I bitch a lot about my day job so here are some of the perks. I’m too shagged out to make it terribly witty or poetic but I’m trying damn it!
1) My feet are strong. I got buff feet yall. They conform to surface and balance all dance like as I carry 5 to 140 pounds of christmas cheer for 4 to 7 hours.
2) I laid down to sleep absolutely exhausted and drifted off deeply into my secondhand mattress to dream of playing billiards with Boris Johnson and Bernie Sanders. It was the most vivd thing in the world. I was in a futuristic megacity with my best friends and two mad lads one of whom parachuted with a union jack flag into a mini cooper. Felt like I knew both for years. Because fuck yeah. Serious no lie. This dream pretty much happened sans the parachute.
3) Beer is 9000+ times better.
4) You have a tangible result almost immideatly ready to gauge against your last best speed and accuracy.
5) When I lay down I am very aware of my calves and all my musculture. Sure this has just as much to do with my gym habits but I feel this intense vigor pulsing through me despite the exhaustion. Physical labor especially at UPS is basically paid functional strength training.
6) When you’re done you’re done.
7) It’s always interesting to see how much my body can overcome when I get home and decide to workout and write on top of all my daily responsibilities.
8) You appreciate how much work goes into making modern life possible. And do not have any illusions about economics and where produtivity origniates.
9) Food is instantly absorbed and allocated to the most efficient use.
10) Leprechauns whisper secrets in the dawn. If you don’t like them – just add coffee. They’ll be replaced by paranoia that makes you plan your life out to the T for the next twenty years as you learn to pickle and buy farmland in western Tennessee. \
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Not Just Zazz…but Pizzazz
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I will never cease to be baffled by the pride that a good chunk of humanity seems to take in submitting to preistcraft. By preistcraft I do not necessarily mean religion.
In this broadened definition I include many ideologies and yes…among them I dare include that shibboleth called ‘science.’
Now, I am not a fan of comparing science to religion. This being due to the fact that science is not religion. But there is a sort of popular notion of science that may as well be religion.
It is both pro and prescriptive. It has a metaphysic. It has an ethic. There are within its dogmas not only cosmological claims but outright prophecies.
This is not the science of Spinoza or Feynman. That is to say it is not science. It is whimsy and hubris systematized. That is to say religion.
It has priests and teachers of the law.
I do not even so much here begrudge authoritarianism as I lament sloth. For its profound mental laziness that causes so many otherwise rational people to utter the demure prayer:
“I am not a scientist.”
Well…so bloody what?
Do you not have access to books? Or to get less medieval… to the sodding internet?
Ah but you require special training. These mysteries must of course be properly understood.
Yes, and did you not spend at least twelve years of your life in the school system?
Alright… I get it…that institution is deteriorated and generally rots the mind. Fine, all well and good. I too am cynical about the supposedly unalloyed good of mandatory public schooling.
However…even the most barefoot, twelve-toed, slug snacking Appalachian scion surely understands that the beauty of science is in its inherent democracy. Or if you prefer Libertarianism.
How is it that the experts to which you submit your reason came to their knowledge? Was it through sorcery? Did they approach a shewstone and therein decipher the mind of the most high God?
Or did they apply the fairly simple mechanisms of the scientific method to expand and expound upon the current body of knowledge?
You tell me that you cannot do the same?
Or are you in a roundabout way asserting that I cannot do so. That I must flagellate myself. That I should toss my critical faculties into the purifying flames of inquisition. That I should shroud my brain in the same Catholic darkness that gives you the jollies?
Suppose all those mea culpas ever bleeding from your rosary are valid. That we are both at sea before the vast incomprehensibility of the universe. That we require the confessional booth. That we must submit to a higher power.
Fine.
But I have a question…
WHICH?
To which higher power should I surrender? I suspect that your answer will depend entirely on your political persuasion.
If you do not know the things of which you are speaking of. If they are so arcane and require so many years of academic pilgrimage to fathom…then how…in all sodding Christendom do you know whether you agree.
