I rode the metro with an astronaut yesterday--at least I think he was an astronaut. He was wearing a flight suit, and the patch on his arm had a little shuttle in front of an Earth. He exited at the Pentagon stop. Yes, I'm sure he was an astronaut. Otherwise that helmet would have been pointless.

I stopped by a lake today on my way home from lunch. I thought, "Just what I need--a serene lake." So I walked to the shore and sat on a picnic bench and went looking "the Serene." Oh, I found it. Don't think I'm going to say it wasn't there, that this whole trip was for nothing. No, no. I thought that at first, too--as I sat there staring at the lake. "This doesn't 'do it' for me," I thought. "It's water. I get more excited when it comes from my faucet." The guy at the bench next to me seemed to like it, though. He had his hands behind his head in a very satisfied manner. He stared at the water with a vague smile. He found the Serene in the lake, in its undulating splashes on the shore below. Well, at least I think he did. Granted I never asked him. He might have been as bored as I was, just sitting there thinking about the hot girl in the biking shorts that just rode by. He noticed her. You couldn't convince me that he didn't. His smile did change, though, when a speed boat went by. It went from vague to vanished. His hands went down to his lap and he slowly got up to leave. I think. I wasn't staring any more because I was too busy drooling over this boat. It must have been going 50, 60 thousands miles per hour. "You don't know." I wanted to meet that guy, the owner, and convince him to share his vessel. I wanted to cut through the water and disturb those ridiculous-looking birds--the ones with the really thin beak and flat head. I wanted to relate with the person who looked at this lake or whatever body of water it was and said, "Your waves are pathetic." And so, you see, I did find the Serene. It just had more horsepower that I was expecting.

I was walking up the escalator yesterday, because that's what people do in DC even when they're 30 minutes early for work, and I past a crazy woman entering the metro. I know she was crazy because she was wearing a silver dress, loads of eye shadow, and not much else while singing at the top of her lungs--something about her uncle. And since this wasn't college, I could certify her insane. Here's the thing. I might have been the only person who noticed her. Again, that's what people do in DC; they actively donotnotice things. Most city dwellers are similar, I imagine--from New York to Chicago to Dallas to LA. There's so much crazy that if you took time to notice it all you'd waste those 30 minutes and end up being late.

I will ride the metro again next week--to and from work, five days a week--and if I see that astronaut again I think I'll introduce myself. Or how about this: I'll at least say good morning to the person who sits next to me--especially if that person is an astronaut. Or a speed-boater. Or a crazy, singing, silver-dress-wearing psychopath. Or that girl from the bike path.

Especially if it's that girl from the bike path.

In many ways I'm still a novice, a recent convert to the art of living. Every morning I awake to a cliché, happier to be alive than I was the day before. (The cynic that lived in me even a year ago would have espoused, "Sure. You're happy now. But how long do you really expect it to last?" He's still there, certainly. I can hear the questioning as clearly as the triangle in a smooth bossa. It's there if I purposely focus on it. But why should I? Unlike the triangle, whose purpose is to subtly enrich the rhythm, this doubt falls behind the beat, dragging the pulse to a dead stop.) There were so many dichotomies presenting hopeless Either/Ors, asserting that my only two choices were a blindfold or a coma. A pig satisfied or Socrates dissatisfied? I choose Aristotle satisfied. A knight of infinate resignation or a knight of infinite faith? I choose a knight of infinite reason. Mysticism or brute force? I choose rationality. Mind or body? I choose soul--properly understood. Slave master or sacrificial animal? I choose rational self-interest. Rationalism or Empiricism? I choose Objectivism.

Scoff. Laugh. Dismiss. Do everything but think. Your denial is your own immolation, and with that attitude, you deserve it.

[...]

What do you accomplish with your half compliments and claims to the "truth" "behind" the author? Even if we take the most radical of your accusations as true--which they're not--what have you proven? It's a sad commentary on culturally accepted practices that we must make heroes "real"--i.e., deeply flawed--in order to have any appreciation for them. I literally want to scream, "What do you gain from focusing on the mundane and the trivial?" Any excuse. ANY "reason" not to acknowledge her accomplishments. ANY frivolity that allows you to dismiss an entire philosophic system. "Well, you see, her claims to morality can't be trusted because she smoked." "And, well, you can't expect me to take her seriously if she *gasp* had an affair." "And, frankly, she was mean." "And, you can probably tell by her photos, but she was just dreadful to get along with." "We heard she did drugs." "We heard she was a lesbian." "We heard she didn't tip at a restaurant once." "We heard she didn't applaud at a 20th century piano performance."

