Come into the den, here just you and me. Sit down little bear, I need to talk to you. I would try another way but you seem to never want to listen. But please hear me out.
I miss you. The house doesn't seem much of a home without you in it. I miss your laugh and your impetuousness. I liked having you around to share meals, chores, and talk. Even though, I hate to admit it, we haven't talked a lot lately. I could make excuses, but I miss you, and that's all that needs to be said.
I'm not sure how to take the direction you want your life to go. I can't say if it's good or bad. I don't even know if it is. It feels like you're making a mistake, but maybe that's just because you're not here, immediate and close, where if something goes wrong I can save you, fight for you, shield you from what happens.
Your place will never be gone. I want you to know that. You're always wanted. Yes, there will be conditions, but that only has to do with both our health. When it comes to my love, there is no conditions. I love you little bear and I feel the need to scoop you up like you were a little girl again, take you away from whatever bad things are happening in your soul, and cuddle you to my chest, knowing that I have the teeth and strength yet to rend apart any threat to your well being.
But I can't. And you don't want me to. And again, I don't know if that's good or bad. It feels bad because it's not what I would choose for you. But it's your choice. I hope you learn the lessons you so desperately want to learn.
I guess what I need to say is that freedom, the freedom we think is waiting just around the corner, is an illusion. True freedom requires that we care little for the world around us. And I can't see you doing that. You love too hard, and you love fiercely. And I am awed by this.
Please be safe. I'll always be here when you need or want me. Just ask.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
The insanity of 'war crimes.'
C'mon in and grab a snack. I'm not eating, my stomach is a bit wonky. Feel free to help yourselves though, I've got some yogurt pretzels.
So I was listening to The Current and the subject was Omar Khadar's return to Canada. And one of the folks they interviewed was a member of the group that assaulted the compound that Omar was in when he was 15. This member of the US military was very upset at Mr. Obama for sliding out Omar under cover of the weekend without a statement because, by his reckoning, Omar was a US prisoner who committed a war crime against the US and should be kept in a US institution. So the host asked a couple of questions, and got the background to how this young man was detained. The story essentially goes like this:
The military people came across this bunker and had identified it as an enemy compound. How they came to that conclusion was not provided. The US military then demanded the occupants of the compound come out. They waited 45 minutes, during which time, although this detail is hazy, women and children were let out of the compound. Because no one came out of the compound, the US military called in air strikes and blew the every loving fuck out of the building. They zipped so much firepower into that building that the only person found alive in the building was Omar Khadar. And when they did find him, he tossed a grenade, killing an American soldier, and then fired the pistol he had. When he was out of ammo he was captured.
When this soldier was asked about Omar's status as a child, the response was very strange. 'If he was a child he could have left with the women and children.' Therefore he's not a child. So ... wait. I'm not sure how this logic works. He is defined as a child soldier, he is therefore responsible to self-declare? Because ... children are known for logical and well planned thought. Especially those that have been indoctrinated by a family that felt the Americans were Imperialistic Oppressors who were there to commit unwarranted acts of violence, so they should defend themselves against such.
Maybe I'm being naive here. And that's totally possible, since I've never been a soldier nor participated in the activities of war. But ... you just blew the living fuck out of his home. If someone called air strikes against my home, killing everyone but me, and it was done by people I was told were there to commit acts of violence, I might defend myself with anything available as well. And how does that qualify Omar Khadar as a war criminal? Isn't it just actions of war? And how the hell does someone become a war criminal when they are doing exactly what the accusing nation is doing?
And there are so many other questions. I just don't understand this. The guy defended himself from an invading army and, despite being underage, was subjected to torture and detention. It sounds instead as if he is being a scapegoat for any and all aggressive actions taken against the US. Bizarre.
So I was listening to The Current and the subject was Omar Khadar's return to Canada. And one of the folks they interviewed was a member of the group that assaulted the compound that Omar was in when he was 15. This member of the US military was very upset at Mr. Obama for sliding out Omar under cover of the weekend without a statement because, by his reckoning, Omar was a US prisoner who committed a war crime against the US and should be kept in a US institution. So the host asked a couple of questions, and got the background to how this young man was detained. The story essentially goes like this:
The military people came across this bunker and had identified it as an enemy compound. How they came to that conclusion was not provided. The US military then demanded the occupants of the compound come out. They waited 45 minutes, during which time, although this detail is hazy, women and children were let out of the compound. Because no one came out of the compound, the US military called in air strikes and blew the every loving fuck out of the building. They zipped so much firepower into that building that the only person found alive in the building was Omar Khadar. And when they did find him, he tossed a grenade, killing an American soldier, and then fired the pistol he had. When he was out of ammo he was captured.
When this soldier was asked about Omar's status as a child, the response was very strange. 'If he was a child he could have left with the women and children.' Therefore he's not a child. So ... wait. I'm not sure how this logic works. He is defined as a child soldier, he is therefore responsible to self-declare? Because ... children are known for logical and well planned thought. Especially those that have been indoctrinated by a family that felt the Americans were Imperialistic Oppressors who were there to commit unwarranted acts of violence, so they should defend themselves against such.
Maybe I'm being naive here. And that's totally possible, since I've never been a soldier nor participated in the activities of war. But ... you just blew the living fuck out of his home. If someone called air strikes against my home, killing everyone but me, and it was done by people I was told were there to commit acts of violence, I might defend myself with anything available as well. And how does that qualify Omar Khadar as a war criminal? Isn't it just actions of war? And how the hell does someone become a war criminal when they are doing exactly what the accusing nation is doing?
And there are so many other questions. I just don't understand this. The guy defended himself from an invading army and, despite being underage, was subjected to torture and detention. It sounds instead as if he is being a scapegoat for any and all aggressive actions taken against the US. Bizarre.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
To those who have left behind childish things
Come on in. I know the den is a bit dusty from disuse, and I could make excuses, but I won't. There are some oranges to enjoy, grab a couple and pull up a patch of dirt.
A friend posted a picture on G+, and I've seen it before, in a couple different contexts. Each time I've seen it I've had a tear in my eye, and today, I saw it and admitted to my love why it touched me.
A friend posted a picture on G+, and I've seen it before, in a couple different contexts. Each time I've seen it I've had a tear in my eye, and today, I saw it and admitted to my love why it touched me.
Even just putting in the image, I feel the tears well up, my chest hitches, and I go blurry eyed. Like many people I know, sleep is not a friend. I've always played it off that I can sleep anywhere. I can do that because I'm always exhausted. Cuz that little boy, he is me.
I've had nightmares every single night for as long as I can remember. When I was young, around 8, they were so terrible, I would wake screaming, screeching, flailing. My mother, a woman who tried her best to deal with a precocious, terribly troubled and troubling child, did everything she could to help. Even brought in the church folks to bless the room, do anything. They said it was my Masters of the Universe quilt. I told them my nightmares went away after it was gone. I didn't want to lose anymore stuff.
I remember being so small and scared in bed. I had tons of stuffies lined up along the side, all silent sentinels set to scout any scourge to my slumber. I believed in them to keep me safe. I never had just the one teddy, I had at least five, and elephants, and monkeys. All arranged to watch over me.
They did their job. I never died of fright. They helped me internalize what was so frightening, and I forced my dreams under my own control. I wrested away from the night my terrors and dream lucidly now. Hundreds of dreams. I wake in the morning feeling I've walked miles, seen dozens of worlds, lived another week for each day. I wake tired and worn. Did when I was 8, I will when I am 80.
The nightmares have never stopped, and still I keep small things about to keep watch. Until recently I always knew Xuxa was there to keep me safe, now it's Pixie's job. It's my friends' job, who visit me in my mind as I attempt some form of rest.
But for those small, cheaply made, glassy eyed creatures. Those little soldiers in a nightly war. Those embodiments of my mother and family, and their love. What I miss is their assured victory. That 8 year old boy never died. They kept watch with their simple weapons hidden, to defend me as that lone bear does above. And I always knew I would wake up the next morning.
Leaving behind those childish things, I mourn for them, for the ability to know I will always wake up the next morning. Because I don't know that anymore. So to that end, I say thank you to those spirits that helped keep those little things on watch, those who maybe never attained the wish of one velveteen rabbit, but who, in their own ways lived to keep a frightened child safe.
I pray to the grandfathers to give me serenity of mind, that one day perhaps I will unlock the hidden parts of my brain to let loose its many demons.
I say thank you to those grandfathers for sending forth the guardians of my nights to keep at bay those demons, to help me keep the fight going.
I give honour to all those small things, much greater in my mind's eye now, that they have found their peace after so much battle.