Would it not be simpler to just vomit Druidic litanies?
Or at least more cough than humble bragging…
If you have ceased to be able to work with the facts and theories thus far achieved and must now entirely lean upon the insights of the clergy. How…HOW…pray tell is this science? The thing whose chief strength is mutability. A strength nourished by diligent scrutiny.
I guess there’s really not much use in railing against this madness. It seems to be more of a drive than a philosophical position.
I doubt I’ll ever understand it.
I guess I just don’t have that kinky submissive streak that plagues such a large chunk of humanity.
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Still dwelling in hotels whilst the house undergoes repairs. Speaking of house the thing needs to have the roof swept, the back and front yard raked, months of dishes done, the carpets cleaned, and the owner whipped. (I’m the owner.)
There have been too many of those small inconveniences like not having hot water to do dishes. These combined with my work schedule and familial duties have given my inner excuse machine hyper fuel. My creativity and assets have suffered as a result.
Being between places is peculiarly infuriating.
I think my several months of stagnation are proof of the importance of having good regimens in place before your infrastructure begins to give you grief.
TL;DR but mommy I don’t wanna go to school.
On second thought I’ll probably just have a pint.
Shame me into action by giving me your hard-earned cash. The more alcohol I can afford the more effusive my fingers. Tipppitiy tappaty! Clikaty clakaty! This is not an encouragement of drinking. I am Russian and thus a professional. Please leave the drinking to me.
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So, I stumbled across the Shindo Renmei. An interesting group that sprang out of an interesting set of circumstances. It is a peculiarity in the truest sense of the word. Absolutely dependent on the specifics of its time and place.
That is the case with any bit of history.
So why study it?
The popular answer is so that we do not repeat it.
I see no reason to be contrarian. But I also see no reason for such narrow apologetics.
I think the main reason to study history is that it is a gold mine of catalysts and ideas. I think this is the main reason because it is so much more fertile. And also because the wise fear of repeating history is often hijacked by this or that pundit to cherry-pick examples that ‘prove’ why this or that is going to be catastrophic. Or more colloquially, “You’re just like a HitlerStalinTerrorist.”
I think it’s possible to extend this notion even further. This ‘mine’ is perhaps the ultimate case of art for arts sake. Art here being any endeavor including science and philosophy.
Art…or ‘well informed doodling’ should practiced precisely because practice begets art. There needs be no other reason. No harried seeking of supporting themes, or grants, or panty parting guitar solos but simply doing for doings sake.
So, I was just considering finishing a vlog and posting it. But, I realized it’s late and I have not been getting adequate rest. So, I asked myself: How good is this vlog going to be? Sure, I feel the creative juices surging RIGHT NOW but how much of that is fatigue induced illusion? I’ve already posted today and some distance and reflection would probably be a good idea…
Furthermore, don’t I know better? Haven’t I spent hours reading health blogs, books, and listening to podcasts about sleep?
Sure, there is that old writers trick of staying awake in order to slay inhibitions. But, as someone who also works a rather gruelling day job is that really wise?
And, finally I concluded. Hey, your goal is consistent content, consistent creative effort, and learning new things. That means you need to know when you have energy and when you have time. These things don’t very easily come to those who do things simply when inspiration strikes. Furthermore these things DEMAND sleep in order to be fully digested and utilized.
So, while there is the nagging desire to DO MORE RIGHT NOW to really MARATHON IT; there is also the sobering knowledge that doing more means you have to do it smarter.
As much as I like Tim Pool, and as much as my wry, post-regime, immigrant, cynicism relishes placing things in a harsh light; I can’t help but find the title comical.
I’ve read Nietzsche as all Goths must.
Also Sprach Douchethustra
His warnings about the rise of nihilism as religious doctrines crumble before empiricism and disenchantment, proved to be pretty accurate.
But he really wasn’t the first.
