I had been to Las Vegas a couple of times. Once when I transferred Greyhounds when I was 13. The other for an airline transfer. Leaving the airport in the wee hours of Wednesday morning with Natali was the first time I'd actually seen the strip, even though from afar.
Except for her to walk her dog, the two of us didn't leave the apartment until Friday. We spent 2 1/2 full days just talking about everything imaginable and getting to know each other. Nearly nonstop from when we woke up in the morning until we went to bed. It was exhausting but, in some distantly familiar way, exhilarating.
For those two days, I tried putting the notion of Digital Detox into practice. Despite the glaring irony and inconsistency, that have their reasons, I've been concerned about living and seeing the world electronically for a long time. After reading a fantastic piece (online) by Andrew Sullivan about his struggles to reclaim his humanity and essence from cyberspace, I decided to give it a shot.
For these two days, the phone was in another room and the TV stayed off until there was an actual specific purpose for either of them. Facebook? Ha! Nearly a nonentity.
What I discovered? It was so much easier to concentrate on the conversation, focus on who was in the room, and maintain a sense of positivity and presence without the distraction of having "the whole world" right there in front of me.
Out of sight, out of mind. The simple act of making the iPhone a non-reflexive, non-habitual entity made the entire process work and I felt reconnected to the "real" world. That's something, not coincidentally, that also happens when I travel in Latin America without cellular voice or data. And, a corresponding and inevitable disconnection also typically occurs when I get to a hostel with...you guessed it...wifi! Then it's like Starbucks. A roomful of people posting selfies and oblivious to each other's existence.
Peru was an inadvertent case study in that. I spent two of my three months off-the-grid at Chris' eco-hostel 13,000 ft. up the Andes skirt. The only power was gathered by modest solar cells. Everything after sundown was done by candle light. Wifi? Ha! Slow, rudimentary cellular internet at best. And it didn't work most of the time. Internet wasn't a taken-for-granted utility. It was a sparsely used tool. Hour long trips were planned to go down the mountainside to Huaraz just to get it. And not very often.
In the meantime? People...talked! To other real people! Who were IN THE ROOM WITH THEM! Eureka! When they weren't talking ? Reading. Writing. Taking world class hikes. Just sitting down. Shutting up. "Being". Without any contrived external entertainment.
It was a bit unnerving at first, but the mental batteries recharged and clarity of thought and focus returned. These weren't just my observations. Other people from different backgrounds around the world noticed, commented on it, and appreciated it as well. There were ways to bring wifi to The Hof if Chris really wanted to. He didn't. That's exactly why.
One other Peruvian observation: even after all that time unplugged I still an unconsciously resumed old habits as soon as I returned to "civilization". Our brains are being rewired and reprogrammed by our machines.
Another thing I noticed last week: How politics changes my entire mood, vibe, energy, and general outlook. And, I don't need to be discussing it for that to happen. Social media or TV? Doesn't matter. As soon as election "news" or commentary is put in front of me, and I put any degree of focus in its direction: ZAP! Whatever positive energy that was there before was gone. Cynicism floods in to replace it. And it was sometimes difficult to get it back. More so the longer I was immersed in it. I would have another stark in-person example provided for me the day I finally began the real"trip"! (Foreshadowing now!)
There is an incredibly instructive, overreaching society-based idea to be mined on that last point. Obviously, I'm not unique in that regard. I'm simply not wanting to poke this complex observation into a fucking iPhone while lying on my sleeping bag behind a truckstop in the desert! Not the "cushiest" place I've written! (Foreshadowing Forever!)
Sadly, this little two-day experiment didn't last. Natali left Friday night to stay with her cousin so she could take her to the airport early Saturday morning. I was alone in her apartment, so my flirtation with cyber-celibacy ended abruptly. It started with me innocently editing and posting a YouTube video. Before I knew it I was right back where I was. Habitually grabbing the phone like a crack pipe. And wondering how this was going to be when I finally hit the road! A smartphone? That had never been attempted!
The rest of the weekend wasn't worth talking about. The TV came on, phones went in hand, and that short, surprisingly intense connection we'd forged was mostly gone. I suppose my little visit to Las Vegas was a miniscule microcosm for what I was describing about Peru. No phone: human connection. As soon as it returns? Poof! Zombie from Electronistan!
In retrospect, I should have left Sunday. But, since I'd not given myself time to think thru everything thoroughly before I left, I needed a post office. Or, so I thought! (Make Foreshadowing Great Again!)
One thing for sure: by Monday morning, it was obviously past time for me to fly...
Sunday, October 16, 2016
Tuesday, October 11, 2016
10/11/16: The October Surprise
When I returned from Peru in February, the "plan" (ha!) was to spend the summer hitchhiking. A glorious and heroic return to the method, adventure, and free-flowing existential orgies of 2008-2010. With a "real" camera this time!
Then vocation took over. I underestimated how difficult replacing the computer that was stolen last fall in the break-in would be and how much I had to learn about putting digital photographs on paper! Long story short, I got sidetracked. Not that I "couldn't" go. I didn't feel "right" about half-assing this exponentially expanding photography project.
Before I knew it, it was late July. My first photo show was rapidly approaching in August. My remaining resources were put into production and presentation. I had no expectations but lo and behold! I sold things. I made money. Then I entered another spontaneous show in September. I sold more things. I made more money.
"Hey! Maybe I was right about this photography thing." Unfortunately, the summer wasn't just photo shows. Life's never that singular and monolithic, is it? It was also complicated by redneck Vulture Family Values drama. The details aren't for you to consume, but suffice it to say that in a spasm of self-destructive rage, I sold my camera and telephoto lens. I put some of that money toward upgrading my travel gear thinking, wrongly in my fit of DNA disgust, that I was ready to scrape photography to the ground and just "go".
I'd been here before. I should know better. Add an unneeded photo gear complication for later in the year. That would be fun to deal with! After the last show, things got annoyingly familiar. Again: what the hell was I going to do? It was almost October. Getting late in the year to be thumbing and stealth camping, unless I was eager to be fucking around in the snow. Which, if you've been around from the start, you know I'm most certainly NOT!
My friend Natali and I had been tinkering with the idea of me starting a trip at her place in Las Vegas for the past few months. She'd been subjected to my indecisiveness firsthand. After a couple of weeks of mentally masturbating and creating all sorts of the old, familiar doomsday narratives in my head, September had become October, and I decided to jump.
On Tuesday the 11th, I bought the ticket to Vegas. For that night. I gave myself approximately 8-hours to prepare for a completely improvised and open-ended trip. The only things I was mindfull of at that moment: "I'm sick of the sound of my own voice. I'm sick of the same internal conversations. I know what this is: the same irrational, contrived anxiety that stopped you from starting this for four years, from 2004-2008. Unfounded fear. And you know how ridiculous it was then. How the imaginary mountains were in practice tiny molehills. Figure it out on the fly. The only way you'll do it is to take your own mind out of the equation. Fuck the camera. Just go. Dumbass."
I went. Before I could second, third, and tenth guess it. As soon as the ticket was bought, all the abstract redundant silliness of the summer abated. What mattered was what was ahead of me. First: getting the gear together for my flight! I had to focus and act. Amazing how useful that is. By 8:30, I was headed to O'Hare. I had no idea what to expect beyond getting reacquainted with my friend. And, once in the air I noticed a remarkable mix of both excitement and calm resignation! I'd always talked about just "going" no plan. No expectation. Just to see where the road took me. I was finally doing it. And without "planning not to plan"! It's neat when you realize you can still surprise yourself.
I shot an email off to Chris. He understood. And, despite everything you just read, there would be a mini encore performance as well as a cementing of some recent realizations in the coming days. Particularly about the absurd corrosive effects of social media.
How does that saying go? "If you're suffering, you're thinking..."
"Hey! Maybe I was right about this photography thing." Unfortunately, the summer wasn't just photo shows. Life's never that singular and monolithic, is it? It was also complicated by redneck Vulture Family Values drama. The details aren't for you to consume, but suffice it to say that in a spasm of self-destructive rage, I sold my camera and telephoto lens. I put some of that money toward upgrading my travel gear thinking, wrongly in my fit of DNA disgust, that I was ready to scrape photography to the ground and just "go".
