Bed

I often feel like simply giving in and letting myself slide away from sanity, sidle up to that seductive hidey hole and crawl in to die.

This feels like the best course at the worst of times, and a pleasant diversion at the best.

Thus far I can see little reason not to, save that no one else seems to feel the same.

The last thing I need is another reason to be abnormal.

Or maybe the last thing I need is to worry about it.

I venture outside to find a flock of stoners toshing about. I have mixed feelings about this.

On the one hand, I long to be as they are, ignorant of the greater questions, and giggling incoherently at some slapstick Hollywood tripe.

On the other, I despise them for the ease of their existence. I always told myself I would be above them, smarter, more successful, and now I find myself on the verge of dropping down to their pace, following the path of mental exsanguination at a job I loathe simply to stay afloat.

I know I could do better, I know I could have done better, but I can't drag myself from the comforting warmth of apathy and laze.

The work isn't what is killing me, nor the effort. It's the temptation to be less than I want battling the urge to do more than just be.

And now the only thing keeping me afloat *unfortunately, away from restful solace at that* is the blinking black bar on what I find to be one of my few useful respites.

Perhaps I'll slip into something more comfortable.

Understanding

I don't claim to be omniscient (often) nor even more qualified than anyone else to judge highly philosophical issues like purpose and meaning in everyday life.

However, I'd like to think I can generally understand the difference between living and breathing. I'm not so much talking about fulfilling the other segments of polite life, such as mastication and procreation, but the finer points, stress level, human contact, sometimes even a proverbial (or literal) brew or two.

Now, the difference is far from stark, or sedentary, and in fact, far from reason. A wise man once said, "happiness is nothing if you've no one to share it with", where as another wise man once said, "when you are happy, the last thing you need is people to snoz it all up." I disagree, on both fronts. Solidarity and solitary are the words of the day, being unified in compartmentalization. The issue at hand is balance, not philosophy.

Can on be happy without any drama, without argument? Can one be happy with it? Of course, that begs the greater question can on be happy at all... But I digress. People are required of any great leader, and owing to the fact that I'm always right, we shall assume that is one way to be truly happy. The issue comes not in removing oneself from the public, or from immersing oneself wholly into their sphere, but in managing their presence and reconciling it with your own mentality, ability, and most importantly, temperament.

One must first learn how to surrender personal rights and personal space, in doing so, one allows the entry of alien concepts and objects into ones lifestyle.

Second, one must learn their compatriots personal habits and ideals, and thus avoid stomping too hard on the toes of a boot poised to strike one's rear.

Third, one must learn to reconcile the major differences in these lifestyles, from sleep cycle to spending habits.

Once you have those locked down, the manipulation and extortion begins.

That is, unless you take the less manly Machiavellian route, and choose love, in which case, make cookies often, and pass the remote when the sad little man beside you fails to teef it from your serpent quick hands.

One may or may not spice this with cleanliness, generosity, and repeated inclusion of the aforementioned civilians in any and all diabolical and semi-legal plans for world domination.

That, my friends, is how to reconcile men with different talents, temperaments, and convictions, and allow a truly egalitarian and civil society, at least in the microcosm of flat mates.

I worry

We, my friends, face an absolutely astonishing and unique problem, as a society.

We've dealt with plagues, wars, riots, the wonders and blunders of science. We've survived ages of intense cold, poverty, or ignorance and come out all the stronger for it. We have survived in the face of quite literally the worst things ever to happen.

I am unsure how we will face this new(ish) threat.

You see, where before life was a game of numbers, survival, sacrifice and longing, it has been warped and twisted by our new sedentary lifestyles. We seek attention rather than shelter, entertainment rather than food, and most importantly, self worth above benefiting our tribe/family/king/god.

There are still parts of the world dealing with issues we lucky few see as backwards and ridiculous, but soon enough we will all reach the level of quiet boredom and complacency that the western world revels in.

We, my deliciously perceptive people, are boring our society to death. Everything we do is for the sake of bringing the rest of the world to speed, or quelling our constant nagging need to be occupied. We research space exploration, we research new crops and diplomatic solutions. We research ways to make our lives longer, and ways to bring the light of technology to every mud stricken shanty in the world. We spend billions of dollars on these rather noble endeavors every year.

We spend trillions on television. On designer shoes, and game systems. Magazines, candy, and carnival rides. We put so much effort into amusing ourselves that we often lose sight of just how great an issue that is.

Putting aside arguments of "Oh, but we deserve some entertainment, and we earned a break 8 hours of every day, minus commute plus weekends." think for a moment just how mind boggling the proportions are. Think of how much of our attention we devote to distracting ourselves compared to how much we spend grooming, improving, or aiding. Think of how anyone two hundred years ago would have spent their day, and then how long it would take them to do all that today.