Ho.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Another Shadow
Come on in. There is no food right now. Someone else will have to provide.
See that new shadow? The one that is lurking near the edges and growls at the others? That's Xuxa. She left us today. She was almost 16. And a runt. And so pretty. So very pretty. A calico who is best described as 3 lbs of cat and 30 lbs of hate, but limitless love for her family. She never gave up a lap to cuddle, she growled and hissed when she was mad. And she would talk for hours.
Later, I'll tell you stories. But right now. It's raw. So very raw. But my grandma gave her to me, and she's already gone south, so hopefully, she came around to show Xuxa to her new home. We all love you baby girl.
See that new shadow? The one that is lurking near the edges and growls at the others? That's Xuxa. She left us today. She was almost 16. And a runt. And so pretty. So very pretty. A calico who is best described as 3 lbs of cat and 30 lbs of hate, but limitless love for her family. She never gave up a lap to cuddle, she growled and hissed when she was mad. And she would talk for hours.
Later, I'll tell you stories. But right now. It's raw. So very raw. But my grandma gave her to me, and she's already gone south, so hopefully, she came around to show Xuxa to her new home. We all love you baby girl.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
The Friendzone
Come on in, we've got some pretzel bits, and a fine stir fry if you want something a bit more hearty. It's delicious. And udon noodles to boot!
So there is a meme. It is the friend zone. Shall I give you an example? Sure I will.
Now generally this refers to the state where two individuals are friends and one wishes to pursue a romantic relationship and the other doesn't want to ruin the friendship. As a further generalization this is one of those cases where a guy is nice to a girl, hoping she'll see his wonderful qualities and just kind of fall onto his dick. And well, to be quite honest, it doesn't exist except in the minds of those who feel somehow they've been 'wronged' by a female.
And there's all kinds of bullshit that goes along with this concept, y'know, guys see women date men who are bad for them, treat them like shit, and we know we treat them better, blah blah blah. And so we make excuses like 'It's because he has money,' or 'must have a big dick to be able to treat her like that.' Stupid shit. Hell I've ever heard a comedian years ago make a statement about how he had a girl who was a friend (This was pre-internet meme overload, hell there was really just usenet, telnet, and email as far as I could tell on the old intertubes) and she dated these horrible guys then complained to him. So he shouts at the audience, 'Here's my advice ladies. Want to stop dating assholes? Then date the guys you complain to about the assholes!'
And I get that. I've had a few instances where a girl I liked was my friend, didn't wanna ruin the friendship, so we never got physical and I watched her date guy after idiot guy. So I understand the HOW and all, what I don't understand is the obsession. The fawning. The fucking idiocy. And while there is a ton of shit I could go on and on about within this entire concept I want to focus on two specific points within the friendzone concept that piss me off and are a clear sign that maybe you as an individual aren't ready to date someone. And they are the reasons FOR being nice, and the inability to understand the dynamic of dating. So let's get this done.
First off, if the whole reason you're ever nice to a girl, any girl, or a specific girl, is to fuck them, then you're a tool. If your only ability to validate your actions is to rate your interactions with a person you're attracted to is through sex, my god man, grow the hell up. While the beginning of a relationship is indeed filled with all kinds of physicality, it is far from being the only thing.
Secondly, there is a great quote floating about all up in the intarwebs that goes 'The friendzone is bullshit, women are not machines where you insert nice coins and sex drops out.' This relates to the first point, because again, sex is not the be all end all. It's just one part. But also it relates to intent and obsession. If a girl is not interested, move on dude. There is no 'one' out there. Trust me on this, and while it is hard to believe as a teenager (Because this is mostly aimed at them) there will be others, lots and lots of others, all over the place. Just open your mind and perceptions up to it.
And really, let's be honest. When a girl is your friend, and let's say you actually do get the guts to make an actual attempt at romantic overtures and she says 'But I don't want to ruin the friendship,' it's really just a nice way to say 'I don't find you attractive in that way.' This is not you being unattractive. This is you being unattractive to THAT GIRL. Again, there are others. Hell, we're on a planet of roughly 7 billion people, and if you live in any decent sized urban area, there is easily hundreds of thousands of women who are there. Even if only a tenth of them find you attractive, that's still somewhere in the range of ten thousand or more. You'll find one, or more. Trust me. MOVE ON.
And this is about that dynamic. See, I teach writing. I teach how to make an effective argument. I teach how to get your point across. And one of the things I see in writing is someone will lay out a bunch of facts, then make a conclusion and won't explain the inter-relation. It's like walking up to someone who has food and saying 'Boy I sure am hungry...' and waiting for them to just hand you over food.
This dynamic is the same in regards to this friendzone bullshit. If you're doing nice things because you're interested and you've never once said to her 'I'm interested in you in a romantic way' then who's fault is it she doesn't see you that way? I mean, cut me loose here folks, but that sounds like it falls squarely on your own toolish head you half-wit. You're not a cute animal, who can get away with jumping playfully at a girl and expect her to lavish attention on you. Because well, one she's not going to date the damn dog or cat or whatever, and you she possibly could. IF and ONLY IF you get the damn thought into your brain to actually DO something about it. And don't be all like 'Let's go for coffee' or 'let's see a movie' and expect her to assume it's a date. Don't be a Leonard Hoffsteader. BE DIRECT. Say 'I want to go for coffee with you to explore the chances of us having a more intimate future.' And if she says no, well great! You now know you can redirect your energies elsewhere. Don't go all mopey and cry over the one girl, or 12 girls, or 100 girls that say no. They won't all say no.*
So guys, knock off this crap. Treat women like humans, not goals, or conquests, or anything else but a human being. Be assertive in your desires. Don't expect it just to 'happen' because it doesn't. And above all else, please please please stop obsessing over the ones who say no, or who want to be your friend but you want more. There's other options.
*Ok, they could all say no. You might be a repulsive chud with a terrible personality and the hygene of a monkey, flinging your feces all over the room. In which case, you have WAY bigger issues to deal with than the friendzone, and that's an entirely different post.
So there is a meme. It is the friend zone. Shall I give you an example? Sure I will.
Now generally this refers to the state where two individuals are friends and one wishes to pursue a romantic relationship and the other doesn't want to ruin the friendship. As a further generalization this is one of those cases where a guy is nice to a girl, hoping she'll see his wonderful qualities and just kind of fall onto his dick. And well, to be quite honest, it doesn't exist except in the minds of those who feel somehow they've been 'wronged' by a female.
And there's all kinds of bullshit that goes along with this concept, y'know, guys see women date men who are bad for them, treat them like shit, and we know we treat them better, blah blah blah. And so we make excuses like 'It's because he has money,' or 'must have a big dick to be able to treat her like that.' Stupid shit. Hell I've ever heard a comedian years ago make a statement about how he had a girl who was a friend (This was pre-internet meme overload, hell there was really just usenet, telnet, and email as far as I could tell on the old intertubes) and she dated these horrible guys then complained to him. So he shouts at the audience, 'Here's my advice ladies. Want to stop dating assholes? Then date the guys you complain to about the assholes!'
And I get that. I've had a few instances where a girl I liked was my friend, didn't wanna ruin the friendship, so we never got physical and I watched her date guy after idiot guy. So I understand the HOW and all, what I don't understand is the obsession. The fawning. The fucking idiocy. And while there is a ton of shit I could go on and on about within this entire concept I want to focus on two specific points within the friendzone concept that piss me off and are a clear sign that maybe you as an individual aren't ready to date someone. And they are the reasons FOR being nice, and the inability to understand the dynamic of dating. So let's get this done.
First off, if the whole reason you're ever nice to a girl, any girl, or a specific girl, is to fuck them, then you're a tool. If your only ability to validate your actions is to rate your interactions with a person you're attracted to is through sex, my god man, grow the hell up. While the beginning of a relationship is indeed filled with all kinds of physicality, it is far from being the only thing.
Secondly, there is a great quote floating about all up in the intarwebs that goes 'The friendzone is bullshit, women are not machines where you insert nice coins and sex drops out.' This relates to the first point, because again, sex is not the be all end all. It's just one part. But also it relates to intent and obsession. If a girl is not interested, move on dude. There is no 'one' out there. Trust me on this, and while it is hard to believe as a teenager (Because this is mostly aimed at them) there will be others, lots and lots of others, all over the place. Just open your mind and perceptions up to it.
