Monthly Archives: January 2011
As I have said, I am an atheist, meaning I have no religion. Doesn’t stop me from talking about them, though.
Some of you may have noticed that Egypt has gone ass-over-teakettle. The Egyptian government has shut down the Internet, and has detained Mohammed-El-Baradei, mostly known to you as a man in charge of the International Atomic Energy Agency, who works very hard to make sure that the allotted number of fool countries dumb enough to have them don’t make more or give them to other fool countries. He’s Egyptian, and thought to be the silent leader of the coup against Hosni Mubarak. I am happy about this; good riddance to Mr. Mubarak, who sure ain’t no Anwar Sadat.
Enough of this, I am probably missing details, and half of that is on purpose. My point is that a lot of Americans are running around scared as if Al-Qaeda itself was going to become a political party. This is utter nonsense, and there is no “Mr. Base” running that party if it existed.
Look. Islam just wants some peace and quiet. This may sound strange to some, but here’s an example of a conversation between a Muslim and his god:
Muslim: I would like to kill that man for looking at my daughter!
Allah: I will kill you for eternity if you even touch him.
Muslim: Perhaps I have overreacted. I am so glad you are a god of mercy right now. Thank you. I hope it is prayer time in the next hour. May I cry until then?
That’s it. Basically, if you have an impure thought and Allah knows about it, which he does, you go to hell unless you pray for mercy. He’s the Old Testament Jehovah, with a more refined sense of fairness. Allah warns; Jehovah, well, he prefers to just wreck things until he is happy. Brought to grand metaphor level, it probably explains a lot of ancient history. Here’s the Christians:
Christian: God told me to burn your town down.
God: I did no such thing.
Helpless Subjugate: Can we not live in peace together?
Christian: My god says you cannot be saved.
God: Come on now! This is how rumors start! Shut up!
Allah: I am going to kill this Christian for eternity.
Or, we can do this with the Jews too:
Jew: My temple! Says so right here!
Arab: See that thing in the basement? That was your temple.
Jew: I am destined to own it!
Arab: Don’t let me come back here and find that you messed with it, because my god will kill me if I let that happen. What will yours do to you?
Jew: Mine will bring about the end of the world!
Arab: Yeah. Well, mine will bring it back and then send me to hell anyway. You get heaven. I get hell. Who has more to lose here?
So, the point of all of this silly dialogue is that we misunderstand greatly the intentions of a man simply because we look at his religious faith. I have one job as an atheist-butt out of religious conversations. Instead, I am stuck here, making my own.
The wife reminded me that she doesn’t remember Roky, but usually I just jog her memory and she finds it. This is also for Funky Earth Jewelers, your source for lost marbles because you’ve fucking lost yours.
Sounds funny, eh? But you know, if you think about it a little, not believing in one God pretty much means you have to believe ideas about EVERYONE’S gods and all possible realities. This is as close as you can get to having to believe in just one, and it may be more of a burden because you get the privilege of wondering about all of them. Doubt invites everything into play, and atheists often long for answers but just find more reasons to tell a religious person that they are full of shit. I don’t do this on principle, and in little ways I leave open the possibility that some stories may be true-ish. As a skeptic, I have no choice but to even be skeptical about what I believe, because falsity is everywhere and you know you are wrong about something somewhere and that is how you know that you might be wrong even about things you consider to be highly unlikely.
Let’s face facts; nature is behaving in a way that stupid modern humans have not seen in a while. Everything we know is out the door at the moment, save for a few fundamentals. All we really do in reality is watch it happen, and in no way does that mean we know any more about reality than we did the day before.
Who knows? Language has confounded us more than it has freed us as regards contemplation. There is every reason to believe that perhaps what is being said is true even if it sounds stupid. We simply cannot know what the world was like before language and that is that. I can’t even imagine what say, Sumerian society sounded like because I bet it didn’t sound like this one. So, we have two ideas to consider; that we receive myth and what is absurd might be true, or we just say it’s a bunch of shit and move on. However, all languages are related to each other, and this may mean that we are giving some myths short shrift by completely finding them irrelevant. I’m not going to name any, because I would be making shit up. But as a ponderer, I have to wonder how life will be from now on. Which means, I don’t know what tomorrow looks like. That’s an unusual feeling, all of a sudden, to know the days and nights look different and there is no telling how things will proceed.