"Why why I want to listen to a woman like that?"

If you kill all the heroes, who's going to be left to save your life?

[...]

On my first day in the office, a coworker asked, "Are you ready to save the world?" I cheerfully replied, "Can we have it done by Friday?"

Rorschach, though, would have had a different answer.

"Here. This is what you've been desperately searching for. The stamp that validates your existential passport--the answer to 'why?' and 'what for?' and the only response to your teacher's insistence that 'you will feel inept and incompetent like a fraud among geniuses.' Frankly, though, its because you were a fraud. You were here illegally, an alien in your own reality--the land so foreign you assumed the customs of your peers for lack of any better idea. How could you know? It's not as if people had this stuff figured out thousands of years before you were born."

"What? Take it. I'm giving it to you. Oh, I see. I knew you'd be like this. They all are. What you need lies right before you, yet its closeness is what makes you hesitate. 'It's out there,' they told you, pointing to the stars. 'It's in here,' they assured you, pointing to a primitive tome. 'It's all within,' they espoused, asking you to close your eyes and wish the world away. Mystics and brutes told you that what you were looking for either existed outside your ability to know or didn't exist at all."

"And again I say, 'Here.' I'm showing you that it does exist and that you can know it, that you can discover with certainty the meaning of life, the answer to the ultimate question, the 'what does it all mean?,' the roadmap to happiness. And, yet, you're reluctant."

"There's a certain irony, I suppose, that the fact that you need validation almost guarantees your rejection of the very stamp you seek. Not always, mind you. There are those few cases where a person's corruption isn't 100% complete, their consciousness clinging to life. 'Better late than dead,' my grandmother used to say. Nonetheless, years wasted in pursuit of the philosophical version of the Easter bunny."

"But you...oh, you: a mind born to accept this discovery, a mind actively searching for a truth it should have found at the outset, a mind of more potential than any other I've yet to encounter. You will reject it the quickest and with the greatest fervor. You will not only cast your eyes away from it but also vow to burn it to the ground--because, you will claim, no one should have to endure the burden of knowledge."

"Accepting this stamp means affirming your life. And you can't do that. 'Even if it existed, it wouldn't be mine to affirm,' you argue, echoing dead philosophers whose entire lives were spent ensuring the meaninglessness of being. That same teacher, the one who said that doubt is inescapable, told me that philosophers were the physicians of the soul and that philosophy was the study of how we should live. If that is true, then the collective voice of modern and contemporary thinkers has screamed, with an unrivaled passion, 'Don't.' These witch doctors have shrunk your head, yet you look in the mirror and admire the improvement."

"It doesn't have to be so. I beg you because I selfishly care about your well being, 'Here. This is what you've been desperately searching for.' Take it and remake the world--rediscover Atlantis."

"Why are you staring? I'll wait. Can you?"

on racism and cultural relativism

"I know it's wrong, but..." a friend recently confided in me--probably confident that his disclosure wouldn't be discussed on the Internet--"I just hate the way they talk. It sounds stupid."

Black people, he meant. (African Americans. Americans of African decent. I'm not sure what's p.c. anymore.)

Foremost, it's fascinatingly disgusting that we live in a time when all opinions on "racial" matters must first be qualified either with self-flagellation, like my friend, or with the nouveau cliche, "You know I'm not a racist, but..."

Nevertheless, my friend's comment has had me thinking on and off for two weeks. Was his comment racist or the appropriate expression of cultural preference? (I should clarify that I recognize the "stereotypical" nature of the remark. Certainly not every black talks in a way that my friend would find unpleasant. But not every stereotype is racist. Words have meaning, and if he was writing an academic treatise, I would suggest to my friend that he clarify his universal statement. But just as words have specific meaning, so do colloquial expressions--especially in the context of friendly banter. I understood that he wasn't making a claim about an entire race. I had to clarify, though, for people out there looking to dismiss arguments on purely semantic grounds. You know who you are.)

To clarify:

Racism is a very primitive form of collectivism that considers genetics to be the sole, and therefore most important, factor in someone's intellectual and cultural makeup. And, as Rand states, "Like every form of determinism, racism invalidates the specific attribute which distinguishes man from all other living species: his rational faculty. Racism negates two aspects of man’s life: reason and choice, or mind and morality, replacing them with chemical predestination."

