Much like cocaine, I've found my favorite feelings stem from one line, stumbled upon in the obscurity of observation. Barely heard, barely noticeable and just enough to peak the attention, peek behind the curtain, follow the tunnel.
"Doesn't it make you feel better"
The beginning of my love for Nine Inch Nails.
Back when I had cable, back when MTV was about music, back when the MTV News would talk about relevant topics, they had a TV spot that would be all types of sounds and parts of songs that would end in the sung phrase "doesn't it make you feel better". I found out through some searching, not on-line since I had no computer back then, that it was part of a NIN song. The first song I heard was "Perfect Drug". From there came "Closer", "Deep" and many others. Until I finally found "March of the Pigs". All it was, all i wanted, was just one little line in a song that was completely different. And it was good. And I felt better.
"Goodbye Lament"
The Re-Education by Grohl.
Being an avid Nirvana fan, watching MTV and seeing the man I recognized as the former drummer in a new band was cool. Getting the CD "The Colour and the Shape" was cooler. And then I heard a song, that I knew was Dave Grohl's voice. The radio station didn't say the name of the song or who it was by, but I knew the voice. I bought every single Foo Fighters CD that was available and searched for that song, to no avail. And then one day at Faneuil Hall in Boston, I came across a music store. It had such a wide selection I figured it had to be in here. After searching all Nirvana's CD's, all the Foo Fighter's live CD's and coming up empty I resorted to asking for help. I explained my issue and even sang the lines to the lady at the counter. She suggested maybe it was on a compilation album. Ever hear of a man named Tony Iommi? With that name in hand I found a way to download the song and I've been listening to metal ever since. Which led me to Probot, the Dave Grohl metal project. Which kept me looking around basing my searches on single artists instead of whole bands. One thing led to the next and now I have all of the Queens of the Stone Age albums and I'm working on finishing up the Eagles of Death Metal CD's. The most important thing I learned was to trust my favorite artists' favorites.
Dig and you'll find gold. Skim the surface and you'll scrape mud.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Streets At Midnight
Walking these streets, these dangerous streets at midnight. Interacting with smokers looking for a light, thinking how I should have brought those matches. Addressing young ladies looking for a good time, asking where there can find people like me. I wish them good luck. Finding old friends in new bars, asking how they've been. I wonder how the world ever got on without me. I wonder how it gets on with me. I'm so very drawn to the life I no longer live. And yet I fit in the life I have. It is as though I can keep living this double life, as long as I don't tell myself it is happening. Live the life of want and the life of need simultaneous. Indeed I can but should I? Why not. Nothing has ever gotten in my way before. I don't suggest trying now. Walking these streets at midnight is easy, because I am the danger. And I am on my way home. Sleep tight.
Rain Walk
A good time to think is always when you're most distracted. Light becomes so important when Your vision is blurred. Little drops of liquid catching eyelids can cause the biggest diversion when footing, pace, stature and balance are goals to be maintained. It'd be easier to slow, but the longer you take the wetter you become. Sometimes it is best to accept the consequences and have them done.
We can be impressed with the impressive, mostly because we are told to be. Promotions, achievements, gold stars are all things that say "I did something worthy". Worthy of what? The last time I was truly impressed was by a dancer named Kassandra in a very unimpressive place. Her gold star was a twenty for showing up.
That would be our eventual ending, in this world of all inclusiveness. Everyone gets a trophy, everyone is special. Everyone is the best in their own way, best at being themselves. What if I was a better you than you? Can I win your title? Would I get your trophy? Can I compete for your life? If I lived up to all your expectations for yourself, I should get something for it right?
A wall full of gold stars on frames of strangers. With a placard above reading, "World's Best Dream thief" Stealing all those lives already being tossed away. Picking them up as I go like drops of rain.
We can be impressed with the impressive, mostly because we are told to be. Promotions, achievements, gold stars are all things that say "I did something worthy". Worthy of what? The last time I was truly impressed was by a dancer named Kassandra in a very unimpressive place. Her gold star was a twenty for showing up.
That would be our eventual ending, in this world of all inclusiveness. Everyone gets a trophy, everyone is special. Everyone is the best in their own way, best at being themselves. What if I was a better you than you? Can I win your title? Would I get your trophy? Can I compete for your life? If I lived up to all your expectations for yourself, I should get something for it right?