This means that at least as far as I am concerned, suddenly I am living in the present all of the time, utterly unsure of yesterday’s facts or tomorrow’s certainties. I have never felt so detached from what I know in my life. It is entirely possible that this has happened before in time, where you just had to start naming shit that didn’t make sense just so that your existence made sense. It has brought us to the mess we are in today, this mass acceptance of stupid shit that isn’t true. I have no choice to simply share it with myself and perhaps bounce it off this screen, thus limited to the possibility that I am only messing myself up by thinking this way.
Great, now I am confounding me. This is going great, I don’t even understand my own thinking. This is not something I am accustomed to. There’s something liberating in it, though, something that feels good almost all of the time. It’s like the universe and I have had an intervention and now I am getting all cosmic about the cosmos now, full of magical thinking and not minding so much. My medicine change is done, and everyone says I sound “great!”, that I sound “like myself” and yet here I am wondering about forever and if it is real.
Someone is going to have to decide soon whether or not I am getting better, but if I ask myself, I will say at least that I feel better, and this odd magical thinking is part of what comforts me. And typically, not knowing what is going on is NOT something I enjoy. There’s lots of bullshit out there from people in the self-improvement field or the therapy field that says all kinds of hog-dick about “flowing”, “accepting who you are”, etc. Yet others take up other kinds of established magical thinking, like fortunes and astrologies and visions and heaven knows whatever else that has been conjured up to make stupid people think the world or God actually gives a fuck about your little life, the one you think is so special which is unlikely as well.
My magical thinking, I try to keep at a tolerable level. It is more like a nagging feeling, like me wondering whether I locked the car or left the bathroom light on. It doesn’t press-it pushes. Ordinarily uncertainty can drive a person berserk in a short period of time, especially for someone like me who has never known its opposite and it hurt. Now, suddenly uncertainty is certain and I guess my brain is making the natural connections to ensure that I can do the math to make “up” look like “down” and say that it’s OK.
What are we doing here? What am I doing here? Why am I here? The old questions have returned, although in a form I cannot define anymore.
I just got done reading some hired geek that shills for whoever it is that thinks repealing healthcare reform is a good idea.
These shills are invariably the ones who already have some, and I hope you lose it and do some-soul searching as to why YOU thought it would be a good idea to think it was OK to let someone lose theirs by pricing them out. Some of you walk among other people and shill every day for this political policy like it was your idea. I will never understand you.
He calls Nina Burleigh, who is so brilliant she is halfway behind brilliant, a “liberal” feminist.
What is that? What is this language? What is liberal feminism?
Well, it’s just a term, this liberal thing. A term that unfortunately entered the lexicon as one thing and then re-emerged as something it is not. You’re an idiot if I have to explain this.
Feminism is radical. Oh, you probably think that’s a bad word too, don’t you? I hope your life is as bland as I think it is.
But I don’t understand throwing “liberal” on top of a word that ain’t political. There is no such thing as “conservative feminism”, this is what is known as a “contradiction in terms”, and that means those two words make as much sense together as the words “smart conservative”. In both cases, there is no such thing. Some of you conservatives are just bright enough to get yourself in trouble, and I can relate to this, but only when I am not being smart enough to not get in trouble. This almost never happens in my own house, because I live with an extraordinarily powerful wife who doesn’t act like she is one. I’m always wrong here even if I am right, and that’s probably for the best. I figure it’s how I get to stay. Game over.
I’m a feminist too, you see. This means that I am supposed to understand what a woman is saying without questioning it. This isn’t fun. But, it’s what we like. Women wouldn’t have to come up with stupid words like “feminism” anyway if we could tell the difference between our earhole and our asshole so far as history and civil society go. But basically, even if men hadn’t decided that women were dangerous commodities, we would still have been the inferior sex. Women may be the weaker sex, but I think all good men know they are inherently superior. It doesn’t bear repeating, it’s elementary math.