It's quite obvious that racism is irrational and shouldn't be practiced. But using this definition as a guide, was my friend's comment racist?

In short, I don't think it was--otherwise I wouldn't be writing this post and you wouldn't be wasting your time reading it. (Unless you're the tens of Kool-Aid-drinking fanatics that visit at least weekly. Google Analytics is awesome.)

To be fair, my friend may be a racist. I don't know what he does in his free time, what Klan rallies he attends, ethnicities he cleanses, etc. I do know that he has black friends. I also know that his black friends don't talk "that way." An African American Studies professor might classify them as "Anglicized" or contend that they've at least assimilated a Western vernacular. Agreed. Might these Anglicized black friends, then, also prefer more "white" speech to "black" speech? And what does skin color have to do with your culture anyway?

Frankly, not much--otherwise I wouldn't be writing this post and...see above.

Race does not determine culture. And having cultural preferences doesn't make you a racist. Yes, people are born into a culture and may experience difficult-to-alter sense of life experiences from growing up in it. But the fact remains that people do, ultimately, choose to adopt cultural behaviors at some point in their volitional life. (Unless you're going to argument against free will. If you are, please, just go away.)

If culture is a matter of taste--that is, a choice of mere preference having only personal implications--then go forth and rejoice in cultural relativism. If culture is not a matter of taste, if it is, in fact, a matter of objective truth, then please step away from the jar of multicultural goodness. I tend to see culture as (shock) the latter, having possible implications for people other than one's self. For example, the cultural practice of female (genital mutilation) circumcision or the cultural beliefs that keep a significant part of Africa in horrific poverty.

Alas, cultures can be right and wrong. (Cultural practices, actually.) And choice of culture, therefore, can be right and wrong. Let me be the first, then, to denounce the atrocity that is multiculturalism--AKA cultural relativism AKA subjectivism AKA evil--and declare that forced female genital mutilation is a disgusting and terrible act that we should unite to stop.

But, then, should I also take the hard line on talking "that way" and declare it should be stopped? Probably not. How, then, can we decide where to draw the line on cultural practices? First, let me say that choice of language can be beneficial within a context, but pretty much all major languages can get the job done. Language isn't the problem in Ebonics. The perversion of grammar is. Nonetheless, while we should agree that grammar and syntax play important functions in any language and that their subversion impedes communication--except in special cases not discussed herein--there is no need to coercively stop people from choosing to speak Ebonics--since their choice is personal and has no physical repercussions for other people. (No person should be forced to learn Ebonics, though.)

And that's the line: harm. Does the person's cultural practice infringe on anyone else's individual rights? If not, then the practice is allowed. If so, it's not.

There is so much here I can't fully explain. I don't have time to write a book. Other people have, though. And you should read them.

I'm changing the quotes on my facebook page, but I don't want to forget the current batch. So, here they are:

"I have nothing to gain from fools or cowards; I have no benefits to seek from human vices: from stupidity, dishonesty or fear. The only value men can offer me is the work of their mind." - Ayn Rand

"Don't work for my happiness, my brothers--show me yours--show me that it is possible--show me your achievement--and the knowledge will give me courage for mine." - Ayn Rand

"...I do not recognize anyone's right to one minute of my life. Nor to any part of my energy. Nor to any achievement of mine. No matter who makes the claim, how large their number or how great their need." - Ayn Rand

"When I disagree with a rational man, I let reality be our arbiter; if I am right, he will learn; if I am wrong, I will; one of us will win, but both will profit." - Ayn Rand

"[A man] will always be attracted to the woman who reflects his deepest vision of himself, the woman whose surrender permits him to experience--or to fake--a sense of self-esteem. The man who is proudly certain of his own value will want the highest type of woman he can find, the woman he admires, the strongest, the hardest to conquer--because only the possession of a heroine will give him the sense of an achievement, not the possession of a brainless slut." - Ayn Rand

"...there are no victims and no conflicts of interest among rational men, men who do not desire the unearned and do not view one another with a cannibal's lust, men who neither make sacrifices nor accept them." - Ayn Rand

