(My Original Blog Post: http://ping.fm/5jxbX)
Four watchmen entered PaRDeS — Dr. Manhattan, Rorschach, Ozymandias, and Nite Owl. Dr. Manhattan looked too deeply and departed forever; Rorschach looked and went mad; Ozymandias destroyed the shoots; only Nite Owl entered in peace and departed in peace.
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Misdigestion
(My Original Blog Post: http://ping.fm/cN4Qv)
stomach cramps and weekly pains
try to find a shoeless joe
searching blindly in the rain
to the tules, this i know
touch the wretched as they fear
baseless hate and twisted wire
find the smile as otters leer
as we deftly pull out fire
insert here tab a slot b
do not ruffle up the shiv
if you live you cannot sea
i have nothing more to give
stomach cramps and weekly pains
try to find a shoeless joe
searching blindly in the rain
to the tules, this i know
touch the wretched as they fear
baseless hate and twisted wire
find the smile as otters leer
as we deftly pull out fire
insert here tab a slot b
do not ruffle up the shiv
if you live you cannot sea
i have nothing more to give
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
No good
(My Original Blog Post: http://ping.fm/f6t2a)
There are things that online forums and blogs are good for, but bitching isn't one of them. I've kind of gotten the impression over the years that you're pretty much never talking to a sympathetic audience when you write online, and there's very little besides limiting your audience to do about it. Even if you do, a douche or two will always slip through the filters. It's inevitable. So I generally don't write about anything too good or too bad online, because if you write about how well things are going, it's bound to sour, and if you write about how badly things are going, someone is bound to say something to make it worse. So I'm left either encoding my messages in metaphors or writing bland missives devoid of all context that might tell the next internet stalker too much about my life. I really do enjoy blogging, especially having developed the habit of it, but so many factors keep me away. In addition, journaling is awkward for me, as I can't write with a pen/pencil for more than a sentence or so without my hand cramping up. I suppose I'll continue this exercise for the sake of writing, but that doesn't really satisfy me.
There are things that online forums and blogs are good for, but bitching isn't one of them. I've kind of gotten the impression over the years that you're pretty much never talking to a sympathetic audience when you write online, and there's very little besides limiting your audience to do about it. Even if you do, a douche or two will always slip through the filters. It's inevitable. So I generally don't write about anything too good or too bad online, because if you write about how well things are going, it's bound to sour, and if you write about how badly things are going, someone is bound to say something to make it worse. So I'm left either encoding my messages in metaphors or writing bland missives devoid of all context that might tell the next internet stalker too much about my life. I really do enjoy blogging, especially having developed the habit of it, but so many factors keep me away. In addition, journaling is awkward for me, as I can't write with a pen/pencil for more than a sentence or so without my hand cramping up. I suppose I'll continue this exercise for the sake of writing, but that doesn't really satisfy me.
Monday, May 18, 2009
What was.
(My Original Blog Post: http://ping.fm/7jm9L)
As a child, I was full of faith. Not just faith in the religious sense, but faith in the people around me, and in the goodness of the world. I was devout in the way that many true believers are, following all of the social protocols, proselytizing constantly and often obnoxiously, and most of all repeating back everything taught to me. I desperately wanted to belong. And as time went on, I did come to belong. I sang with the worship team, mixed sound for the church band, and put out chairs for the audiences as we did street-preaching on Main Street. I lead the "Alive in Him" club at my high school for a time. I studied in Greek and Hebrew, analyzing verses word by word for a meaning that would move my fellow believers. I wrote sermons for effect, and practiced them under the tutelage of the pastors of our local church. I sometimes even did well enough that I moved people to tears. And in retrospect, I think I was mostly happy in that area of my life.
But there were problems. Privately, I was a deeply depressed individual for much of my high school career. The depth of emotion that allowed me to move others also let me peer deeply into an abyss for which I was not, at that time, prepared. More than dreaming, I had waking visions, and felt compelled to act out strange experiments. I would sit alone in my room and repeat the most hurtful things said to me by various people over and over again, annihilating all sense of self worth that I might have. I felt that my work was useless and that I wasn't helping anyone, that perhaps I was only doing it all to be seen, and to be liked for it. The self-recrimination became a constant buzz in my head, causing me to lose focus whenever I sang, or spoke in front of a crowd. Even when I was just helping out around the church, I could feel it. Not only that, but to add to the oddity of my life, my late grandfather passed on to me a small bible, which in the back had a chart of the numerical values of the letters of the Greek alphabet. Asking around about it got me some very strange looks. Soon it was time to prep for college, a church affiliated school in this case, and I just didn't feel it. I felt alienated from the rest of the church people I had grown accustomed to, but for the most part, knew no one else.
