Albino in the Storm

Posted: July 19th, 2014 | Author: | Filed under: aposiopesis | Tags: , | No Comments »

Realization: Money is for those lacking skill.

If money is the endgame, and said endgame being not a stellar performance or the work itself, then you misunderstood your Ayn Rand. People can steal money because it is not the end-all. Nobody can steal your work ethic. Nobody can take away your skill. Be an artist at what you do, no matter what it is. But if your life is nothing beyond collecting currencies, then you are not going nearly as far as you could.

People with money need people with skill to generate more money for the people with money. That is the world today.

So how are you placating the mess, placating the inheritors and the good old boys who pass on jobs to friends and family as opposed to those who could perform whatever task?

Throw bricks through church windows. I dare you. Plant pot seeds in the yard of your local constabulary. Stop voting, stop paying taxes. Have some respect for yourself, and for what you offer this shameless mudball of a home-world. If you have skills, and everyone does whether fostered or not, then use them to define yourself, to better yourself. And not to enrich well-to-do strangers. Let that lot just drown already. Nobody else will but it is bound to happen irregardless of public apathy.


Displaced and Confounded

Posted: July 12th, 2014 | Author: | Filed under: aposiopesis | Tags: , | No Comments »

The older I get, the more troubled I am by how eagerly the whole world seems in passive-aggressively enabling others to do wrong. To commit wrongs upon each other.

It feels more and more as though the whole world has accepted the death of Virtues.

I cannot turn a blind eye. I really would rather die on my feet than live on my knees. If we allow for any transgression, no matter how small, to be enacted on those around us then we simply have no right to claim heartache when the eye-stinging smoke blows our way. Taking a constant stand is no easy way to go about life though, obviously. If principles came easily and demanded no sacrifice then more people might exhibit them more freely. But the airs persist, that as long as the bad things happen to others and not ourselves, then we can drown them out as though they were little more than slightly unnerving beats from a passing car stereo.

I could drop the crusade. I could be an asshole like everybody else. I could take on the hand-in-hand mantles of “underpaid” and “over-worked”, happily accepting such slavery by dealing with an employer who openly screws over anyone and everyone for the sake of the almighty dollar, selling ill-conceived and over-priced goods and services to those who do not necessarily either need or want such things to begin with. I could pay my bills late like every other American, then make the weekly appearance at church for half-arsed redemption. I could use my meager pay to purchase a great many things which I in turn do not necessarily either want or need, thereby creating further opportunities for slavery. I could selfishly put the need to keep sustenance in my belly before the rights of others in knowing any degree of well-being of their own. I could exhaust myself in obscene working hours and conditions so that strangers with more money and resources will receive the larger portion of my own labours still. I could exhaust myself so badly that any life beyond the ageless pursuit of work would be the talk of idiots unaccustomed to the ways of the grown-up world. Best to keep dreams in the realm of unspoken personal inspiration, than to rock the boat and risk displeasure from these well-to-do strangers, regardless of the expense to those we actually know and profess to love.

I could do all of these things, but I have grown accustomed to my spine.

Memory is a fundamentally potent aspect of what we are. We are one and all guilty of idealizing the past, when all the logic in the world insists that times were always tough. But choosing to see the world in a limited view, choosing to see the people you meet through rose-colored lenses, choosing that the idealized past persists, does nothing to make our lives any easier or to contribute to the world around us in any sensible or healthy manner.

Religion breeds hatred by limiting inclusion. Industry breeds slavery by limiting independence. Government breeds ignorance by limiting access to information. All of Church, Business and State have been bonded into a singularly grotesque monstrosity, as though sewn together by some mad scientist, but instead by the pathos of Capitalism. In this world today, money means more than you, more than your enemies, more than your loved ones. Money means more than the love that Religion should create. Money means more than the freedom that Industry should ultimately pay out. Money means more than the chances to grow in safety that Government should provide. Failure to see these connections does not seem to be helping in our own lives, or helping to make the world anything better than a downward spiral gathering momentum and bodycount.

If we keep our personal dreams private, instead of acting upon them…if we allow the tribulations of our times to overpower and silence the happiness that we could and should ultimately achieve, then we are passive-aggressively allowing everyone else to be overpowered and silenced along the way of our life’s journey. No good has come from this, so why does the world insist on laziness in all matters short of empowering those already in power, those with categorically malicious intent?

