Be Your Own Home.

Schrödinger’s Sonnet.

We’re all Schrödinger’s cats. The one difference is that atheists know they’re Schrödinger’s cats.

Agnostics, however, live the benefit of the doubt that keeps it alive and dead, simultaneously.

So you could say that believers and atheists have the best bits of the bargain, being the illusion of confirmation of one state as opposed to the other.

What nobody will admit is this; none of the three are better off, because the outcome is the same.

Of Russia, Dunbar & Being Pissed.

I came here to watch Dexter, or Suits. I heard they were nice, not that I care if they are. I was hoping Hollywood put enough shit in them to drown through layers of ennui, frustration and problems.

Anger, anger is good. People should get pissed more often, I don’t know what people have against anger, wanting to dump it and go for acceptance, a pathetically passive life hack that helps you get over things by extinguishing your core so you won’t have to deal with them, which reminds me of something I read in Catch 22 the other day:

“Dunbar was lying motionless on his back with his eyes staring up at the ceiling like a doll's. He was working hard at increasing his life span. He did it by cultivating boredom.
Dunbar was working so hard at increasing his life span that Yossarian thought he was dead.”

You see, anger is healthy, it means you have gusto, it means you still have some fight left in you. But most of all, it means you still have hope. As long as you still have it in you to get genuinely and vehemently pissed at things, then your soul is fine and kicking. That’s what you should thank God for, you idiots. It’s like he gave you this life-beeper and all you bitches are complaining about is the noise. “UNPLUG MEH UNPLUG MEH D: WAH!”

How can someone in their right mind opt for acceptance over anger? That’s like choosing a wheelchair over a marathon-chiseled pair of Herculean legs. Anger is good for you, you dipshits. Go break something until you feel better. You should be worried if you don’t have it in you to get pissed.

Gallows humor is damn ugly though. You see, gallows humour is just like anger, except it doesn’t have gusto, fight or hope. It’s the pulverized version of the package, what zombies are made of. It is neither aggressive nor passive, nor does it care enough to be neutral for its own peace of mind. No, it’s the darkest pit of hell, right down next to Beelzebub playing poker with Hitler’s toes. It’s a form of pain that is beyond consolation as well as human reach. It’s beyond the human reach even to the human hosting it. That’s what you do to pain you see, you don’t contain it, you host it, it’s gotta be nice and comfortable with a shitload of ever-expanding space like a black hole that swallows everything and doesn’t show a nickel for it. Gallows humor is what echoes when there is no medium, it’s what makes Russian novelists sell.

I got a theory that if you wanna find the answer to any political impasse, it’ll be right there in Russian history. They’ve been through hell and back so many times that when they finally set foot on solid ground they thought it was easier to walk on water and ended up drowning everybody else trying to patch the gap, jump pits and get some of that nirvana they’ve mined. It just doesn’t work that way though, because they paid for it with years of fighting against their own human nature only to find that humans weren’t that great after all, and their nature, in its purest form, was kind of fucked. Some answers you get when you have no other choice but to go about them the hard way, sounds pretty easy and cliché when you put them on paper, eh?

Man I love Russia, the same way you’d love a dead puppy.

It’s funny how I always find myself staring at a blank post right about the time I’m usually staring at a brick wall. All those years of writing for magazines haven’t done anything but make me feel guilty for whoring it out. I define myself as a writer, not because I can write, but because I need to write. And all that printed shit with marketing tricks and psychological manipulations aren’t pieces of literature, they’re just origami. And not the creative type either, but the type that comes with a catalogue. All about target and method. There’s something about writing for the sake of writing that makes you vulnerable, to yourself and to the world; and that is why I can never see myself writing a book. There’s something about whoring out your vulnerabilities that doesn’t hold a candle to whoring out marketing techniques and psychological loopholes. It’s depraved. Kind of like spending hours practicing an instrument, not for your own enjoyment, but to wow a crowd. One day, the last panda on earth will run into a metropolis choked with humans holding a sign saying ‘You’re doing it wrong!’, and humanity will finally get it.

They say the best thing that happened to humankind was when one of them decided to ask why, I think it’s the opposite. That’s just one of those times when people deny things and rationalize their diametric contradiction so damn well that they couldn’t reach it again for solace if they tried. If somebody pretends to know why, or happens to be sure of anything, they’re probably lying. There are no reasons, there is no design. It just is and you ain’t special.

And isn’t it great?

Highlight of the Evening

Meet the friendly neighbourhood butterfly.

All your scribbled lovedreams, are lost or thrown away,
Here amidst the shuffle of an overflowing day
Our love needs a transfusion so let's shoot it full of wine
Fishin' for a good time starts with throwin'in your line.

Sting and Robert Downey Jr - Driven to Tears (HQ)

Message Received.

Necesito más ángeles a mi alrededor.

Fact Vs. Fiction; From Iain Banks’ Last Interview

Go Ask Alice, I Think She’ll Know.

Of Squirrels, School & Now.

I woke up the other day and said the words I thought I’d never hear myself say, the one I’d call people mad when they tell me that one day I’ll say it and I actually meant it. I woke up the other day and said: ‘I miss school.’

Life was simple back then. I didn’t like it, I still don’t. Time hasn’t sufficiently warped my memory for me to like that loathsome bubble, but in comparison to what I’m expected to handle day in and day out as another digit shuffles and flaps me on the ass, man it was simple back then. They didn’t leave much room for unpredictability. My uncle used to say I’ll miss school because when I grow up I’ll know that school was the only place where I’d know I’ll get what I worked for, the only place where the outcome and the process that leads to the outcome are clear as daylight, and sure as clockwork. He said it didn’t work that way in real life, and I sniggered. No one’s laughing now, and I’m 20; I’m just getting warmed up.