It was at that point that two things happened to me: 1) The girl I really liked utterly crushed me, and 2) I got into a car accident. The first was pretty pathetic really. I called her often and was typically desperate as only the virginal can be. She wasn't really interested in me, because I wasn't really an interesting person. I had been so wrapped up in fitting in, that all of the things that could have made me seem interesting were entirely buried beneath the template self I had built up. Still, it wasn't really a very nice thing to say... "Why are you laughing at me?" "Because I can." Nevertheless, it was probably as dramatic a moment as any angsty teenager could really hope to have happen to them, barring comparisons to movie moments or horrific abuse of some sort. I lost 20 or 30 pounds in a month, and ended up seeing a psychiatrist, who recommended Demian by Herman Hesse to me. The second was sudden and swift. I was messing with the radio in my truck while talking to a friend on a ramp between two freeways. I hit the edge of the curb and flipped my truck two or three times. Neither of us was hurt badly, although my friend did break his finger. After that nothing felt the same. The joy of going to church services and being around the people there was gone. I felt nothing, as though a limb had been cut off. I left in the middle of the first service I went to after the accident, went to the bathroom and just sat there until it ended. I couldn't stay any longer.
And I didn't. My parents had planned a month long trip to the East Coast, and I went with them, discovering as I went, that I was okay with being something different. Something broken, surely, but not bad. After the trip, I left home. I stayed with friends and wandered at intervals. I did not know where I was going, for the first time, and it felt good. My skills served me well. Gematria came to be more than just a curiosity to me, and the study of Hebrew is something I have continued. The vanity I feared is no longer a concern. I am now safely unpleasant to the eyes, and my voice chokes up around people I don't know. I don't think that Christianity failed me, nor that I was somehow lacking as a believer. I think I was awkward at everything I did, often self-sabotaging and conformist. I failed because I needed to know what was behind the curtains and the quickest way out is through the abject.
I don't remember why I was the person who would preach to anyone. I can't remember whether I was really happy or if it was just a delusion. I don't even remember what it feels like to be so self-assured. Aikeena used to talk about waking up a different person, and I knew what he meant, then and now. I learned not to trust people, because whenever I went into a group of new people, there were loads of history that I could sense, but not know until it was too late. The volatility that substance usage added to all my social situations later on made it imperative that I not extend trust to people even after years of knowing them. I learned that some people will hurt you because they can, not just by laughing at you, but with fists and knives and guns. I learned that our reality, despite the appearance of stability, is a weak and tinny song that can be silenced at any moment. I learned that peace and reason are not infinite commodities, but rare and sacred when they can be found. Most of all, I learned that having faith means continuing to try and build a better world out of the muck and mire in which we often find ourselves. It means knowing that you will not complete the work, but neither may you desist from it. It means that we rarely acknowledge through action how much we need each other, and yet it is together that we inherit our greatest strengths.
As a child, I was full of faith. Not just faith in the religious sense, but faith in the people around me, and in the goodness of the world. I was devout in the way that many true believers are, following all of the social protocols, proselytizing constantly and often obnoxiously, and most of all repeating back everything taught to me. I desperately wanted to belong. And as time went on, I did come to belong. I sang with the worship team, mixed sound for the church band, and put out chairs for the audiences as we did street-preaching on Main Street. I lead the "Alive in Him" club at my high school for a time. I studied in Greek and Hebrew, analyzing verses word by word for a meaning that would move my fellow believers. I wrote sermons for effect, and practiced them under the tutelage of the pastors of our local church. I sometimes even did well enough that I moved people to tears. And in retrospect, I think I was mostly happy in that area of my life.
But there were problems. Privately, I was a deeply depressed individual for much of my high school career. The depth of emotion that allowed me to move others also let me peer deeply into an abyss for which I was not, at that time, prepared. More than dreaming, I had waking visions, and felt compelled to act out strange experiments. I would sit alone in my room and repeat the most hurtful things said to me by various people over and over again, annihilating all sense of self worth that I might have. I felt that my work was useless and that I wasn't helping anyone, that perhaps I was only doing it all to be seen, and to be liked for it. The self-recrimination became a constant buzz in my head, causing me to lose focus whenever I sang, or spoke in front of a crowd. Even when I was just helping out around the church, I could feel it. Not only that, but to add to the oddity of my life, my late grandfather passed on to me a small bible, which in the back had a chart of the numerical values of the letters of the Greek alphabet. Asking around about it got me some very strange looks. Soon it was time to prep for college, a church affiliated school in this case, and I just didn't feel it. I felt alienated from the rest of the church people I had grown accustomed to, but for the most part, knew no one else.
It was at that point that two things happened to me: 1) The girl I really liked utterly crushed me, and 2) I got into a car accident. The first was pretty pathetic really. I called her often and was typically desperate as only the virginal can be. She wasn't really interested in me, because I wasn't really an interesting person. I had been so wrapped up in fitting in, that all of the things that could have made me seem interesting were entirely buried beneath the template self I had built up. Still, it wasn't really a very nice thing to say... "Why are you laughing at me?" "Because I can." Nevertheless, it was probably as dramatic a moment as any angsty teenager could really hope to have happen to them, barring comparisons to movie moments or horrific abuse of some sort. I lost 20 or 30 pounds in a month, and ended up seeing a psychiatrist, who recommended Demian by Herman Hesse to me. The second was sudden and swift. I was messing with the radio in my truck while talking to a friend on a ramp between two freeways. I hit the edge of the curb and flipped my truck two or three times. Neither of us was hurt badly, although my friend did break his finger. After that nothing felt the same. The joy of going to church services and being around the people there was gone. I felt nothing, as though a limb had been cut off. I left in the middle of the first service I went to after the accident, went to the bathroom and just sat there until it ended. I couldn't stay any longer.
