Ramblings of a lunatic.

     She had a story that she liked to tell. It was about when she was working as a writer at some newspaper and she had missed a deadline. Her editor apparently unleashed hell upon her in a berating verbal assault. She always shared the anecdote as a teaching tool, stressing the importance of professionalism, meeting deadlines, and as an explanation why she would not accept late work. (Of course, unless you went to see her during office hours and pleaded your case. The work would often be accepted with the score slightly docked.)

     The story always resonated with me because when she told it one got the feeling that it was a terrible moment for her. Both her rhetoric and general body language would suggest this when she told it. (Mind you, I heard the story twice, almost identically told, in two separate semesters.) It was clearly one of those distasteful moments that stuck with a person and that a person would share in the hopes of saving some young persons from a similar horrible fate. But this isn’t why it would resonate with me. In fact, because my own experiences, although similar, indicated a completely opposite take away lesson than hers. 

     I was new to the ship and had just mucked up some piece of bureaucratic paperwork. This incident annoyed one of my leaders, who was probably tired and had innumerate reasons to be mad in general and not just mad at the mucking up of some document. The leader gave me a verbal whipping similar, I imagine, to what my professors had experienced by her editor. I left the space with my tail between my legs.

     Walking in the passageways of the ship I ran into one of my senior guys. He was an intelligent goofball and disliked all of the new sailors that had recently shown up. Despite his distaste for new people he stopped me and asked what was wrong. I told him about the paperwork and the screaming. I was expecting some sort of sympathy but instead all I got was laughter. He asked;

“Well are you hurt?” ...no

“Did you get fired?”... no

“You still going to get paid and get to go home at the end of the day?”... yes

“Then why are you sad? You still get paid, you have job security, no one hurt you, and you don’t have to stay late. If getting yelled at is the worst part of your job then you have a pretty good job.”

     He was absolutely right. I went from being bummed out to feeling absolutely silly. Silly I even let it get to me in the first place. That experience stuck with me my entire time in the Navy and it’s stuck with me ever since. I actually mentioned this to my professor during an office hours meeting. Told her my story and how I had a completely different take away than she did, despite the similarity in experience. She mentioned that maybe if she had had the kind of support structure I did, the mentoring from someone more senior than things would probably be different. I guess after she was yelled it she felt ostracized by her fellow employees. Everyone heard the yelling and when she left the office no one even so much as looked up from their desk at her as she made a shameful walk across the room and back to her desk. 

When we see the self as something you create something comes to mind. Understanding that time is a choice. And that some “choice-time” results in dividends and earn interest and some “choice-time” results in the forfeiture of future personhood. Any practiced hobby, art, reading, result in positive future dividends. Any mode of existence that requires zombie-like attention and uninteraction is a forfeiture of personhood. It’s that simple. THis could be extrapolated to extremes to show how wrong it is, that’s precisely what the novel “We” by Zamyatin demonstrates. Seeing time as a choice could cause one to over optimize and plan and thus become illogical, as it isn’t human. Take “time-choice” in stride, understand it as Basil understands beauty (in The Picture of Dorian Grey). Not over optimized and unhuman but totally taken by the beauty, childlike and ever present in the moment.

I have a real problem with congeniality, but I’ll get to that.

First let’s be clear about what we mean when we say “interesting.” This task is surprisingly difficult. We would get lost in a sea of “philosophical hang ups” if we tried to be exact. So I use a heuristic to carve out what it isn’t. A conversation about soup, is trivial. But a conversation about soup is agreeable and generally won’t turn heated. (Some volatile people will get bitchy about anything. No thickness to the skin. Fuck ‘em) Uninteresting is a category of these things and by contrast defines interesting. Uninteresting but congenial; weather, soup, and anything else a business school text book instructs to small chat about. (Sports)

The “spectacle” thrives on congenial. It only requires that a lot of people have a lot of interests that overlap without causing friction between members. This is why base/pointless/vacuous forms of communication/entertainment sell and proliferate. Compounded with the interconnected, 5 degrees removed, web of our global society. Sex sells exactly because it’s trivial. It’s effects have been known and can be summarized as follows 

“Guilty pleasures take the edge off reality And for a salary I'd probably do that shit sporadically”

 -A Tribe Called Quest, We The People  (Hiphop has some of the only prophets of the modern era)

The pieces were starting to fall together, for the young man was beginning to unravel those grandest mysteries from his childhood.

It was in small talk that he found the greatest lessons. A guy at the park had told him, “My brother went to see his doctor and the guy told him he was obese and needed to do something.”

The statement was made as a complaint. Uttered with the tone and context of discontent at the changing times. 

This was shining a light on two things; how everyone thought the times were changing and, secondly, it was illuminating doctor’s “shorthand” statements he had had growing up.

First, were the times changing? In most areas, absolutely. In some, not nearly enough. 

Maybe they shouldn’t beat around the bush. Doctors probably have been taught to be more direct. Yadda yadda, something about honest communication.

Ambiguity with patients can create confusion. Or it can miss it’s mark. As the young man was about to ponder.