I'd been here before. I should know better. Add an unneeded photo gear complication for later in the year. That would be fun to deal with! After the last show, things got annoyingly familiar. Again: what the hell was I going to do? It was almost October. Getting late in the year to be thumbing and stealth camping, unless I was eager to be fucking around in the snow. Which, if you've been around from the start, you know I'm most certainly NOT!
My friend Natali and I had been tinkering with the idea of me starting a trip at her place in Las Vegas for the past few months. She'd been subjected to my indecisiveness firsthand. After a couple of weeks of mentally masturbating and creating all sorts of the old, familiar doomsday narratives in my head, September had become October, and I decided to jump.
On Tuesday the 11th, I bought the ticket to Vegas. For that night. I gave myself approximately 8-hours to prepare for a completely improvised and open-ended trip. The only things I was mindfull of at that moment: "I'm sick of the sound of my own voice. I'm sick of the same internal conversations. I know what this is: the same irrational, contrived anxiety that stopped you from starting this for four years, from 2004-2008. Unfounded fear. And you know how ridiculous it was then. How the imaginary mountains were in practice tiny molehills. Figure it out on the fly. The only way you'll do it is to take your own mind out of the equation. Fuck the camera. Just go. Dumbass."
I went. Before I could second, third, and tenth guess it. As soon as the ticket was bought, all the abstract redundant silliness of the summer abated. What mattered was what was ahead of me. First: getting the gear together for my flight! I had to focus and act. Amazing how useful that is. By 8:30, I was headed to O'Hare. I had no idea what to expect beyond getting reacquainted with my friend. And, once in the air I noticed a remarkable mix of both excitement and calm resignation! I'd always talked about just "going" no plan. No expectation. Just to see where the road took me. I was finally doing it. And without "planning not to plan"! It's neat when you realize you can still surprise yourself.
I shot an email off to Chris. He understood. And, despite everything you just read, there would be a mini encore performance as well as a cementing of some recent realizations in the coming days. Particularly about the absurd corrosive effects of social media.
How does that saying go? "If you're suffering, you're thinking..."
Thursday, September 22, 2016
The Revised Gospel of Joshua
If you're religious and found this via a "Gospel+Joshua" search on Google, you're lost and should probably leave. Search engines are secular. So am I. There. Fair warning.
For the rest of you? This will be music to many, many ears.
I'm slowly, almost remedially, coming to the practical understanding of just how much of a thief "politics" is becoming. I'm not even sure this shit qualifies, but it's steadily and increasingly robbing us of our commonality. Dividing people along contrived, imaginary lines. Lines eagerly accepted by hordes of people whose only moral compass is set by their chosen ideology's definition of North, rather than their own. That's the only explanation for the term "conservative Christian"!
With acknowledging pre-apologies for likely relapses and a couple of purging posts to come: I MUST find a way to abandon this folly. Because...it really...doesn't...matter.
If Trump wins? Putting aside the Nuclear Winter scenarios that involve the jilted Orange Crush nuking his strong Russian Stallion for cheating on him with Sisi, the Left will fracture and radicalize. Just like the Republicans after Obama's inauguration, and the liberal version of Tebaggery will be just as annoying and vile. Hell, he hasn't even been elected and they've already begun going full-frontal extremist, eh Jill? How do Bernie's Babies like their new nursery?
***
"It's completely different! We're progressiiiiiiiiive! We're evolllllllvinggggg!"
Ugh. I know, I know. Now sit down. And shut the fuck up.
***
Where was I? Ah, yes....
Hillary. Typing it makes me ill and in any other year I'd be wiping my ass with this election. But, I'm actually voting for The Hilliazard. Plugging my nose doesn't even begin to describe it. I detest her. But, I have to. Trump is tapping into something historically ominous. He, and what he's mindlessly unleashed, is literally (proper use) dangerous. On a catastrophic scale. And, handing an orange, inarticulate raging ape the Nuclear Football? That is literally (proper use!) the height of irresponsible stupidity.
But, on the other hand, if and when Clinton staggers & stumbles into the Oval Office, do you suppose Trump's White Walkers will be heroically vanquished? Will we all sing Kumbaya and roast marshmallow around an enlightened national campfire? Will we all have a Coke and smile before wiping away a happy tear of newfound national unity and hugging it out?
Ha! Hardly.
On November 9th, probably around 6am ET, when the Wednesday news cycle's getting into full swing, Trump will scream "Crooked Hillary stole the election!" Then, predictably, his drooling White Walkers will further descend into fabricated Nationalistic Auslander Rage and simultaneously the militias will become something more than rural squirrel killing curiosities. Much more. Mark those words. I've never been more certain of anything than this. It's a ridiculous thing for most of us to hear oozing from a fully-grown humanoid's snout, but "take our country baaaaaack!" actually has meaning in that bizarre parallel conspiracy-fueled universe.
Someone wrote, "History never repeats. But it often rhymes." Something "rhyming" with Civil War is coming. There's no "coming together", fuckos. Look around. Read thru your fucking Facebook feeds with objective eyes. The loss of whatever tenuous collective connection we once had to a shared set of objective facts has sealed our general fate. And it's ugly. We've split into two screaming mobs. Each guided by contrived, mutually exclusive political religions. Their scriptures written and preached by snake charmers.
I assume you've seen War Games. This all reminds me of Joshua struggling to learn the futility of Tic Tac Toe. There is no "winning" scenario. NOTHING will be solved after November 8. Whoever loses will just re-mobilize for their counterstrike.
(You're very welcome, by the way! Happy to paint the above sticky picture for you. What's that? No Snapchat. Sorry.)
For the rest of you? This will be music to many, many ears.
I'm slowly, almost remedially, coming to the practical understanding of just how much of a thief "politics" is becoming. I'm not even sure this shit qualifies, but it's steadily and increasingly robbing us of our commonality. Dividing people along contrived, imaginary lines. Lines eagerly accepted by hordes of people whose only moral compass is set by their chosen ideology's definition of North, rather than their own. That's the only explanation for the term "conservative Christian"!
With acknowledging pre-apologies for likely relapses and a couple of purging posts to come: I MUST find a way to abandon this folly. Because...it really...doesn't...matter.
If Trump wins? Putting aside the Nuclear Winter scenarios that involve the jilted Orange Crush nuking his strong Russian Stallion for cheating on him with Sisi, the Left will fracture and radicalize. Just like the Republicans after Obama's inauguration, and the liberal version of Tebaggery will be just as annoying and vile. Hell, he hasn't even been elected and they've already begun going full-frontal extremist, eh Jill? How do Bernie's Babies like their new nursery?
***
"It's completely different! We're progressiiiiiiiiive! We're evolllllllvinggggg!"
Ugh. I know, I know. Now sit down. And shut the fuck up.
***
Where was I? Ah, yes....
Hillary. Typing it makes me ill and in any other year I'd be wiping my ass with this election. But, I'm actually voting for The Hilliazard. Plugging my nose doesn't even begin to describe it. I detest her. But, I have to. Trump is tapping into something historically ominous. He, and what he's mindlessly unleashed, is literally (proper use) dangerous. On a catastrophic scale. And, handing an orange, inarticulate raging ape the Nuclear Football? That is literally (proper use!) the height of irresponsible stupidity.
But, on the other hand, if and when Clinton staggers & stumbles into the Oval Office, do you suppose Trump's White Walkers will be heroically vanquished? Will we all sing Kumbaya and roast marshmallow around an enlightened national campfire? Will we all have a Coke and smile before wiping away a happy tear of newfound national unity and hugging it out?
Ha! Hardly.
On November 9th, probably around 6am ET, when the Wednesday news cycle's getting into full swing, Trump will scream "Crooked Hillary stole the election!" Then, predictably, his drooling White Walkers will further descend into fabricated Nationalistic Auslander Rage and simultaneously the militias will become something more than rural squirrel killing curiosities. Much more. Mark those words. I've never been more certain of anything than this. It's a ridiculous thing for most of us to hear oozing from a fully-grown humanoid's snout, but "take our country baaaaaack!" actually has meaning in that bizarre parallel conspiracy-fueled universe.
