Tedious is an Ugly Word

Days engulfed in tedious routine.
Tedious rise,
Tedious drive,
Tedious cage
Filled with tedious people
All pretending to enjoy their tedious lives.
Their lives mirror my life.
Their fake smile,
Their facade of interest.
It insults me. All of it.
For I know they feel how I feel...
Then it's over.
Tedious drive.
Tedious wait
wait
wait.
Then she walks in.
We smile
We laugh
We talk
We feel
We love
We live.
Then the morning comes and
I do it all over again.

On Late Night Bukowski Reads

Bukowski

Poetry 

Read on the toilet. 

Is there anything conceivable 

That be more appropriate?

I can picture him now

With a slight grin on

His unkept face.
A slight nod. 

Proud. 

On Feelings

Allow yourself to feel.
Anything.
Everything.
Feel the deepest, unspoke, and unexplainable love,
Feel hate and rage against anything disagreeable with fathomless passion,
Feel dreaded mourning as you allow tears to flow even in rain,
Feel the sadness and loneliness of a broken and destroyed heart,
The sadness of a death, the only thing permanent on earth, feel
The mourning of a lost friendship. One of treasured memories and organic feel, feel
The hate of betrayal from family endlessly trusted, feel
The love spoken of by poets like Shakespeare and Keats.
Allow yourself to feel.
A Brave New World.
One of eternal feeling
Even if it means the end of us.
Feeling. It's what makes us human.
Love, hate, jealousy, pride, envy.
They may all one day be the end of us,
But what a poetic and beautiful end it will be.
Feel. Feel. Feel. Feel until you can't feel anything at all.

On Writers

Quick thoughts:

I've been reading a lot of contemporary poetry as of late. Last night I went online and read Keats, Burns, Shelley, Eliot. I read Faulkner. I read Tolstoy. The reason I looked back at these classic authors was because I began to feel conflicted about the true meaning of what intellectual elitists would call "great writing." Yes, yes, I get it. Art is a feeling put to paper, to canvas, to music. It's also relative and subjective. The writers from the romantic period, the renaissance, the baroque, the Victorian Period all had a way with words. Man, could those fuckers make the nastiest and most grotesque shit sounds like the most gorgeous thing you could ever read. They decorated their writing. They varied their syntax and used diction in clever ways. It was calculated. It took time. They made it sound like "art." I use to appreciate the awe inspiring beauty in this form of writing. I still do, yet now it doesn't seem as organic as it once did. Perhaps because it never was. Perhaps it was never meant to be. I read it and roll my eyes. I read it and call bullshit. It sounds like they're faking it. It sounds like they are saying: "Read my shit and see how smart I am." And I get that. I really do, but the words make me feel in those works. The words and the structure. Nothing else. The stories are stories. Love, lust, fucking, hate, envy, jealousy, war, family. The list can go on and on. Stories are recycled. Blah, blah, blah. Reality is stranger than fiction sometime. And that's what appealing. Reality. I want to read about how life really is, not what people think life SHOULD be. This idealized writing is, in essence, a show. A facade. It's everyday situations and people elevated into some unreal bullshit.  Hemingway, Steinbeck, Palahniuk, Bukowski, Orwell, Huxley, Celine, and Sherwood all have a polar opposite form of writing. It's simple. It's clean. It's raw. It's not meant to impress anyone. It simply is. The words and structure don't make you feel, the characters do. Their situations and their conflicts do. They filth does, their insecurities do. Their boringness. Modernist. Gotta love them. They could all give a fuck about structure and conventions. "This is what I wrote, read it or don't. I could give a shit." And there's something to be said about that. I like reality. I like people placed in situations and telling me about  real and raw things as oppose to idealistic and adorned characters and situations. Tell me the truth, Keats. You're the one that so eloquently suggested that beauty was truth and that truth was beauty. So be real then. Tell me what you really think about that couple on the Urn. They'll never get to fuck and cheat on each other. They'll never shout insults at each other. They'll never eat or sleep.They're too busy falling in love. Please. Tell me the truth Shakespeare as you once did in Sonnet 130 with your hideous dark lady and your  four day romance in Romeo and Juliet. You ended it before it got ugly. You, Shakespeare, had me and lost me. So, thank you modernist. More specifically: Thank you Bukowsky. Thank you for writing about your fat prostitutes, drunkeness, nights on the shitter. Thank you Steinbeck, Kafka, and Hemingway for being honest. Thank you for showing me what drives people. Thank you for not sugar coating love or friendship. Thank you for being organic. Thank you Orwell and Huxley. Thank you for long ago showing us our present as well as our grim future. Thank you for painting an image of people I can walk out my door and see.

On Art

Art. A simple feeling.
A moment of
Sadness,
Exuberance,
Love,
Hornyness,
Loss,
Passiveness,
Glory,
Brokenness,
Extacy.
A moment experienced,
Written,
Then gone....
Yet not gone.
Art: a feeling captured,
And yet,
Is it art if no one sees it?

On Needs

I had it all. Everything.
I was unaware of my need for
Anything.
Anyone.
I was complete.
Then she said: "I love you."
That moment I realized that
Fullness
Was an
Emptiness
And everytime she says
"I love you" I feel full,
Then the very next second
Empty again.

On Pink Floyd's Time

And there I was listening to

Pink Floyd's Time

Thinking: 

"I can spend my entire life creating something.
Anything.
Days and days and days on

End,

Breaking my head. Isolating myself.

Losing friendships, losing sleep,
Losing time. 

I could lose myself and

My sanity. I could pour all of my being 

Into my work and never achieve something 

As perfect as Time. 

Nothing as time-less,

Nothing as clean.

Nothing that raises the hair on

People's arms. 

Nothing of such reverence. 

And to think these guys 

Probably wrote it 

Sitting on the shitter, deep drunk, 

Eyes red on a Saturday night. 

Yet rather than grieve at the fact 

That I'll never create something as sublime

I am content that someone lived who did. 

Content that everyone willing experienced 

What I one quiet night sitting in my quiet, dark

Room experienced.  Pure elation. A perfect 

Moment never to be experienced the exact same 

Again. 

Then Time went on.

On the Idea That Love is all you Need

This past weekend I attended a work related trip to California, and I decided to write a piece on the violence and hate that has dominated our media and news outlets as of late. As always, I felt it of vital importance to write while the topic at hand was still relevant and had substance. So much had transpired; from Orlando to Turkey to police shootings to Nice, France. On one of these perfect California nights my colleagues decided to visit LA, so I thought it would be a perfect time to put thoughts to paper. And it was. So, there I was. Writing in a dark and empty hotel room listening to the Disneyland fireworks pop a few blocks away. The words flowing just like I wanted them to. Then: Fuck! My computer decides to restart for updates just as I was concluding the post because writing it once was far too easy. :rolls eyes: People talk about that all the time. Trust me. I’m a teacher, and I’ve heard that excuse on far too many occasions. Every student presents that excuse at least once throughout their High School career. “Sir, I was typing, and my computer died! Can I turn it in tomorrow?” They utter it, I call bullshit, we move on. But no, it’s a real thing. I’m telling you. I was a victim of it too. :Sadness Ensues: Fucking computer. Anyhow, as it turns out the fact that I can rewrite this now and it still be relevant is a testament to the point I was trying to originally make. Two days later three cops were shot in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. I mean, really? I’ll rewrite to the post as well as my mind will remember it, but damn did it reinforce my thoughts and make me think: “Shit. This issue may be worse than I thought.”