If you give up control of your life, to whatever degree, then you have no right to complain over the natural effect to that cause. If we wait secretly for everyone in the world to learn from their own mistakes we will be waiting til our backs are broken from decades of servitude. Problems do not repair themselves.


Mantra Oh Mantra, Who’s Got a Mantra?

Posted: July 9th, 2014 | Author: | Filed under: aposiopesis | Tags: , | No Comments »

I do not exist to make money for others.

I do not exist to make money for others.

I do not exist to make money for others.

I do not exist to make money for others.

I do not exist to make money for others.

I do not exist to make money for others.

I do not exist to make money for others.

I do not exist to make money for others.

I do not exist to make money for others.

I do not exist to make money for others.

I do not exist to make money for others.

I do not exist to make money for others.

I do not exist to make money for others.

I do not exist to make money for others.

I do not exist to make money for others.

I do not exist to make money for others.

I do not exist to make money for others.

I do not exist to make money for others.

I do not exist to make money for others.

I do not exist to make money for others.

I do not exist to make money for others.

I do not exist to make money for others.

I do not exist to make money for others.


Eulogy for my Auschwitz

Posted: July 7th, 2014 | Author: | Filed under: aposiopesis | Tags: , | No Comments »

Today would be the anniversary of her murder.

She was the runt of her litter, all born on my 25th birthday a quintillion lifetimes ago. Her parents, owned(?) by my younger sister, were Hercules- a then year old farm cat from Springfield, and Aphrodite- a much older lady cat with shaggy black and white hairs beautifully proportioned and who’d suffered an irregular feminine cycle all her adult years, howling like a scorned toddler for days on end every other week yet who had somehow even over such a brief time trained all of her kits to wash themselves by hand from the water dish, for life. My sister was at the time in the hospital for what would prove to be her first bout of meningitis, so the duty of watering plants and checking in on the very prego kitty Aphy fell on my fragile shoulders. And I was so thankful for it.

Around a week after they were born in a closet stuffed with jackets and the like, I claimed the smallest of the five, whom I named Gabriel and Auschwitz.

Gabriel was the next to last, and was handsomely covered in black and white long-hairs like his mother. I named him such for the works of artist James O’Barr, who created the Crow. When O’Barr sold off the licensing rights to his character, his only two staples were reportedly that A) all stories deal in some manner of retribution, and B) that all stories entail an appearance of a kitty-cat named Gabriel. And sure enough, even years after the fact all stories pertaining to the Crow (now megalith) property whether comics, film or prose, involve some modicum of appearance of some Gabe or other.

Auschwitz I named at least initially for the color of her own calico fur. She was black and white like her madre, but also with (in the words of Tom Waits) “chimney red and Halloween orange” to the degree that as awkward as she generally appeared she more often than not looked as though she were more piles of ash than a cute little kitty.

I took them both in, tiny as they then were, although they’d hide behind my refrigerator for the first two weeks or so until I realized that playing any manner of piano-inclusive music would draw them out. We all quickly learned how to react to one another, with too many pleasant memories of the duo fur-balls perched on either arm of my green chair like adorable gargoyles despite my then-chain-smoking ways.

When they were roughly two months old, and by then just big enough so that I could no longer fit the both of them into one of my combat boots for an “awww” moment, I was forced to make a hard decision. Gabes had too much of his dad’s roots in him, progressing into some bizarre form of ninja/acrobat/hitman, to the point where he bullied his smaller sis away from both the feed dish and the litter box. When he permanently removed her right eyebrow, young as they were, I was compelled to give him away to a friend living deeper in the country than I was then. And for the next few years, it was just me and Ashvy.