I made another discovery of my own along the way. I realized how stupid and dangerous it is to trust anyone with anything but 'now', or even count them in, for you can hardly trust yourself with more than 'now', let alone ‘now’. If you lose sight of ‘now’ and think of near or far future, alternate situations and delve into the past for reference, then you're fucked. If you find that you've started putting into calculation anything other than 'now', that's a sure sign that you'll be, and are, fucked. The reason is very simple, bargaining with more than ‘now’ means you have to stop, and in order to stop you have to entrust yourself with other people, and people are shit, just as you are, because you’re people too. So you should know how to handle your shit before you count other people in, and in both cases the one time variable should be a constant, and the constant is ‘now.’ That’s also why when you find that your automatic response is not strictly ‘now’, you oughta start looking for holes on the deck and I guarantee you, you’ll find plenty more than your Q-tips can fix; some will be big enough to fit a poodle.

But that’s okay, because this is not the first, nor will it be the last time, you lose yourself and somehow find it again. That, you can depend on. That, you can also learn to enjoy. Did you know that millions of trees in the world are accidentally planted by squirrels who bury nuts..then forget where they hid them? That’s one of the many quirky ways life balances out its own shortcomings. Have you ever seen a squirrel take itself seriously? It survives all the same, and has more fun with your garbage than you had with it before it even became garbage.

Because after all, it is worth remembering that we're all drunkenly groping for happiness in the dark and it often turns out to be an unwilling stranger's boob.

Not all those who wander are lost.

And Another Thing.

If a year of continuous disappointments led to the biggest rally in the history of mankind, what would its potential failure/futility lead to?

If an unstoppable force hits an immovable object, what would happen?

June 30th, 2013

Sing It!

I like big books and I cannot lie!

You other readers can’t deny

When a book walks in with a good plot base

and a big spine in your face you get sprung!

Wanna pull out your pens

‘cause you noticed that book was dense

Reading, half-rims I’m wearing

I’m hooked and I ain’t caring

Oh baby I want an e-reader

and a meaningful meter!

My teachers tried to train me

That book you got makes me so brainy!

 

Epilogue.

Q.E.D

When life gets too confusing, drop it and read a book.

Answers never come, until one day you wake up and you realize you already have them, and you’ve had them all along, you just hadn’t matured enough to synchronize it with a suitable trigger.

Although, realizations come in gold nuggets, ones that are even more valuable than their Marvel’s Avenger Alliance’s counterparts. Those realizations will only make sense to you, and you’ll appreciate them all the more for it.

Like for instance, when Carl Sagan said that if you wanted to make an apple pie from scratch you had to recreate the universe, he was probably talking about how our grandmas are demigods.

Or perhaps how being the hand of karma is sometimes worse than being the cheek.

Or maybe how the same reason why you’re phone’s been on silent for over 4 months without you noticing is the symptom, not the cause.

Or how you may be Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter simultaneously, when all that time you thought you were Alana Bloom.

Or how you probably shouldn’t have stopped reading Storm of Swords in the first place, as opposed to how you probably shouldn’t have started A Song of Ice and Fire in the first place, a lengthy discourse that your vapid eyes aren’t worth beholding.

Or why you should’ve just shut up, because that’s the best advice you can give anyone at any given time or place, a good old ‘just shut up’ would solve all of life’s problems, because some parts of your life aren’t meant for other people’s consciousness, and trespassing on that would be problematic to the cosmic order, and cosmic order applies to your molecules as well as the universe’s, and you don’t wanna mess with that.

Or perhaps that the reason you couldn’t solve a problem is because a problem doesn’t exist, the same reason a body can reject an implant that’s installed for its survival just because it’s an alien object behind enemy lines, whose affiliation is seemingly irrelevant as opposed to its tactical strategy for automatically handling that situation. A situation that may not be a situation in the first place.

Or maybe how bodies, souls and minds are not supposed to align after all, and that’s what makes life worth living.

Or how dichotomies are always a bad idea, not just in political discourse.

And so much more, but sharing them would ruin them, because they’re mine and mine alone. I’d forgotten that most things are meant to be that way, and breaking that rule would be abdicating a right.

I can sleep now.

Lost & Found

‘Who am I?’

'You're Rory'

'As in the you're the little sheep whose best friend is an abusive cow and doesn't know anything about life except that it's around the area where there's enough clover, your Jedi is an over aged goat who's angry at life for no apparent reason and you meditate by watching your fellow pig eat?'

'Nah, more like you're the closest thing to a cartoon character who's exceptionally radiant on their own, yet who's cynical attachment to life is through the potential anger and irony of the seemingly tough, yet harmless, people you're surrounded by.'

"I can understand that people want to feel special and important and so on, but that self-obsession seems a bit pathetic somehow. Not being able to accept that you're just this collection of cells, intelligent to whatever degree, capable of feeling emotion to whatever degree, for a limited amount of time and so on, on this tiny little rock orbiting this not particularly important sun in one of just 400m galaxies, and whatever other levels of reality there might be via something like brane-theory [of multiple dimensions] … really, it's not about you. It's what religion does with this drive for acknowledgement of self-importance that really gets up my nose. 'Yeah, yeah, your individual consciousness is so important to the universe that it must be preserved at all costs' – oh, please. Do try to get a grip of something other than your self-obsession. How Californian. The idea that at all costs, no matter what, it always has to be all about you. Well, I think not."

- Iain M Banks, quoted from his final interview.