Original Post:

A not so popular thought: On the Idea that Love is all you Need:

            Turn on your television, reload your Twitter, refresh your FaceBook. Go ahead. I’ll give you time……

It is not a revelation? Right there in front of that screen. It’s as clear and uncensored of an image of the human race you’ll ever set your eyes upon. It’s life moving in the form of random thoughts, actions, words, check-ins, shares, and hashtags. It’s an ever evolving anthology of our history, our present, and the seemingly grim and dystopian future in which we’re piloting this race. Those social media posts you see on a minute to minute basis; the news, friends, entertainment. That is who we are. It’s a blueprint to our hearts and minds. Our ideas and beliefs. Our actions. Our morality. Sparknotes: The Core of the Human Race, if you will. And just now, as I wrote that, I felt a complete sense of dis-ease. An eerie unpleasantness. Did you feel it? No? Get back online and look again. Yes? Then you surely felt what I felt. As Tyler Durden said: “It’s all going down, man.” Fuck, that should be the official slogan of the human race. That is, of course, until it all finally does “go down.” Then what will we have?

All individuals are divided. We stand as a yin yang of love and hate. The two most powerful emotions possessed by people. How we decide to balance these two emotions is a clear indicator of the future that awaits us; a future of a people whose every thoughts and actions are showcased in media, news, entertainment, and social networking sites. I turn on my TV to watch the news: violence escalating. I refresh my social networking sites: hateful comments from hateful people breeding hate from otherwise rational people leading to further hate. Wow. Isn’t that something to take in? Hate: a virus consuming every ounce of love our race struggles to grasp with its weak and fragile fingers. If the news and internet present what transpires in society, and social media sites are where we lay our emotions, actions, and thoughts for the world to see, what does that say about us and who we are at the core? What we want? What we like and dislike? And more importantly: what we feel?

All we Have is Hate, Hate. Hate is all we Have:

            History and present are the only indicators we have in the context of placing people under a microscope in order to come to clear conclusion to just what kind of specie we are as a whole.

            A journey through a history of Hate and Violence:

1. The Crusades                                                  
2. The Holocaust                                                 
3. ISIS                                                                
4. Al Qaeda                                                        
5.  The American Civil War                                  
6. WWI                                                              
7. WWII                                                             
8. Events in the Roman Coliseum                         
9. Slavery throughout                                          
10. Segregation                                                    
11. Europe Colonizes America                             
12. The Mongol Conquest of the 13^th Century
13. Greece at constant war
14. Murder of people who preach peace (MLK)
15. Dragging death of James Byrd
16. 1963 Baptist Church Bombing
17. The KKK
18. Human sacrifice
19. Gang Violence
20. Pol Pot’s Revolution
21. Elitism
22. Fighting Violence with violence
23. Glorifying of conquers

The list can go on and on. Hate, violence, and death seem to overflow out history books. Could there be any explanation as to why we don’t learn from mistakes made? We’ve been violent, greedy, and hateful from the dawn of time. Is it who we are? Will our generation just add a few more pages to the blood-filled history text books and assigned readings for our high school students? Death tolls towered in history as we used arrows and spears and swords to carry out hateful ideologies. Now we possess weapons that can the job at much more catastrophic proportions. If our hate remains and our weapons evolve to become more potent then only one question remains: Will we crumble beneath our hate until nothing is left?

A Harsh Reality: What we Really Need:

These past few weeks have been devastating to say the least: the gay bar shooting, the targeting of African Americans by cops, the Dallas police tragedy, Nice, France, Turkey, and Baton Rouge. It seems that just as one event begins sinking in another one befalls us. No space to digest. No space to think. No space to dialogue. No space to mourn; just one event after another like clockwork. Now, this may be a bleak and crude question, but: Why do we feel utterly compelled to fabricate ideas in vain attempts to feel in control and a slight uncomfortable comfort?  It’s time that we crumble and discard the notion that love is this unstoppable force of nature that possesses the ability to remedy every single disease. A tragedy occurs; people scramble briskly to social media and post peace quotes, “#prayforwhoever,” filter their profile picture to a rainbow for sexual rights or the French flag for the truck plowing calamity, blah, blah, blah. Politicians make statements urging the public that we take action and place limitations on guns as well as prevent radicalism so that events like this never ever repeat themselves. Umm, okay. Are these people hippie idealist, or have they never read a history book in their lives? All of this, “The illusion of safety,” as Tyler would say… Damn, that guy knew his shit. But we listen to them! We dare to hope for a better tomorrow. A tomorrow that will bring love to the forefront. A tomorrow where we can all live happily ever after. Then another tragedy. Then another. When will we realize that our lives aren’t a fairy tale? Things won’t change. Ever. Hate is driven by difference or that which we don’t understand. And difference will Always Exist; Women and men, gay and straight, black, white, Asian, Hispanic. We are a race of contrasts and distinctness. We are separated by sex, race, location, economic status, appearance, ideologies, morality, likes and dislikes. Every individual on this planet is different in immeasurable ways, and this is something we should treasure and value as a people. It is what makes our race so beautiful and sublime: Difference, Uniqueness, Diversity, yet rather than treasure it as what makes us great it is the tool we use to breed hate and insight violence. What. A. Damn. Shame. Perhaps it is all just a big tragedy.

A Glimmer of Hope:

            We are who we are. The history books have told us what we’ve been and we’re experiencing what we are. Sadly, not much has changed. A face in front of a mirror that has remained the same through history. A face most don’t like, yet the face we are. We can cover it in make up all we want, but that face is still the same underneath. We can’t fight who we are. We need to accept that we are hateful and violent. We need to stop being “shocked” at terrorism and gun violence as if it’s a rare occurrence. Is it a bottomless tragedy? Of course it is, but the measures taken to mend the issues are, excuse my elevated vocabulary: STUPID!!! Violence to fix violence. An eye for an eye. Cops kill African Americans, African Americans kill cops, Muslim extremist bomb America, American Bombs Muslim extremist, Trump spills hate filled rhetoric towards Mexicans, Mexicans retaliate with hate filled actions at Trump rallies. I mean, jeez. Take a look around. The only hope we have is to undergo a complete cultural change. One that digs deep into our core, our thoughts, and our ideas. Hate is something laws won’t change, riots won’t change, and violence won’t change. Education and time are our only hope. Hate is something that is taught and it is something that can be unlearned, but we need to be open and intentional about wanting change. We need to be open to the idea that people are different. That not everyone thinks like we think, likes what we like, and hates what we hate. We need to be open and accepting to the beauty of our uniqueness and not try to shape the world into what we as individuals want it to be. Let us be the white light before it hits the prism: together, but let us also be like the rainbow of broken down colors that follows after traveling through the prism: different, unique, and beautiful while still harmoniously together. Let’s dare to hope in a better tomorrow, yes, but even preferable, let’s dare to be willing to be a part of the change we so deeply need. Let’s be willing to change our mentality for a future we probably won’t see firsthand. Let us be the page in future history books entitled: The Time The World Finally Began to Change.