Growing up he was both an athlete and a social drinker. Good times with good friends getting drunk. He often described high school as “living in an 80s movie.”

There are myriad injuries that runners often develop. So at 17 he thought nothing when he began to pass blood. But the problem lingered and worsened.

The boy sits in the room of a specialist with his mother. This is the 3rd doctor they’ve seen.

“I guess that’s why they always had my mom leave the room to question me. I thought it was weird but maybe it wasnt...” the young man thought.

“I mean, gay people exist, I never thought there was anything strange or queer about it.” He quietly laughed to himself as he was washing dishes and as a small snare drum and cymbal played tune in his head.

 It’s always a trip to watch those old 80s movies. It’s just incredible how much of the behavior would be considered “sex crimes” by today’s standards.

"Maybe times do change” he thought. “Then again, maybe we are trapped in our little loops. Inescapable. Conditioning is as much a part of self as anything.”

In his early twenties he was filled with despair. The hardest lessons we learn are the ones we need in order to battle inner demons, to clean out the closet skeletons of self.

The 17 year old boy is bent over an exam room chair, pants at his ankles, and with a 65 year old doctor knuckle deep in his anus. 

“It’s strange that they would let my mom stay during the exam but made her leave during the questioning” the young man’s internal narrative was incapable of stopping. Or the young man lacked the will to make it stop.

The first doctor he saw, the family practice doctor, was baffled. “You’ve been passing that much red blood? We’ll get you to a specialist and see what’s going on.”

The young man was now sweeping the floor. “Ought to have a clean home to come home to. I always like a clean home when I come home.”

The specialists always had his mother leave and they always started with the same questions, “Are you gay?” “Nope” “Have you been sleeping with men?” “Nope” “Have you been sticking stuff up there?” “Nope” “Well, let’s do some tests and see what we can find out, I’ll go grab your mother.” “Okay.”

The changing times were on the young man’s mind. “Doctors have to be more direct. Most people are just too dumb and misunderstand when the doctor tries to be friendly and cordial and beats around the bush.” He was now changing the sheets. A vacuum is positioned in the corner of the room, it was “on deck” as it were.

All the tests came back negative. It would be another 9 months before he discovers the cause of; the bleeding, the strange questioning, the need to develop empathy and forgiveness. 

He knew about population size, randomness, noise vs signal, and the infinite range of potentiality that man occupy. Still, none of that knowledge helped him cope. He was still left with the heavy baggage of “why me?” Which a proper understanding of randomness should have been able to combat. 

The house was spotless. The small puppy was licking his calves and following him around the house. The puppy knew only love and existed perpendicular to the young man. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. Asking me if I was gay was short hand. What the doctors all meant was “Hey, who is fucking you in the ass?” If only they had had the courage to be so bold. Maybe I could’ve, well, I don’t know, maybe it would’ve snapped in my head or something” he was thinking. He, of course, knew it would’ve made no difference. No amount of doctor boldness would have brought him into the light. He was thoroughly in the dark as to the extent of his misfortune. 

 “Doctors are more direct now because they have to be. Because ambiguity helps no one. It puts things at a stand still. Then people have to infer meaning for themselves. Have to be honest. Who knows how many years it would take to unravel some of their bullshit short hand? The guy at the park... his brother I mean, should be happy about the honesty. And we should be happy about changing times. Any little light of hope is still hope. No matter how small.” The young man had spent his entire morning in motion. A quick pace cleaning race against the clock. His girlfriend would be coming home soon. He was tying a belt to a closet hanging rod. He had checked it’s strength earlier in the AM.

Don't you hear the H-bomb's thunder Echo like the crack of doom? While they rend the skies asunder Fall-out makes the earth a tomb Do you want your homes to tumble Rise in smoke towards the sky? Will you let your cities crumble Will you see your children die?

Chorus: Men and women, stand together Do not heed the men of war Make your minds up now or never Ban the bomb for evermore

Tell the leaders of the nations Make the whole wide world take heed Poison from the radiations Strikes at every race and creed Must you put mankind in danger Murder folk in distant lands? Will you bring death to a stranger Have his blood upon your hands?

In the days of 2083 you’d see all kinds.

Thinkin’ minds.

In the days of 2083 you’d see all kinds.

Thinkin’ minds.

In the days of 2083 you’d see all kinds.

Thinkin’ minds who were tech-blind.

Contemplate and think and think and think with minds.

They’ve invented a new machine

Thinkin’ minds

They’ve invented a new machine

Thinkin’ minds

They’ve invented a new machine

Perfectiest little thing you ever seen

Obsolete our think our think our thinkin’ minds.

Makes 2^40 thoughts to my one

Thinkin’ minds

Makes 2^40 thoughts to my one

Thinkin’ minds

Makes 2^40 thoughts to my one

Makin’ thoughts it aint no fun

The two were sitting in the comfortable suburbs of an affluent city discussing matters of feeling and death.

“I feel nothing when I think about Death.” One said to the other.