Gathering food went from a weekend hunt to a ten minute stop at the local market. Making light went from dipping candles all day to a flick of the switch. Survival went from a prime directive to an afterthought, and I for one worry that without the threat of extinction we will become too satisfied with our sedentary selves, and grind our society's expansion to a screeching halt.

We do research, we explore and invent, and improve, but how long before the last shreds of expansive research are diverted to letting us squeeze a few more years of World of Warcraft out of ourselves and shaving a few more minutes off of our commute.

I'm more concerned with our societial viability than my own mortality, and that, I think, should say something.

Humble

Everywhere you turn in the sphere of publication, which, by the by, has become saturated with so many different ramblings that I'm almost certain that everyone has at least three blogs and a flickR account, writers and bloggers and even psychologists are denouncing the rantings and ravings of the masses.

Some are too angsty, for they do not understand that life is harsh and unforgiving.

Some are too cold, for they do not feel the warmth and love of their kin.

Some are too idealistic, for they do not comprehend the vastness and depth of the worlds problems.

Some are too dismissive, for they see the others are beneath them.

These are all looked down upon by the more educated among us, and even moreso by the less educated. They are reviled more often than revered, and no matter thier success or charisma, they are disrespected for thier views.

It's not because they are inherently wrong, nor that they are any less validated by thier drivel as those who deprecate them. You see, even though I myself make a generalization in this endeavour, those portraying stereotypical and less educated views on life are often dismissed out of hand because their response is expected, at least by those who deign to understand the human condition.

I for one respectfully disagree. At the risk of sounding like an angst filled teenager wailing about imagined woes, I must protest this dismissive view. Not out of hand, mind you, I do have some semblance of a reason. One only hopes I can make it clear enough to earn a bit of credability despite my humble backround.

Let us first examine the reasoning behind the distaste at such a simple thing as opinion.

What is it about the experience of being ignorant or primal that so repulses the "educated" few? Why must it be that pointless because you can site chemical reactions and societal causes for the emotions and ideas of the public? Why are the arguments brought about by those who are younger and less jaded seen as juvenile and futile?

Is it because we are smarter, more educated, more experienced? Perhaps we even have more raw insight into the proverbial soul of humanity.

I for one, believe many of these things to be true, and, coincidentally, feel that that is precisely why we are so wrong in our arrogance. The apathy, the sadness, the simple joys. The rites of passage, the confusion, even the bald faced ignorance, they are all part of of the greater human condition.

These states, these ideas, these writings, they reflect the vulnerability, the similarity, and the universal truth among humanity.

We are all ignorant of something, we are all weak, we mask this quite well by shrouding ourselves in titles and diplomas, but we are still just as amazed by the little things in life as the next person.

I think the issue isn't that the teenage girl whining about her boyfriend not understanding her, or the middle aged man afraid he will fade into the twilight without a legacy irks us for thier cliche and morose nature, but because we ourselves are too proud and too strong to admit that we too worry about such things, that we too find joy in the simplicity of life.

We too are human, and I for one find comfort in it.

So Seldom

Soliloquized sanctimony is scarcely seldom in sacred sects of sacrificing seclusions, the secrets of which seep with scars and song. Those screaming soldiers in the satellites society shores against the shining star we sing as son. It seems the search for the safe and sound is a scam meant to scare those who soak their serpents skin in slick slaking slime into the sour Saharan to be slain.

Serendipity comes to the sleek sons of shade whom slumber with the slaving sun to save sanity.

To sleep, sweet siblings.

What's a metaphor

I often feel like simply giving in and letting myself slide away from sanity, sidle up to that seductive hidey hole and crawl in to die.

This feels like the best course at the worst of times, and a pleasant diversion at the best.

Thus far I can see little reason not to, save that no one else seems to feel the same.

The last thing I need is another reason to be abnormal.

Or maybe the last thing I need is to worry about it.

I venture upstairs to find a flock of stoners toshing about. I have mixed feelings about this.

On the one hand, I long to be as they are, ignorant of the greater questions, and giggling incoherently at some slapstick Hollywood tripe.

On the other, I despise them for the ease of their existence. I always told myself I would be above them, smarter, more successful, and now I find myself on the verge of dropping down to their pace, following the path of menial labor at a job I loathe simply to stay afloat.

I know I could do better, I know I could have done better, but I can't drag myself from the comforting warmth of apathy and laze.

The work isn't what is killing me, nor the effort. It's the temptation to be less than I want battling the urge to do more than just be.

And now the only thing keeping me afloat *unfortunately, away from restful solace at that* is the blinking black bar on what I find to be one of my few useful respites.

Perhaps I'll slip into something more comfortable.

Il cartographo

One wonders, at this odd hour, how one can so oft arrive at it, clean-shaven and productive, whilst still managing to do so little that the rest of the world revels in. It true, that the evening hours are for a select few. The lovers, the fighters, the philosophers who rage against the daylight, and the proles who rage against the night.