And really, let's be honest. When a girl is your friend, and let's say you actually do get the guts to make an actual attempt at romantic overtures and she says 'But I don't want to ruin the friendship,' it's really just a nice way to say 'I don't find you attractive in that way.' This is not you being unattractive. This is you being unattractive to THAT GIRL. Again, there are others. Hell, we're on a planet of roughly 7 billion people, and if you live in any decent sized urban area, there is easily hundreds of thousands of women who are there. Even if only a tenth of them find you attractive, that's still somewhere in the range of ten thousand or more. You'll find one, or more. Trust me. MOVE ON.
And this is about that dynamic. See, I teach writing. I teach how to make an effective argument. I teach how to get your point across. And one of the things I see in writing is someone will lay out a bunch of facts, then make a conclusion and won't explain the inter-relation. It's like walking up to someone who has food and saying 'Boy I sure am hungry...' and waiting for them to just hand you over food.
This dynamic is the same in regards to this friendzone bullshit. If you're doing nice things because you're interested and you've never once said to her 'I'm interested in you in a romantic way' then who's fault is it she doesn't see you that way? I mean, cut me loose here folks, but that sounds like it falls squarely on your own toolish head you half-wit. You're not a cute animal, who can get away with jumping playfully at a girl and expect her to lavish attention on you. Because well, one she's not going to date the damn dog or cat or whatever, and you she possibly could. IF and ONLY IF you get the damn thought into your brain to actually DO something about it. And don't be all like 'Let's go for coffee' or 'let's see a movie' and expect her to assume it's a date. Don't be a Leonard Hoffsteader. BE DIRECT. Say 'I want to go for coffee with you to explore the chances of us having a more intimate future.' And if she says no, well great! You now know you can redirect your energies elsewhere. Don't go all mopey and cry over the one girl, or 12 girls, or 100 girls that say no. They won't all say no.*
So guys, knock off this crap. Treat women like humans, not goals, or conquests, or anything else but a human being. Be assertive in your desires. Don't expect it just to 'happen' because it doesn't. And above all else, please please please stop obsessing over the ones who say no, or who want to be your friend but you want more. There's other options.
*Ok, they could all say no. You might be a repulsive chud with a terrible personality and the hygene of a monkey, flinging your feces all over the room. In which case, you have WAY bigger issues to deal with than the friendzone, and that's an entirely different post.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Why poor people are poor.
Come on in and enjoy some ripple chips. I realize that's a terrible breakfast but sometimes I'm a terrible person. So y'know, balance.
So I've given this a lot of thought, and done a lot of research, and have lived very poor myself. Hell I'm still poor. And I've figured out the root cause of poverty. And I thought, since I've discovered this mind altering and possibly even society altering fact, I would share it with you all so perhaps we can all start benefiting from this knowledge.
Poor people are poor because they have no money.
I know, that's so weird right? to think that the only reason that poor people are poor is because they have no money is completely against everything we've been taught right? But it's true. Speaking as a poor person, and knowing a lot of poor people, and having really dug into this issue, I've discovered that it is nothing more than a lack of money that makes people poor.
We're taught that poor people are poor because they just don't know how to handle money. Really? I know for a fact that's fucking bullshit. My grandmother? She was poor, yet all the kids had food and clothing. No one went hungry. My mom? She was poor. I remember have a lot less than my friends as a kid but I don't remember ever needing for anything. Sure our 'night out' might be burgers from 7-11, but we never needed anything. I'm poor. Both my girls are fed and clothed, they get to participate in sports and cultural activities. They are fed the best quality of food I can afford. Y'know why? Because I know how to squeeze every last cent out of a dollar. Learned from the best. I get as much benefit from my dollar as is possible. So don't give me any crap about how poor people don't know how to handle money. I could give you about a million other examples of this but I think you get the point.
Add to this money management things such as our current 'boom' here in Rejayjay. My rent, over the past two years, has gone up by over 50% from when I first moved into my apartment. Every six months they've jacked the rent by as much as they could and it's not just here, it's everywhere doing it. So it's not just a matter of if I'm good with my money now or not, because I don't recall getting a 50% raise over the past two years to keep up with the cost of my rent. And I also know a lot of people in this same boat. So trust me when I say poor people ain't poor because they don't know how to handle their money. They do.
Well maybe it's because they're lazy right? I mean, I know we've all been taught that hard work and effort will eventually pay off and we'll all be rich. What a pile of fucking shit. A big steaming pile of crap is what that is. If it was based entirely off work, why don't I get paid about 80 bucks a minute for how hard I work. Forget the parenting part of the equation, but every day, all the time I can muster, I am reading, researching, writing, note taking, or teaching. I work my butt off and do I damn good job at the things I do. And half of what I do I don't even get paid for, in fact I'm paying for it, because it's related to my education. And don't get me started on how hard my grandmother worked. She worked every fucking day of her life, she worked hard too, that woman was a machine. There was no rainbow with a pot of gold at the end of it for her. She lived on a fixed income and was never rich. She never flew to Europe, she never saw the tropics, she never once stepped on a plane for all I can remember. But boy did she work. So I guess that lazy thing just can't be true.
It must be because they deserve it for some reason. They're drug addicts, or maybe they beat their kids, or maybe it's just because they're stupid, because only stupid people would be poor. Or they're crazy, yes, crazy. Well. I can't deny this one. Nope, I must deserve to be poor because I have had addiction issues. I've slapped a kid or two yep. I doubt it could be called abuse, but why not for the purposes of this exercise. And yes, I've been on anti-depressants and even ended up spending part of last summer enjoying the facilities at the General's psych ward. So I guess I deserve to be poor. Of course ... if you actually examine those issues, a lot of the reason people use drugs is to escape their miserable reality (usually due to mind crushing poverty), and abuse of children usually spouts from other issues, such as their own up bringing (where poverty was a big factor) and their lack of skills, or stress from not being able to pay bills, and I know my own depression can be set off by the realization that I can't afford where I live but I can't afford to move, what with having to have first and last months rent plus a damage deposit now and I can't save a dollar anywhere because there's always something that needs to be paid for and done and holy shit, what I wouldn't give to just not have to worry about this, where the fuck is that bottle of whiskey, and why do those kids always have to fight, I'ma slap the little bastards ... oops! I guess you see the point, hmm?
As far as the stories of people that abuse the system ... well fuck a duck, rich folks abuse the system too. How about we focus on stopping the folks who have ALL THE MONEY from fucking the rest of us over before we start fighting over the crumbs at the bottom when it comes to things like social safety nets, welfare, or employment insurance. How about we stop looking at poverty as a symptom and rather as the root cause of a lot of our issues. Poverty is a weapon that is used by our system, by our governments, by ourselves, to justify greed, abuse, and downright shitty behavior all around.
So the next time you start thinking about how poor people have it so good, what with all the social programs and not working, and how life is so good, I'd like you to figure out how to live on $1100 dollars a month when your rent is over $900 dollars, see how that works out for you, because last time I had to apply for assistance, between that and other benefits, that's what I received. That's hard fucking work folks.
So I've given this a lot of thought, and done a lot of research, and have lived very poor myself. Hell I'm still poor. And I've figured out the root cause of poverty. And I thought, since I've discovered this mind altering and possibly even society altering fact, I would share it with you all so perhaps we can all start benefiting from this knowledge.
Poor people are poor because they have no money.
I know, that's so weird right? to think that the only reason that poor people are poor is because they have no money is completely against everything we've been taught right? But it's true. Speaking as a poor person, and knowing a lot of poor people, and having really dug into this issue, I've discovered that it is nothing more than a lack of money that makes people poor.
We're taught that poor people are poor because they just don't know how to handle money. Really? I know for a fact that's fucking bullshit. My grandmother? She was poor, yet all the kids had food and clothing. No one went hungry. My mom? She was poor. I remember have a lot less than my friends as a kid but I don't remember ever needing for anything. Sure our 'night out' might be burgers from 7-11, but we never needed anything. I'm poor. Both my girls are fed and clothed, they get to participate in sports and cultural activities. They are fed the best quality of food I can afford. Y'know why? Because I know how to squeeze every last cent out of a dollar. Learned from the best. I get as much benefit from my dollar as is possible. So don't give me any crap about how poor people don't know how to handle money. I could give you about a million other examples of this but I think you get the point.
Add to this money management things such as our current 'boom' here in Rejayjay. My rent, over the past two years, has gone up by over 50% from when I first moved into my apartment. Every six months they've jacked the rent by as much as they could and it's not just here, it's everywhere doing it. So it's not just a matter of if I'm good with my money now or not, because I don't recall getting a 50% raise over the past two years to keep up with the cost of my rent. And I also know a lot of people in this same boat. So trust me when I say poor people ain't poor because they don't know how to handle their money. They do.