A wall full of gold stars on frames of strangers. With a placard above reading, "World's Best Dream thief" Stealing all those lives already being tossed away. Picking them up as I go like drops of rain.
Understanding Why
Today two young boys are late for school. But they are always late for school. They know all the names of the ladies in the front office of their elementary school, they know all the procedures that are involved in signing in and they almost never make it before first bell. A normal, everyday occurrence.
But today, two boys are late for school.
They awoke to a frantic mother, launching around the project house they live in on their one way street. A lot of things around here are one way. Never their way. Rarely a good way. They ready themselves in the bathroom, the bedroom, the kitchen. Making their way through the normal routine. And as in part of the routine, they are not completely ready when the bus comes, so it passes them by.
This day, like many others, the clothes they were to wear were not dry. Either by rain or merely not being hung up in time the night before, they had no clothes to wear that morning. Underwear in the oven, cooking to a soggy warmth they would sit in for hours. The only solace being the dark colored denim over it. A fate they knew and expected by now. The sort of thing you deal with when you are always late.
On this day, like many others, the TV was on and cartoons were playing. Being a young boy at home and already late, you begin to fall into a slower momentum knowing you cannot catch that bus, or reset that alarm. You slow down and just glide through. Maybe you would eat a bigger breakfast, or sit to watch some cartoons as your pants dried on a kitchen chair. Habits just reinforce with time, and this was the habit. Slowing down.
On this slow morning, two poor boys were late to school. Sitting in the parlor, watching cartoons, waiting for clothes that were unknowingly ready, teeth UN-brushed, bags unpacked, simply sitting. The frantic mother rolled in. And stopped. Upon further inspection she notices the unclothed boys, UN-brushed teeth and unpacked bags. She leaves the room. She returns with an old black cable cord wrapped in her fingers. She stands the boys up. And she threatens to beat the fuck out of them with it.
On days like this your mind stops to record the world around you. It takes note of the salmon pink window blinds drawn down so no one can see inside, the dark tile on the cold floor that offers no sense of comfort if you were to land on it, the thin cotton garments that cannot shield you or offer any protection, the empty sounds of screams reverberating from the walls of the sizable room. The complete irony of being held accountable for habits impressed upon you. Held accountable by your oppressor.
On this typically slow morning, two poor boys pleaded for their skin. For the first time, and most likely the last. They screamed and sobbed and yelled for help and screamed some more. Tears running down their partially clothed bodies, making stains no one would notice in the rest of the day. A terrified look in their eyes that no one would see in class. Stuck in a one way life that no one else had a clue about, and wouldn't believe if they were told.
On this day, these two boys were not beaten, but they were not spared. They were not hurt, but they were injured. At least one was. At least one left the house that morning irrevocably scarred. At least one left that house with an unshakable knowledge of what violence was, and what violence could do. At least one of them has never had to beg for his skin again. He watches and waits for the patterns and habits to return. He slinks back like a snake and waits for the moment. The moment where the threat begins. And he strikes first.
Violence begets violence.
But today, two boys are late for school.
They awoke to a frantic mother, launching around the project house they live in on their one way street. A lot of things around here are one way. Never their way. Rarely a good way. They ready themselves in the bathroom, the bedroom, the kitchen. Making their way through the normal routine. And as in part of the routine, they are not completely ready when the bus comes, so it passes them by.
This day, like many others, the clothes they were to wear were not dry. Either by rain or merely not being hung up in time the night before, they had no clothes to wear that morning. Underwear in the oven, cooking to a soggy warmth they would sit in for hours. The only solace being the dark colored denim over it. A fate they knew and expected by now. The sort of thing you deal with when you are always late.
On this day, like many others, the TV was on and cartoons were playing. Being a young boy at home and already late, you begin to fall into a slower momentum knowing you cannot catch that bus, or reset that alarm. You slow down and just glide through. Maybe you would eat a bigger breakfast, or sit to watch some cartoons as your pants dried on a kitchen chair. Habits just reinforce with time, and this was the habit. Slowing down.
On this slow morning, two poor boys were late to school. Sitting in the parlor, watching cartoons, waiting for clothes that were unknowingly ready, teeth UN-brushed, bags unpacked, simply sitting. The frantic mother rolled in. And stopped. Upon further inspection she notices the unclothed boys, UN-brushed teeth and unpacked bags. She leaves the room. She returns with an old black cable cord wrapped in her fingers. She stands the boys up. And she threatens to beat the fuck out of them with it.
