fucking chance.

So keep running miles upon miles, and maintaining 20% body fat while doing so.  Keep hopping on the elliptical for 3 hours, and keeping those flabby legs.  I'll be over here, squatting, deadlifting, pushing and pulling.  When you are soft and hurt at 65, I'll still be over here, doing the same thing.

An Experiment

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.

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.

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?