Well maybe it's because they're lazy right? I mean, I know we've all been taught that hard work and effort will eventually pay off and we'll all be rich. What a pile of fucking shit. A big steaming pile of crap is what that is. If it was based entirely off work, why don't I get paid about 80 bucks a minute for how hard I work. Forget the parenting part of the equation, but every day, all the time I can muster, I am reading, researching, writing, note taking, or teaching. I work my butt off and do I damn good job at the things I do. And half of what I do I don't even get paid for, in fact I'm paying for it, because it's related to my education. And don't get me started on how hard my grandmother worked. She worked every fucking day of her life, she worked hard too, that woman was a machine. There was no rainbow with a pot of gold at the end of it for her. She lived on a fixed income and was never rich. She never flew to Europe, she never saw the tropics, she never once stepped on a plane for all I can remember. But boy did she work. So I guess that lazy thing just can't be true.
It must be because they deserve it for some reason. They're drug addicts, or maybe they beat their kids, or maybe it's just because they're stupid, because only stupid people would be poor. Or they're crazy, yes, crazy. Well. I can't deny this one. Nope, I must deserve to be poor because I have had addiction issues. I've slapped a kid or two yep. I doubt it could be called abuse, but why not for the purposes of this exercise. And yes, I've been on anti-depressants and even ended up spending part of last summer enjoying the facilities at the General's psych ward. So I guess I deserve to be poor. Of course ... if you actually examine those issues, a lot of the reason people use drugs is to escape their miserable reality (usually due to mind crushing poverty), and abuse of children usually spouts from other issues, such as their own up bringing (where poverty was a big factor) and their lack of skills, or stress from not being able to pay bills, and I know my own depression can be set off by the realization that I can't afford where I live but I can't afford to move, what with having to have first and last months rent plus a damage deposit now and I can't save a dollar anywhere because there's always something that needs to be paid for and done and holy shit, what I wouldn't give to just not have to worry about this, where the fuck is that bottle of whiskey, and why do those kids always have to fight, I'ma slap the little bastards ... oops! I guess you see the point, hmm?
As far as the stories of people that abuse the system ... well fuck a duck, rich folks abuse the system too. How about we focus on stopping the folks who have ALL THE MONEY from fucking the rest of us over before we start fighting over the crumbs at the bottom when it comes to things like social safety nets, welfare, or employment insurance. How about we stop looking at poverty as a symptom and rather as the root cause of a lot of our issues. Poverty is a weapon that is used by our system, by our governments, by ourselves, to justify greed, abuse, and downright shitty behavior all around.
So the next time you start thinking about how poor people have it so good, what with all the social programs and not working, and how life is so good, I'd like you to figure out how to live on $1100 dollars a month when your rent is over $900 dollars, see how that works out for you, because last time I had to apply for assistance, between that and other benefits, that's what I received. That's hard fucking work folks.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
AWESOME
Come on in and grab a pew. Got me some ripple chips you can partake in. Or celery. I'ma eat the celery, I love the taste.
Last night rocked. We all went over to The Ringmaster's house and watched some UFC, and I felt it was a damn good card. Plus the company was awesome. Cenobyte was there, and so was Neo, and kidlets, and we all couldn't stop laughing with all the hilarious comments getting tossed about. Plus Ceno's eldest, The Captain, was wearing the coolest sweater that said Alcatraz Mental Ward Outpatient. Was so cool. And The Ringmaster's wife overfed us. So good. I feel all full this morning still. It's amazing.
But the best part was being able to debate politics with The Ringmaster afterwards and both of us disagree yet be able to express our ideas. And that's rare, and cool, and awesome. Because we all need to be able to discuss these things without getting upset at each other. There was no name calling, there was just expressing of ideas, which I do believe made both of us understand other perspectives, which is fantastic. And makes me all happy. So yah Ringmaster, you rock dude.
Last night rocked. We all went over to The Ringmaster's house and watched some UFC, and I felt it was a damn good card. Plus the company was awesome. Cenobyte was there, and so was Neo, and kidlets, and we all couldn't stop laughing with all the hilarious comments getting tossed about. Plus Ceno's eldest, The Captain, was wearing the coolest sweater that said Alcatraz Mental Ward Outpatient. Was so cool. And The Ringmaster's wife overfed us. So good. I feel all full this morning still. It's amazing.
But the best part was being able to debate politics with The Ringmaster afterwards and both of us disagree yet be able to express our ideas. And that's rare, and cool, and awesome. Because we all need to be able to discuss these things without getting upset at each other. There was no name calling, there was just expressing of ideas, which I do believe made both of us understand other perspectives, which is fantastic. And makes me all happy. So yah Ringmaster, you rock dude.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
This chick is pretty awesome
Come on in and enjoy some popcorn, grab a stump and watch the fire.
So a while back my buddy Ringmaster introduced me to a wonderful little song by the Oatmeal. Here it is.
So I looked up who the singer was. Sarah Donner. She's pretty freakin' awesome. Her voice is just incredible and she's a fantastic songwriter. She can even make a central pivot irrigation arm sound fun!
But this one is my favorite.
But the coolest thing is she runs a cat rescue home for abandoned cats and then gets them adopted out. She loves the kittehs! And she does a video Q&A thing called 'Ask a Cat Lady.' Check the link, everyone needs to listen to more songs about nipples.
I'ma buy all her stuff. And she's got some free songs available on her website, include the two I posted, PLUS you can get the motherfucking pterodactyl song free as an mp3 download from The Oatmeal!
So a while back my buddy Ringmaster introduced me to a wonderful little song by the Oatmeal. Here it is.
So I looked up who the singer was. Sarah Donner. She's pretty freakin' awesome. Her voice is just incredible and she's a fantastic songwriter. She can even make a central pivot irrigation arm sound fun!
But this one is my favorite.
But the coolest thing is she runs a cat rescue home for abandoned cats and then gets them adopted out. She loves the kittehs! And she does a video Q&A thing called 'Ask a Cat Lady.' Check the link, everyone needs to listen to more songs about nipples.
I'ma buy all her stuff. And she's got some free songs available on her website, include the two I posted, PLUS you can get the motherfucking pterodactyl song free as an mp3 download from The Oatmeal!
Friday, April 6, 2012
A dream for you all
Come on in and grab a seat. The rain might be turning to snow, and it might not be the beautiful long weekend we all want, but I was given a story last night, one I was told to share with everyone. And we've got some apples to munch on while we watch the smoke.
There were a couple who lived in the woods. They came from two different worlds so lived apart from those worlds. They ran happily through what they thought of as their home, oblivious to the rest of the world, happy in each other and lost in their joy of discovery.
One day they ran into some others who lived in the woods who were not very friendly. The young man fought with the strangers, first yelling, then wrestling. The young man pinned one of the strangers, and ran away with his mate. Since the fight was so grueling the young couple ran off deeper into the woods to avoid the strangers.
Unfortunately the young man felt bad for leaving, because the strangers seemed incredibly familiar. As the young couple ran away the young man started to remember his old life and the people who were there and how similar they were to his family from before his mate.
Another stranger, like both the young man and the strangers, yet different in his dress, found the young man and woman hiding in the woods and sternly scolded the young man, "How dare you run from your family. The are new to this place and wish to live like you but cannot yet. These are your relations and you can teach them to live here. You have forgotten who you are and how to act."
The young man was incredibly hurt by this and ran away from his mate and the strangely dressed man. He ran through the woods, trying to find the answer to his problems. He ran until he saw where the strangers lived. They were huddled in a tree, and the young man knew what to do.
He crawled into the roots where he started a fire at the base of the trunk, stoking it with his breath to get it hot enough to burn a hole through the middle of the tree. This way the smoke would be let out but heat would pass among the entire tree, keeping the people warm and with the glow of the fire within the tree.
While the young man did this, his mate tried to follow, and finally found her love. She crawled into the roots with him and noticed that the young man was changing, that the people living in the tree were changing and looked a lot like otters. She started to cry and crawled out again, encountering the strangely dressed man. "You took him away from me! I'm so different from his people they won't accept me! What should I do? Why would you do this to us!?"
The strangely dressed man tipped his cowboy hat and smiled, he then softly said, "You're right, they won't accept you. But they have accepted him. It's not their choice if you stay." He then walked away as the young woman crawled back into the roots of the tree.
There were a couple who lived in the woods. They came from two different worlds so lived apart from those worlds. They ran happily through what they thought of as their home, oblivious to the rest of the world, happy in each other and lost in their joy of discovery.