Every generation thinks that its successors are going to descend into anarchic hedonism. I think it’s a biological thing.
Organisms like homeostasis. Homeostasis means your heart beats. That’s kinda important to being alive which is basically the whole business of being an organism.
Organisms that can think, remember, and dream extend homeostasis beyond the autonomic nervous system and all the way out into metaphysic. As an organism ages it becomes more sensitive to change. There was a balance in youth, a balance inevitably disturbed by age. New ideas, customs, and new information, are the metaphysical equivelant of arythmia: not very fun, and certainly alarming.
But this philosophical bric-a-brac isn’t the point. Really, I just wanted to have a laugh at the notion of PURPOSE. It’s a profoundly American thing. When it’s capitalized that way.
Sort of like business, success, or entrepreneur. It’s big-tent revival bullshit.
I’ll tell you you who had a lot of purpose…the Reich. Those were some motivated motherfuckers.
If you’re tired of the constant Hitler comparisons that plague our media…Then I’ll give you a brief list of other folks who led The Purpose Driven Life.
The Crusaders
Isis
Uncle Joe From the Old Country (Stalin)
The Inquisition
Jim Jones
Kamikazes
Football Hooligans
Henry Kissinger
McNamara
Lucifer
Now, I’m sure that Mr. Pool isn’t just emptily pontificating about purpose for purposes sake. I haven’t watched the video because I have to go to bed and I’m just amusing myself by blogging my way through a glass of red wine. But I suspect that it’s a lament of the abdication of the sort of enlightenment principles and sense of life’s specialness that seems to have been enthused into the American ethos.
This is a valid concern. One that I think is ill-served by painting it in apocalyptic terms. So, here I am pontificating via a chuckle at the old, “kids these days.”
So, while some might find the fact that I’m going to listen to the Cure and jerk off nihilistic – nihilistic in exactly the sort of blase way that millenials are just so XYZ. I say hey….at least I’m not invading Poland.
6) If you run barefoot in the rain with a blonde idiot you’re likely going to have to justify the slaughter that you have done to the precious few hours God granted upon the good green earth. And Jehovah will grow stern.
7) Books are more sensible than conversations
8) Be gone
9) This glass is almost empty
10) The shift starts soon and the second wind’s kicked right on in
11) You’re absolutely shagged
12) The dog WILL shit the rug again
13) The stupid reproduce far more effeciently.
14) Nobody reads
15) The cheesecake is gone
16) Mother is dissapointed
17) Father died
18) No one wants your Johnson
19) Normally the fact that no one wants your Johnson would mean that you had incredible time and energy to create magnificent masterpieces. But you’ll just wank to e-bewbs and watch another Bill Hicks video as you have one less breath to give. God will not favor you on the day of reckoning.
20) You were born to love magic. But let’s face it you prefer instant macaroni.
2) There is no such thing as too much cheese cake.
3) Baby Boomers are entitled.
4) The west is doomed.
5) You’d better learn Chinese.
6) Ni Hao.
7) Redheads are sexy. Unless they are male. Isn’t that odd?
8) Coffee. Always more coffee. Right now.
9) I thought about deleting some of these because they could be twisted into something that they are not by disingenious trollops. But I am not going to delete them because the purpose of banter is to make it comfortable to have flexible conversations without the constraints of forced politesse.
10) The fact that I came up with that sentence in the span of five seconds means I get terribly bored very quickly. Please read more folks. It doesn’t have to be Dostoevsky just please read more. It’s hard to always talk about the weather…in monosyllables.
11) Yes, I do have self esteem. No it isn’t cocky. Unless you think cocky is sexy and you are a redhead. A redhead who isn’t male or Roseanne. You know what… I’m such a libidinous critter that Roesanne is fine.
12) Linux is better but old Bill is craftier.
13) You can never have just two glasses of wine you know.
14) Fourteen was Bach’s favorite number. I think. So cheers.