Someone wrote, "History never repeats. But it often rhymes." Something "rhyming" with Civil War is coming. There's no "coming together", fuckos. Look around. Read thru your fucking Facebook feeds with objective eyes. The loss of whatever tenuous collective connection we once had to a shared set of objective facts has sealed our general fate. And it's ugly. We've split into two screaming mobs. Each guided by contrived, mutually exclusive political religions. Their scriptures written and preached by snake charmers.
 |
| Not to be confused with Pastor Snake (second fr. right) |
I assume you've seen War Games. This all reminds me of Joshua struggling to learn the futility of Tic Tac Toe. There is no "winning" scenario. NOTHING will be solved after November 8. Whoever loses will just re-mobilize for their counterstrike.
"Learn, Goddamit!"
For me, personally, it's surprisingly simple and it goes back to my let go of that which does not fucking matter.... idea I wrote about earlier in the week. There is literally (almost proper use!) no bigger waste of time than trying to "discourse" with the willfully ignorant. Futilely trying only corrodes respect. And, while it gives my ego a righteous boner, preaching to my choir is even less productive than spending the afternoon on YouPorn. Not even the gooey mess to show for my...efforts...and it distracts from other things I should be focussing on. Worse, it's robbing me of my my optimism, hope, what was once a freely-flowing sense of humor, and, because of the times in which we live, even relationships. It's reminded me more than once of the "brother vs. brother" description of the first Civil War.
And for what?! Is something changing? Have I missed it? All this...and it's getting worse!
"The only winning move is not to play." Hail, Joshua. But there is of course a problem. Despite my "two tribes" analogy, both tribes are NOT "the same". Even if I were to go into complete political radio silence, I'm still sure to be bombarded by these increasing, and increasingly audacious, displays of random "patriot" stupidity. I would literally (proper use...I think) lose no more respect for some folks if they told me they approved of child rape than I do via these emphatic fascist pronouncements of Trump Love. Sure, I can stand down. But, the loss of basic, fundamental human respect can't just be replaced. The damage to the relationship is done. It's permanent. Hey, I'm glad you're "keepin' it real" and all, but it also reminds me of the old Pantera song. "Be yourself. By yourself. Stay away from me."
And the echo chamber isolation grows. Yep. Winter is coming. Shit. It's almost here. Who's drinkin'?
And for what?! Is something changing? Have I missed it? All this...and it's getting worse!
"The only winning move is not to play." Hail, Joshua. But there is of course a problem. Despite my "two tribes" analogy, both tribes are NOT "the same". Even if I were to go into complete political radio silence, I'm still sure to be bombarded by these increasing, and increasingly audacious, displays of random "patriot" stupidity. I would literally (proper use...I think) lose no more respect for some folks if they told me they approved of child rape than I do via these emphatic fascist pronouncements of Trump Love. Sure, I can stand down. But, the loss of basic, fundamental human respect can't just be replaced. The damage to the relationship is done. It's permanent. Hey, I'm glad you're "keepin' it real" and all, but it also reminds me of the old Pantera song. "Be yourself. By yourself. Stay away from me."
And the echo chamber isolation grows. Yep. Winter is coming. Shit. It's almost here. Who's drinkin'?
 |
| Behold! The immaculate decree! The original Joshua tablet as it was delivered to the Prophet Falken inside Holy Cheyenne Mountain. |
(You're very welcome, by the way! Happy to paint the above sticky picture for you. What's that? No Snapchat. Sorry.)
Wednesday, September 21, 2016
The Useless Shit Epiphany
Ask any mildly observant chum who’s chosen “traveling” over “tourism”, and they’ll probably tell you how it’s filled with an abundance of experience-driven lessons, insights, and odd occurrences. “Trail Magic” it’s often called. Once you’ve felt it, the trail comes alive. And you’re either freaked out or hooked. My blogs are filled with these tales. I’m most certainly hooked!
But, while peering into the depths, I have a maddening tendency to miss the blatantly obvious mermaid frantically waving right in front of my face.
This is from my very first travel post, in May 2008:
Today I realized that there's a monumental, powerful lesson in these quickly scribbled words. One that, despite being in plain sight for 8-years, I completely missed. And, it was literally (proper use!) the very first "lesson". Even if it is one I’ve had to repeatedly be reminded of since!
It’s like clock work. First day of every trip: I find that I’ve overpacked out of the “fear” that I’ll leave something I’ll “need” behind. Then, once I’m out there, I start bitching to myself (usually) about how I’ve brought too much as the added dead-weight makes my little comfort items very uncomfortable!
That's great, Todd. But, what makes your repeated, short-bus-silliness “monumental”?
For the last few years, I've been struggling to develop a consistent, all-encompassing metaphysical philosophy, with tiny degrees of success. Finding cohesiveness in that is hard enough on its own! But I’ve also been trying to completely reconcile who I was in 2008 and 2009 with who I am now; trying to “pack everything” by tying every obscure lesson, detail, and insight from the last 8-12 years perfectly together into a very limited space, rather than just picking out the practical, useful parts and stowing the rest. I’ve been cognitively, and often emotionally, hoarding. And, completely missed the obvious connection and lesson of that very first day: "pack only what’s needed and what fits. Forget the rest!"
“But, Self! What if I ‘neeeeeeed’ it??”
"Have it sent. Or, you know, just pick it up along the way. Dumbass."
Back in 2004, when radio went Stage 4 and this massive self/species exploration began, the foundation was Thoreauian: simplify, simplify, simplify! Figure out what's real and essential. That kernel led to the backpack. And, it’s taken this long, and perhaps Mr. Mushroom Voice triggered it, to realize that people, ideas, and philosophies fall under the “Get rid of that which doesn’t fucking matter to make room for that which most certainly does” insight. And, that it's nearly identical to the one I had literally (proper use!) 15-minutes in to my travels:
“Unburden yourself from this useless shit, you silly fucker!”
It’s the precise (if slightly less profane) abstract equivalent.
**"Trail Magic" Diversion: I left my phone in the car and Chris graciously drove back from Denver to deliver it that first night. I was mercifully able to "unburden myself" almost immediately. Was it...The Universe? Did Jesus playfully pull my phone from my pocket? How DO they make marshmallows....
So, now I’ve begun the process of sorting out what I brought home from the last 8-years and remains useful for the next epoch's expedition. Setting my extra abstract “stuff” aside to clear room for the essentials. In this metaphor (and you should just get used to metaphors right fucking now), it’s become the process of finally separating the useful ideas, methods, and people from the warm creature comforts and incomprehensible ghosts. And letting the rest of my past’s clutter just lie. Unsorted, uncategorized, and boxed up in the closet. Although I’m sure I’ll find I’ve brought too much. Again! I can’t seem to help it.
Not everything you have can, or should, be taken on every expedition. In fact, that’s one of the main points. Nor can every idea, experience, or person tag along thru each epoch, chapter, or phase of life. And thats okay! There’s no mutual obligation to be universal or permanent. That’s growth. That’s evolution. Otherwise, you’re hoarding. And, unless you’re life is stagnant and stationary, that quickly becomes an impossible load for even Sancho’s trusty mule to carry.
But, while peering into the depths, I have a maddening tendency to miss the blatantly obvious mermaid frantically waving right in front of my face.
This is from my very first travel post, in May 2008:
“…about 1/2 mile down the road from the drop off I had a LONG list of the extra crap (like electric clippers) I had in my bag that I simply did NOT need! Lesson: stick to the essentials! Comfort items become uncomfortable on your back, and slow you down!”
Today I realized that there's a monumental, powerful lesson in these quickly scribbled words. One that, despite being in plain sight for 8-years, I completely missed. And, it was literally (proper use!) the very first "lesson". Even if it is one I’ve had to repeatedly be reminded of since!
It’s like clock work. First day of every trip: I find that I’ve overpacked out of the “fear” that I’ll leave something I’ll “need” behind. Then, once I’m out there, I start bitching to myself (usually) about how I’ve brought too much as the added dead-weight makes my little comfort items very uncomfortable!