"For the genuine orator must have investigated and heard and read and discussed and handled and debated the whole of the contents of the life of mankind, inasmuch as that is the field of the orator's activity, the subject matter of his study. [...] And if we bestow fluency of speech on persons devoid of those virtues, we shall not have made orators of them but shall have put weapons in the hands of madmen." - Cicero

"When one acts on pity against justice, it is the good whom one punishes for the sake of the evil; when one saves the guilty from suffering, it is the innocent whom one forces to suffer. There is no escape from justice, nothing can be unearned and unpaid for in the universe, neither in matter nor in spirit--and if the guilty do not pay, then the innocent have to pay it." - Ayn Rand

"A democracy is nothing more than mob rule, where fifty-one percent of the people may take away the rights of the other forty-nine." - Thomas Jefferson

"If you don't think your life is worth more than someone else's, sign your donor card and kill yourself." - House "Without competition, we'd still be single-celled organisms." - House

"A desire not to butt into other people's business is at least eighty percent of all human wisdom...and the other twenty percent isn't very important." - Jubal Harshaw

satisfied

There is was--salvation--

On the edge of your mightier-than-a-sword,

On the pressed fibers of dried trees,

In the stain of your ink.

From the conclusions of your mind--

On the conclusions of nameless labor--

From work, salvation discovered.

Inductions into a different hall,

Not one of kings or queens or diversity's fame,

But of men and women whose effort,

Meant selfish reward and whose effort,

Made all others possible. And probable. And explicit.

Against the moral agnosticism and baseless whim-worship,

Against the spiritual tyrants and existential heathens,

Against we, us, them, and all was:

"I."--as complete affirmation, as existence/identity, as life.

"I am neither a happy pig nor a dissatisfied Socrates. Nor a nothing."

"I am Aristotle satisfied."

--------------------------------------------------------

As far as potentially life-changing decisions go, this particular query was no more difficult than deciding what I should have for lunch. "I'll have the soup, please, with a side of smug satisfaction."

Or so I thought. Until the fourth day of contemplation.

--------------------------------------------------------

In art, I can't maintain proportions. This is not a metaphor.

a facebook conversation of little consequence to the general public

Friend
i look best with a cigar

Daniel
I look best with Megan Fox standing next to me.

Friend
it would be better for you, I think, to look best next to an object you could control

Daniel
You couldn't have known this without the context in my head, but I meant that if she was standing next to me, no one would be looking at me. (Or maybe you did somehow figure that out--since the joke could have gone numerous ways.)
Welcome to my weird mood. Enjoy your stay.

Friend
are there any extra pillows

Daniel
No. And shots of cheap liquor are $7.

Friend
i feel like i've been here before

Daniel
And you'll be here again. Thank you for flying Air Richards.
So, now that we've got that out of the way. How the job search going?
(Also, I'm Cherokee.)

Friend
i might have a lead
ahah

Daniel
Tres bien.
(Little known fact: American Indians were fluent in French.)

Friend
it is a job
i keep thinking of Roark

Daniel
In what way?

Friend
bad job
but be good at it
i'll be building garages instead of sky scrapers

Daniel
Yep, yep. (But maybe not. Who knows?) At least you're building.

Friend
true
and being paid to build will be nice

Daniel
I am least glad to hear that you won't be begging on the streets of Decatur for the upcoming year.

Friend
but its just a lead anyway
hahah

[…]

Friend
i think shes a figment of our imagination
simultaneous imagination

Daniel
of our collective mind
(that felt gross)
I think she is the Norse demi-God Loki.

Friend
hahhahah to all of the above

Daniel
In other news, I'm eternally mad at you for ditching this trip. There is no way I will ever forgive you since my hatred is unconditional. I thought you were compassionate. I thought you were selfless. I thought you put other people first. Etc.
(I want to hire Ben Stein to read the previous paragraph.)

Friend
hahhahahahahhahahhahaha
you don't need to be upset, several people voted and decided this trip wasn't best for you

Daniel
I applied for stimulus funds so you could afford the trip--based on your great need--but some New Jersey democrat got his application in first.
I think it was their governor.

Friend
hahahhaha
thats not fair

Daniel
Life isn't fair, Friend. Nothing is fair. Fair isn't fair. If the government was fair to you, that simply means it wouldn't be being fair to someone else.
And that's not fair.

Friend
i feel so guilty now

Daniel
Guilt is good. Guilt means you learned something today--like how to racially profile a white cop.

Friend
hahaha
i don't want to play this game anymore

Daniel
HA
Ok. I wish I could say that to my accountant.