On days like this your mind stops to record the world around you. It takes note of the salmon pink window blinds drawn down so no one can see inside, the dark tile on the cold floor that offers no sense of comfort if you were to land on it, the thin cotton garments that cannot shield you or offer any protection, the empty sounds of screams reverberating from the walls of the sizable room. The complete irony of being held accountable for habits impressed upon you. Held accountable by your oppressor.
On this typically slow morning, two poor boys pleaded for their skin. For the first time, and most likely the last. They screamed and sobbed and yelled for help and screamed some more. Tears running down their partially clothed bodies, making stains no one would notice in the rest of the day. A terrified look in their eyes that no one would see in class. Stuck in a one way life that no one else had a clue about, and wouldn't believe if they were told.
On this day, these two boys were not beaten, but they were not spared. They were not hurt, but they were injured. At least one was. At least one left the house that morning irrevocably scarred. At least one left that house with an unshakable knowledge of what violence was, and what violence could do. At least one of them has never had to beg for his skin again. He watches and waits for the patterns and habits to return. He slinks back like a snake and waits for the moment. The moment where the threat begins. And he strikes first.
Violence begets violence.
Moving Forward Means Leaving Something Behind
If you watch something grow over a long enough period, you'll see it has changed. Trees don't become longer, taller sprouts. They gain leaves, bark, roots. They ditch their protective shells and emerge into something that needs a lot less protecting. They grow a tough outer skin that regenerates over the seasons. They grow shade giving leaves that also regrow after animals use them for food and shelter. They start small and become something larger, self-reliant. They become more useful over time because they let go of the things holding them back.
Like caterpillars outgrowing the slither and squirm stage and becoming free floating butterflies. They shed their old selves and become something better.
If bugs can do it instinctively, then why don't humans catch on so naturally? Why do humans dwell on the past and let it stop them from moving forward? Forgive and forget. Said so often it must be a good idea. We love it when people forgive us, and when they forget our mistakes but we feel obligated or even justified in holding them to theirs. Like a paperweight on a notepad we feel like it is our duty to hold someone grounded in their past and former selves. How can you grow from that?
You can't. You cannot be a better person and hold onto bitterness. Sorry, not gonna happen. I don't care what it is, you do not get a free pass on "I got hurt" street. As though your pain or your struggle was the most dire struggle in the world. Even worse is when you talk to people who have moved on and survived from ACTUAL trauma and horrific lives, the first thing they tell you is how they had to let it go and move on. Whole countries of people moving on from terrible, preventable things like war and genocide, all saying the same thing. Move on and grow from there.
But we don't like to do that. We have an asshole card we like to pull in sticky situations, usually when faced with our own shit. We pull the card and go,"remember when you did this? that's why i'm being a dick now. because of back then. this is my reasoning. this is my revenge." That's cool. As long as you realize and admit to yourself and others that you are in fact, a dick/bitch/asshole and there isn't any REAL reason other than your disability. Yes, bitterness is a disability. Being unable to emotionally mature and grow past a certain point because of a stubborn, pigheaded nature sure sounds like something they'll be making drugs for soon. Might wanna jump on that train early. I know a few people in need of a prescription asap.
Like caterpillars outgrowing the slither and squirm stage and becoming free floating butterflies. They shed their old selves and become something better.
If bugs can do it instinctively, then why don't humans catch on so naturally? Why do humans dwell on the past and let it stop them from moving forward? Forgive and forget. Said so often it must be a good idea. We love it when people forgive us, and when they forget our mistakes but we feel obligated or even justified in holding them to theirs. Like a paperweight on a notepad we feel like it is our duty to hold someone grounded in their past and former selves. How can you grow from that?
You can't. You cannot be a better person and hold onto bitterness. Sorry, not gonna happen. I don't care what it is, you do not get a free pass on "I got hurt" street. As though your pain or your struggle was the most dire struggle in the world. Even worse is when you talk to people who have moved on and survived from ACTUAL trauma and horrific lives, the first thing they tell you is how they had to let it go and move on. Whole countries of people moving on from terrible, preventable things like war and genocide, all saying the same thing. Move on and grow from there.