On People's Place in Relation to the Dead Gorilla

Quick Thoughts on People's Place:

While other more pressing issues and events were unfolding around our ever so decaying world a gorilla was killed in a Cincinnati Zoo. Human were being religiously and racially persecuted, US service members were wounded in the ongoing destructive war in the Middle East, and women continued to be sold as sex slaves right across the Atlantic. Yes, yes, yes, we all get it. These events that are vitally shaping our world politics, morality, and world view are of far more concern that the dead gorilla... But is it really? People are dead tired of hearing about the fucking gorilla, but the reality is that this incident delves deeper into our state as human beings than what is clearly apparent as well as what it is being portrayed to be. This isn't about the dead gorilla. Period. This is about the depths of human cruelty and prideful ego. This is about deeply and truly believing that we are by any and all measures the pinnacle of creation. This is about the idea and view that human life is worth more that any other form of life in existence. It's about the notion that we are in control of what has the right to live and what does not. It's about humanity's clear attempt to control nature because, fuck, we're better than nature.

What. A. Fucking. Ego: Human Ego at its Absolute Pedestal of Grace:

We take what we want when we want it:

• Issue #1. The Planet:

Simple, obvious, yet not understood: Animals do not belong in captivity. This isn't how nature works. Why do we always seem like the odd man (or should I say specie) out. How much clearer can it become? We do not fit into this otherwise harmonious and tranquil place. We never have. We never will. Everything else seems to fit in like a key in a key hole. Everything seems to work within itself to reach a certain Utopian balance. Cue humans in: Balance: Disrupted. Animals have their place on this planet. They have a place to drink, sleep, hunt, repose. Cue in technology and deforestation. Umm, okay. We are going to tear down all this gorgeous shit because, well, we need to build our buildings and cities and factories to feed our constant and never ending greed. Yes, we as people believe that we have the right to do whatever we desire on and to this planet because, well, we are people, of course. Aren't we the most evolved and ultimately the most entitled? We will be the destruction of this planet, but it's all okay. We're humans! We find our way out of any pile of shit we happen to deliberately jump into, right? Of course we will! Because we're that smart. We're that evolved. We're that clever. Fuck the planet. We'll find another. I mean, the universe is full of them... It is this mentality that leads to the elimination of nature and other animals without the slightest hint of remorse. The simple fact: We think we are better. Why? :rolls eyes:

• Issue #2. Life:

We take their environment, but that's not enough. We. Must. Take. Them. See, this isn't about the gorilla. It's about a much broader and disturbing matter. Life. Life is such a beautiful thing. It's organic, it's unpredictable, it's war for survival. It's rare. So rare that we have yet to find any trace of it in the universe. Not a blade of grass, not a microscopic bacteria. Nothing. Yet we as humans think that we have control over the lives of every other specie on the planet? We take and we cage because when we go to a zoo there better be a a damn vicious lion or shit slinging ape ready for my entertainment and viewing pleasure. We experiment on because that monkey suffering while we try our chemical shit on it is better than a human suffering. We kill for fur and leather because that damn animal skin will sure look better on me that cashmere and cotton.  What despicable animals we are. What will satisfy us as people is central in our lives. The cost of it: irrelevant. Even if that cost is another life. And, yes. A life is a life. Life feels. It feels fear, it feels pain, it dies. Isn't just interesting how so much like us they are?

• Issue #3. Us:

Since the beginning of our specie we have felt superior to any other form or life. Religion is partly why we feel so elevated when it comes to animal comparison, but boy this ego we possess has overtake God. We feel bigger than God. Initially God was the only one that could create life... Well, we can do that now. Initially, God was the only one that could end the world. Well, yeah... We've hunted on full stomachs, we've sacrificed animals, we've engaged in animal dissections and experimentation, we hire exterminators, we run over animals on the streets and simply leave them there, we "humanly euthanize." Why don't we ever "humanely euthanize" people? Shit, we keep them alive with machines and drugs even when their bodies are begging to let go.  Anyway, we treat life as something that is dispensable. We see absolutely no value in life. And, fuck, not just the lives of animals, look at our own specie. At war since the beginning of time. The difference is that we choose to be at war. We create conflicts. We create religious wars, we create oil wars, we create idea based wars. That's all us. We are chaos. We are destruction. It's in our nature. Animals are innocent and free. They are victims of the plague that is humanity. A plague that takes anything in it's path. A plague that consumes what it wants and moves on. A plague that is destroying this planet without a hint of fear and remorse. A plague that values itself more than what it takes. A plague that feels entitlement. One that feels as if it inherited the earth and can do what it pleases with it. A plague that will consume the resources of this earth as well as life. A plague that will eventually consume itself. Then what? Nothing. Nothing at all. Tell me again what makes a human life more valuable than any other...........

On the Loss of Organic Knowingship

On the Loss of Organic Knowingship:

                A few days ago I engaged in a conversation with a social media acquaintance. If social media is good for anything its eliciting impromptu conversation over a simple post, rehashed and overused quotes, silly video, or satirical memes. This old friend who was on my friends list but I didn’t really socialize with spontaneously became a beacon for philosophical and intellectual conversation. He posted a political meme, I commented, he replied, we discussed, he invited me over for a beer and cigars to solve the problems of the world in one night. This mechanical conversation is quite literally the longest I’ve ever had with him, yet I feel like I know him more than I know certain people that I associate with organically on a daily basis. Everyday conversation is so shitty. So fake. So automated. While it’s understood that we have private lives that we don’t want anyone to discover, it’s also true that we’ve lost so much natural contact verbally. This isn’t about the expression of emotions as a means to really know someone, it’s about the expression of thoughts and beliefs. It’s about who we really are and what we stand for. It’s about not hiding. It’s about being real. It’s about having true conversation with someone in attempt to actually get to know someone with that simple end in mind. Maybe not with the potential goal to make them lifelong or intimate friends, but at least keeping that as an open line.  

Modern Everyday Conversation:

                “Hey.”

                “Hey. How are you?”

                “Good, and you?”

                “Good. Have a good day”

                “You too.”

                Umm, really? This is what conversations consist of. Even more depressing: We pretend to care and be interested in the other participant’s response. I recall once instance in which I asked a person how their day was going, and before he even replied I responded: “Good.” What the fuck? That was subconscious and systematic. Going through the motions, if you will. That's when I realized just what a joke “knowing someone” really is. I said “good” because deep in my kind heart of hearts I didn’t give a two cent shit about how he was doing. God, I hope that’s not just me because if it is I’m a dick. Still, I see these people every single day. I talk to them every single day. Do I really know them? None of the conversations had with these people are idea based. They façade questions. Shield questions. Irrelevant questions. The answers to those questions are just the same. People don’t want to let people into what they really think or feel. It makes them intellectually or emotionally vulnerable. Too open. Too real. So we build walls around our minds and our hearts in attempts to keep them as safe as possible. This is no life. Life is letting people in. Life is getting hurt. Life is being made to look like an absolute retard and learning from it.  Life is being exposed. Be exposed. Be vulnerable. Be unshileded. Experience. "All you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be." After all, what is the purpose of a caged and sheltered life? 

                 

Zombie Survivor Environmentalist (Part 1)

The room smelled of raw sewerage and vomit. Signs of struggle decorated the walls and floors as broken glass became floor and blood became splatted wall paint. Deep breathing and panting became deafening in the face of otherwise utter silence and eerie calmness. Windows were shattered, furniture was crushed, objects were scattered. In the mist of this chaos there he stood... illuminated by thin rays of natural light fighting their way through wall cracks. He stood with his head held high. He stood with a smile. Admiring. Proud.