Friend
hahaha
you could try

Daniel
Yes, I could. It would be in accordance with my new pledge to stop being too passive about my political beliefs with people that disagree with me.

Friend
its interesting that you say that

Daniel
A group of my Clemson friends (and AJE) decided to start being very proactive in starting debates. And not letting ridiculous comments slide without intelligent rebuke.
Or at least without passive consent.

Friend
i have done the same thing
in some company
namely, in company other than current or possible employers

Daniel
Touche.

Friend
but I would like to live out my philosophy more readily
instead of being afraid of hurting peoples feelings

Daniel
Quite. I especially found it strange that I was reluctant to hurt the feelings of people I hardly ever talk to...or don't really care to associate with--like a lot of my Facebook "friends" or classmates.
So I said to myself, "Self, you have a lot of really good friends. Time to start drawing lines."
Intelligently, that is.

Friend
the weird thing is, I think I am afraid of having enemies
but the people i would make as enemies would be helpless to hurt me in any way

Daniel
Quite. I need to remember that rule. When I do make enemies, they tend to be my professors. Oops. Anyway, lately I've been taking more stands. It's fun. I used to be this way in high school--except that my arguments were much less intelligent and relied mainly on ad hominem attacks.
Basically, I was Keith Olberman.
But straight.

Friend
i'm doing a google search of Keith Olberman so that I can be a part of this joke

Daniel
lol (literally)

Friend
oh you meant OlbermanN
of course
I am intimately acquainted with his work

Daniel
I didn't know you were that into gay porn.
The things we learn.

Friend
hahaha
i find it easier to keep track of the story
less complications

Daniel
Yes. Adding women just... well it just.
(If I had said Chris Matthews instead of Olbermann, would you have followed?)

Friend
if you would have posted a picture

Daniel
(Wolf Blitzer?)
(Walter Cronkite?)
((Too soon?))

Friend
hahaha
where they football players
?

Daniel
Yes. They played for the Washington Elitists.

Friend
tight ends?

Daniel
The tightest.
[insert "committing Sotomayor" joke here]

Friend
right handed?

Daniel
Only if two lefts make a right.
(I'm dying here.)
(Next segment.)

Friend
i was trying to set you up for the finale

Daniel
>> Finale.
"The Aristocrats."

Friend
hahahahhahaha

Daniel
(Get it? We're literally speaking about aristocratic politicians.)

Friend
oh i got it

Daniel
It works on, like, 12.7 trillion levels.

Friend
or at least 2

Daniel
I said "like."
…
It just says, "Sending."
There it goes.
The Intertubes were clogged.
With lolcatz and midget porn.

Friend
hahah

possessive

A property claim like no other--Lockean, perhaps, as your work improves on nature--part of me will always belong to you, in the same way that your life belongs to you. "To own" is to possess not only the object but also "the consequences of producing or earning that object." Of course, no one holds claim to a man's life insofar as that man maintains his ability to choose freely his thoughts and actions. To own something in the manner I'm addressing is not a form of slavery but a path to achieving freedom and "spirituality" and love in its most selfish sense.

To be possessive of something requires an interest, and that interest, if it is a genuinely desired pleasure, comes by productive means--a recognition of your values in conjunction with the effort put forth. Kelley might call possessiveness of humans "selfish benevolence," (and it is) but it isn't. I appears much closer to love than benevolence--which has a standoffish element. But, if I may, I'd like to suggest for purely theoretical purposes, that there might be a semi-emotion different/beyond love or perhaps a subcategory thereof--a feeling of completeness that integrates, differently, the recognition of value and the virtue of production.

(Randians may stop reading this point as I will just go farther and farther away from the Objectivist mythos--a term used ironically, in this instance--into a realm of possible contradiction--not because I find some truth in the illogical but merely as a way to begin structuring my thoughts. Foucault, the obnoxious bastard, did make a brilliant, metaphorical point about new knowledge flowing much easier from the poetic--though unlike Sprig's Phaedrus, I'm not afraid of the eventual "classical" interpretation and classification of my current "romantic" offering. It is, for me, a necessary next step.)