And I didn't. My parents had planned a month long trip to the East Coast, and I went with them, discovering as I went, that I was okay with being something different. Something broken, surely, but not bad. After the trip, I left home. I stayed with friends and wandered at intervals. I did not know where I was going, for the first time, and it felt good. My skills served me well. Gematria came to be more than just a curiosity to me, and the study of Hebrew is something I have continued. The vanity I feared is no longer a concern. I am now safely unpleasant to the eyes, and my voice chokes up around people I don't know. I don't think that Christianity failed me, nor that I was somehow lacking as a believer. I think I was awkward at everything I did, often self-sabotaging and conformist. I failed because I needed to know what was behind the curtains and the quickest way out is through the abject.
I don't remember why I was the person who would preach to anyone. I can't remember whether I was really happy or if it was just a delusion. I don't even remember what it feels like to be so self-assured. Aikeena used to talk about waking up a different person, and I knew what he meant, then and now. I learned not to trust people, because whenever I went into a group of new people, there were loads of history that I could sense, but not know until it was too late. The volatility that substance usage added to all my social situations later on made it imperative that I not extend trust to people even after years of knowing them. I learned that some people will hurt you because they can, not just by laughing at you, but with fists and knives and guns. I learned that our reality, despite the appearance of stability, is a weak and tinny song that can be silenced at any moment. I learned that peace and reason are not infinite commodities, but rare and sacred when they can be found. Most of all, I learned that having faith means continuing to try and build a better world out of the muck and mire in which we often find ourselves. It means knowing that you will not complete the work, but neither may you desist from it. It means that we rarely acknowledge through action how much we need each other, and yet it is together that we inherit our greatest strengths.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. (Psalm 23:5)
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Safeiq (Soloveitchik's Cat)
(My Original Blog Post: http://ping.fm/cJCRc)
http://ping.fm/16YGX
This is important stuff. The architectural signaling that goes on in these scenarios may not be dreamt up from nowhere. I believe that the inspiration for these spaces actually exist in other planes. These realms of chaos are no less real than our own world, save for a certain inconsistency of law (law as in gravity, not law as in speed limits). They infect and infest arils within our own world, seeking to implant the seeds of chaos, so that our world's coherency can be broken apart. I have experienced this profound state of disconnection while wandering. To those used to our current state of interconnectedness, this isolation could be profoundly disturbing, perhaps even soul-crushing. However, it is important to realize that the various abilities and mental gifts that are classed as magic, are actually the product of these same chaotic realms. Our individual reactions to mundane agitators can produce remarkable insight and talent, but these alchemical reactions occur only rarely, only in the dark, outside the purview of peer review and analysis. Surveillance in these cases serves only to dissect the newborn before it has taken its first breath. Reproducible results are important, because they indicate a robust process, but important results are not always reproducible. There must be places of insecurity, in between the harsh sunlight of law, and the absolute darkness of chaos, where reality itself can breed new forms, think fresh thoughts, and find new life through those of us who live on the ontological bleeding edge.
http://ping.fm/16YGX
This is important stuff. The architectural signaling that goes on in these scenarios may not be dreamt up from nowhere. I believe that the inspiration for these spaces actually exist in other planes. These realms of chaos are no less real than our own world, save for a certain inconsistency of law (law as in gravity, not law as in speed limits). They infect and infest arils within our own world, seeking to implant the seeds of chaos, so that our world's coherency can be broken apart. I have experienced this profound state of disconnection while wandering. To those used to our current state of interconnectedness, this isolation could be profoundly disturbing, perhaps even soul-crushing. However, it is important to realize that the various abilities and mental gifts that are classed as magic, are actually the product of these same chaotic realms. Our individual reactions to mundane agitators can produce remarkable insight and talent, but these alchemical reactions occur only rarely, only in the dark, outside the purview of peer review and analysis. Surveillance in these cases serves only to dissect the newborn before it has taken its first breath. Reproducible results are important, because they indicate a robust process, but important results are not always reproducible. There must be places of insecurity, in between the harsh sunlight of law, and the absolute darkness of chaos, where reality itself can breed new forms, think fresh thoughts, and find new life through those of us who live on the ontological bleeding edge.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Torture-stravaganza
(My Original Blog Post: http://ping.fm/K6x0f)
"We will hurt you. And we are not sorry. But we do not do it to punish you. We do it to redeem you. Because afterward, you'll be a better person ... and because we love you. One day you'll thank us for it."
linkiez
And behold, the origin of waterboarding!
"We will hurt you. And we are not sorry. But we do not do it to punish you. We do it to redeem you. Because afterward, you'll be a better person ... and because we love you. One day you'll thank us for it."
linkiez
And behold, the origin of waterboarding!
Monday, April 20, 2009
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