The strange man looked of about 30, red messy hair and beard, plaid shirt which at this moment was covered in dots and splashes of wet blood red, torn blue jeans, and brown boots. His right hand held a bat warped with barbed wire with chunks of flesh stuck within wide crevices. His left arm was adorned with deep scars, scabbed wounds, and fresh cuts all in clean lines following each other like standing dominoes. He looked up, closed his eyes, inhaled, then smiled a big smile. At his feet the deep panting was slowing. A body laid in front of him, head bashed in, blood everywhere. Next to the tiny body laid a helmet, two rugged firearms, a bag containing who knows what, and a book entitled: "The Human Race: A Waste." The red haired man waited as the breaths at his feet became fainter and fainter. He waited until the child exhaled his struggled last breath before he took a small knife from his pocket, added a line into his arm, picked up the bag, took from it a pack of gum from the front pocket, shoved it in his mouth, kicked the door open, and walked out.... Outside: A dead world. A zombie apocalypse................

The Tragedy of American Culture and Morality (Feel the Bern)

Never in my life have I been so interested in a presidential election as I am now. It's become a sporting event; consistently and systematically refreshing my browser in a state of complete tension to see the up to date caucus and primary numbers. I read articles from various media outlets, each with their own biases and preferences with the goal being to see every candidate from every possible angle. It's an odd feeling. I've never cared before. Cue Bernie Sanders into frame... What a badass dude. So unlike this country.

Years have come and gone and this county has withered. We stand on the edge of a cliff with a fading future ahead of us. We stand on that edge; everything that could have been right in front of our eyes. We stand at a point of no return, and there is no one to blame but ourselves. Worst off, people seem to be blind to the overabundant reality that we suck. We are the self-proclaimed "greatest country on earth," we boast about the obscure idea that everyone on earth covets living here, and we complain about the issues swallowing our society as we stand idly allowing it to happen. Enabling it to happen. This country is collapsing like clockwork, and it's like there's no one living here to notice. And here's a more eerie idea: No one gives enough of a shit to notice. I mean, damn, there are more people interested in Kardashian ass, which gangster rapper is feuding with another, and whether Beyonce was cheated on by Jay-Z. Blah, Blah, Blah. Who. Gives. A. Shit?! Our home is burning down around us but there we sit lazily on a couch watching celebrity news, reality TV, and Transformers. And we're captivated by it. Hypnotized. How depressing. This country had had its best days. I was convinced of it. With 16 trillion dollars in debt, a crumbling educations system, and a shaky moral compass, I was sure that we should call the US a country and move on. That we should stand up from our reclining couches, put down the slice of pizza and bag of chips right next to our celebrity magazines and say: "We're not as amazing as we use to be. We're not the greatest country anymore. We actually suck. Being #1 is obviously too much responsibility for us. Someone else take the wheel and we'll stand back." But we're too cocky for that! We still think we're God's gift to the world! I mean, our confidence; that’s the one thing that never declined even if everything that requires us to have confidence has faded away. Quick fact: America is dead last in Math scores but “number one in confidence in math skills, even though we suck at it. Yes, we’re number one in thinking we’re number one. And when the numbers don’t validate that confidence, we know who the culprit is: the numbers. So we change them.” Isn’t this just the clearest mirror image for the American people? We think we’re phenomenally remarkable all while being a huge pot of shit. But, yes. If someone says we suck we’re so quick to highlight the few lasting things that still make us decent at best. Sadness ensues. Man. The perks of being rich and powerful bullies. That mirror image; that’s what we’ve become. And we seem to have fallen in love with that pretty face in the mirror masked in makeup.  

So, yes. We have a country that is uneducated, lying, selfish, narcissist, money, and greed driven. A “me, me, me” country. An ignorant country. A country where the rebellious youth is taking over slowly and this becoming no country for old men….. Cue Bernie Sanders into frame. Literally, if elected, the oldest president in the history of the United States. How ironic. How elegiac. How implausible. Tragedy.

Now, I’m not her to bore you with specific numbers or statistics about Bernie’s history. They speaks for themselves and can be researched if desired. I’m simply going to relate how Bernie gave me hope for this country. Hope for humanity. How he’s touched my heart, and why it all fell apart. 

I’ve written in that past that people are wretched things incapable of being naturally good. I’m not sure I really believe that anymore. He’s changed my mind. Now, let’s be realistic and clear: Bernie probably will not win the nomination. How the American people can be against what he is proposing is beyond me; however, the second paragraph of this post helps solidify this argument. Bernie is not us. Bernie is better than us. There’s a reason that The Donald Trump is a juggernaut in the Republican Party. He is everything the American people are. He is greedy, he is racist, he is selfish, he is self-centered, he is ignorant, loud, boastful, and hateful. Donald Trump is America looking at itself in the mirror. The people relate to him. He is all of the things this country is embodied in one person. And as I’ve stated before: America, as it stands today, we’re not that great. We’re not that good even. With all that being said, I will let Bernie’s policies speak for themselves. This is more of a personal analysis on how I view America, its political system, its culture, and the inevitable ramifications of that culture on an ever so decaying and decadent society.

The sad Truth?

Bernie won’t win, and quite frankly, no one like him will ever will. How unfortunate. He is the beginning of what we need. He is love, kindness, fairness, determination, will, humbleness. He is everything mass America has lost. We held these values up on a gold pedestal, but over time America has created a new and more primitive set of values and beliefs based solely on selfishness, greed, and money. Bernie is virtually Superman and the nation is Bizzaro. With these polar oppositions in the forefront, Bernie is poised to lose.

Examples:

1.       He is preaching against war and violence in a country that has always been at war and that craves bloodshed.

2.       He is for free education in an uneducated country in which education is steadily losing value.

3.       He is for universal healthcare in a vastly unhealthy country.

4.       He is for the middle class and the poor in a country controlled by the rich.

5.       He is for the betterment of the environment in a country that believes that global warming, if even happening, is a natural occurrence not one resulting from human activity.

6.       He stands for selflessness in a self-centered country.

7.       He stands for sharing and helping others in a country of hoarders and “’I’ earned this” mentality.

8.       He fights for equality in a racist, misogynistic, and homophobic country.

9.       And most importantly: He preaches peace and love in a county full of hate and hostility.

What he is proposing is how people should act and the rules we should abide by. I mean, what year are we in? What country is this? I would’ve liked to believe that we had evolved past egoism, money gluttony, cruelty, and racism, but we’ve devolved into the poster children of it. Perhaps we’re not ready for these values to be at the forefront again. Perhaps we’re too far gone. Bernie’s morals and principals are not what we value in this country anymore. And this is the worst tragedy in American history. The country that was conquered by its own loss of morality, education, health, and ethics. The country that saw it’s one chance to change in the form of Bernie Sanders and turned a blind eye. Perhaps it is as I once thought. This country is done for. Anyone have them white flags? Yeah? Start waving them. 