That's great, Todd. But, what makes your repeated, short-bus-silliness “monumental”?
For the last few years, I've been struggling to develop a consistent, all-encompassing metaphysical philosophy, with tiny degrees of success. Finding cohesiveness in that is hard enough on its own! But I’ve also been trying to completely reconcile who I was in 2008 and 2009 with who I am now; trying to “pack everything” by tying every obscure lesson, detail, and insight from the last 8-12 years perfectly together into a very limited space, rather than just picking out the practical, useful parts and stowing the rest. I’ve been cognitively, and often emotionally, hoarding. And, completely missed the obvious connection and lesson of that very first day: "pack only what’s needed and what fits. Forget the rest!"
“But, Self! What if I ‘neeeeeeed’ it??”
"Have it sent. Or, you know, just pick it up along the way. Dumbass."
Back in 2004, when radio went Stage 4 and this massive self/species exploration began, the foundation was Thoreauian: simplify, simplify, simplify! Figure out what's real and essential. That kernel led to the backpack. And, it’s taken this long, and perhaps Mr. Mushroom Voice triggered it, to realize that people, ideas, and philosophies fall under the “Get rid of that which doesn’t fucking matter to make room for that which most certainly does” insight. And, that it's nearly identical to the one I had literally (proper use!) 15-minutes in to my travels:
“Unburden yourself from this useless shit, you silly fucker!”
It’s the precise (if slightly less profane) abstract equivalent.
 |
| Before the "useless shit" epiphany. 60-65 pounds! |
**"Trail Magic" Diversion: I left my phone in the car and Chris graciously drove back from Denver to deliver it that first night. I was mercifully able to "unburden myself" almost immediately. Was it...The Universe? Did Jesus playfully pull my phone from my pocket? How DO they make marshmallows....
So, now I’ve begun the process of sorting out what I brought home from the last 8-years and remains useful for the next epoch's expedition. Setting my extra abstract “stuff” aside to clear room for the essentials. In this metaphor (and you should just get used to metaphors right fucking now), it’s become the process of finally separating the useful ideas, methods, and people from the warm creature comforts and incomprehensible ghosts. And letting the rest of my past’s clutter just lie. Unsorted, uncategorized, and boxed up in the closet. Although I’m sure I’ll find I’ve brought too much. Again! I can’t seem to help it.
Not everything you have can, or should, be taken on every expedition. In fact, that’s one of the main points. Nor can every idea, experience, or person tag along thru each epoch, chapter, or phase of life. And thats okay! There’s no mutual obligation to be universal or permanent. That’s growth. That’s evolution. Otherwise, you’re hoarding. And, unless you’re life is stagnant and stationary, that quickly becomes an impossible load for even Sancho’s trusty mule to carry.
Monday, September 19, 2016
The Social (Media) Disease v1.0
I need to preface this sprawling, sometimes disconnected composite post with a considerate warning: this is a bit of a slightly cynical purge that's a work-in-progress. And, as always, I reserve the right to tweak and edit it. I'll change the "v" numbers as I do. It's something I just need to begin working on because chronic, habitual, cynicism can be just as delusional and self-destructive as any ideology or religion. It destroys any perception and sense of possibility. And, nothing good has ever been achieved without that. Being immersed in the social media tar pit has ignited a toxic level of cynicism that’s counter productive, especially considering where my latest, obscure Internet outpost hopes to go. This is an effort to eliminate the poisonous goo to make room for that which really matters. If you choose to stay on this page, brace yourself. You’re about to get hit with a supercharged truth bomb. One that has an eventual counterbalanced punchline, but one you won’t read in this particular post.
Hey, it’s my way. Just go with it, fuckers.
***
So, what triggered a fourth blog? Glad you asked. And, by clicking over here…you asked. There were a few things.
Last week, I had a friend I totally respect and absolutely adore fully deactivate her Facebook account. Her reasons had to do with being fed up with Facebook’s general stupidity and another event sounding vaguely stalkerish; something I’ve experienced myself.
She messaged me beforehand to make sure we could stay in touch. That made me realize, again, something quite important and something that "should" be painfully obvious: At it’s very BEST, Facebook cheapens almost everything. Not the least of all, the notion of "friendship". Of course, I’ve found some real gems in Facebook’s steaming pile of humanity’s worst but, scrolling thru my list, I STILL mostly had a collection of faces and names who, unless I found ways to entertain them, would make no tangible effort whatsoever to maintain our "friendship" or "relationship". And, quite honestly, to a great degree, vice versa. Too many were there because of what they used to mean. Or, what I hoped they’d mean later on. Silly.
I’m sure there’s some very special “psychology” at play here, and I could articulate most of it, but I, for one, demand authentic “friends”. Having someone in your feed offering nothing more than "likes" or an occasional comment, isn't "friendship". That this notion is so widely accepted is relatively new.
I'm still not really interested in defining what it "is", but I decided to follow Amber's lead and force folks to earn the title. It’s simple: Want to keep up with what's going on with me? Cool. Make some basic effort. I'm not going to spoon feed you via Facebook any longer. If you don't? I'll try to think fondly of your ghost. Really. I will. No hard feelings.
Something has become clear since Facebook exploded 8-years ago and we stopped “wondering what happened” to everyone: Not everyone was meant to cross life's epochs with us. Personally? After wallowing in this slop for nearly a decade? I'm perfectly fine with that. BETTER than fine! I can't say the attempt has been successful, anyhow. Ive lost count how many fond memories were tainted or even destroyed by Facebook’s political, social, and general ignorance megaphone; the constant mindless displays of idiocy by people I used to respect. Used to. From here, it’s a simple realization: Email, phone calls, and these goofy blogs worked perfectly well once upon a time! Even better, actually.
From my perspective, Facebook must be treated like a ridiculously exclusive VIP room with a draconian behavioral policy. Start spewing your filth all over my page, or toward people I care about and respect more than you, like you’re in the Newsmax comment section? Out the air lock with you! (Thanks, Jim Wright.) “*But, what about all the times we got drunk and hunted questionable beaver in 1994*?!?!” Exactly. What about it? And yes, Billy Bob. I’m aware this is a two-way street. That only strengthens the argument. VIP Room now! VIP Room forever!
For the most part, I quit participating on other people's Facebook pages two years ago. I’ve also brutally purged then put my own page on lock down. In addition, I have a few who remain on double secret probation. Why? For the same reason I have "comments" set to "moderate" on this page. Genetic idiots and willfully ignorant trolls aren't just entitled to an unmoderated voice. It’s not covered by the 1st Amendment. Sure, everyone’s entitled to have one, but all opinions are NOT created equal. Not in my world. And I'm certainly not going to provide a virtual open-mic to every random, drunken, retarded star spangled wombat staggering forth from all corners of the internet’s nether regions armed with piles of second-hand batshit propaganda.
Unless, of course, it’s controlled and exploited with of savage mockery and ridicule.
Random online interactions are risky and should be treated like 2AM bar whores. Kept at a safe distance lest you risk developing an embarrassing, unwanted, very public intellectual rash creeping down on your cyber-groin. One that itches every 10-minutes and just won't go away. We all know that person. In fact, I’d wager that “that guy” is reading this right now. And sometimes you're shocked to learn this metaphorical bar whore is someone you've known 20-years!
THE COUCHED MOB
When I returned from Peru in February, it was becoming clear that my predictions in South America were prophetic: The belching Orange Baboon could actually win! Not just the nomination. The election! It also became clear that the question, “How is this even remotely possible?” had a familiar sound. Germany. Late 1920’s and early 30’s. Since Im a kid, I always asked, “How the hell could people let that happen?” Now, we’re seeing it before our own eyes, in our own back yard.
So, I tore into my bookshelf. Biographies, Rise and Fall of the Third Reich. Knowing Trump holds a special place in his heart for Hitler’s public rhetoric, I devoured it all looking for similarities and connections. It didn’t take long, and it had to do with Freud, of all people. One of the books Hitler loved most was one he found while in prison following the Beer Hall Putsch: Freud’s book exploring the group mind. Mob mentality.