She quickly unveiled the true meaning of the blasphemous name I’d given her. The conventional usage involves nothing but connotations of humanity at its absolute worst, but that little kitty cat gave me a different meaning for my own life: a reason to face each and every day, to get up and clean off and conquer the work-demons, to provide food for the both of us and a roof over our heads. She was the meaning of life incarnated for me, little thing. She honestly preferred store-brand generic Cheerios cereal to actual cat food. She was afraid of the dark, so that should I ever leave for work forgetting to leave a light on I would return guaranteed to her hiding under my bed. But she was not at all afraid of water, to the extent that she’d always hop in the shower with me to clean herself people-like, and that I had to train all guests to leave the toilet lid down lest she hop in for a private sponge bath. She loved thunderstorms, and whenever one would pass through our windows would be open and we’d both be watching out for hours on end, magnetized to the raw power of nature at its most exciting. She had so much character, shy as she was. But ever taking her outside and she was all fetal position in my arms, scared of the big old bad world.

My widdle fang, my lil bit, my puppy cat, my best friend of several years.

-

I cannot even bring myself to type out the details of how she died, back in ’08, but that it directly involved the Louisville police department, with her losing half her weight in less than a week and literally dying in my arms. I buried her with a thunderstorm growing all around, her little form wrapped in a Dr Seuss blanket and covered in a full pound of catnip, money be damned. I have never had a pet of my own since, though I have babysat here and there.

I miss my little friend. I miss waking to this tiny creature cleaning my whiskers. She had more heart, more humanity, than (easily) 99% of the people I have encountered in all my travels. I miss my one-time meaning for Life.


American Exceptionalism

Posted: July 3rd, 2014 | Author: | Filed under: aposiopesis | Tags: , | No Comments »

“Your celebration is a sham; your boasted liberty, an unholy license; your national greatness, swelling vanity; your sounds of rejoicing are empty and heartless; your denunciation of tyrants, brass fronted impudence; your shouts of liberty and equality, hollow mockery; your prayers and hymns, your sermons and thanksgivings, with all your religious parade and solemnity, are, to God, mere bombast, fraud, deception, impiety, and hypocrisy — a thin veil to cover up crimes which would disgrace a nation of savages. There is not a nation on the earth guilty of practices more shocking and bloody than are the people of the United States, at this very hour.”

- Frederick Douglas, July 4, 1852

We hear much today lauding and defending the benefits of job creators, of those masterminding the buying and selling of good and services. We beseech these men and women to bear the weight of tomorrow’s successes, to organize the citizenry into workforces capable of constructing and shipping the finest products in the world. I think this is all horse-shit.

The great majority of my own past employers were largely shallow little men and women, conniving and duplicitous, belittling and emasculating, and wholly dependent upon the works of those beneath them. They would pay late, and/or pay less than agreed, or even weasel out of payments for work rendered altogether. Should I do what I have always done, neither focusing on making friends or making enemies but instead on learning the duties and perfecting said duties, then I am seen as a threat to supervisors, as someone aiming to steal their own jobs. Co-workers in turn are encouraged by the cutthroat environment that is most places of employment today to view hard workers as competition, to see me as someone specifically trying to make them look bad simply for doing my best to get whatever job done efficiently and expediently.

But if you put the company first in all concerns, before any thought of individuality, then you are a company man, which is somehow an esteemed labeling. Yet the reality is that striving for genuine exceptionalism gets lambasted and attacked, whereas too many workers today are more than happy to ride the clock til the next payday. The employers are using the employees and the employees are using the employers. Evidently, the American dream is a fever dream; one of blatant sadomasochism.

And the ends of such companies, these products and services offered, how do they truly rate? If buying and selling these American-made things make us patriotic and proud, then why are over two-thirds of the population getting prescriptions for painkillers? How many millions of automobiles have been recalled due to faulty parts resulting in multiple customer deaths, and why do these companies get bailout monies on the taxpayers’ dime? If American ingenuity allows us to live in the “land of the free and home of the brave”, then why is the public being policed by its own military?

Americans today are ignorant and sheltered, more accepting of the booted heel at their collective throats provided the delirious bragging never stops, the begging for attention never stops, the next sexy television commercial with the dope theme-song never stops. We flunk out of schools, we collect STDs and accumulate criminal records and we march happily further and further into financial debt and ruin. Our idea of cooking is anything microwaveable. Our idea of art is a movie car chase leading up to gratuitous explosion. Our idea of love is a social networking like. Fulfillment to us today means getting a 12-pack of beer on the lonely bus-ride back from work to our meager apartments stuffed with baseball trading cards and superhero action figures and mismatched dinner plates.

If that’s exceptionalism, then I am a fucking GOD.