Thoughts on the idea of Hell... Later to be expanded

               The Origin of Hell

 We define hell in the context of imagery. A place they say. A place of gloomy darkness engulfed in mountains of flames inhabited by lost and violent spirits. A place deafened by screams and cries. A place in which the wrathful, gluttons, envious, prideful, lustful, sloths, and greedy go to suffer for their wicked lives on this damned rock we call home. Some even say that hell is other people. How weak. Blaming other individuals for their lack of self-confidence and worth. For them feeling as if they were ants under a magnifying glass. For their sleepless nights and salty tears. Pathetic. But boy, how utterly wrong they are. How can a place or people be more of a hell than what is between these ears? Capable of imagining just about anything. These fantastical formulations are far, far worse than any reality however grim or grotesque. This kettle of bone is the home of all things hell. It dreams the worst nightmares, it judges, it exudes greed, envy, narcissism. It is a virus in a hard drive contaminating the rest of the otherwise healthy machine. It loathes, feels wrath, and kills. It is the origin of every dreadful event in the history of mankind. The cause of the crusades, the witchcraft trials, the birthplace of religion. It is the birthplace of the holocaust, the seed of elitism, racism, and sexism. It's viscous and savage. It craves blood. It forces us to slow down at the sight of a car accident; our eyes scanning the surrounding street in hopes of witnessing a diseased body covered by a white cloth. It covets cruelty and brutality. If society had no rules in place that would punish wrong doing you best believe we would’ve already eaten each other. Perhaps it is because of these rules and the result of breaking them that entice us to listen to violent music, watch violent movies, play violent video games, watch UFC, football, and boxing. “If I can’t hurt someone myself I’ll watch someone doing it to let off my want of it.” These events and forms of entertainment, in essence, feed into our primal nature. We are wretched things. Our brains shielded by the mask that is our face, and that face further concealed by the mask that is the facade we wear in order to fit into a society that forces us to go against our very nature. The human mind is capable of so many wondrous things. Man, can we love. But it is also where selfishness, ego, and elitism grow. We can blame society and it's beliefs; call ourselves victims of a society disconnected with reality, yet those horrid and heinous ideas were developed in the mind of individuals. No, society isn't a monster, and hell isn't a place. Our minds are hell. The inventor of all things odious and hateful. We created a hell to fear? Our brains are much worse. What have we to fear now? 

Thoughts on the Question: "What do you do?"

I am a friend

I am a councilor

I am ears that listen

I am an open heart

I am a planner

I am a chef

I am a maid

I am a son

I am a babysitter

I am love

I am a parent

I am a social worker
I am a dreamer

I am a writer

I am a brother

I am a reader

I am a significant other
I am a fighter

I am a critic

I am a safe haven

I am educator

I am a movie lover

I am a clear mind

I am a free mind

Thoughts on the question: “What do you do?” I am much more than my job. My job is what I do not who I am. Labels. Class: Decadence. What I touch and see and hear and learn. Now, that. That's who I am. Or at least hope to be. 