The true midnight method, the darkest hour of deepest thought, oft arrived but seldom kept, and mostly malevolent in its means and ends. One must work harder to end its means then to become the paradigm of it's politik.

Digression helps very little in moonlit cartography, as it usually ends up leading to tangents unexplored in the topic untouched, but here I will try to be concise, not for lack of will nor lack of time, but for the purity of the thought.

One wonders, at this odd hour, how one can so oft arrive at it alone. One need not wonder, one simply need seek another evenoon evangelist and think to themselves, "What madness be this that there be method in it?" for the immediate response is now and forever shall be, "I'll have no part in a psychosis that is not my own, for ruling my own mind is one of the few boons still granted me in my madness, if only temporary during the light."

The laws of man

A simple concept, I'm sure, to those of us who have higher brain function to rival a toaster, or, gods be willing, even more intellectual capacity than your average household appliance.

Just because the law says it's legal/illegal, doesn't mean it's right.

I'm not talking about murder or theft or any of that tripe, I'm speaking about dealing with your personal issues. It does not do to be a complete fuckweasel just because you are not legally obligated to be a decent person. It does not do to do the bare minimum required of you to prevent swift and just punishment.

If you are being a useless fleshbag, or in any way hindering the pleasant operations of another human being, the law will not save you from being reprimanded. Do not bitch and moan about getting a lawyer when your pets leavings end up on your doorstep instead of your neighbors lawn. Do not cry about having your dishes "disappear" when you leave them on the counter for days at a time to rot. Do not assume that because the law says you can walk around in a speedo that you should.

People like that are the reason I'm such a cheery and loving individual. Seriously. Common sense should be enough to guide your everyday life. If you get confused about how long you need to wait to get your drivers license, or how much crack cocaine you can bring back across the border with you, then sure, check the books, but if the issue is so petty that a judge would be physically hurt by the thought of spending more than two words of his breath on your insipid argument then I say he has full right to tell you to sod off.

Don't be a douche bag. Don't be a leech, or at all a detriment. Don't be abrasive for the sake of being abrasive. Don't whine when you are punished for the above.

Deal with it like an adult, or move back with your parents. Whatever you want to do, just get the slag away from me with it before I resort to something highly illegal yet ultimately satisfying that may or may not involve a quart of zambuka and a match coming dangerously close to your pajamas.

Hier apparant

It becomes apparent, as I trudge on, that no matter how much I try to avoid it, I am a snarky, irreverent, and overall mean sarcastic person. Often, this is in a cruel way. It's not intentionally, that is, not intentionally hurtful. I am being critical, I am being mean, I am even being overly critical despite the fact that I recognize many of my peers mistakes as flaws I myself posses.

However, having said that, I am wholly unable to resist being as I am. I jump at every opportunity to be verbose and scathing. I salivate at the chance for a good argument, and rarely admit when I arm wrong. In short, I am a douche bag when it comes to issues I feel strongly about, or when I find someone to be doing something decidedly nonconstructive or even destructive to themselves or others.

I do not apologize, I am what I am, and I am damned useful in a forum, or even in a quiet discussion because I ensure that even if nothing is decided, new views are seen by all, myself included. I have no problem defending a view I find completely false if the only agent crying for that side of the story is less than confident or less than verbose with public speaking.

I believe in thought, that all sides of an argument should be explored, unbiased. I have the privilege of being part of an organization that controls a large part of many young mens lives, and I have never once stood before the council and said anything with the intention of changing the minds of my peers without addressing both sides of the conflict, in some small way. I refuse to allow simple dismissal of issues I know to be more complicated than black and white. It is a rare trait, I find. Not impartiality, I know several people goodly enough to possess a true lack of bias, albeit my friends tend to be the administrative and academic elite, at least when it comes to debate and organization. What I find rare is the willingness to step into another mans shoes and kick an overly zealous and underly appreciative rival in the shin.

It is a sad, sad thing when something so important as a vote of confidence can nearly be decided by one grating voice springing up in triumphant fury about an issue that, in the overall scope of the group, means about as much as a twelve year olds take on foreign policy, especially when that person goes unopposed and nearly brings the cause full circle for nothing but lack of informed voters in the rest of the group, or apathy, or even popularity and complacence.

But enough with the rambling, the point is this. One should never be afraid to stand up and fight for a cause, if for no other reason, than that they see injustice in it, even if they don't believe in it themselves. So long as you retain a high sense of honor, and you work towards the betterment of those involved, playing devils advocate can be the best gift to a divine resolution.