I know for a fact that sleeping is more of a national pastime than it is a fucking somewhat good idea. Therefore, I try not to do it too often unless I know the world in my general area is right and proper and is happy with my presence. But it is not sometimes. This morning:
God-Damned Idiot: Honey, it’s getting too late to stay in bed.
Wife: I want to sleep. I feel terrible. Why are you doing this?
Idiot: I just want you to feel better and I don’t think lying here will help.
Wife: I don’t care. I’m hot. Get off of me. I don’t want that blanket.
Around about this point, I have to abandon reason and let nature mangle it. I’ll pay for disobeying later. I have learned at least this much, even if I have a persistent learning disability that is inherited from the contents of my underwear. But anyway, what I was trying to say before is that there is no such thing as a particular “stripe” of feminism. There are varying degrees of commitment to it, but there is no point in adding an extra qualifier to feminism. It’s like looking at a tree and saying “that is a very tree tree”.
We know you are excited by the tree. But you don’t need to be afraid of the tree by saying its name twice as if you were trying to let it know you were coming near it. Same generally goes for women, you can knock twice but you had better go away when she says go. Let’s do away with the notion that feminism belongs to someone. You are either a slob, or you are not. All women are feminists. You men, I ain’t so sure. I can’t even tell if half of you have your balls attached. However, I will make an attempt to be nice and explain this away by assuming someone else is holding them very tightly, and probably not in a fun way. Perhaps if you got your head out of your ass, it might help with your general condition.
Evidently, I am incorrect. There is a whole bunch of balderdash on the Internet today, and all it makes me think of is how nice it is outside. Metaphors abound, songs keep running through my head like cackling ghosts who just flew out of a closet and now they don’t leave.
All because people are freaking out about better days ahead. I have a few explanations, but that’s all I have. I am guessing here when I say this, but I think we simply have a spatial anomaly on our hands that is mucking with what the Earth usually likes to do. I have guessed so far that the poles of the earth have shifted, thus accounting for the weird way the night sky looks. I don’t have a big problem with it; it is unique and these eyes have never seen such a thing. Time magazine is thinking Betelgeuse is the culprit, and so far I have no reason to argue with them because extra gravity from a nearby star will definitely cause us to wobble a bit. But, essentially, the earth is still doing what it does, what is has been doing for a while, bouncing and wobbling underneath the forces that are around it.
I’ll be generous and call this a metaphor for a family. Your barking dogs, slinking cats, your utterly fascinating, frighteningly tuned-in and keyed-up children, your beguiling wife, and of course your sick mother and your weird dad, and all of the siblings you know doing something else because they are second children and that appears to be what second children do. I can only describe my own, because these are the only terms I am entitled to. You all have your own, and I am pleased with this. Unfortunately, there are strange stories everywhere, and people are reacting like their hair is on fire. That’s not a good thing to do, because fire has a tendency to enjoy itself immensely when you do this.
I am used to being displeased with people when they run around like this. It’s like I almost want you to have a good day, for a change. Certain people will not get off so easily, and I deal with them when I have the time. But for now, all I have is sunshine, and I like it.
I’ll find out a way to upset someone, but it would appear that literally, the stars will not let me today. I feel like I am having some sort of a “birthday” hangover, when all I have is an actual one, to be quite honest. I’ve had plenty. I will probably make more, but sometimes hangovers will make you unable to do stuff. At 39, with two bad legs, a lost mind and a chip on my shoulder, I can’t argue with the way things are at this moment. Grrr.
Scary noises from this old man are a sign from him that you should go make someone else’s day. I hope I have made yours, whomever I have tangled with for good or bad today. In the unlikely event that this mood continues, I will return here with a full grouch on.
I must see you then. I’m sure something needs doing around here, because I am sure I am still the same God-Damned Idiot that I was yesterday and am most likely in trouble for something I am not aware of. That might be beguiling in and of itself. Bounce and wobble a little. That is how the game, whatever it may be, is played.