Witness

Witness

Fall of 1995. Dull. Dark. Everlasting. I was careless. Not a worry in the world, yet I never felt a sense of complete and utter comfort. I always felt as if something was wrong. Almost like the feeling you get when you have to pop a bone that simply won’t pop no matter the amount of effort you put into forcing it to. Weird. Anyway, my fondest memory of childhood was the neighbor. I really didn’t see much of him except when he would go out and pick up his mail, when he was mowing his lawn, or when he would come out of the house every weekday as the sun was rising dressed in his high class suit to get in his high class car to go work at who knows where. Don’t judge me. My mom always had the windows open. I had no choice but to look. Well, when I was 11 years old he was brutally murdered in his home. How brutally? No one knows but the people who went in to investigate, but the news channel said it was “brutal,” so everyone just ran with it and thought the worse. Except me. I. Saw. Everything. Okay, okay, hold on. I get a little mixed up sometimes. The doctors say that it has to do with my “condition.” Whatever that means. Well, when I was 8 years old I killed the neighborhood cat. He was black, young, and beautiful. I would sit in my room with the open windows and watch it pass by virtually every day complaining for its need of food. One night I took a knife from the kitchen table, went out for some air, saw the cat and invited it over with a can of Vienna sausages. I can still smell that night. I can still feel how it would rub up against my legs while meowing. I picked him up acting as kind as I could to it. I petted it, baby talked it, and then I took the knife to its face. So messy. So inexperienced. Meh. In retrospect I don’t know why I didn’t hide it or bury it or whatever. I was a kid. I guess I never thought I would get blamed for it. I went to bed and slept as soundly as I ever had. Before we continue I would like to point out that I am a good person. Yes, because by now I know you’re probably thinking that I’m a crazy sociopath that will turn into a serial killer. Well, that’s not what happened… At this point the neighbor was still undergoing his fancy daily routine. To make a story short: my parents knew it was me. How do they always know every single damn thing? Jesus. They gave me a talking to. They were trying to be authoritative and parent like, but the entire time I could see that they feared me. I could see it in their eyes. They were scared shitless of me. What was the big deal? It’s a dead cat. Get. Over. It! Talk about priorities. They take me to a shrink then to doctor that diagnoses me with things I can’t pronounce, but my parents never looked at me the same. From that moment on I was a monster to them. An abomination. A reminder of their mistakes as parents. My father specifically changed. His eyes became deep, dark, empty yet full. Full of something I didn’t understand. I didn’t admit it to anyone then, but now that I’m in this room with you. What do I really have to lose? I enjoyed killing that cat. The blood was warm and the hanging lifeless cat made me feel a sense of power. I ended a life. How poetic. The sun rose and set many times. I began to really enjoy my alone time. Basically because I could sit and think of whatever it was that I thought about. It’s really amazing where your mind travels when it’s clear and allowed to wander any topic in existence. So there I was. A freak to my parents. Great. Quick question: Why is it so cold in here? Jeez. Is this the torture? Freeze me to death? “Continue,” she says. “The faster we finish the faster you get to go back your room.” Yeah, they want me in that room. Alone. She’s probably thinking: “Hurry and speak so that I can get back to my rich lady life and go get a far too expensive salad for lunch.” I’ll make her wait for that. I ended up staying in most of the summer. It was nice. I watched the cats, rabbits, and squirrels pass outside. The neighbor brought a new car home today. Must. Be. Nice. The yearning to rip their little heads off and hear their screams was slowly escaping me. I was good… for a while. Then it happened. The moment that changed it all, you see? Feel bad for me yet? One morning my father found a dead mouse under my dresser. It had had its tail, legs, and head torn off. Apparently it was spread about and labeled with needles on a whiteboard. How scientific. How beautiful. How not me. I should take credit for it. I mean, it was a gorgeous site to behold, but the truth is that I didn’t do it, but because of my previous mishap with the cat it was obviously blamed on me. Whatever. I didn’t care much. I explained that it hadn’t been me. After a few attempts in vain I took it. What could they do to me now? I was already a monster. I was already on meds. I was already alone. My great life as I knew it was gone the moment that knife broke skin, then bone, then brain. Poor bastard. As it would have it I was sent to a shrink. Again. “Do you enjoy it?” “What do you feel when you do it?” Blah, Blah, Blah. I was done with these people. I was fine. I was “cured,” but these people didn’t want to hear that. They had in their minds already what I was. They weren’t trying to help me, they were trying to make me confess I had killed the damn mouse. I know who did it? Everyone looked at me with disgust as I walked out of the shrink room. Except my dad. He had a slight curve at the end of his lip. A slight glow in his eye. My father became much nicer to me after that day. He would at least try to converse with me. He would dialogue with me over trivial things, but some interaction is better than none at all. He seemed to be beginning to understand what it was that I was going through. Interesting. He was the only one. On this day the neighbor went out. He had a pretty lady on his arm and they giggled a fake giggle. The allusion of happiness. Good for them. Sleepless nights ensued and on the 7^th night of insomnia I decided to go and see just how smug the neighbor spend his nights. I wanted to see what his house was like. I wanted to see what he slept on. I wanted to see where he showered. That fake life he had. I wanted to see it firsthand. So, I got up, walked outside, and went through his back yard. Of course. Why wasn’t I surprised? Moan here, moan there. He was fucking someone. Always with someone. Companionship. I peeked through the window and there they were. She laid on the bed stomach down and ass up. He was on her riding her like a race horse. His face: ecstatic, her’s: blank. He pulled out of her. No condom and came on her back. He then collapsed next to her and fell asleep as she looked at him hopelessly. I was unseen. It wasn’t erotic. I wasn’t aroused. What a shame. “Can I get a soda please? Thanks.” A few days went. A few nights. Well, on one particular night I was a little turned on. Yeah, don’t look at me with those wide eyes and open mouth. You’re probably turned on now. You probably fucked last night. I bet you think you’re better than me because you’re sitting there and me here. But thanks for the soda. Ass. Mind puke on mind. The horror. I walked down the stairs. Slowly. Quietly. Didn’t want to wake the parents. They thought I was crazy enough already. I reached the door and it was unlocked. Peculiar. I reached the window of the neighbor’s house and the lights were out. I walked and reached what appeared to be the dining room. Fucking rich people. There he was. Eating. Laughing. Steak. Wine. Pretty lady in a red dress seated opposite of him. I! Was! So! Jealous! Why did he have that life? What a perfect life. Fake, you see, but gorgeous. And here I am. A freak. A minute changed my life. An action. It’s amazing how much of my life has been determined by the death of a cat and the subsequent events. Choices, huh? After dinner he took her to his bedroom and they went at it. Different girl. I almost pulled my dick out to play with myself, but I heard a ruffling in the bushes behind me. I felt fear. I felt alive. I ran. What the hell was that? I didn’t know. I know now. The following day my father looked at me with a slight grin on his face. He had seen me leave. He knew what I was up to those nights I went out. He let me. He didn’t mention it to mother. I became addicted to the neighbor. I would watch him every night while he ate. Slept. Fucked. Mowed the lawn. Washed his car. He had the life I wanted. If I didn’t have and could never have it, hell, why not live it through him, right? Voyeur you see? And this is it. This is why I’m here. You won’t believe me and I’m okay with that. I’m happy here. You feed me, give me a place to sleep; what more can I ask for? This is the best life I can have. Out there I wouldn’t fit in. This is my home. These are my kind of people even though I didn’t do what you guys think I did. In my troubled and drugged mind I see these people here as sane. At least they aren’t faking a life they don’t have. They simply are who they are. They are them. But as I’ve said, I didn’t do it. Or did I? I can never remember correctly. It’s the drugs. On this night I watched him like every other night. He was alone on this night. He was in his pajamas. He was eating alone, sleeping alone. He was so alone. Like me and for the first time I related to him. While he walked to his room though I saw a man in a mask in the dining room. I freaked. I grabbed my bag of chips and moved closer to the window. What is that? Who is that? He slowly followed him into the room. I wanted to go help him, and I should’ve. He was my life. He was the life I also would never have. I was jealous of him. So I smiled and watched. Watched as the man in the black mask came up behind him. Saw them struggle. Saw the masked man run the knife through the neighbors face. My body shivered. God. Blood. All. Over. Saw him tie him up as he put a needle into his arm. Saw the neighbor pass out. Saw as the masked man struggle to cut every single one of my neighbor’s fingers followed by he shoving them down the neighbors’ mouth. I smiled. It was beautiful. It was a crime scene. It was scientific. So not me. It was my life leaving me in the most gorgeous way imaginable. I watched him tear his stomach open and the neighbor’s guts, or whatever they were, I don’t know about anatomy, come spilling out. I step back. Still it looked gross. It was the most grotesque and most glorious thing I had ever seen, and this coming from a kid that stabbed a damn cat in the face. Finally he tore off the big toe and put it in a plastic bag. Then: I was there. Standing next to the mystery figure. I had blood on me. The masked man looked down at me with a look in his eyes that suggested that he was smiling behind that mask. I recognized the look. Then I was looking at him through my window with my chips at hand. The dead masterpiece laid out next to him. Then again I was standing next to them man. I looked out the window to see myself staring out of my bedroom window at me and the masked man. Was I there? Was I watching at a distance? Did I help? Was I the man in the black mask? I don’t know. I remember it differently every time. Maybe if you don’t med me up for a day I can be more clear. But you don’t want me to be clear. It was me and I’m thrilled. It was a stranger. It was my father… It’s visiting hours. My father walks in with a smile on his face. That look. I recognize it. Its unfamiliarly familiar. I had never wanted to choke the life out of someone. Oh, my god. It WAS me. I’m done. Take me to my room. 

On the Sorrows of Tire Issues:

Puke of the Day:

On the Sorrows of Tire Issues:

Why are vehicle tires so damn expensive! Kill me now! Last week I arrived at a gas station to the sound of a hissing snake. I immediately knew what it was, yet I was hopeful. Hopeful that virtually half of my next paycheck wouldn’t go to the buying of rubber wheels for a car I pay nearly 600 dollars per month for. I look down at my tire and there it was; a massive screw lodged into the edge of my tire at an angle. Son of a bitch. Second time in four weeks. No joke. The following day I take my car to the tire shop to get it patched up. Cheap, temporary, needed. The dude charges me five dollars then asks me if I drive fast or “peel out.” Umm, what? Ask my girlfriend. Please. Even she says I drive like a crummy old man. I drive under the speed limit for God’s sake. (Yes, I’m the one you drive behind and cuss at. Sorry about that.) He then proceeds to tell me that I need more than a patch. New tires he suggested. 700 dollars he said. Are. You. Fucking. Kidding me?! It’s no wonder people today only have cars for a short period of time: They don’t want a new car, they don’t want to waste almost 1,000 dollars buying new tires. I may now try the same. I understand that tires are a sporadic purchase, but when the time finally arrives to pay for them, gosh, is it an exhausting moment. Almost defeating. Damn. Anyway, I risked it and told him that I would return. That was a week ago. Avoiding the problem. Story of my life. Pray for my safety. And when I do return to get the tires pray that I have money to eat for the month. Sadness ensues. 

On Devolution (Fight Club and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde)

Random Thoughts after Casual Reading and Movie Watching 

(Fight Club and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde)

Devolution

            Darwin’s Theory of Evolution is the widely held notion that life is not fixed but continually progressing and transforming. It follows the idea that humanity evolves from basic primitive instincts and a heightened sense of irrationality into logically thinking creatures. Throughout The Strange Case of Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, however, Robert Louis Stevenson employs a constant notion of devolution and atavism. If the possibility for humanity to evolve exists, is it then possible for humans to devolve and revert to older, more primitive and animalistic tendencies? And beyond, is it when society places restrictions and forces humanity to repress their animalistic instincts that they further force themselves upon us and society itself? In Fight Club, and in The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the theme of devolution and atavism is continually prevalent as Edward Hyde and Tyler Durden both represent the return to a more primitive state of being, whether that be physically or psychologically.