Faith

The most important thing to remember, even now at this critical juncture, is don't panic. Panic leads to irrational thought, to screaming and sweat, fear and loathing. Panic is the beginning of a series of bad paths. No good can come of it. Instead, simply abandon hope, know too that you cannot prevent this, and that it is best to take solace in the fact that you probably had a very good reason to jump the railing anyway.

Dig Dig, Chop Chop

Knowing full well the rewards associated with labor and study, it seems odd that one would still feel the unending drive to avoid such things. A drive to not only avoid the days work, but to spend the time set aside for it doing nothing at all. Lazing about watching television or pounding some other form of media dribble into ones skull rather than the equally mindless tasks facing them at work.

Why be mindless without reward? Is there some benefit I cannot comprehend to wasting time? Logically, there is nothing. Of course, what fun would the world be if everything worked logically.

One could argue that rest and relaxation can only be attained when one is not constrained by time and task, or that simple having "alone time" helps in rejuvenating the being mind and body. I say it's more likely due to a horrible urge towards wonky survival traits, wherein he who does the least and survives is, in theory, the most important, for he is made to do little to be of use to the tribe.

This is, of course, preposterous, as a vagrant may do nothing and survive, but there is something to be said in avoiding work to excess. Is the man with a penthouse full of furs really any happier than his proletariat counterpart whom derives his pleasure from lazing about on his couch watching his fun size television?

Probably, but for the sake of argument, one avoids that assumption. At least if one is in a position without a penthouse of furs. Now if you'll excuse me, I must drudge on to my own mindless task in a few hours, robbing me of my chance for late night meanderings if I want to maintain the last shred of sanity I've still got hold of.

I also need to replace the drivers side door on my Porsche.

I couldn't do it here

It's quite amazing, really, how much our society depends on a pairing of tiny copper wires. The thin strand that separates our society from savagery. The phone line, the electricity, even the piping under the building, but most of all, the internet. If any of these things are severed, a home becomes nothing but a primitive shell in the modern age.

It used to be that having an internet line to your house was a privilege and a luxury, now it is simply assumed, by both the educational faculty of society and the public at large. One is required to have an email, one is required to have connectivity, and most of all, one is expected to be able to google or wiki away the answers to all of life's little mysteries.

Thus is the great tragedy of the modern age, in terms of social interaction. All arguments are laid mute by wikipedia, all effort in communication dulled by email, and all pondering answered by the all knowing google. There is no mystery one can be expected not to solve on ones own. Everyone can safely assume that each other person has the same information about the same insipid topic.

However, this is not the real tragedy of the internet generation, for what knowledge could be said to be for ill. The real flaw is that a human being without a presence on the web is reduced, somehow. As a person without a high school education years ago, or a person without a Y chromosome years before.

It has become a norm, and one which seems quite acceptable to us all, that is, until we lose the norm itself. A challenge I place upon all human beings: go one week without consulting the web or your internet contacts. Go just one week without instant messengers or downloading media. See then how feral you feel, and know that once all is said and done, you'll not have to feel that way very often in the rest of your life.

Our society values the internet too much to let it be stifled by such trivial things as hardware and connectivity. Soon it will be indestructible, and then the populous will cry out in joy, each leeching their own version of Mork and Mindy whilst sipping their Joltang cola.

I suppose good things come to those who wait.

No, says the man in the Vatican

I have thought long and hard for many a year about the question of God. Always the answer seemed simple to me, and it still does. That is not what I threw into question tonight. What really and truly perturbed me this eve was the question of physical cues. Is it not a testament to societal evolution that we have developed some of the most ridiculous physical cues imaginable by simple survivalist views?

For instance, in what world would it be more beneficial for a mate to be thinner? Perhaps more fit, yes, but sickly thin? In what world does a different eye color make a difference to anything beyond social recognition? More importantly, in what modern world do any of these things make an honest to goodness difference, beyond the reaction based on upbringing in this vain and aesthetic society.

If we weren't raised to appreciate the thin, svelte stereotype, we would find it repulsive on a simple genetic level. If we were not raised to swoon over musicians and artists, and abhor the thug and the genius, would we still find them as preferable mates?

What of their effect on matters outside of the sexual realm. When does it seem better to have a woman who can barely walk from fatigue compared to one who may rear children as well as commit their share of physical labor? These are the ridiculous ideals that our society places upon it's members.

Surely we may see how these preferences evolved in society, and many of them may indeed be acceptable by modern practice. The petite woman is beautiful because she has not lost her humanity to the grand obesity of our time. The artist is beautiful because he tries to reach beyond the dull and often rough reaches of normal society.

But what does any of this have to do with the question of God, one wonders. It's simple; in what world with a deity meant to be omniscient and powerful would social evolution be required at all? In what world would the average be anything but the image of perfection? If we were all crafted in a godly image, that would mean that the average person was as close to perfect as humanly possible.