So, I downloaded Freud’s work (for free) from Google Books and a lightbulb went off, one that tied in to something I had noticed in August & September of 2014 while I was podcasting. The thing that led directly to my first purge and sequestering of random fucktardery. Not only are we isolating ourselves off in idea-proof echo chambers, there’s a mob mentality effect that’s glaringly obvious. What’s bizarre is that the Internet has made it possible to cultivate and exploit the Group Mind without gathering anyone into an actual physical gathering. Versions of the infamous Beer Hall rallies are being held on Facebook and other pages 24/7. These meetings are silently attended by White Walkers sitting on sweat-filled couches in dirty underwear. I mean, I assume they're dirty. I've not researched it.
As I said in the prophetic podcast next no one heard: go check these pages out! DO NOT ENGAGE ANYONE! Lurk. Lurk only! But, you’ll have your answer to the question of “how”. The mob will lead otherwise reasonable people to commit atrocities. There are examples stretching back thru Hitler and Napoleon to Caesar. There were community-minded family men who were vicious Nazis; in their normal lives they weren’t monsters. That’s the group mind and mob mentality doing its dirty work. And it’s in overdrive. Right here. Right now.
One of the beauties of hitchhiking is that I get people in single doses. Something I took away from it is that ”individuals" are smart. Often thoughtful. However, ”people" (too often your other "friends", family, and un-vetted random contacts), when they dress in their “ism” costumes are mobs of rhetorically drooling buffoons eager to take whatever social media disease they've contracted in their tiny intellectually incestuous bubbles and unleash it, literally, on the entire world. An individual 21st century mob-cell stalking the streets.
Mobs are groups of individuals who’ve gelled together into a singular mass of rationalized, primitive, willful ignorance. And, there's no functional distinction between the willfully ignorant and clinically retarded. Except for spelling and grammar, the interpersonal experiences are identical. And only an egocentric fool who's feasting on the sound of his own voice would attempt social, political, or even existential "discourse" at "the home". Therefore, online Mob Control is an essential practice.
There wouldn't be the need if we lived in a sophisticated, enlightened society both capable of, and willing to, critically examine their informational sources and check their own tendency toward ideological bias. We don't. We live in a collection of blissfully engorged, sloppy, Idiocratic mobs that have lost all connection, let alone commitment, to basic fundamental fact.
Want another metaphor? Cool!
“The People” are living in competing, incompatible alternate informational universes. Ones with completely different laws of intellectual physics. And, here’s the sobering part: it’s going to turn violent. Therefore, at some point the FCC, or even Congress, will likely need to address the explosion of fake, unaccountable media. There's a difference between a free press and a free-for-all tabloid orgy; for-profit conspiratorial fiction and extremist propaganda masquerading as "news". Right now, there's absolutely no distinction being made and we're suffering the results.
And, like it or not, the Internet as a whole probably needs to be regulated at some point. You're OBVIOUSLY woefully ill-equipped to simultaneously roam free in an informational jungle and choose your own leaders. You're basically being feasted upon as irrational psychological prey. Theres’s a Toddzillaism™ for that: Fleecing the Fucktards.
This is what makes my Cynicism Vein throb and almost burst. There's no treatment or cure for willful ignorance. Political and social discourse are only a temporary symptom of disease that’s about to go Stage 4.
Beyond the political vulnerability, our small simian brains can’t even begin to conceive of our own existence. But, we also can’t help but try. So, we fill in the blanks with staggering degrees of mythical, religious, and “spiritual” egocentric bullshit. Collectively, we delude ourselves into thinking we're divinely created little critters who are meant to run free. The functional reality is something closer to a mangy intellectual jackal that endangers everything nearby when it gets out of its pen.
Trump is incredibly revealing in that context. He recently added a Breitbart executive to RUN HIS CAMPAIGN. What happened? His numbers rose! He’s gone full-frontal batshit, and it's probably only going to get worse. People keep asking, “Why? How can this possibly be??” Because that’s what “the people” want. The guy who rhetorically puts their “threatened” tribe at the Center of the Universe and high atop the imaginary food chain? Complete with convenient scapegoats? Yeah, the mob will love it. It’s called fascism. There’s a precedent or two. And why the Founding Deities worked to thwart mob rule.
And how wise they were. People keep saying Trump is a "national embarrassment". Nope. He's a brand; an expert media whore. The fact that his Political Reality Show was even a temporary thing is the embarrassment. He didn't achieve that in a vacuum. Our shame doesn't lie in one ridiculous individual; he "should" have been taken about as seriously as Mama June.
No, the "national embarrassment" lies in the millions of fucking idiots, racists, and willfully ignorant fools who rationalize then eagerly gobble up his slop and support him through feats of "mental" gymnastics & verbal incontinence. Not to mention the bouts of uncontrollable public rhetorical-masturbation fits.
Wipe the "intellectual" goo from your stomach, fuckers. Have you lost all dignity? Did you have any to begin with? And, don't give yourself a lazy reach around by blaming Clinton. Trump didn't defeat fifteen Hillary clones in the Republican primaries.
To put a bow on the political aspect, I hope you're not seeing 11/8 as the finish line; the day "sanity" and civil "discourse" returns. You may vanquish Trump, but while you're basking in the self-righteous afterglow of victory--congratulating yourselves for winning an election against a babbling, poorly crafted Mussolini knockoff & reality TV star--the White Walkers are only getting angrier. And dumber. It's. The. Stupid. People. Stupid. Winter is coming.
DELUSIONS & PERSONAL NARRATIVES: QUIXOTE PERSONALIZED
About seven years ago this month, I had an external realization that rocked my internal core and sent me reeling. It was one of the most difficult things I've ever even tried to personally reconcile and manage. To date, I have failed miserably. At least functionally. I dubbed it my Don Quixote Insight. Examples are shown above, but in an oversimplified nutshell, it's the idea that human beings are corrupted and enslaved by their egocentric need and reliance upon self-created comfortable delusions. Our willingness and/or need to abandon reality for happy internal narratives. Or to be snookered by someone, anyone, who provides them for us.
That little insight threw me into what I mentioned repeatedly my first post: I dubbed it (borrowing from Nietzsche) "The Abyss". I looked Quixote's Demon in the eye and, while the idea began as an observation of others, it quickly turned on me and ravaged a previously useful foundation and metaphysical engine. I've never really recovered and in many ways I've been wobbling along ever since searching for a sense of authentic replacement purpose. That's meant chasing money again so, again, it's little surprise I've had little success in finding that!
I've tried to put my spiritual genie back in the bottle but, of course, that's impossible. You can't "unlearn" something. But, in the process--usually out of desperate self-interest-- I've frequently searched for cracks in Quixote hoping to prove myself wrong so that maybe I could reclaim some of the lost audacity that came from believing "The Universe" was obsessed with my existence and happy to be my personal little bitch.
I've also spent increasingly short phases of the last few years almost bending over backwards trying to execute the mental gymnastics required to give humanity a sympathetic, merciful benefit of the doubt. But at every turn Quixote is left standing even stronger as my futile hope in resurrecting the Divine Noble Species Theology is savagely bludgeoned. I wish I still had the ability to freely delude myself. But I've recognized that the maiden was imaginary and the windmill is, and always has been, just a windmill!
Tonight it's crystal clear to me that our willfully ignorant, gleeful insistence on abandoning fact and reality for the drug of self-delusion is humanity's curse. And will likely be its downfall. I'd like to get melodramatic and tearfully tell you how tragic that is. I can't.
If you want to envision ”The Universe" as an entity, it surely isn't a benevolent "Sky Daddy" benefactor looking out for your well being and best interest. The reality is closer to a cold-blooded fucking reptile that doesn't care if we live or die. Individually or collectively. "The Universe" gives nothing; we get what we give. And deserve. And, if it's incapable of even basic collective introspection, a tribal species that's so helplessly self-destructive and murderously addicted to fantasy deserves to be squished and meet its demise as Carlin put it: as a failed mutation. A destructive bug stomped out on an evolutionary cul-de-sac and quickly forgotten.
Why hasn’t Hallmark called? I can't figure it out. Must be reverse racism. Wait. If I claim "gender fluidity" can I start blaming misogyny?