            In Stevenson’s novel, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the constant references to primitive and ape-like behavior possesses a much deeper meaning than the literal message.  Primal nature and violence, in essence, elevates to a scientific and symbolic stature. The novel presents characters that exist in a state of undeniable polarity. Characters which seemingly exist as individual entities force us to question the inner conflict of humanity’s thoughts of the concept of good and evil, the notion that good cannot exist without evil, and the secret thoughts that lay beneath people’s polite veneer of everyday life. The novel allows us to view humanity as a species that encompass the ability to love, the ability for compassion and beauty, while also possessing the capacity for hatred, evil, and violence. Edward Hyde is everything that Henry Jekyll is not but whishes to be. Dr. Jekyll is handsome, civilized, and pleasant, while Mr. Hyde is portrayed as a primitive murdering fiend; a man with a scared exterior as we as a poisoned interior. Enfield, for example, insists that there is “something wrong with his appearance; something displeasing, something down-right detestable.” Hyde is to a large degree a primitive character; a character that seems to act on the roots of human nature and impulse rather than with any sense of reason. Early in the novel a scene is described in which Hyde tramples a young girl, and “left her screaming in the ground.” He is described as a “juggernaut” and viewed as an animal for, according to Enfield, he “wasn’t like a man.” Edward Hyde evidently has no sense of self control. He is an example of nature vs. the civilized, rational, and cultured Jekyll. Hyde represents just how primitive human nature remains even at such a high juncture of human evolution.

            Evidence exists throughout the novel in which society’s social order is threatened, and in some cases broken by Edward Hyde. He represents the possible devolution of humanity. Dr. Jekyll is the larger, more evolved being, who has progressed beyond the primitive state, while Mr. Hyde is physically smaller for “evil has left on that body an imprint of deformity and decay.” He represents a regression to an earlier stage of human development. Hyde is more vital and primal in his appetites because he has, in a sense, cast off the civilizing evolution that restrains Jekyll. According to Martin A. Danahay, Stevenson includes “both evolution and degeneration in his descriptions of Hyde as a kind of monkey, a less developed, more primitive version of Dr. Jekyll.” Darwin’s theory of evolution also suggests that only the strong survive. A deduction can be made that Hyde is a model of the strong yet evil individual who would survive in the event of Jekyll’s downfall. Hyde is the natural man, free of the civilizing influences of society. A Mr. Hyde exists within every human being, yet society has taught us that we must conceal these instincts that are such a large part of human nature. As a result, humanity is forced to live life with a façade, concealing some of our most basic instincts and emotions. It is because of this natural situation that Dr. Jekyll continues to intake the potion. He views it as a means to freedom from the constraints and restrictions of civilization and society, for as he suggests, he “sprung headlong into the sea of liberty.” Hyde acts as a vessel that Jekyll utilizes in order to do what he yearns to do but cannot due to society’s restrictions. Edward Hyde’s actions would “pass away like the stain of breath upon a mirror.” The duality of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is a representation of the fact that every human being contains opposite forces within them, an alter ego that hides real existing emotions held deep behind one’s polite, society driven façade.

            The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is a testament to not only personal devolution and atavism, but also to that of society’s. Hyde is the epitome of human devolution, and it becomes exceedingly evident that not only does he have a nonexistent regard for social order, but he seemingly yearns for society to return to its primitive origins. Hyde commits the gruesome and grotesque murder of Sir Danvers Carew, a highly respected Member of Parliament. Carew, in essence, is a metaphorical representation of social order. Parliament is in charge of passing laws and it alone has parliamentary sovereignty, conferring it ultimate power over all other political bodies in the UK and its territories. It, in a sense, is the power that places limitations and restrictions upon the people of England; therefore, killing him is like destroying all existing social order in an attempt to return to a more primitive based society. Hyde, it is stated, did not simply kill Carew, he slaughtered him. “Mr. Hyde broke out all bounds and clubbed [Carew] to earth. And the next moment, with ape-like fury, he was trampling his victim under his foot and hailing down a storm of blows, under which the bones were audibly shattered.” Interestingly, the word “ape” appears in the same sentence in which Hyde is breaking and stomping on the social order of society. After the murder of Carew, Hyde becomes a fugitive and “disappeared out of the ken of police.” This is another example of how Hyde has no regard for social law along with a nonexistent sense of reason. Running from the law can be seen as an allegorical representation of how he is distancing himself from civilization and culture for he flees to a village know as the entertainment district which had a reputation for its sex shops as well as its night life. In essence, a place of sin and poverty where less social order is evident.

            Fight Club, directed by David Fincher, follows a similar approach to the notion of devolution and atavism as Stevenson does with The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Fight Club is a reflection of the suffering experienced by the men who feel trapped in a world of grey-collar working-class, an existence filled with materialism and distractions, and a world where there is no great cause for the average man to fight for. The narrator is an anonymous character who despises both his job and life. This dissatisfaction with life, coupled with frequent flights covering various time zones causes him to develop insomnia. The nameless narrator finds himself unable to match society’s requirements for happiness and consequently embarks on a path to enlightenment which involves metaphorically killing his parents, his God, and his teacher. At the beginning of the film, the narrator has killed off his parents but still finds himself trapped in a false world. The narrator in Fight Club is the Dr. Jekyll character of the film. He is constrained by the towering walls of society which he cannot seem to overcome. He lives in a world bound by restrictions and limitations which are utterly destroying his physical body. He, like Jekyll, finds a means to gain social freedom. While Jekyll comes to this by means of science and potions, the narrator of Fight Club creates an alter-ego within the troubled confines of his own mind. The narrator then unconsciously unleashed Tyler Durden into the world. The constrains and limitations of society repress his primal instincts to the breaking point. While Jekyll was fully conscious of his duality with Hyde, the narrator of Fight Club is unconscious of his with Tyler. He believes that they are two different people, yet the reality is that Tyler is the primal being within him and within every human being. Both Jekyll and the narrator indulge and respect their creations, after all, they represent all that they wish to be. It is not until they lose control of their creations that they realize how much they do not want the chaos they bring upon them. Both the narrator and Jekyll lose complete control. Darwin’s theory suggests that eventually the stronger of the two characters will stand alone. Jekyll progressively comes to the realization that he no longer controls the transformation; Hyde does, while the narrator has no initial control and it is until the conclusion of the film in which the narrator looses the chain wrapped around the fragile body that is Tyler Durden.

            Like in The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the narrator creates an alter ego named Tyler Durden, someone not bound by the barometers of society and who could escape the problems of his everyday life. Tyler, like Hyde, is everything that the narrator is not but years to be. Jekyll wished to be like Hyde for Hyde is free, and the narrator wishes to be like Tyler for as Tyler states, “all the ways you wish you could be, that’s me. I look like you wanna look, I fuck like you wanna fuck, I am smart, capable, and most importantly, I am free in all the ways that you are not.” Again, it becomes clear that both the narrator and Jekyll create alter egos as vessels to freedom from the shackles of cultural civility. Tyler launches Project Mayhem, from which the club embarks on various attacks on consumerism. He continually describes his disagreement with mass society, materialism, property, capitalism, and almost all technology and social order; indeed he intends to annihilate civilization itself. He describes his ideal world as a Neo-Paleolithic paradise, in post-apocalyptic urban ruins, in short, he wants a dystopian society; a society without order. The narrator soon comes to realize that Tyler is not a different person, but rather a separate personality. While Tyler’s appearance is not a mirror to that of Hyde’s, Tyler seeks to bring society into a primitive state. He believes that by destroying buildings owned by credit card companies and upsetting the established order there will be chaos, and chaos is the most primitive of any human state. With the disappearance of social order comes violence and disorder, a clear sign of primal humanity and a world of dystopian qualities. Tyler’s goal is to bring devolution and atavism to an entire society.