In our society which idolizes extremes and has an insatiable lust for the very fringe of fashion such a thing seems inconceivable.

That's not to say it couldn't be an intelligently ingrained desire to change and grow based on ever increasing standards until we force our own evolution down a path best suited to the then dominant society... But then, what truly intelligent being would bother leaving the fate of their creation to the whims of the rabble.

Wear Sunscreen

Possible benefits of living in a fortified missile silo instead of a townhouse:

-Ample parking
-An atrium that could easily house a redwood
-Perfect lighting for nighthawks
-Noise cancellation for those late night jam sessions
-Nearly party proof
-Unlikely target for petty theft
-Excellent base of operations in case of zombie plague
-Ample storage space
-Self sustaining for extended periods (If you're fine with purified water and MREs)
-Bad ass mailing address (First blast door on your left, twenty kilometers outside of Kiev)
-No solicitors
-Plenty of space for guests
-Good excuse to oust unwanted guests (Oh, theres a launch scheduled in a few minutes, you may want to clear the blast zone.)
-Excellent excuse to buy a huge flat screen (Who wouldn't want to watch the news and pretend to be threatening the world leaders with nuclear warheads?)
-Simple bragging rights
-Fulfilling one of your most ludicrously sensible dreams as a nerdy little child
-Having an excuse to refer to yourself as Commander
-Seriously being considered when you yell "FIRE ZE MISSILES!" at random
-Being able to keep a bear as a pet
-In the foyer
-Being able to seriously purchase warheads
-Makes the transition from mild mannered Kinko's drone to super villain much simpler
-Being able to detect guests from miles away so you can turn the porch light off in advance
-Having a legitimate war room
-Three words: Closed circuit television
-Broadcasting a pirate signal berating the government from your secret underground lair
-Broadcasting a pirate signal from your well known underground lair, and challenging anyone to do anything about it
-Always winning at hide and seek
-Always
-Optional sunroof

The Question

It is the question, the gnawing feeling in the deepest pit of the mind, that truly drives us. It is like a burr on the tender flesh of our reality, ripping ever so slightly with every motion until we are forced to either remove it, or suffer a wound far greater than the answer would bring. It is the question that gives us a limited choice: address it, or lose the last shred of sanity left to us.

I for one appreciate this urgency, the drive to search and explore, the will to lay track for the train of thought. Taking time to answer these irresistible questions is integral to a complete individual. In the same way, the truly complete individual is never without such a question, where the merely content is at peace with the world as it is.

In such a case, the old maxim of "Ignorance is bliss" most certainly holds true, but at what cost? In order to abandon the question, one must abandon curiosity, and thus the drive towards wit and the knowledgeable virtues. Surely to the man whose mind is wracked with the question this seems madness, but then, he could never understand the glory of such peace.

Thus, as ironically enough is often the case, the man whom is driven by the question comes to the question of the question itself. Is it a greater thing to elevate oneself higher and higher intellectually, or is it a greater thing to atrophy and wallow in the bliss of the proletariat?

I have come to this question many, many nights. I assure you, if I knew the final answer, I would be the first to share it. Obviously, I've not chosen bliss quite yet.

Harder, Better

The forest moaned with snapping branches and crumbling leaves. There was not a voice to be heard, not a mating call or a bloodthirsty howl. There was only the chase. Nothing could match him for speed, for he seemed to appear amongst the trees ahead. Nothing could rival his strength, as great oaks toppled before his charge. Nothing could match him for dexterity, as he weaved through the forest like a mist.He should win. The only question was how much energy he spent in doing it. He was confident, he hadn't hunted in days. He was prideful, he had chosen a wicked prey. He was tired, and never had one seen such a reversal as when he ceased his howl.

Stacked

So I gave him a quarter.
"Here, this will mean more to you than it will to me."
I knew it was the best revenge.

Nighthawk

In the wee hours or daybreak, one can't help but be cured of insomnia, for the sun is the nighthawks natural enemy. It only makes sense to blot out as much memory of it's risen hours as possible via voluntary hallucination infused unconsciousness.

Seriously though, look at sleep objectively. If we weren't so used to it it would seem like the strangest sensation... Suddenly being unable to move, but extremely relaxed. Seeing things that are ridiculous and haunting and wonderful all at once, yet being unable to remember them. Seeing ones fantasies and ones fears materialized, never really knowing for sure if one has truly experienced what one sees.

This is the true face of the dream, the true state of affairs for those who slumber.

Deus' law

Deus' First law:
Simply thinking that one is prodigal negates the possibility.

Addendum to Deus' First law:
The exception to this is when the ability in question is either of charisma, or wealth.

Deus' Second law:
The wealthy and the charismatic eventually fall to the poor and the meek, for no other reason than they do not fear them.

Deus' Third law:
Fearing those which pose no apparent threat causes downfall in unto itself.