As with most things the dictionary definition is not what comes to mind. Rather it is associations. When we think of people being vulgar we imagine swearing, or sexy talk, or sacrilege.
Yet, when I look around. When I look around to see everybody and their grandmother dressing like they just raided the GAP then got their hair styled by a Bauhaus band; I feel that it’s something deeper.
Well, you shouldn’t judge people by their appearance. Short men, tall women, folks with big ol kazoo noses, and the Irish, these people get a pass. That is until adults unironically dress like a 90’s latchkey kid who stole his father’s whiskey. It’s even worse when they do it ironically.
Yes, when I look around and see this I begin to think that the problem is far deeper than the words and giggles that make WASPS and Yentas join hands in one great verklempt kvetch of a kaffeklatsch about the youth.
They will of course always miss the point. Yes, they’ll meander round the target. The destruction of the nuclear family, the lack of Jesus, Torah, or Allah, EDUCATION, gay frogs, etc. These are all certainly valid indicators and contributors but I think the problem is even deeper than the dictionary or vernacular expectation.
To be vulgar is to lack fine feelings.
Ah! I can already hear the vast Mongol hordes of eLibertarians, muttering darkly about feels and reals, as they sharpen their double-edged snark swords to teach me a thing or two about fortitude. Growing up in the burbs reading Ayn Rand is the epitome of boot strapped, barrel chested, Marlboro manhood I’d better tread carefully. Lest I be called a snowflake.
A Real Man working a Real Job
To be honest I am a snowflake. Or rather quite a lot of snowflakes. I am in fact an avalanche of acerbic, unabashedly elitist, classically authenticated disdain.
It’s the bloody boomers you see! And the millennials, and Gen X, THEY DID IT! Well, no that’s not it at all Doctor YouTubus Polemicus.
No, the problem lies in the fact that one can’t sit down to a listen to a bit of Bach without feeling pretentious. Where’s my Rush mixtape god damn it…I need to feel Earthy…no wait that’s classic rock….fuck ahh ok…thank god it’s Limp Bizkit…now I am one with the Volk.
I am honestly very eclectic in my own manners and styles. I do not begrudge appearance itself. If you want to be a corporate lumberjack, who plays ukulele, while day trading be my guest. But for Christs sake follow the patron saints of Yup and ‘Let it Be.’
The problem is enforcement. Don’t believe me? If you are male and over the age of 21 and dare. Dare! To put on some slacks and a button up for no other purpose than to go to a stroll or some casual (church included) function…well by god won’t you be the wanky oddball?
Put on a tie and by Jove what are you some sort of man!
Well..where’s your billions! Huh. You can’t possibly like dressing like an adult. You are lying to women… trying to intimidate manlets! You great bully. You great lie. You poser!Put on some plaid for the sake of all that is holy! We are at the mall getting lattes! Surely you didn’t forget to bring your wool cap?
Try to say any word containing more than three syllables and you’d better be ready to get psychoanalyzed by an impromptu Oprah panel. You’re so gauche!
– Monkey Suit – Uniform of the Incurably Toxic
No one would have an involved discussion without some darwinian ulterior motive. There is no such thing as passion, or understanding the words you read, and using them in conversation. No, you are being gauche and they would know – they after all went to college. These are the times when English majors in American universities are unfamiliar with Emerson you see. So wax that beard don’t wax poetic.
No, the current situation is something far worse than mob rule, far worse than the bovine bleating of the sheeple, it is the tyranny of malaise.
Malaise leads to atrophy. And you can’t write the next great American novel, be John Williams, or Louis C.K. if everyone’s eyes, ears, and wits have rotted clean off.
This article is an opinion piece of the sort I write as a kind of literary yoga where I stretch wordy ligaments so as to remain limber for more serious work. This is not an apologia for anything written above. Merely a reminder that the journal isn’t a one trick pony. Thanks so much for reading. Feel free to comment. I don’t bite unless you’re into it.
Verklempt? | mellow.mission.productions@gmail.com
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