Hey, it’s my way. Just go with it, fuckers.
***
So, what triggered a fourth blog? Glad you asked. And, by clicking over here…you asked. There were a few things.
Last week, I had a friend I totally respect and absolutely adore fully deactivate her Facebook account. Her reasons had to do with being fed up with Facebook’s general stupidity and another event sounding vaguely stalkerish; something I’ve experienced myself.
She messaged me beforehand to make sure we could stay in touch. That made me realize, again, something quite important and something that "should" be painfully obvious: At it’s very BEST, Facebook cheapens almost everything. Not the least of all, the notion of "friendship". Of course, I’ve found some real gems in Facebook’s steaming pile of humanity’s worst but, scrolling thru my list, I STILL mostly had a collection of faces and names who, unless I found ways to entertain them, would make no tangible effort whatsoever to maintain our "friendship" or "relationship". And, quite honestly, to a great degree, vice versa. Too many were there because of what they used to mean. Or, what I hoped they’d mean later on. Silly.
I’m sure there’s some very special “psychology” at play here, and I could articulate most of it, but I, for one, demand authentic “friends”. Having someone in your feed offering nothing more than "likes" or an occasional comment, isn't "friendship". That this notion is so widely accepted is relatively new.
I'm still not really interested in defining what it "is", but I decided to follow Amber's lead and force folks to earn the title. It’s simple: Want to keep up with what's going on with me? Cool. Make some basic effort. I'm not going to spoon feed you via Facebook any longer. If you don't? I'll try to think fondly of your ghost. Really. I will. No hard feelings.
Something has become clear since Facebook exploded 8-years ago and we stopped “wondering what happened” to everyone: Not everyone was meant to cross life's epochs with us. Personally? After wallowing in this slop for nearly a decade? I'm perfectly fine with that. BETTER than fine! I can't say the attempt has been successful, anyhow. Ive lost count how many fond memories were tainted or even destroyed by Facebook’s political, social, and general ignorance megaphone; the constant mindless displays of idiocy by people I used to respect. Used to. From here, it’s a simple realization: Email, phone calls, and these goofy blogs worked perfectly well once upon a time! Even better, actually.
From my perspective, Facebook must be treated like a ridiculously exclusive VIP room with a draconian behavioral policy. Start spewing your filth all over my page, or toward people I care about and respect more than you, like you’re in the Newsmax comment section? Out the air lock with you! (Thanks, Jim Wright.) “*But, what about all the times we got drunk and hunted questionable beaver in 1994*?!?!” Exactly. What about it? And yes, Billy Bob. I’m aware this is a two-way street. That only strengthens the argument. VIP Room now! VIP Room forever!
For the most part, I quit participating on other people's Facebook pages two years ago. I’ve also brutally purged then put my own page on lock down. In addition, I have a few who remain on double secret probation. Why? For the same reason I have "comments" set to "moderate" on this page. Genetic idiots and willfully ignorant trolls aren't just entitled to an unmoderated voice. It’s not covered by the 1st Amendment. Sure, everyone’s entitled to have one, but all opinions are NOT created equal. Not in my world. And I'm certainly not going to provide a virtual open-mic to every random, drunken, retarded star spangled wombat staggering forth from all corners of the internet’s nether regions armed with piles of second-hand batshit propaganda.
Unless, of course, it’s controlled and exploited with of savage mockery and ridicule.
Random online interactions are risky and should be treated like 2AM bar whores. Kept at a safe distance lest you risk developing an embarrassing, unwanted, very public intellectual rash creeping down on your cyber-groin. One that itches every 10-minutes and just won't go away. We all know that person. In fact, I’d wager that “that guy” is reading this right now. And sometimes you're shocked to learn this metaphorical bar whore is someone you've known 20-years!
THE COUCHED MOB
When I returned from Peru in February, it was becoming clear that my predictions in South America were prophetic: The belching Orange Baboon could actually win! Not just the nomination. The election! It also became clear that the question, “How is this even remotely possible?” had a familiar sound. Germany. Late 1920’s and early 30’s. Since Im a kid, I always asked, “How the hell could people let that happen?” Now, we’re seeing it before our own eyes, in our own back yard.
So, I tore into my bookshelf. Biographies, Rise and Fall of the Third Reich. Knowing Trump holds a special place in his heart for Hitler’s public rhetoric, I devoured it all looking for similarities and connections. It didn’t take long, and it had to do with Freud, of all people. One of the books Hitler loved most was one he found while in prison following the Beer Hall Putsch: Freud’s book exploring the group mind. Mob mentality.
So, I downloaded Freud’s work (for free) from Google Books and a lightbulb went off, one that tied in to something I had noticed in August & September of 2014 while I was podcasting. The thing that led directly to my first purge and sequestering of random fucktardery. Not only are we isolating ourselves off in idea-proof echo chambers, there’s a mob mentality effect that’s glaringly obvious. What’s bizarre is that the Internet has made it possible to cultivate and exploit the Group Mind without gathering anyone into an actual physical gathering. Versions of the infamous Beer Hall rallies are being held on Facebook and other pages 24/7. These meetings are silently attended by White Walkers sitting on sweat-filled couches in dirty underwear. I mean, I assume they're dirty. I've not researched it.
As I said in the prophetic podcast next no one heard: go check these pages out! DO NOT ENGAGE ANYONE! Lurk. Lurk only! But, you’ll have your answer to the question of “how”. The mob will lead otherwise reasonable people to commit atrocities. There are examples stretching back thru Hitler and Napoleon to Caesar. There were community-minded family men who were vicious Nazis; in their normal lives they weren’t monsters. That’s the group mind and mob mentality doing its dirty work. And it’s in overdrive. Right here. Right now.
One of the beauties of hitchhiking is that I get people in single doses. Something I took away from it is that ”individuals" are smart. Often thoughtful. However, ”people" (too often your other "friends", family, and un-vetted random contacts), when they dress in their “ism” costumes are mobs of rhetorically drooling buffoons eager to take whatever social media disease they've contracted in their tiny intellectually incestuous bubbles and unleash it, literally, on the entire world. An individual 21st century mob-cell stalking the streets.
Mobs are groups of individuals who’ve gelled together into a singular mass of rationalized, primitive, willful ignorance. And, there's no functional distinction between the willfully ignorant and clinically retarded. Except for spelling and grammar, the interpersonal experiences are identical. And only an egocentric fool who's feasting on the sound of his own voice would attempt social, political, or even existential "discourse" at "the home". Therefore, online Mob Control is an essential practice.
There wouldn't be the need if we lived in a sophisticated, enlightened society both capable of, and willing to, critically examine their informational sources and check their own tendency toward ideological bias. We don't. We live in a collection of blissfully engorged, sloppy, Idiocratic mobs that have lost all connection, let alone commitment, to basic fundamental fact.
Want another metaphor? Cool!
“The People” are living in competing, incompatible alternate informational universes. Ones with completely different laws of intellectual physics. And, here’s the sobering part: it’s going to turn violent. Therefore, at some point the FCC, or even Congress, will likely need to address the explosion of fake, unaccountable media. There's a difference between a free press and a free-for-all tabloid orgy; for-profit conspiratorial fiction and extremist propaganda masquerading as "news". Right now, there's absolutely no distinction being made and we're suffering the results.
And, like it or not, the Internet as a whole probably needs to be regulated at some point. You're OBVIOUSLY woefully ill-equipped to simultaneously roam free in an informational jungle and choose your own leaders. You're basically being feasted upon as irrational psychological prey. Theres’s a Toddzillaism™ for that: Fleecing the Fucktards.
This is what makes my Cynicism Vein throb and almost burst. There's no treatment or cure for willful ignorance. Political and social discourse are only a temporary symptom of disease that’s about to go Stage 4.
Beyond the political vulnerability, our small simian brains can’t even begin to conceive of our own existence. But, we also can’t help but try. So, we fill in the blanks with staggering degrees of mythical, religious, and “spiritual” egocentric bullshit. Collectively, we delude ourselves into thinking we're divinely created little critters who are meant to run free. The functional reality is something closer to a mangy intellectual jackal that endangers everything nearby when it gets out of its pen.