Deus' combined theorem:
If you're wise enough to understand the difference between normality and the exceptional, you have nothing to fear, except those that do not.

Ataraxic

Today, I would like to talk about one of my favorite conditions: Ataraxia.

I'd like to, but that's too much effort.

Instead, I'd like to talk about fat people. Not what you think, I'm sure.

Take your average media outlet, and look at the social disabilities shown. There will be successful sociopaths, and defects from slight malformation to total impairment. The blind, deaf and dumb are all shown, people in wheelchairs and people with learning disabilities. These are representations of minorities in society that are seen as worthy of protection, having ailments that they cannot change and which genuinely cause them pain that, given the chance, they could repair.

This has done great things for their welfare at large, normalizing the conditions and helping to make them accepted among their less... interesting peers. Fine, cool. Let them have that. I see little issue in trying to balance out the element of chance in society.

However, obesity and other extreme body mass conditions are shown right along side this. Spit as many reports and studies you want at me telling me that it can be glandular and it's sometimes genetic and whatever other excuses you can muster. Studies also show that Aspartame is perfectly safe, doesn't mean I buy it *also diet pop is gross*. Point being, you can choose not to be fat. It may be harder for some than others, but oh well. Life is hard some times. It's hard for me to sleep at night, doesn't mean I'm going to stand and watch it happen.

All I have to say to corroborate this view in terms of factual backing is this: The nation with the highest rate of obesity also, generally speaking, consumes a diet very similar to the diets of hunting tribes. Heavy in protein, fat, and with large servings. However, this society requires far from the hunters level of exercise along with the diet. In short: They eat like athletes but act like tribal elders. They consume more than they create, and much more than they need simply because they can.

That being said, another extreme sect, although a much smaller portion, are dangerously thin, underweight. This is just as bad. Seeing themselves awash in a sea of corpulence they strive to be the pristine opposition. Instead of heart attacks, difficulty breathing, and trouble fitting through the already over sized buildings and apparatuses society has fashioned, they have trouble keeping aloft for the day, avoiding illness, and generally keeping in one piece.

Point being, why should we continue to enable this activity, encourage it through accommodation. It's a poor, poor way to deal with anything, much less an issue primarily prevented due to body image and a sense of shame. You wouldn't tell a kleptomaniac it was acceptable because he couldn't help it, why tell it to a fat man.

I don't understand. Enlighten me, please.

I'd like to point out, to clarify, that I am far from an ideal athlete. In fact, I conform more to the nerdy desk jockey body type than anything, but I understand the difference between not perfect and not healthy, and so should the people in danger.

Haymaker

Like a reed in the wind, he swayed on the spot for what seemed like an eternity. His arms were heavy, and his eyes sore. He was so very, very tired. It seemed as if nothing would prevent his slow decent, nothing could stop him from tumbling down like the steadfast statues of so many failed dictators. There was only one way to go, a voice chattered to him, it sounded like a thousand hyenas laughing at his fortune. He knew he couldn't resist, he had barely hit the ground when he heard the ever soothing ring of the knockout bell.

Festival

I make no claims to be any form of bourgeois beyond my world view, yet it pains me to see other such neolithic intellectuals pouring over their bloated self image, speaking volumes of nothing but hot air over something they haven't the capacity or drive to appreciate.

When a man of at least meager intelligence goes to see a film, even an artistic piece such that independent films often strive to become, he first takes from the media an idea. He takes the meaning, or at the very least a feeling. When the overly pretentious and pompous elitists whom have no proper claim to their self imposed title of intellectual view such a piece, the first thing they take from it is the chance to tear at someone else's soul for the purpose of raising their own already inflated ego.

Do not take me for anything but an elitist myself, nor would I ever claim to be anything less than a horribly abrasive and adversarial individual in most such situations, but theres something simply devastating about hearing a middle aged white man, relatively well dressed, spurt out something as horribly vapid and trite as "While I did find the film extremely visceral, I wasn't scared. I don't get scared often."

However unintelligible this rant is compared to my usual prose, it had to be said, and I apologize for offending any discerning pallets. I try to save being extremely visceral for those whom it won't scare away.

Ism Ism Ism Ism

What if I wasn't meant to be a proliferator, but a protagonist protracting the peril of extinction through the destruction of our dear devilish ways and focusing on sustainable development of defamation as opposed to the breakneck breakdown of moral fabric culminating in the oft scorned web 2.0 culture, as a medium for global conjoining of nihilism and me-tooism that would eventually culminate in a savage outburst of repression nearly as ridiculously out of proportion as a Muslim holy man lifting his wife's skirt on the tram.

What if it's not the time to be powerful. What if the motto of the new world should be "simple is safe."
What if the habits of my hermitage aren't simply arbitrary, but a sign of a greater and deeper wisdom, seen mostly by myself and my compatriots as madness.