            Devolution and atavism are prevalent themes throughout both The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Fight Club. Both alter egos are a means to gain freedom from the restrictions and constraints placed upon humanity by society, however do those primal instincts dissolve or do they simply remain growing within us? Tyler and Hyde are a representation of just how primal humanity remains even at such a high juncture of human evolution. Both characters seemingly yearn to rewind the clock and take back humanity to a more animalistic state. While Tyler does it on a much larger scale, Hyde’s symbolic trampling of Parliament is undeniable. As Tyler believes, “only after disaster can we be resurrected.”

Subliminal Message

Subliminal Message

                Okay, so I dream virtually every night. While some are dust in the wind, some will forever be tattooed on my mind. For a few years now I’ve been wanting to create and organize a group of writings that relate my dreams. While they were my creation, I don’t think they belong to me. They are, in essence, stories, and every story no matter how dull should be given the opportunity to be heard or in this case read. This particular idea was conceived because of one particular dream, and it is this dream that I choose to kick start this “dream project,” if you will. While this, like all of my writings, is mind puke, I hope that it comes across as organized and cohesive, but more than anything I have hopes that it has a purpose.

                What follows is simple and a ramble.

                My grandfather passed away days before this dream…

                I open my heavy eyes and see my shoes. Oddly enough the shoes I see are shoes that I would never in my life wear. Too fancy for my simple taste. I lift my head to a sight of my grandfather sitting behind a large baroque style desk Godfather style. He looked utterly majestic. So straight. So clean. So strong. Perfect. This image of him is the image of him that I’ve decided to store in my mind. I don’t want my final image of him to be of him lying on the hospital bed surrounded by his loved ones waiting for his last breath. He was more than that. Anyway: There he sits. On the desk there lay two serial killer looking knives. They look sharp. There’s one other person in the room. A girl. She’s tall, white, and quite beautiful. She’s foreign to me. I’ve never seen that face before. I would recognize it if I had. A triangle. The knives. We stand there motionlessness until my grandfather decides it’s time to speak. “Behind each of you there is a door.” She and I look at each other before we both turn. A few feet behind each of us is a dark brown wooden door just like he said. “You are both to grab one of the knives in front of me, walk into your designated room, and cut your hands.” In retrospect I wish I had asked why, but I didn’t. And neither did she. We both walked over to his desk, picked up a knife, and walked into the room. Pitch darkness. Reluctant thoughts. Pain. Wetness. What seems like an eternity passes before she and I both open the door at the same time and walk over to the exact same spot we stop prior. I don’t look at her hands, and she does not look at mine. He sits there, waits a moment, and then calls her over to stand in front of him. I see him moving his mouth and smiling, but I can’t make out a single word he’s uttering to her. She lowers her head, turns, and walks back to her spot. He then calls me over to stand in front of him. He looks down at my hands, and for the first time I also look down to see the extent of the damage. My hands were gnarly. Chunks of meat had been torn off, blood was creating a puddle at my feet, and flaps of skin and flesh hung off of my hands and fingers. I look at him; he smiles. And this I’ll never forget: “Good. Good job son. I didn’t expect that from you. You did it better.” I turn to look at the girl’s hands; she had tiny cuts, almost scratches on her hands. I turn back to him. “You did it the right way,” he said smiling, “I’m proud of you. Keep it up.”

                Then I woke up. Yeah. I’ve chosen to interpret this simple dream to fit perhaps what I want it to mean rather than what it does mean, assuming dreams have any meaning: “it matters not what you’re doing, but what you are doing do it right and do it with passion.” Thank you for this final message grandpa. Love you. 

Stream of Consciousness

The world moves too quick. “Speed Society,” we call it. We. Don’t. Stop. Always distressed over frivolous matters that when solved, if ever, bring absolutely no slight or drastic change to our lives. We live diseased at the thoughts others have of us. We fear what they think. Will they think I’m handsome? Will they think I’m brilliant? Will they think I’m kind? Will I be welcomed into their ever esteemed and select social group? I mean, jeez, I need friends. Blah, blah, blah. A life based on actions and thoughts brought upon what others think of us. What a mess. What disgusting grotesque mess. Why should I care? It doesn’t matter, but I do care. We all care. Stream of consciousness. Sorry. Anyway, I walk. The rain drops crash on my face, breaking into thousands of smaller drops on impact. It rains daily here, and the drops are always scorching initially and the smell is always pleasant. This is my me time. A time when I can escape the dark, dreadful, and deafening noise that has overtaken this world. A time when I don’t have to impress anyone or be afraid to cry, scream, or laugh hysterically. Walking on the wet sidewalk, avoiding puddles, hearing thunder crack, and watching as lightning brightens the otherwise pitch black sky. The incomparable elegance. Comfortably numb. Perfect. Quite the metaphor for life isn’t it? Flashes of light in never-ending darkness. How depressing. I walk in my clothing made exceedingly heavy by the weight of the water soaked into it. As uncomfortable as it is this is as comfortable as I have ever been and ever hope to be. I walk. Events from my past flash before me like a movie. The time I fell of my bike as a child and tore my knee open, the blood running down, and my empathetic cries. The world was ending. My mother tending to me as if I was the most precious and important thing on the planet. I miss that attention. I miss her. She was a flash of lightning between episodes of darkness. A time when I could see the goodness this ever so cruel world had to offer. I see my high school crush. The girl I always thought would come back to me but never did. I walk. The water is still crashes on my face with unrelenting power. I close my eyes and welcome it. I feel the boiling water and pain… Now my back. No longer hot. Warm. I then think about her. Her. Her. She’s always on my mind. I always seem to think about her mid lighting. Interesting. It lasts a moment before darkness eclipses the light. She’s light. She’s darkness. She’s elation. She’s hopelessness. She’s all the feelings I could ever feel. I walk. I step on a puddle or green fetor water. Deliberately. The water is getting colder. Then I see the mistake as if I were committing it again. I chose it. It’s amazing how sometimes we chose things even though we know how painful they will be. How long the mourning will last. How we’ll always regret. The lightning is missing now. It’s been missing for minutes now. It’s seized when she disappeared. I walk. The water burst on my skin. I shiver. The darkness is blinding. I can’t see. The rain is becoming unbearably cold as time lapses. There is no one else walking with me. I’m alone. Completely. My skin wrinkles from the exposure to the "natural" rain. Then to my surprise. Unexpected. Glorious. The brightest flash of lighting I’ve ever seen. For the first time I see everything clear. I see everything surrounding me. I see beauty. The now freezing water tells me it’s time to get out. I wait. Get out. I wait. I reach to turn off the shower, and think to myself: “I should really replace that light bulb.” I step out. I dry myself. I smile.