Trump is incredibly revealing in that context. He recently added a Breitbart executive to RUN HIS CAMPAIGN. What happened? His numbers rose! He’s gone full-frontal batshit, and it's probably only going to get worse. People keep asking, “Why? How can this possibly be??” Because that’s what “the people” want. The guy who rhetorically puts their “threatened” tribe at the Center of the Universe and high atop the imaginary food chain? Complete with convenient scapegoats? Yeah, the mob will love it. It’s called fascism. There’s a precedent or two. And why the Founding Deities worked to thwart mob rule.
And how wise they were. People keep saying Trump is a "national embarrassment". Nope. He's a brand; an expert media whore. The fact that his Political Reality Show was even a temporary thing is the embarrassment. He didn't achieve that in a vacuum. Our shame doesn't lie in one ridiculous individual; he "should" have been taken about as seriously as Mama June.
No, the "national embarrassment" lies in the millions of fucking idiots, racists, and willfully ignorant fools who rationalize then eagerly gobble up his slop and support him through feats of "mental" gymnastics & verbal incontinence. Not to mention the bouts of uncontrollable public rhetorical-masturbation fits.
Wipe the "intellectual" goo from your stomach, fuckers. Have you lost all dignity? Did you have any to begin with? And, don't give yourself a lazy reach around by blaming Clinton. Trump didn't defeat fifteen Hillary clones in the Republican primaries.
To put a bow on the political aspect, I hope you're not seeing 11/8 as the finish line; the day "sanity" and civil "discourse" returns. You may vanquish Trump, but while you're basking in the self-righteous afterglow of victory--congratulating yourselves for winning an election against a babbling, poorly crafted Mussolini knockoff & reality TV star--the White Walkers are only getting angrier. And dumber. It's. The. Stupid. People. Stupid. Winter is coming.
DELUSIONS & PERSONAL NARRATIVES: QUIXOTE PERSONALIZED
About seven years ago this month, I had an external realization that rocked my internal core and sent me reeling. It was one of the most difficult things I've ever even tried to personally reconcile and manage. To date, I have failed miserably. At least functionally. I dubbed it my Don Quixote Insight. Examples are shown above, but in an oversimplified nutshell, it's the idea that human beings are corrupted and enslaved by their egocentric need and reliance upon self-created comfortable delusions. Our willingness and/or need to abandon reality for happy internal narratives. Or to be snookered by someone, anyone, who provides them for us.
That little insight threw me into what I mentioned repeatedly my first post: I dubbed it (borrowing from Nietzsche) "The Abyss". I looked Quixote's Demon in the eye and, while the idea began as an observation of others, it quickly turned on me and ravaged a previously useful foundation and metaphysical engine. I've never really recovered and in many ways I've been wobbling along ever since searching for a sense of authentic replacement purpose. That's meant chasing money again so, again, it's little surprise I've had little success in finding that!
I've tried to put my spiritual genie back in the bottle but, of course, that's impossible. You can't "unlearn" something. But, in the process--usually out of desperate self-interest-- I've frequently searched for cracks in Quixote hoping to prove myself wrong so that maybe I could reclaim some of the lost audacity that came from believing "The Universe" was obsessed with my existence and happy to be my personal little bitch.
I've also spent increasingly short phases of the last few years almost bending over backwards trying to execute the mental gymnastics required to give humanity a sympathetic, merciful benefit of the doubt. But at every turn Quixote is left standing even stronger as my futile hope in resurrecting the Divine Noble Species Theology is savagely bludgeoned. I wish I still had the ability to freely delude myself. But I've recognized that the maiden was imaginary and the windmill is, and always has been, just a windmill!
Tonight it's crystal clear to me that our willfully ignorant, gleeful insistence on abandoning fact and reality for the drug of self-delusion is humanity's curse. And will likely be its downfall. I'd like to get melodramatic and tearfully tell you how tragic that is. I can't.
If you want to envision ”The Universe" as an entity, it surely isn't a benevolent "Sky Daddy" benefactor looking out for your well being and best interest. The reality is closer to a cold-blooded fucking reptile that doesn't care if we live or die. Individually or collectively. "The Universe" gives nothing; we get what we give. And deserve. And, if it's incapable of even basic collective introspection, a tribal species that's so helplessly self-destructive and murderously addicted to fantasy deserves to be squished and meet its demise as Carlin put it: as a failed mutation. A destructive bug stomped out on an evolutionary cul-de-sac and quickly forgotten.
Why hasn’t Hallmark called? I can't figure it out. Must be reverse racism. Wait. If I claim "gender fluidity" can I start blaming misogyny?
9/19/16: Happy Birthday! It's (another damn) Blog!
Welcome to blog #4. It wasn't supposed to be this way. That's a good sign. Perhaps you've heard about me and "plans" (ha!)?
Eight years ago, I set off on what was intended to be a simple escape. I had naive visions of Survivorman. Or that, like the Red Hot Chili Peppers, "I might end up somewhere in Mexico". I went so far as packing an SAS Survival Guide. My little "escape" lasted less than a week. Much less. With Dennis, it almost immediately became clear that this was more of a poorly-defined, ill-planned exploration than escape. In the next few months, my little notes became a blog. I named that one "Running With The Wind." It's still out there somewhere.
Seven years ago I set off on what was supposed to be a global adventure; one personally guided by "the Universe" and its "synchronicity". Then I met my dad's family. Then I met Andre. Then, I met Mr. Quixote. I named that one "Te Nosce": Know Thyself. It's still out there somewhere.
Six years ago, I was quietly reeling. Mr. Quixote had knocked me from my poorly rationalized Center of the Universe pedestal, and there was no climbing back. I took a few trips, but they were just...off. At least relative to the previous years. By this time in 2010, I was a quiet, hot mess.
Five years ago, I discovered "The Abyss" and realized I'd been trapped in it for two years. Thanks, Quixote! I began traveling south to Latin America. The writing dried up as I simultaneously lost my compass and began searching for ways to "monetize" my travels. Like every other pimple-faced "travel writer" I found in every fucking hostel from Cancun to Puerto Escondido. That failed. Miserably. I kept trying. This was also the last time I saw any of my "new family".
Four years ago, I ran into a former comedian Facebook friend who convinced me that video was the right and prosperous path to take. Thus Kirk helped beget Toddzilla. Toddzilla X to you. www.toddzillax.com to the Internet. "That Motherfucker Toddzilla" to entire swaths of Teabaggers & Trumpeteers.
Three years ago, I had a rather...lets call it an "existentially negative" experience with the "old" family while we gathered back in Michigan for a funeral. That combined with the now-negative "new" family outcome to calcify my cynicism and The Abyss blackened. We moved from the southwest to Chicago. Once here, I began dabbling (very lightly) in standup comedy as, with apologies to Carlin, a "place for my stuff". But, The Abyss just made me angry; I wasn't "funny". At least not on purpose. It failed before I even let it get started. The Abyss was winning.
Almost two years ago, I slowly began breaking free. On a spontaneously planned trip that wound up taking me from Mexico to Colombia by land/ferry, I found photography. Or, maybe photography found me? Not sure. Either way, I returned to Chicago with the seeds of a plan. I bought a camera, and learned how to use it.
Last year, I took my camera to Peru and paid a long-overdue visit to Friar Chris at The Hof, his off the grid Andean playground. I honed my photographic skills and returned with a bounty of photos. My intention was to print them up and sell them to fund traveling to more exotic locales. India & Nepal for instance. Then the Family Vultures reared their ugly beaks once again. In an uncontrollable fit of existential, self-destructive rage, I decided to "scrape" everything. I sold the camera and resolved to just "get the fuck out of here".
I never went. There was a significant, mysterious, persistent psychological block combining with my urge to print the Peru photos that combined to keep me here to do a small photo show in August. The show went much better than expected and inadvertently gave me the excuse I needed to just "Sit Down & Shut Up" and come to terms with one simple fact: I've changed.