Well I say, madness? This is Urban spirituality, such as it is.

The secret of the streets

Ladies and gentlemen, I've cracked it. The code of the cement jungle, the sidewalk slang. I have finally found the beating heart of this urban sprawl, not in the pulsing bass of the club district, nor the armani shuffling of the business sector. Not in the paper parade of city hall, or the gentle humm of the power stations. The heart of it all is the market.

No where else can you see hipster and hippy, business man and bint rubbing elbows and clamoring for the same esoteric tidbits that we all thrive on. The dragon fruit pies and the chimichangas with that extra bit of changa. The folded wraps and the beer on tap, the care worn bags and a dress that drags, and all the little things you can't find anywhere else.

We are united by our need for the unique, for that which is chic yet timeless. Those rare few objects that permeate the bounds of the class structure and bring us all some measure of joy, and bring us together in the search for that last bit of humanity we all share.

The dull buzz of the crowd grows, syncs up, and creates a melody like no other. People speaking, shifting, singing and breathing all as one, yet each their own. This is the pulse of the city, the warm glow that circulates through every district and every home. This is where the city finds it heart, and breathes joy into the rest of it's quivering mass.

Thus is life.

Buckshot

A single drop of sweat seeking the Earth was the only motion for what felt like miles, the smoke seeming to have frozen in a grim polaroid of that time-shattering shot. I couldn't feel my legs. For that matter, I couldn't feel anything. It was the sort of paralyzing chill that you feel when you're late for your own wedding, but I'd just ruined my tux to boot. There was nothing on me, to be sure. He went down a good fifty yards ahead, but I felt dirty. I saw the stain on my hands. They say it gets easier, and I pray they are right, because next time it won't be a buck.

Nocturnal

So earlier today I was referred to as nocturnal.

I'm not really sure how I feel about that.

No, wait, I am. I like it. Gives me an air of sophistication beyond the irreverent and often snide bouts of sardonic quips. I mean, it can't really be a bad thing right? I live in a large city, my work schedule falls into the time most people spend decompressing from their day and getting ready to go out, so by the time my shift ends I'm on the tram headed towards whatever lair of debauchery and lewd conduct my mates chose to visit that evening.

I suppose what my point here is, why is it that people are most obviously alive at night, and still not known as nocturnal, but I myself, who lives, works, and plays in the dark am some form of special separate creature. It can't be that uncommon, living more at night than during the day.

Besides, it's not my fault your day star is trying to burn me to death. Hands up if you want to be exposed to a giant flaming ball with the ability to blind you for looking at it funny.

Like a Fox

Sometimes one must consider if brevity really is the soul of wit.

If I thought I had a soul, I may consider this to be an important question. Albeit, I am not quite pretentious enough to claim to take this quote at face value. The important point here is this; does brevity denote intelligence, or a dim wit?

I contend that being overly verbose is a cardinal sin in prose and in conversation, however much a sinner I am as such. However, speaking as if you were addressing toddlers will allow you only so broad an audience. No self respecting human being prefers to read the newspapers fifth grade drivel over the works of the great writers.

The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, but the needs of the few most certainly outwit the needs of the many.

It is simply a matter of sense. It becomes quite impossible to describe Plato's view on justice without having the capacity to read the Republic. It is quite heinous to expect a student of 12 to wrap their mind around Voltaire, but expecting that the masses will, for the most part, never surpass these elementary students is nothing less than an insult to polite society.

I'm afraid that soon enough brevity will become not simply the soul of wit, but the soul of society. I am only too glad that I have no need for such a soul.

Quiet Hours

Once in a while, an odd thing occurs to the man whom spends his days in solitary urbanization. The man who counts himself amongst a faceless throng in the heart of a concrete jungle will smile at his fellow man, the drunken rabble chanting at the top of their lungs. The proles screams reverberating off the massive testaments to architecture somehow humanizes the whole place. The random cheers and waves, the signs of familiarity amongst those you will never, in all likelihood, lay eyes upon again. The unity that is the rabble, even in a place where the chill glass swallows the skyline.

One can not help but smile at this simple thing, not for the joy of screaming aloud, or knowing that you've brought a smile to another, but because it reminds us how alike we all really are. Some of us work day and night to seem detached and superior, some of us work for just the opposite, but in the end, young or old, man or woman, alpha or beta, we all must yield to the most basic temptation of cracking a smile when a jubilant rabble strolls by, arm in arm, hand in hand, chanting and singing and breathing life into the cold downtown core.

They've said more through an old dance song than I ever could with prose. This brings a hint of happiness even to my often icy heart. Knowing all at once that all efforts towards a message are futile compared to a drunken crowds outburst, and that the message got through anyway.