One day they ran into some others who lived in the woods who were not very friendly. The young man fought with the strangers, first yelling, then wrestling. The young man pinned one of the strangers, and ran away with his mate. Since the fight was so grueling the young couple ran off deeper into the woods to avoid the strangers.
Unfortunately the young man felt bad for leaving, because the strangers seemed incredibly familiar. As the young couple ran away the young man started to remember his old life and the people who were there and how similar they were to his family from before his mate.
Another stranger, like both the young man and the strangers, yet different in his dress, found the young man and woman hiding in the woods and sternly scolded the young man, "How dare you run from your family. The are new to this place and wish to live like you but cannot yet. These are your relations and you can teach them to live here. You have forgotten who you are and how to act."
The young man was incredibly hurt by this and ran away from his mate and the strangely dressed man. He ran through the woods, trying to find the answer to his problems. He ran until he saw where the strangers lived. They were huddled in a tree, and the young man knew what to do.
He crawled into the roots where he started a fire at the base of the trunk, stoking it with his breath to get it hot enough to burn a hole through the middle of the tree. This way the smoke would be let out but heat would pass among the entire tree, keeping the people warm and with the glow of the fire within the tree.
While the young man did this, his mate tried to follow, and finally found her love. She crawled into the roots with him and noticed that the young man was changing, that the people living in the tree were changing and looked a lot like otters. She started to cry and crawled out again, encountering the strangely dressed man. "You took him away from me! I'm so different from his people they won't accept me! What should I do? Why would you do this to us!?"
The strangely dressed man tipped his cowboy hat and smiled, he then softly said, "You're right, they won't accept you. But they have accepted him. It's not their choice if you stay." He then walked away as the young woman crawled back into the roots of the tree.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
The Little Crow Caws
Come on in. The lovely love has created a wonderful curried shrimp with some rice. Enjoy!
So I came home from work the other day to find the Little Crow reciting a poem to the lovely love and I thought I would immortalize it and share it. It's quite nice.
The eagle cries in the skies
From the lullabies
The eagle lullabies
The lullabies become sighs
While the eagle flies
The eagle lies beneath the cries
The cries lies the puppies
The eagle lies lies
And that's the end of the poem.
(Dictated to the Lovely Love by Little Crow - Age 6)
Now that's some talent!
So I came home from work the other day to find the Little Crow reciting a poem to the lovely love and I thought I would immortalize it and share it. It's quite nice.
The eagle cries in the skies
From the lullabies
The eagle lullabies
The lullabies become sighs
While the eagle flies
The eagle lies beneath the cries
The cries lies the puppies
The eagle lies lies
And that's the end of the poem.
(Dictated to the Lovely Love by Little Crow - Age 6)
Now that's some talent!
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Good White Folks
Hey, come on in. We've got some home made chicken and curry soup for ya. It's tasty and clears out your head.
So I've been experimenting with something. Y'see I've often heard the phrase, after someone makes what is essentially a racist remark, 'Oh but I don't mean you, you're one of the good Indians.' Or something to that effect. Well. I've decided to start pointing out when you're one of the good White Folks.
What do I mean by a good white folk? Well, if you show an actual understanding of racism in its various forms and understand concepts like white privilege, systemic racism, and cultural bias then you're one of the good white folks. My boss who I teach a class with is in on it too. I refer to her as one of the good white folks. I mean c'mon, she works for an Indian!
I want you to know I find this entire experiment endlessly amusing.
So I've been experimenting with something. Y'see I've often heard the phrase, after someone makes what is essentially a racist remark, 'Oh but I don't mean you, you're one of the good Indians.' Or something to that effect. Well. I've decided to start pointing out when you're one of the good White Folks.
What do I mean by a good white folk? Well, if you show an actual understanding of racism in its various forms and understand concepts like white privilege, systemic racism, and cultural bias then you're one of the good white folks. My boss who I teach a class with is in on it too. I refer to her as one of the good white folks. I mean c'mon, she works for an Indian!
I want you to know I find this entire experiment endlessly amusing.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
What makes a person beautiful
Come on in. The gorgeous girlfriend made a chicken. A farm fresh chicken! Her parents gave it to us over the holidays. Her parents are very cool. But that's not what I want to write about.
Today was a strange day for me. A lot of people around me expressed some serious and mind altering pain to me today. Seems like everyone is having a bad go at things recently. It made me think and feel and of course it made me realize something. The realization is neat too because it happened due to a combination of things, including something I said. Occasionally I can be profound.
See we started teaching short stories in the class I help out with. And me and m'boss were laying out what makes a short story something special in literature. And I said 'It is the one piece of writing that is so close to the reality of our lives. It offers a brief glimpse, a snapshot, one moment of limited perspective. It's how we are presented with life and in that way it best represents who we are as people.'
And once everyone around me had expressed their pain to me, it became a little seed that started to grow in my mind. And I had a talk with said gorgeous and wonderful girlfriend which got me to actually express what my mind was brewing on.
Like my enjoyment of other people's annoying habits, the weird little peccadilloes that might set other people's annoyance factor up, I find it is not the great things people do that I admire. Because really, every single person I know who has done something great, that skill, that drive came from choice and hard work. These things are still impressive but it's nothing I find exceptional. Everyone is capable of it.
No, what makes someone beautiful is the way they handle the pain involved with living. The difficulties, the trials, the failures. How someone can still stand, still smile, still love and laugh, enjoy life, even when something is occurring that causes them exceptional pain. That makes a person beautiful.
In essence, it is our scars, our physical and emotional wounds, that make people beautiful to me. My lovely love broke her arm as a youth and almost died from it, and now she carries a metal plate and a six inch long and half inch wide scar on her left bicep. I love to touch it, run my fingers lightly along it. It's proof she is meant to be where she is. It is a sign of her own fortitude and beauty that even with something as large and disfiguring as this scar she is still so gorgeous, so attractive, so wonderful.
So to you my beautiful readers I offer this thought to you. Are you beautiful? I think that even at our worst, when we've done the most horrific things possible, we are still a reflection of the totality of existence and therefore wonderful to behold and worth all the effort and love that can be used to help heal those wounds. So that we might recall the scars later as a point of loveliness.
Today was a strange day for me. A lot of people around me expressed some serious and mind altering pain to me today. Seems like everyone is having a bad go at things recently. It made me think and feel and of course it made me realize something. The realization is neat too because it happened due to a combination of things, including something I said. Occasionally I can be profound.
See we started teaching short stories in the class I help out with. And me and m'boss were laying out what makes a short story something special in literature. And I said 'It is the one piece of writing that is so close to the reality of our lives. It offers a brief glimpse, a snapshot, one moment of limited perspective. It's how we are presented with life and in that way it best represents who we are as people.'
And once everyone around me had expressed their pain to me, it became a little seed that started to grow in my mind. And I had a talk with said gorgeous and wonderful girlfriend which got me to actually express what my mind was brewing on.
Like my enjoyment of other people's annoying habits, the weird little peccadilloes that might set other people's annoyance factor up, I find it is not the great things people do that I admire. Because really, every single person I know who has done something great, that skill, that drive came from choice and hard work. These things are still impressive but it's nothing I find exceptional. Everyone is capable of it.
No, what makes someone beautiful is the way they handle the pain involved with living. The difficulties, the trials, the failures. How someone can still stand, still smile, still love and laugh, enjoy life, even when something is occurring that causes them exceptional pain. That makes a person beautiful.
In essence, it is our scars, our physical and emotional wounds, that make people beautiful to me. My lovely love broke her arm as a youth and almost died from it, and now she carries a metal plate and a six inch long and half inch wide scar on her left bicep. I love to touch it, run my fingers lightly along it. It's proof she is meant to be where she is. It is a sign of her own fortitude and beauty that even with something as large and disfiguring as this scar she is still so gorgeous, so attractive, so wonderful.
So to you my beautiful readers I offer this thought to you. Are you beautiful? I think that even at our worst, when we've done the most horrific things possible, we are still a reflection of the totality of existence and therefore wonderful to behold and worth all the effort and love that can be used to help heal those wounds. So that we might recall the scars later as a point of loveliness.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Why TV Sucks
Come on in, I made this great baked pasta dish that is fucking brilliant! Everyone enjoyed. There's like ... five of us in the house right now, three adults and two teenagers and everyone enjoyed. So you get some too!
So I spent most of today ranting about bad TV. Bad writing, bad premises (premisi?) and just stupid fucking stereotypes. Seriously, this one chick basically went on a rant about how it's no big deal she had doubts about marrying this guy and went to ask her ex if he still loved her because she's the one who always messes up and he knew that, so it's alright and he's the asshole for hooking up with his ex when she dumped his ass brutally a few months back. WTF?! Really? Fuck you, you stupid cunt.