But we don't like to do that. We have an asshole card we like to pull in sticky situations, usually when faced with our own shit. We pull the card and go,"remember when you did this? that's why i'm being a dick now. because of back then. this is my reasoning. this is my revenge." That's cool. As long as you realize and admit to yourself and others that you are in fact, a dick/bitch/asshole and there isn't any REAL reason other than your disability. Yes, bitterness is a disability. Being unable to emotionally mature and grow past a certain point because of a stubborn, pigheaded nature sure sounds like something they'll be making drugs for soon. Might wanna jump on that train early. I know a few people in need of a prescription asap.
Define Brother
A male that has the parent or parents as another. One who shares a common ancestry or allegiance. One who is there when you need him.
Last night me and my brothers walked into a situation to help some other brothers. The brothers I was with knew the brothers we were seeing, but no one knew they weren't being brothers when we got there. One fought to save his brother, the other fought him to save face. The brothers my brothers were trying to help were the best kind of brothers. Brothers who could do anything if only they would do it together. Just like me and my brother.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Male vs Female Part 1
Equality means nothing in the realm of gender. To measure the differences and similarities between two objects, there needs to be common ground. Even apples and oranges have enough characteristics to compare significantly. They are both generally round fruit with an outer skin that keeps the softer guts in and both can be pressed into juice. People, not so easy.
Sure we are humans, so all the basic similarities are there. But it isn't our bodies that make humans so special, it is more our minds and emotional states that give us our spice. Many would argue men are stronger than women, but then there's the argument for childbirth and the pain females can endure. A counter argument would be the disproportion of police involvement in a physical domestic struggle between a man and a woman. The man always being seen as the aggressor even when the woman is seen doing the hitting.
Then there is the situation that brought about this line of thinking today. What do guys and girls want in the world? I've heard girls answer; a good man, good woman, more shoes, more money, nice house, servants, a crown, everything etc... basically everything and anything they've ever dreamed possible. Typical man answer? Nice car and a hot girlfriend(s).
Why is this? Is it because men only think about sex all day and that's all that is important? Maybe.
As a guy, I can tell you that from day one I was told one thing. A man should be strong, self reliant and a gentleman. From that piece of advice i should be able to provide for myself, cook, clean and be a generally good guy right? Add to that the education speech and the bit about the importance of family and what do you have? A complete person.
Then the sky opens and your hormones fire up and suddenly you notice the differences between you and women. They're naturally softer, smaller, smell nicer sometimes. And suddenly your mind wonders where to put these strange creatures that seem to be taking up more and more of your time. Why do they plague you and what are they good for? Anyone who knows how to organize knows there is a place for everything, so what is their place?
Fortunately today we (most of us) know better than to try and determine someone else's spot especially across gender lines, but it would seem if you as a man can be everything you need then what else do you need? Sex. Once you have it you find it is what you've been missing. Ya know unless its awful, then you might want to try it again to get an improvement. Like rolling the dice you win some you lose some. can't win unless you play though.
So in a perfect world, men and women are sentient beings who don't need either party unless it is for companionship right? Naw no thanks.
Once you get past the human thing and get into the hearts and minds, men and women are miles apart. I blame emotions. They hit hard and always mean something even when it seems they come from nowhere. Men are told to suppress while women are told to express. After 16 years of that, no wonder we find it hard to see eye to eye. We've been growing apart since pink and blue.
So back to the point. If women want a lot of things in a man it is probably because they want a lot of things in life. Girls just want to have fun right? They want to have new experiences and make memories and live a full life. Men want to get laid. Women may judge a man by his job, his house, his car, his hair, his clothes, his appearance, his hobbies, his demeanor, his past and his perceived future. A man may judge you on your appearance and desire to lay him.
::shrug:: Worse shit has happened. Granted it is a sliding scale based on looks and ability depending on the first girl he ever had sex with. But it is still a pretty simple way to find a mate. Easier than having to google her life before deciding whether you'll date her or not.
I never understood why girls would get offended by this. It's like a pass fail course. Either you want to sleep with us or not, drop a small bit of info why on your way out and keep it moving. Men can get conversation and companionship from friends, family and assorted pets. You can have roommates that cook and clean, or if you have the funds pay people to. But sex is something that is said to be shared between people and it is supposed to be special and all that stuff. It brings babies, keeps you feeling young, gives you a good workout and feels great. Sounds like a wonderful way to pick a life partner. Just saying.
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