Apparently against my wishes, I've slowly evolved over the last 8-years. Significantly. I'm not the same guy who wandered off from Jackson Lake State Park in May 2008. Nowhere close. Thank God! To borrow from Thomas Jefferson, that jacket no longer fits and it's become clear that I've spent a long time in that depressive Abyss compounding things by beating myself for not being able to squeeze into that old coat; not living up to an out-dated self-image. Sure, that guy had some wonderful adventures and met some incredible people. But, he was also--in some ways--a damn naive fool! It may sound weird, but that's a wonderful thing to realize. Evolution. If I believed in Sky Daddy, I'd pray that I'm saying the same thing about who I am today in another 8-years.
So what is this? A new chapter? Section? Phase? I don't know. It's "something". As I sit here on this blog's, and coincidentally my own, birthday I've come to only a few tenuous and likely very malleable conclusions. I reserve the right to edit this list as time goes on.
1- I'm done trying to monetize anything. I'm the worst businessman/marketeer on the planet. It makes me feel filthy, whorish, and triggers self-loathing self-destruction. This isn't new. This anti-Mammon trait polluted most of my radio career and, in retrospect, it should have been obvious why the last 4-years have been largely, hollow, depressing, and frustrating. I firmly believe the mark of Sky Daddy's "beast" looks like this: $.
2- The Upper World theme says it all. If you're not one to read the classics, it's from Plato's Cave. I intend to get back to the ideas that were at the root of my initial "escape attempt"; my initial trek forth from The Cave: That the world we're caught in, observing, and fighting over is an illusion; something much closer to big shadows projected on Plato's walls. Or, The Matrix, if you prefer. For better or for worse, I'm a little fucking philosopher at heart. This is my notebook. The photo album is here: www.upperworldphoto.com (Jesus wants you to buy something. He told me so.)
Eight years ago, I set off on what was intended to be a simple escape. I had naive visions of Survivorman. Or that, like the Red Hot Chili Peppers, "I might end up somewhere in Mexico". I went so far as packing an SAS Survival Guide. My little "escape" lasted less than a week. Much less. With Dennis, it almost immediately became clear that this was more of a poorly-defined, ill-planned exploration than escape. In the next few months, my little notes became a blog. I named that one "Running With The Wind." It's still out there somewhere.
Seven years ago I set off on what was supposed to be a global adventure; one personally guided by "the Universe" and its "synchronicity". Then I met my dad's family. Then I met Andre. Then, I met Mr. Quixote. I named that one "Te Nosce": Know Thyself. It's still out there somewhere.
Six years ago, I was quietly reeling. Mr. Quixote had knocked me from my poorly rationalized Center of the Universe pedestal, and there was no climbing back. I took a few trips, but they were just...off. At least relative to the previous years. By this time in 2010, I was a quiet, hot mess.
Five years ago, I discovered "The Abyss" and realized I'd been trapped in it for two years. Thanks, Quixote! I began traveling south to Latin America. The writing dried up as I simultaneously lost my compass and began searching for ways to "monetize" my travels. Like every other pimple-faced "travel writer" I found in every fucking hostel from Cancun to Puerto Escondido. That failed. Miserably. I kept trying. This was also the last time I saw any of my "new family".
Four years ago, I ran into a former comedian Facebook friend who convinced me that video was the right and prosperous path to take. Thus Kirk helped beget Toddzilla. Toddzilla X to you. www.toddzillax.com to the Internet. "That Motherfucker Toddzilla" to entire swaths of Teabaggers & Trumpeteers.
Three years ago, I had a rather...lets call it an "existentially negative" experience with the "old" family while we gathered back in Michigan for a funeral. That combined with the now-negative "new" family outcome to calcify my cynicism and The Abyss blackened. We moved from the southwest to Chicago. Once here, I began dabbling (very lightly) in standup comedy as, with apologies to Carlin, a "place for my stuff". But, The Abyss just made me angry; I wasn't "funny". At least not on purpose. It failed before I even let it get started. The Abyss was winning.
Almost two years ago, I slowly began breaking free. On a spontaneously planned trip that wound up taking me from Mexico to Colombia by land/ferry, I found photography. Or, maybe photography found me? Not sure. Either way, I returned to Chicago with the seeds of a plan. I bought a camera, and learned how to use it.
Last year, I took my camera to Peru and paid a long-overdue visit to Friar Chris at The Hof, his off the grid Andean playground. I honed my photographic skills and returned with a bounty of photos. My intention was to print them up and sell them to fund traveling to more exotic locales. India & Nepal for instance. Then the Family Vultures reared their ugly beaks once again. In an uncontrollable fit of existential, self-destructive rage, I decided to "scrape" everything. I sold the camera and resolved to just "get the fuck out of here".
I never went. There was a significant, mysterious, persistent psychological block combining with my urge to print the Peru photos that combined to keep me here to do a small photo show in August. The show went much better than expected and inadvertently gave me the excuse I needed to just "Sit Down & Shut Up" and come to terms with one simple fact: I've changed.
Apparently against my wishes, I've slowly evolved over the last 8-years. Significantly. I'm not the same guy who wandered off from Jackson Lake State Park in May 2008. Nowhere close. Thank God! To borrow from Thomas Jefferson, that jacket no longer fits and it's become clear that I've spent a long time in that depressive Abyss compounding things by beating myself for not being able to squeeze into that old coat; not living up to an out-dated self-image. Sure, that guy had some wonderful adventures and met some incredible people. But, he was also--in some ways--a damn naive fool! It may sound weird, but that's a wonderful thing to realize. Evolution. If I believed in Sky Daddy, I'd pray that I'm saying the same thing about who I am today in another 8-years.
So what is this? A new chapter? Section? Phase? I don't know. It's "something". As I sit here on this blog's, and coincidentally my own, birthday I've come to only a few tenuous and likely very malleable conclusions. I reserve the right to edit this list as time goes on.
1- I'm done trying to monetize anything. I'm the worst businessman/marketeer on the planet. It makes me feel filthy, whorish, and triggers self-loathing self-destruction. This isn't new. This anti-Mammon trait polluted most of my radio career and, in retrospect, it should have been obvious why the last 4-years have been largely, hollow, depressing, and frustrating. I firmly believe the mark of Sky Daddy's "beast" looks like this: $.
2- The Upper World theme says it all. If you're not one to read the classics, it's from Plato's Cave. I intend to get back to the ideas that were at the root of my initial "escape attempt"; my initial trek forth from The Cave: That the world we're caught in, observing, and fighting over is an illusion; something much closer to big shadows projected on Plato's walls. Or, The Matrix, if you prefer. For better or for worse, I'm a little fucking philosopher at heart. This is my notebook. The photo album is here: www.upperworldphoto.com (Jesus wants you to buy something. He told me so.)
3- This blog won't have a political bent. If you were secretly hoping for more of that based on my Facebook history, sorry to disappoint you. To recycle The Matrix Metaphor, your political machines are the equivalent of Agent Smith. Too many metaphors? Want to stick with The Cave theme? Fine. They're the ones projecting shadows on the wall and selling that as "reality". "That one over there? That's a puppy dog! That one? That's a Mexican who wants to rape your daughter and take your job!" The fundamental point of this is to expose the shadows for what they are and offer glimpses outside the smokey, isolated cave; the air tight bubble self-sealed by anxiety, fear and dependence. With a heavy dose of poking fun at the unavoidable absurdity of it all. Presumptuous? I know! Ain't it great?
What's that? You don't approve? Well, you should probably just...fucking leave. Quietly.
4- Rather than trying to tie everything together, I decided I wanted to start this with a fresh, clean slate. As you've noticed, I'll link things as they apply, but I don't want to be distracted by trying to tie everything together. I'm not sure I can at this point. So, I'll worry about the connective tissue later on. Friar Chris and I have something brewing down that line. That's foreshadowing. See? I'm literary and shit.
5- Im likely going to combine old methods. Lots of writing, some video from the road, and a few pics. I intend to use this to largely replace the Facebook Social (media) Disease. Plenty of reasons for that.
5- Im likely going to combine old methods. Lots of writing, some video from the road, and a few pics. I intend to use this to largely replace the Facebook Social (media) Disease. Plenty of reasons for that.
What are they? They both affect and reflect on you. Watch this space, fuckos. And welcome aboard.
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