But most TV, and most movies, are this stupid. I can't stand them. And when there is an intelligent show it either doesn't get pushed enough or confuses people and no one watches except the intelligent folks and they get canceled and then I only get to watch reruns or on netflix and watch them over and over and over again because they make me happy and laugh. Like Better Off Ted. Watch that shit. Or else.
On a completely unrelated topic, I love leeks. I like cooking with'um, I like eatin'um, and I love the name cuz it's what I do with my penis. Although I don't think about that while I'm cooking with them. That would be kinda gross. That's part of why the baked pasta was so good. Enjoy!!
But seriously, TV, why does it have to suck so bad? And then someone said something that made me go 'Well now we're fucked.' Someone said 'I watch TV not to think.' Damnit, why?! Thinking is important! It's part of the fun of the human brain. We think some random fucked up thoughts that are rather entertaining, like putting a baby in a fish tank and taking a picture and then posting it on effbook so I can be disturbed and amused. (On a side note, are thalidomide babies in SCUBA gear jokes in poor taste?) So people, stop watching TV to not think. For fucks sake people: THINK!!!
So to summarize:
1) TV and movies suck because people want mindless entertainment and this is wrong
2) Thinking is good
3) Coyote will make bad jokes about everything!
4) I'm an awesome cook.
Oh and my girlfriend is awesome too. But that's an entirely different thing.
So I spent most of today ranting about bad TV. Bad writing, bad premises (premisi?) and just stupid fucking stereotypes. Seriously, this one chick basically went on a rant about how it's no big deal she had doubts about marrying this guy and went to ask her ex if he still loved her because she's the one who always messes up and he knew that, so it's alright and he's the asshole for hooking up with his ex when she dumped his ass brutally a few months back. WTF?! Really? Fuck you, you stupid cunt.
But most TV, and most movies, are this stupid. I can't stand them. And when there is an intelligent show it either doesn't get pushed enough or confuses people and no one watches except the intelligent folks and they get canceled and then I only get to watch reruns or on netflix and watch them over and over and over again because they make me happy and laugh. Like Better Off Ted. Watch that shit. Or else.
On a completely unrelated topic, I love leeks. I like cooking with'um, I like eatin'um, and I love the name cuz it's what I do with my penis. Although I don't think about that while I'm cooking with them. That would be kinda gross. That's part of why the baked pasta was so good. Enjoy!!
But seriously, TV, why does it have to suck so bad? And then someone said something that made me go 'Well now we're fucked.' Someone said 'I watch TV not to think.' Damnit, why?! Thinking is important! It's part of the fun of the human brain. We think some random fucked up thoughts that are rather entertaining, like putting a baby in a fish tank and taking a picture and then posting it on effbook so I can be disturbed and amused. (On a side note, are thalidomide babies in SCUBA gear jokes in poor taste?) So people, stop watching TV to not think. For fucks sake people: THINK!!!
So to summarize:
1) TV and movies suck because people want mindless entertainment and this is wrong
2) Thinking is good
3) Coyote will make bad jokes about everything!
4) I'm an awesome cook.
Oh and my girlfriend is awesome too. But that's an entirely different thing.
Friday, February 24, 2012
I need a new hobby
Come on in and enjoy the fire. The winter has decided to come back with a bite so we've got some baked pasta for you here. Very good.
So I've had a lot of different hobbies over my lifetime, and I've rather enjoyed them. Of course they were more about the social aspect than the actual hobby. I like people. Not necessarily doing anything. I'm kinda lazy. Actually I'm not lazy, I just like being sedentary most days.
So I used to collect comics as a kid. I still love comics, but they suck so bad now, and cost so much. It used to be good stories and some decent art... now even the 'cutting edge' comics are the same shit over and over. I don't think I've read any decent stories in comics for a while. If I'm wrong, please point it out to me and I'll go check it out.
I used to play sports. A lot. Football. Wrestling. Then paintball. My last hurrah at sports recently was dodgeball. I blew out my shoulder and can't throw. I catch well but that's still only half good. Kinda sucks. And the shoulder is still right fucked.
I like RPGs, including LARPs. That's Role Playing Games and Live Action Role Playing. The RPG groups I was a part of have fallen apart, I am running a Deadlands game, but I wanna play! :) And the LARPs are fun, to a point. It's so much effort, and I'm just not interested in putting in that kind of effort. I'm kind of burnt on them. Perhaps I'll try to run a larp. I'd like to adapt a rule set to run a shadowrun LARP. But it would have to be run a lot different than a standard LARP.
I used to play poker a lot more. But that requires money. I gots none of that.
And that's part of the problem with a hobby. They all cost something. I gots nothing. Serious.
Well perhaps it's time I just start writing all the time, see what kind of crazy shit I can pull out of my as and make y'all giggle a bit.
Like this random thought: I keep thinking about getting a twitter account but I don't like the idea of listening to tweets, twats or twits. And I haven't seen anything on it worth signing up for yet another thing I'd have to check. I totally need some cybereyes that have HUD. I'd totally volunteer for that procedure to test it out. And cyber legs, maybe some muscle replacement on the arm.
Damnit I really wanna play shadowrun. Ringmaster, start a damn game!
So I've had a lot of different hobbies over my lifetime, and I've rather enjoyed them. Of course they were more about the social aspect than the actual hobby. I like people. Not necessarily doing anything. I'm kinda lazy. Actually I'm not lazy, I just like being sedentary most days.
So I used to collect comics as a kid. I still love comics, but they suck so bad now, and cost so much. It used to be good stories and some decent art... now even the 'cutting edge' comics are the same shit over and over. I don't think I've read any decent stories in comics for a while. If I'm wrong, please point it out to me and I'll go check it out.
I used to play sports. A lot. Football. Wrestling. Then paintball. My last hurrah at sports recently was dodgeball. I blew out my shoulder and can't throw. I catch well but that's still only half good. Kinda sucks. And the shoulder is still right fucked.
I like RPGs, including LARPs. That's Role Playing Games and Live Action Role Playing. The RPG groups I was a part of have fallen apart, I am running a Deadlands game, but I wanna play! :) And the LARPs are fun, to a point. It's so much effort, and I'm just not interested in putting in that kind of effort. I'm kind of burnt on them. Perhaps I'll try to run a larp. I'd like to adapt a rule set to run a shadowrun LARP. But it would have to be run a lot different than a standard LARP.
I used to play poker a lot more. But that requires money. I gots none of that.
And that's part of the problem with a hobby. They all cost something. I gots nothing. Serious.
Well perhaps it's time I just start writing all the time, see what kind of crazy shit I can pull out of my as and make y'all giggle a bit.
Like this random thought: I keep thinking about getting a twitter account but I don't like the idea of listening to tweets, twats or twits. And I haven't seen anything on it worth signing up for yet another thing I'd have to check. I totally need some cybereyes that have HUD. I'd totally volunteer for that procedure to test it out. And cyber legs, maybe some muscle replacement on the arm.
Damnit I really wanna play shadowrun. Ringmaster, start a damn game!
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
New agey bullshit 'live in the now' annoyances
Come on in and grab some sammiches. The lovely love who loves me has made some wonderful french bread, fixin's are in the fridge. Make yourself at home in the den.
So I'm all for trying to make your life better. And I'm a huge fan of short snippets of info that make you smile. I love those little pics that have the cool sayings on them that populate the intarwebs and effbook and such. I do indeed like them. Except. Except those 'ignore the past, live for right now' ones. Those ones really make me annoyed.
Because y'know what, you have to carry the past with you all the time, not as baggage, but instead like a weightless library, a reference point to everything going forward. Not only that, but without considering how your actions will reverberate into the future then you're being just a wee bit irresponsible. Well actually a whole lot irresponsible.
The problem here isn't learning how to let go of the past, instead how to learn. Y'know I could throw a metric fucktonne of platitudes and cliches at you about this concept but instead I'm going to break it down into a simple formula.
Doing + Failing = Learning. Learning + Repeated Attempt = Growth. Well as long as the repeated attempt is not identical to the first attempt. Then you didn't learn. See, there is one tiny part of that equation I didn't put in there, and that is the fact that you have to, you know, remember past events, and how shit happened like it happened so you can learn from it.
And yes I know, the idea isn't to forget what you learned from the experience, but to let go of the negative emotions, but again, I have an issue with this. First off, why do we deem some emotions negative? They're all useful, they all help us contextualize our world, remember, and give structure to our own perceptions and reality. Maybe if we stopped using labels like negative or positive emotions folks might not obsess over this shit, and that is the real problem. When behavior that could help growth is stifled due to not wanting to experience these negative emotions.