I want to be different, like everybody else I want to be like
I want to be just like all the different people
I have no further interest in being the same,
because I have seen difference all around,
and now I know that that’s what I want
I don’t want to blend in and be indistinguishable,
I want to be part of the different crowd,
and assert my individuality along with others
who are different like me
I don’t want to be identical to anyone or anything
I don’t even want to be identical to myself
I want to look in the mirror and wonder,
“who is that person? I’ve never seen that person before;
I’ve never seen anyone like that before.”
I want to call into question the very idea that
identity can be attached
I want to be a floating, shifting, ever changing persona:
Invisibility and obscurity,
detachment from the ego and all of it’s pursuits.
Unity is useless
Conformity is competitive and divisive and leads only to
stagnation and death.
If what I’m saying doesn’t make any sense,
that’s because sense cannot be made
It’s something that must be sensed
And I, for one, am incensed by all of this complacency
Why oppose war only when there’s a war?
Why defend the clinics only when they’re attacked?
Why are we always reactive?
Let’s activate something
Let’s fuck shit up
Whatever happened to revolution for the hell of it?
Whatever happened to protesting nothing in particular, just protesting
cause it’s Saturday and there’s nothing else to do?
(stolen from John S Hall, because he is right)
Everyone likes a newspaper. Wait, that’s not true because you are all too busy blabbering on the Internet to actually fucking do anything like learn, so now you have to come here so I can tell you to fuck off and read somewhere else.
It’s a strange thing to do for a blog, isn’t it? I have to sit here for fear that I might upset you. It’s my only good play, and I am not much in a sporting mood, and if I were, that sport would be hunting.
I don’t often talk to myself on this blog. If you have been paying attention, this blog is about you for a change.
This is what a newspaper is; a conglomeration of resources designed to inform you. It is not “your morning newspaper” that you go to the mailbox every day so you can get agitated about shit you won’t do anything to fix. Fuck you. It is your link to the outside world because you cannot drive everywhere at once to go see everything. Not only is that not a good thing to do because it’s a waste of fucking time and gasoline, it’s like asking to go to the Sun to see the moon. It is unnecessary, and it is why that gas sticker is freaking you out. It’s because YOU want to go everywhere except where you really are.
You are only trying to escape your own house because you are unsatisfied. That is as plain as I can make it. You think you own the road, and I know this because you are a bad driver, as I have noted before. You run all around and around and you get dizzy from the sight of everything. This is called not being not able to see, and you should take your fucking wish to go blind to an amusement park where that stupid shit belongs, because those are fun but the world is not your fucking amusement park. My house is not your playground, and neither is my road. I have been to too many places where death and destruction takes place all because someone graded a road into it.
I will be your newspaper, if you’d like. I spent a lot of time on Facebook and that was a good newspaper until I found out that there are no journalists on it, just the same assholes you’ve been friends with your whole life, and it comes as no surprise that you are an asshole. I know this because you go to reunions and say shit like “Oh, Meredith! You haven’t changed a bit!”
That is your problem. You don’t seem to change much, and you are still an asshole. I don’t have an explanation for this yet. I’ll find one for you soon. I think I can put my finger on bad parenting as the problem, but only you can figure that out. Everyone is a bad parent, because they are too busy doing other things that are probably a waste of time, like running around the world like you own it. No. You are renting. That is how nature works, she can make you and take you just like your sick mother.
So anyway, I dumped the Facebook yearbook and go to Huffington Post instead and I find you in there again, making assertions of fact in politics that you cannot prove because you don’t know what you are talking about. I hope I fucked up your day if I found you being stupid in there. I find you with plenty of interests, politically speaking. There are plenty of anti-social websites like Facebook that ask you what your interests are, and you, an asshole with no clue what reality is, put in a few. You probably get all frustrated that you don’t have enough space to get them in. This upsets you for some reason.
Well, all I can say, is that the problem with you is that you are not interesting, and that is why you scream at everybody, “these are my interests! I am interested in things. I am interesting because I am interested”.
No. You are only interested in your interests and that is why you are a moron and you will die wondering why everything turned out so bad.
