There is an instant where you wanna cry. You want to scream. You want to yell from the bottom of your stomach and soul. And this is when you know you love or have loved somebody. When you look at someone. You see into their eyes. And you know. They are you. They are exactly who you are or were. And you love them you want nothing but to hold them. You want to shout in a carnal and cathartic agony until you feel that sense fulfilled. That sense that you have seen yourself. And can finally let go of yourself.
Category Archives: Rant
Sorry for my absence lately, I simply haven’t found anything in my scattered writings that have motivated me to post lately. Well, here goes getting back into the swing of things. A sincere thank you to those who have been following me still. 🙂 -JSCK
It has been my belief for years that people are animals, just like any other, no better and even often worse. Inside everyone and every living thing is the same set of internal drives- to live, to eat, to breathe, and to breed. Occasionally I will have problems with the fact that I am a carnivore, but I do it because I see myself as such- just another carnivore, just another animal who undoubtedly would eat meat in any other scenario. But I have made several conscious, philosophic determinations about this practice and how it relates to me; I see myself as an animal, but I refuse to glorify myself- I refuse to fancy myself as some grandiose lion draped in the regality and majesty of a kill. I see myself as I am in this system: a filthy vulture. I see myself as some carrion bird, pilfering and profiting of some efforts made by persons unattached to me.
People often fail to recognize what and where their food comes from, and that creates problems. This is how shock campaigns for vegetarianism work, in my opinion. They take advantage of kids who never noticed the similarities between that little feathered animal that goes ‘cluck’ and the breaded and fried medallions that show up in their happy meal. So when they see the cute chickens being killed in the black and white films, they recoil. When these kids look at some picturesquely cute photograph of a baby calf and are asked why they would kill it, they are confused. There are always two problems with this, the disillusionment that is forced on the unsuspecting children, and the illusion that is allowed to present itself in the first place.
A doubt can be flattering, but an assertion is inflammatory. I was recently requested by a family member something to the effect of “Oh, you’re a writer, come up with a good Facebook status for me.” I decided for the sake of civility to not take that as an insult. I glanced at her page, thought for a few seconds, jotted something down and spun the screen back to here. The first thing I heard was “Oh, what a pretty line! Where’s it from?” I chuckled, and told her that i just thought of it; for the rest of the day, all I heard was “No… that has to be from something, you can’t just ‘think up’ something beautiful like that, where’s that quote from?” This infuriated me to no end. Why is it that I can’t be the creator of my own words? Is there something about me that just makes this unbelievable? How could I hope to pursue the dream or idea of being a writer, when even the simplest output I could give is robbed from me? This experience was so fucking insulting…
Question to those out there, how have/do you overcome others imposing the idea of limits? Have you had similar experiences?
Does psuedo-urgent news create a fatalistic society? I’m sitting here, enjoying a fine evening, and up comes the news with a new report on how people could all start dying. I’m sure that if I cared to finish watching it, it would go on to slowly reveal the minimal possibility of this latest danger. I don’t mean for this to be some depressing digression on the nature of dim broadcasts or nihilistic life views, I’m more bemusedly commenting on how I compare my own ‘Live now!’ mentality with the echoing news reports that I now recognize as coming in from all angles. I’ve developed over the years the idea, grim as it may be, that I should live life to its absolute capacity for the simple reason that life is full of chances. I could live to be ninety, I could be hit by a bus tomorrow. These are the headlines linking soda to cancer, and vague possibilities to real threats. What if people were told that we had years to live? What if people stepped back from all the negativity and realized exactly all the options out there in life? How restricted are we by the information placed before us, irrelevant or not? A lot of open-ended questions, that I don’t really need answered, but would like considered. Thoughts?
This will inevitably be a look-alike vent, the likes of which I’m sure have littered many blogging sites, but please, allow me to add my own emotional detritus.