Well folks, we evolved these emotions for a reason. They are a part of our social matrix and are just as valid as any other means we have to interact with the world. We need to unbunch our collective panties and stop thinking that 'feeling bad' is a bad thing. It's just a thing. A thing we developed to help our species survive. It's not the thumb, or the tools, or the intelligence that makes human beings different from other animals, it's the complexity of our social interactions that does. And even then it doesn't make us 'better' than the other critters, it just makes us different.
So I'm all for trying to make your life better. And I'm a huge fan of short snippets of info that make you smile. I love those little pics that have the cool sayings on them that populate the intarwebs and effbook and such. I do indeed like them. Except. Except those 'ignore the past, live for right now' ones. Those ones really make me annoyed.
Because y'know what, you have to carry the past with you all the time, not as baggage, but instead like a weightless library, a reference point to everything going forward. Not only that, but without considering how your actions will reverberate into the future then you're being just a wee bit irresponsible. Well actually a whole lot irresponsible.
The problem here isn't learning how to let go of the past, instead how to learn. Y'know I could throw a metric fucktonne of platitudes and cliches at you about this concept but instead I'm going to break it down into a simple formula.
Doing + Failing = Learning. Learning + Repeated Attempt = Growth. Well as long as the repeated attempt is not identical to the first attempt. Then you didn't learn. See, there is one tiny part of that equation I didn't put in there, and that is the fact that you have to, you know, remember past events, and how shit happened like it happened so you can learn from it.
And yes I know, the idea isn't to forget what you learned from the experience, but to let go of the negative emotions, but again, I have an issue with this. First off, why do we deem some emotions negative? They're all useful, they all help us contextualize our world, remember, and give structure to our own perceptions and reality. Maybe if we stopped using labels like negative or positive emotions folks might not obsess over this shit, and that is the real problem. When behavior that could help growth is stifled due to not wanting to experience these negative emotions.
Well folks, we evolved these emotions for a reason. They are a part of our social matrix and are just as valid as any other means we have to interact with the world. We need to unbunch our collective panties and stop thinking that 'feeling bad' is a bad thing. It's just a thing. A thing we developed to help our species survive. It's not the thumb, or the tools, or the intelligence that makes human beings different from other animals, it's the complexity of our social interactions that does. And even then it doesn't make us 'better' than the other critters, it just makes us different.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Survival
Come on in and enjoy a respite from the cold. I have some spaghetti for you, made with some nice healthy ground turkey and lots of onion and garlic. Quite tasty. And I'd like to tell you a story.
So the Truth and Reconciliation Commission is in Saskatchewan. And at the First Nations University of Canada. Which is where I work. So I've spent some time listening to the stories being told to the commission. I'd love to say that what I heard was a beautiful thing of healing and coming to terms with the evils of genocide but that just wasn't the case.
I listened to an older man, probably one of the last generation to be put into residential schools. He talked of the hate he felt, the damage he'd done. He spoke of the guilt and pain he felt for knowing that his own hatred flowed into the world and that people in that very crowd, people he never knew, were damaged by his sons and daughters because of the hate he showed them. He talked of how he was still damaged, still causing damage, still not quite a human because of the evil he was subjected to and accepted as a part of living. I would love to be able to show you the true depth of his pain and suffering but it is his story, his life, and I doubt I could do it justice.
But here is the power of the First Nations culture. I looked into the faces around me. I watched the reactions of the people listening. The faces were not filled with pity, nor were they filled with judgment. Instead it was a mixture of understanding and determination. A kind of power of witnessing the degradation of a person, of a culture, and not seeing it as something that needed vengeance, instead something that required understanding. A kind of communal gathering of spirit and will to take part in the draining out of the infected and diseased parts of a culture and gain the knowledge required to fix it.
And then, as the lunch began, and the commission and sharing circles broke up, so did the massive clouds of pain and hurt. Instead a community formed. There was laughter, there was hugging and joking. There was love. That man who told his story sat among strangers and listened to their jokes, laughed and was a part of the whole. And that is the beginning of true healing.
So the Truth and Reconciliation Commission is in Saskatchewan. And at the First Nations University of Canada. Which is where I work. So I've spent some time listening to the stories being told to the commission. I'd love to say that what I heard was a beautiful thing of healing and coming to terms with the evils of genocide but that just wasn't the case.
I listened to an older man, probably one of the last generation to be put into residential schools. He talked of the hate he felt, the damage he'd done. He spoke of the guilt and pain he felt for knowing that his own hatred flowed into the world and that people in that very crowd, people he never knew, were damaged by his sons and daughters because of the hate he showed them. He talked of how he was still damaged, still causing damage, still not quite a human because of the evil he was subjected to and accepted as a part of living. I would love to be able to show you the true depth of his pain and suffering but it is his story, his life, and I doubt I could do it justice.
But here is the power of the First Nations culture. I looked into the faces around me. I watched the reactions of the people listening. The faces were not filled with pity, nor were they filled with judgment. Instead it was a mixture of understanding and determination. A kind of power of witnessing the degradation of a person, of a culture, and not seeing it as something that needed vengeance, instead something that required understanding. A kind of communal gathering of spirit and will to take part in the draining out of the infected and diseased parts of a culture and gain the knowledge required to fix it.
And then, as the lunch began, and the commission and sharing circles broke up, so did the massive clouds of pain and hurt. Instead a community formed. There was laughter, there was hugging and joking. There was love. That man who told his story sat among strangers and listened to their jokes, laughed and was a part of the whole. And that is the beginning of true healing.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
What a year.
Come on in, there is some turkey soup being made, I'm sure it will be done by the time we're all done here. You can have a bowl once we get through this all.
So the about this time last year I was just getting geared up to finish my last semester of my Bachelor of Arts (Honours) in English with a minor in Indigenous Studies. Today, I have that degree, and I've got a couple jobs associated with that degree. One I got last year, one I start on Thursday that is brand new. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's go deal with all this crap.
My New Years last year was spent by myself, playing The Force Unleashed. I think I might have had a flirty call with the ex-wife. The first one, Little Bear's mom. I then threw myself into a nearly exhausting schedule, taking two honours/grad courses, two 200 level courses, and finishing the thesis paper. Anyone ever wants to read it, well, I'm thinking about doing some more work on it, see maybe I can get that thang published. Maybe the James Joyce quarterly. That'd be sweet.
That summer I started looking for work, knowing I would be heading back to school in a year or so. No one wanted to hire me. I either wasn't a student anymore or I was too much of a student. That rejection, and the issues at my current work place were starting to wear me out. I was tired, I had drained the reservoir, so to speak, and I was heading for a crash.
I tried writing about that crash. And I couldn't do it, not without it coming across as a PSA about mental health, or something overly poetic and dramatic. I didn't want either. So it go deleted tonight. Instead I thought I'd sum up some of the things I learned in the psych ward where I spent a few weeks.
First off. Control is a problem. Particularly control of the self in relation to the world around us. I guess I should take my own advice on what the world is like. I didn't. And so between personal issues with the second ex-wife, that'd be Little Crow's mom, my perceived failure with Little Bear, the work rejections, the inability to write, oh and let's not forget the excessive drinking where I repeatedly embarrassed my friends with my behavior, I decided I would finish things. In case that's too obtuse for anyone, I decided one Tuesday morning to kill myself.
I had been hanging on to threads for so long, that when I had one fantastic weekend with my girls, I was good to go. Had a wonderfully negative email exchange with the second ex (that didn't influence the decision, just kind of confirmed it, I'd decided when I woke up) and a call to my mother, I gathered my tools of destruction and was ready to go. For the truly morbid, I had planned to inject myself with two complete vials of insulin, down half a bottle of glycon and glyburide (these help insulin work and help the body process it) while I sat on the football five man sled at my old school, and just riff on some tunes until the blood sugar was low enough to slip into a coma, and then the cardiac arrest would happen.
Instead, I didn't. I remember giving up. I remember a full and complete shrug of body/mind/soul/emotions of giving up. Next, I remember talking to a woman on the health line. The website for the number was up on my computer. The cops came, and amid glaring eyes of my ex, the tears of my daughters, they hauled me off to the General.
I like to think that the grandfathers kept me going. I gave up and they drove for a bit, let me find my soul, and get on with living again. I wrote a couple things in there. Well actually had a journal. It's filled with all kinds of crap. But there's a few good things. And one great find. Here they are.