Some people love to live life for themselves, others live to make others love themselves, but deep down, when the jubilations loose, and the barrier of polite society breaks down, we all become the joy and the sorrow. The hight of human interaction, the pinnacle of random encounters, the true human expression.

Suddenly it's not dog eat dog world, it's a pack of wolves howling at the moon.

Bluelight

I sparked a few times. It's true.

It happened to me, and it has happened to you.
It's not usually expected, and never comes when you want it.
The real trouble is deciding why it doesn't. Is it because you are too shy? Too overconfident? Too pushy, not pushy enough. Too tall, too short, too loud, too reserved. Too up or down.

No. I contend, at least for the sake of my own sanity, that it's because a real fit fits from start to end. There is no trading between love and hate, there is a constant mixture.

When something seems too good to be true, it is, and it won't be for long.
Point being, madness is all you get when trying to decipher the rules of attraction. One moment you may be perfectly fine in solitude, and then a lark flutters by that makes you wonder if your life could have meaning without it. Or perhaps you had the love, the lust, the enviable life, and lost it, and suddenly it seems like all you ever wanted was to be solitary as you are.

It's all relative, not for the greener grass, but for the lack of change. No matter how preferable a situation is, if it is constant, it is crushing.

Constant joy makes the real ups seem like downs, and constant loathing makes it seem as if things are at their peak anyway.

The trick is to change within the good. Change from one pleasant to another, one up to another. Be always gliding from one high to the next, knowing that in between during the spikes of down, you must only make them short lived to enjoy the ups all the more whilst remaining sane in your humility and humanity.

A complicated affair, and mostly, if not wholly, because I can't help but think that my sense of perfect is becoming easier and easier to map as time goes on without a spotting.

Late Shift

Twelve, the zeros staring back at me like flaming red eyes. this is my waking hour, when I get back from the drudge to start the next.
One, the beginning of the wee hours. I'll read a book, or curl up with a film, a lover, a friend.
Three forty-nine. No one else left about. I turn back inward, philosophy my solace for a time.
Five twenty, the dead of night, just before the early birds rise to the day. It;s been too silent, too still. I feel as if I'm going mad, as I turn to glare back at: the wretched clock. Thirty-four Eighty-three. There it is.

Lunacy has it's perks.

I for one choose to revel in it, to enjoy my time apart from sanity. I prefer to be the insane and incredulous in a world of rules and regulations followed more for traditions sake than any form of rationality. I prefer to dance and scream and kill as if in a drug fueled frenzy of the mind, careless of the time, for all to see.

I am the only winner in the arms race of the mind, I am the tear that slowly unwinds the tapestry that you've so carefully constructed for yourselves to live in, the loose string that will loose hell.

I am what you fear, and what you await with baited breath. I am your deepest desire, for I am freedom, and I am truth, and I am everything you wish you could be, but cannot for fear of losing the masks you maintain.

To quote a completely fictional yet supremely powerful character, "I have a sickness in the brain. I'm allowed to make no sense to you puny mortals, with your fully operational head-meat."

So this is what it has come to. The sick preaching the healthy. I can't wait.

Java Java Java Java Java

"You know something... I like my women like I like my liqueur..."

"Hard and draining on the wallet?"

"No, euphoric, social, and strong."

"Oh. I like my women like I like my coffee."

"Warm, energetic, and there to welcome you in the morning?"

"No, tweaky, scalding, and addictive."

"Dude... that's messed up."

Work is not a place to have a conversation.

Wake up at noon. The mind fails to comply with the body. Or was it the vice? Go back to sleep.

Wake up at two. Stretch, yawn, decide it's too comfortable to ruin it with pants.

Wake up at four. Stretch, yawn, close eyes and try to pick up where the dream left off.

Five after four. Fail at recalling dream. Reluctantly rise.

Shower, smile, joke with my friends, brush teeth, acquire pants.

Decide pants are for losers, acquire pajamas.

Twelve seconds later, someone decides to actually go somewhere. I'll join them, why not. Acquire pants again, whilst grumbling.

Adventure. Laugh. Smile, make a lewd comment about someone. Laugh again, remind myself to do something nice for them later to make up for it.

Come home, make something entirely unnecessary to eat. Eat too much. Become lethargic.

Enjoy it.

Contemplate getting rid of pants again.

Go to a meeting, or work, or some such thing, probably. Have fun, or don't.

Come home, let out a sigh of relief, and play. Play at the pub, at the House, or even at home. Just play.

Four. Everyone else has gone to bed. Sigh, and pick up a good book, or something worth thinking about.

Think too much.

Five. Meditate on life, love, and the universe at large.

Five after five. Nuts to that, keep reading or start stumbling.

Six. Have some interesting revelation, or even just find a new way to word an old thought. Write it down. Smile, laugh.

Sleep, perchance to dream.

Rinse.

Repeat.