I will not pretend that this is inspired by thought-perplexing muse or idea. This questioning for me has arisen from one distinct event. I recently broke up with my girlfriend. The problem was this: I honestly wanted nothing more than to simply feel close to her, she said she wanted the same thing. In an attempt to do this I did the one thing that is most difficult and most painful for me; I told her the truth. The truth for me is a dark section of who I am, it is my past, my secrets, everything. It is something I take agonizing lengths to hide. Thus, in order to be able to be closer to her in an emotional sense, I gave her everything everything I could possibly give of myself. She gave me nothing. She returned to me with nothing but curt smiles and distance. Invariably I am left with one ontological conclusion. Within this emotional interaction, I, everything that I am and all that I could possibly give, am deemed worthless. I know that I am most likely not worthless, however as I mentioned this is the emotional aftermath of one personal event.
First and foremost I believe there should be an apology. I started this blog with the best of intentions however, as it does, life got in the way. As meager and insubstantial an excuse as that is, it is my rationalization behind my absence. Seeing as it is on my mind, lets kick things of again with ‘time’.
Time. We, or at least I, often sat that I never seem to have ‘time’ for the things we/I enjoy. It’s funny how the truest passions in life far too often take a back seat to meaningless, “more important”, things for the sustaining of one’s self. This came for me in the form of final exams as well as other work which, while important, should not wholly deter me from what I enjoy. I feel like a hypocrite, sitting here proclaiming my honest opinion that one should make more time for their interests or enjoyments, yet I fall victim to the seemingly pointless events. I would hate to think that this is a way of proving true passions; by seeing those that persist through the swamp of every day tedium.
On another side of things is the matter of immediately removing time. I can honestly say that I lived without it once and it was quite possibly the most entrancingly beautiful event. For two weeks I set aside my normal habit of wearing a watch and decided to avoid it all. I woke up when I did, ate whenever I got hungry, did what I felt like, slept when I got tired. It was fantastic. The only real problem with it all was that it completely eliminates the finite idea of planning and forms it into nothing but infinite plans. Instead of making plans for dinner around 6:00 as would be the usual, it was ‘later’. This kind of embodies that separation. While it is more than grand for reinforcing a personal will for ‘in the moment’ living, it abandons one solid system on which every thing and everyone else runs. I know the argument could and probably will be made that time as an overall continuum remains regardless of the presence of a watch, but I’m more addressing time as the conventional concept seen in every day life.
To tie these two ideas together (which I honestly wasn’t planning) perhaps it is not that passions take the back seat to tedium but to things that appear more instantaneous and important at one particular moment. At many moments in the last few weeks my academics have seemed more important than writing. I also saw writing as something that would always be there whenever I was free. Perhaps a passion is that which rises from one’s self at a point when nothing is going on, taking on the form of a true inner compass that generally leads one in an honest pursuit of interests. Hmm… anyway, to end on a note of wrapping up this idea with a realistic implementation of this belief, while writing is always there as an outlet for me, it should not be overlooked because of that fact. While it is there it is worthless if I don’t make some time for it. Ergo, make time for that which I love. Huh, kind of a roundabout way of reinforcing what should be common knowledge… I’m alright with that.
Tiptoe. Around other people and every elephant in every room. You can’t be blunt, ‘blunt’ is considered a rude tactic of lesser minded individuals, a very undesirable trait. Yet, with that bluntness comes something like no other, complete and true honesty. It should be the ability to address what’s at hand and on the mind because there should be little other. People hide behind the guise of protecting others, but what’s really at stake is the protection of one’s self. The cold, disheartening truth is that no one wants to get too close to the elephant in the room because no one knows the true nature of the beast. I sit with a friend and discuss troubles; I keep the troubles vague, and often hide behind the age old phrase “It’s complicated.” It’s refreshing to hear him call me out on it “I doubt it” he’ll say flatly, not for the reason he wants to know, but purely because he wants to trip my careful tiptoeing because it’s so fucking unnecessary.