This particular One had no lines in the sand. An “intellectual.” An empirical skeptic, only  ignorant to the even existence of such philosophy. He was filled with doubt about all. To describe this one in terms of belief systems would be impossible. So let’s make the petty case of describing him by his actions and place in the world. This One was a 30 year old college flunk-out, residing in his parent’s home, rent free. He had a heart three-times the size of his brain, and possessed an undepletable reserve of kindness/respect/love/sense of duty which he often conveniently forgot during ideological conversations. For rational arguments are not made with the heart.

The One continued, “When I think about Death I feel nothing. It’s inconsistent to try to understand not-existing from the position of existing. It inspires no strong feelings within me. I understand it. I never live under the false assumption or blind belief that I’m never going to die, so death has no power over me. I’ve accepted and understand it, especially from a neurological sense” 

The Other One, whom was impatiently listening (As this Other One often does), sat perplexed and annoyed. He had had this conversation before, or at least a similar. An old friend tried convincing him that pain wasn’t a feeling and with a hard blow to the gut proved this old friend wrong. That would have been too extreme a method to prove someone’s fear of death. Real-world stimulus is the strongest counter to ideological-babble.

“I’m terrified of Death” said the Other One. “I seriously have panic attacks when I try to put myself in my mind on my death bed.”

This Other One was a real piece of work. Always running from some imaginary problem that he hadn’t the time/patience/strength/perseverance to overcome. A dead-beat Dad and a total swindler. A joker and a thief. He had both a heart and a brain but intentionally used the wrong one in the wrong situation just to spite his future self. He wanted nothing to do with people/society and was becoming curious if he even felt Love anymore.

“It’s not that I live with a false assumption of immortality so much as when I truly spend the energy and try to imagine those final moments, the passing through, my brain, fully knowing existence as it does now, and as a creature with existence still, I feel overwhelmed with dread and anxiety” The Other One continued.

They should receive this on two conditions;

1. Require a certain amount of resources to be invested into the nation’s electric infrastructure. Require this to be in the form of renewable energy (Solar, wind, plankton, whatever) 

2. Require a certain amount to go into the development of public transportation. Like, city buses being owned/operated by Amazon. They can incorporate the transit into their distribution network/system. With self-driving buses you can make a profit (escorting individuals) while moving merchandise efficiently. 

But the greatest, and I mean greatest end, to Game of Thrones would be George dying before finishing the series. I’m not saying gets murdered or kills himself, but dies. I would have to imagine he understands the power of death. It’s evident in his writing, in the series itself, that he understands the power and role death play. The glory and tragedy all wrapped up into one. Percussive, the grand finale, the heart’s final hard and painful thump that is universally understood. 

Prosperity is so far removed from the cruel, uncaring & barbaric conditions under which we developed. Just as we know the necessity of having stress, of the destruction_as_rebuilding_better-characteristic of gyms and weight training, so it too must be that we have mechanisms within us that need turmoil. The problem with abundance and prosperity as a mindset is that it is so far removed from the natural order that it exists as an abstract state. Hollow. A series of platitudes without any feeling. Devoid of soul. 

*Note, why are we told/do we eat ~3 times a day? When would our ancestors have seen such abundance without periods of famine(or just winter)? When did we forget true beauty? To be humble, kind, sweet, in states of wealth and abundance is trivial. Having unending empathy, compassion, dignity, and love in states of suffering/starvation is true beauty. There was an Indian fellow that starved himself often and kept composed and even sincerely loving despite the harsh conditions (side note)----> The man is highly regarded.

Fast. You want to learn your true self. Fast. (Mandatory health disclaimer since people are actually following me now. Yadda Yadda legal jargon protecting me from being sued (sue mother nature if you ask me, she’s the one that made you mortal. original sin.)) Fast from words. Silence. Fast from thinking. Meditate. Fast from breakfast. Eating is metabolic noise, fasting is silence. 

We expend next to zero energy in acquiring/preparing our food. When would that have been the case previously? (Holy shit, I’m about to go on a rant about the tyranny of choice. Another time perhaps.) Drive to the store, have the groceries carried for you by aluminum chariot, a rubber mechanized belt propels the items forward effortlessly where they are rung up by someone else and placed in bags by another. The another then takes the bags and places them back into the aluminum chariot, etc. etc. (You know the rest you hedonist) You try to take all the bags in one trip, while pretending it is a display of immense strength and concentration, but really it’s because you are too lazy to walk back and make another trip. You fool only yourself.

*return to text

As a function of combinatorics (optionality (ability to maximize options, the divergent infinite potentiality)) it is probably necessary for both indulgence prosperity/deprivation. What I’m saying is, you can go further with both, and cannot know your true self with just half the picture.

Stay dissident, my fellow cosmopolitans. And remember, if the culture is broken, if it doesn’t work for you, than do not accept the culture. Even facetious, satirical acceptance is acceptance. 

Let’s get concrete about “if it doesn’t work for you.” The intended meaning of this is if the culture; coerces, conditions, or gains passive consent from agreeability/use of the system for personal gain then the “doesn’t work for you” applies.