You should have read your newspaper, because your family members are in the obituary. But you only look for people you are interested in, and that is why the newspaper is so bad. Eat your newspaper, it probably has some fiber you are most likely lacking.
You fall in a pool. At least that’s what I am told by what little I know about Greek myths. Some of you may have read them; that would be everyone seeing this, now wouldn’t it?
What you fucking people need to learn is that those books aren’t there for your fucking bathroom. Last I checked, I paid a fuck of a lot of money for books I barely read.
Which means I paid for that. I paid the price of not reading them quickly enough. That is how you fucking idiots got a B and not a C. I tire endlessly of people who bitch about shit they get and then they don’t use it. That is why you get a lousy poster on corkboard telling you it is Black History Month, and then you go to class having not talked for a month about it.As a former B student, I can tell you this is true. This thing they call “goal-setting” for your children is making them stupid, by the way. No parent reacts to a two. It is a number. That is not a grade. Grades get parental attention, and any of you who has come home with a D knows this. Your parents generally fuck your life up for two weeks straight if you dared to bring home that thing. I will address this later. Do NOT come here and tell me I do not have to use quotation marks; because you will hurt your poor little self when I send you YOUR quote without the extra apostrophe.
This is why recycling exists; to use something your dumb ass doesn’t know how to use. Any Boy Scout will remind you that he can start a fire with one match, some badass showoffs can do it with flint.
It is very late, and I am very tired. Hear me quickly: when you are tired, you make mistakes. If you catch one, see me, and I will explain it to you. I do not shy away from words easily, because I am addicted to them.
This can make you or me have a bad day with each other. I do not like to be mean. So, what I am saying before I finish this, is be nice. If you have been following this blog for a minute or two, you will find mistakes.
These are called “typographic errors”, which is fancy talk for “my keyboard fucking sucks and I would like to throw it out my kitchen window”.
I can figure out a way to end this story, though.
When you make a mistake, you say at the very least “excuse me”, or “my bad” or whatever the fuck stupid colloquial bullshit you call an argot you want to use, because quite frankly, you can’t fucking read, so that means that you cannot talk.
Well, whoever has pissed me off today, will talk soon, and it will not be here. You know why? Because I am not on Facebook, that is why. When you are famous on Facebook, you are generally nice to people.
When you are an asshole and a little shitbird on Facebook is when someone’s head comes up.
That is when mine comes up, and you will be the reason I am up so late to tell you that you suck.
The end…for now. Stories don’t end.
But if yours does, it will be your sick mother’s story to tell, and that is why you will not be able to sleep as I tell this story.
I have forgotten one person besides Gibson Haynes, wherever the hell he is, to mention who has made me loony with joy over the years.
I have not told you that Steve Albini, instead of ripping your ears off with a chainsaw, has gone into the business of ensuring that other people cannot hear. I admire this. You had better too. Like I said, do not make me come here and explain to you that you are an idiot. By now, you should know if you are one. If not…
You will. Steve is like me, he is an Italian asshole with patience. He held a guitar and really wanted to hit you with it sometimes.
Since I am not an artist but a music fan, it would be wrong of me to not mention that David Yow is doing something else besides writing music for assholes who don’t appreciate him. He retouches photos now.
Yes. The guy that invented the “Tight and Shiny”, he likes to fix photos.
You are lucky that he does this for a living. Because if he did not, his music would probably make your asshole hurt. Which is what Dave’s idea of fun is. I should know. I went to every show they played in the New York area, and I was at a show with nothing but my friends that NO ONE came to. Instead, dumb Jersey hicks were waiting to see Monster Magnet, because they are on drugs.
I have been kicked by David Yow several times. I have sung in his microphone while he crowd surfed, and I use that term loosely because basically, he fell on the crowd, which was his intent. It was up to the crowd to deal with him after that.
He even lent me a cigarette after a show, which is an interesting gesture, because usually the crowd is NOT Dave’s friend. Oh, they paid their ticket, they enjoyed the ride, but they forgot the circus act.
If you think I’m crazy…you ain’t left your house in 20 years.