Six Reflections
Standing across from
the five images
Variations of the same
Not one is true
all filled with lies
Fractures of the mind
Losing the self
finding no firm place
Symbols of the one
Locked by panes
with no common ground
Death of the past
A new prayer
I thank the grandfathers for the wisdom to ask for help when I had cut off all else. They gave movement
to a thought and carried it through. Without them I would die.
I thank the family and friends who give me love and hope, especially two little girls who teach me as
much as I teach them.
I thank the hard times so that the good times are so much better, and so I may learn the lessons of my
path.
I must love myself, or these gifts are wasted.
I had some great visitors. New and old. They helped because y'know what, the loony bin is just that. It's a big bin where they leave a buncha crazy people. Don't get me wrong, I'm thankful I was there, but wow, there is a whole load of hurt in that place. Once I was back to being kinda normal it was a bit painful to be in there. I spent as much time off ward as I could.
Once I was out, there was a few other trials and tribulations, but that is someone else's story to tell if they ever want to.
One of the things I read, on effbook of all places, came from a brilliant young man I had the pleasure of getting to know back during the 'Year of Troubles' at FNUniv. He posted it and I just about fell over when I read it. 'Depression is not a sign of weakness, it is a sign that you have been trying to be strong for too long.' Read that over again. If there is anything I can suggest to anyone else who reads this and might be having some mental health issues, it's that one line.
Depression is not a sign of weakness, it is a sign that you have been trying to be strong for too long.
So I got out.
And I had to deal with work. Luckily I had a medical leave, which I knew they wouldn't fire me for, but I was expecting a lay off. Which they eventually did, but I quit before they could dump my fat ass. Always go out your own way right?
Because well, I was at home for maybe three days, my mom was there, when I got a call from someone at the FNUniv. They wanted me to come down and interview for a job. My interview consisted of the person hiring me saying 'The writing center, think he can handle it?' to one of my profs, who went 'Yeah!' And thus, I was hired. Only part time but making almost as much as I did at the other job. Because well, DEGREE! Yah!
And then. Well. I decided to try to date. Or at least try. Y'know, casual, get to know a girl. So I did, and it turned into a bit of a drama llama situation. But strangely, it led to meeting someone from the past. Someone who ... Well, long story short, she's lying down in our bed right now, reading and cuddling up with Pixie. Pixie is Little Crow's cat. It happened like a flood, came in and just sank into everything, washed away a lot of the crap that was there and brought in new healthy soil for growth. I love this woman. She's incredible.
And that brings us here. To today. In a couple days I start my second job, still have the writing center gig, as a teaching assistant to a high chief at the FNUniv, where I will actually get to do some teaching. And I'm being encouraged to do so. And life, while far from perfect, and this Coyote is far from totally healed, is life. A beautiful thing full of hurt, work, joy, and wonder.
And so to you, my faithful readers who happened to stick around even though I haven't written much as of late (I hope to change this) I say, Happy New Year. I wish you all the best and worst that life can give you.
So the about this time last year I was just getting geared up to finish my last semester of my Bachelor of Arts (Honours) in English with a minor in Indigenous Studies. Today, I have that degree, and I've got a couple jobs associated with that degree. One I got last year, one I start on Thursday that is brand new. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's go deal with all this crap.
My New Years last year was spent by myself, playing The Force Unleashed. I think I might have had a flirty call with the ex-wife. The first one, Little Bear's mom. I then threw myself into a nearly exhausting schedule, taking two honours/grad courses, two 200 level courses, and finishing the thesis paper. Anyone ever wants to read it, well, I'm thinking about doing some more work on it, see maybe I can get that thang published. Maybe the James Joyce quarterly. That'd be sweet.
That summer I started looking for work, knowing I would be heading back to school in a year or so. No one wanted to hire me. I either wasn't a student anymore or I was too much of a student. That rejection, and the issues at my current work place were starting to wear me out. I was tired, I had drained the reservoir, so to speak, and I was heading for a crash.
I tried writing about that crash. And I couldn't do it, not without it coming across as a PSA about mental health, or something overly poetic and dramatic. I didn't want either. So it go deleted tonight. Instead I thought I'd sum up some of the things I learned in the psych ward where I spent a few weeks.
First off. Control is a problem. Particularly control of the self in relation to the world around us. I guess I should take my own advice on what the world is like. I didn't. And so between personal issues with the second ex-wife, that'd be Little Crow's mom, my perceived failure with Little Bear, the work rejections, the inability to write, oh and let's not forget the excessive drinking where I repeatedly embarrassed my friends with my behavior, I decided I would finish things. In case that's too obtuse for anyone, I decided one Tuesday morning to kill myself.
I had been hanging on to threads for so long, that when I had one fantastic weekend with my girls, I was good to go. Had a wonderfully negative email exchange with the second ex (that didn't influence the decision, just kind of confirmed it, I'd decided when I woke up) and a call to my mother, I gathered my tools of destruction and was ready to go. For the truly morbid, I had planned to inject myself with two complete vials of insulin, down half a bottle of glycon and glyburide (these help insulin work and help the body process it) while I sat on the football five man sled at my old school, and just riff on some tunes until the blood sugar was low enough to slip into a coma, and then the cardiac arrest would happen.
Instead, I didn't. I remember giving up. I remember a full and complete shrug of body/mind/soul/emotions of giving up. Next, I remember talking to a woman on the health line. The website for the number was up on my computer. The cops came, and amid glaring eyes of my ex, the tears of my daughters, they hauled me off to the General.
I like to think that the grandfathers kept me going. I gave up and they drove for a bit, let me find my soul, and get on with living again. I wrote a couple things in there. Well actually had a journal. It's filled with all kinds of crap. But there's a few good things. And one great find. Here they are.
Six Reflections
Standing across from
the five images
Variations of the same
Not one is true
all filled with lies
Fractures of the mind
Losing the self
finding no firm place
Symbols of the one
Locked by panes
with no common ground
Death of the past
A new prayer
I thank the grandfathers for the wisdom to ask for help when I had cut off all else. They gave movement
to a thought and carried it through. Without them I would die.
I thank the family and friends who give me love and hope, especially two little girls who teach me as
much as I teach them.
I thank the hard times so that the good times are so much better, and so I may learn the lessons of my
path.
I must love myself, or these gifts are wasted.
I had some great visitors. New and old. They helped because y'know what, the loony bin is just that. It's a big bin where they leave a buncha crazy people. Don't get me wrong, I'm thankful I was there, but wow, there is a whole load of hurt in that place. Once I was back to being kinda normal it was a bit painful to be in there. I spent as much time off ward as I could.
Once I was out, there was a few other trials and tribulations, but that is someone else's story to tell if they ever want to.
One of the things I read, on effbook of all places, came from a brilliant young man I had the pleasure of getting to know back during the 'Year of Troubles' at FNUniv. He posted it and I just about fell over when I read it. 'Depression is not a sign of weakness, it is a sign that you have been trying to be strong for too long.' Read that over again. If there is anything I can suggest to anyone else who reads this and might be having some mental health issues, it's that one line.
Depression is not a sign of weakness, it is a sign that you have been trying to be strong for too long.
So I got out.
And I had to deal with work. Luckily I had a medical leave, which I knew they wouldn't fire me for, but I was expecting a lay off. Which they eventually did, but I quit before they could dump my fat ass. Always go out your own way right?
Because well, I was at home for maybe three days, my mom was there, when I got a call from someone at the FNUniv. They wanted me to come down and interview for a job. My interview consisted of the person hiring me saying 'The writing center, think he can handle it?' to one of my profs, who went 'Yeah!' And thus, I was hired. Only part time but making almost as much as I did at the other job. Because well, DEGREE! Yah!
And then. Well. I decided to try to date. Or at least try. Y'know, casual, get to know a girl. So I did, and it turned into a bit of a drama llama situation. But strangely, it led to meeting someone from the past. Someone who ... Well, long story short, she's lying down in our bed right now, reading and cuddling up with Pixie. Pixie is Little Crow's cat. It happened like a flood, came in and just sank into everything, washed away a lot of the crap that was there and brought in new healthy soil for growth. I love this woman. She's incredible.
And that brings us here. To today. In a couple days I start my second job, still have the writing center gig, as a teaching assistant to a high chief at the FNUniv, where I will actually get to do some teaching. And I'm being encouraged to do so. And life, while far from perfect, and this Coyote is far from totally healed, is life. A beautiful thing full of hurt, work, joy, and wonder.
And so to you, my faithful readers who happened to stick around even though I haven't written much as of late (I hope to change this) I say, Happy New Year. I wish you all the best and worst that life can give you.
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