Some basis for my thoughts:

"Love, friendship, respect, admiration are the emotional response of one man to the virtues of another, the spiritual payment given in exchange for the personal, selfish pleasure which one man derives from the virtues of another man’s character."

and

"Productiveness is your acceptance of morality, your recognition of the fact that you choose to live—that productive work is the process by which man’s consciousness controls his existence, a constant process of acquiring knowledge and shaping matter to fit one’s purpose, of translating an idea into physical form, of remaking the earth in the image of one’s values—that all work is creative work if done by a thinking mind, and no work is creative if done by a blank who repeats in uncritical stupor a routine he has learned from others..."

Since the moment you said that you felt possessive of me in some way, I've been working the idea over in my head--perhaps to a fault. All relationships are unique. Some are just more unique than others. And our interactions--however I choose or not choose to define them--are something I doubt I will ever experience with another human being. (It's to be seen whether or not that's a good thing, bad thing, indifferent thing, interesting thing, or otherwise.)

I first thought that it might be a matter of familial association--much like an older sibling helps in the raising of a younger brother or sister and feels a sense of pride and accomplishment when he or she achieves. And certainly this may be a form, sub-category, or other relationship-to-be-determined-later of the "semi-emotion" to which I'm referring. But I don't think it fully satisfies all the criteria of "sameness." (Though if it does, and I'm simply over thinking, mis-thinking, or evading, then I'll kick myself in the shin.)

I'm thinking more of an integration of the Objectivist concepts of love and production, recognizing the brilliance of someone's virtues and, at the same time, actually making that person a better human being--more so than even the best "standard" friendship. Think of actively putting work into another human because you recognize their potential and because you love them for their character--and because you learn as well during the entire process.

Perhaps there was a time when this pseudo-definition best described the relationship between teacher and student--but I fear that time has long past in most instances. Nevertheless, I don't want to abandon the idea just yet.

It seems improbable that even the best teachers feel this way about all their students, but I will consider a "top-notch" educator and his relationship to a brilliant student. In this instance, the teacher loves the student for his ideals--an active pursuit of a healthy mind, dedication to the subject, hard work, etc. Additionally, the teacher puts his own effort into the student during lectures, conferences, feedback on papers, etc. Certainly the teacher takes pride in the student and may even feel a bit possessive of the student when he accomplishes something wonderful.

In a lot of ways, this scenario satisfies the criteria of the "semi-emotion." But consider that the professional relationship of the student and teacher necessarily separate them no matter how strong the teacher's possessive and/or loving feelings. Assuming a normal, appropriate relationship between the two, the student will eventually depart, make his own way in life, and the teacher, though always possessive of the student, teaches new pupils and seldom makes contact. (I realize this is not always the case, especially in higher levels of education. Nonetheless, it's necessary to point out for the purposes of my rambling.)

So, begin with this sort of student/teacher relationship--an integration of love and production--but change it by substituting the professional nature of the interaction with the more relaxed atmosphere of a close friendship. As best I can tell, this sort of possessiveness in this relationship requires a sort of "The Price is Right" effect. It is as close to a romantic love as the parties allow without going over. (Sidenote for the Freudians who might be reading this post: I have no doubt that this sort of experience can happen in friendships between two men or two women without implying that they could ever cross the sexuality line. Even as they approach the peak of this type of interaction, the ledge before "going over" might be blocked by a cement wall with reinforced steel. Unlike a lot of feminist or new "bromance" scholars, I do not mean to imply in any way that heterosexual friends have some sort of underlying, sub-conscious sexual desire for each other. Close does not mean romantic.)

Often the spectrum of love runs on a single axis from "Friendship" to "Romance." Even when a y-axis is added, it often merely represents intensity. Perhaps another way to think about the semi-emotion to which I'm referring is a third axis, a z-axis that represents the extent to which we've influenced someone's life by actively helping them to become a better person.

Why is any of this important to me?

Perhaps its because I still don't fully understand exactly how I feel--more so why my feelings often conflict with the actions I want to take in a given situation versus the actions I plan to take. It's certainly a self-esteem issue, but I'm still trying to identify its source. Many of my close friends swear it's an evasion, and if I ever conclude that they're right, I have a lot of apologizing to do. But right now, even as I reevaluate everything, I conclude that I'm not wrong and that my non-actions are illogical and that the ultimate barrier to my achievements is myself.

I don't want it to be easy. Otherwise there would be no point in my success. Conversely, I don't want it to be impossible. Otherwise there would be no point my trying.

No signs. No hints. No cheat codes. No Game Shark. No clues. No secret passages. No short cuts. No easy buttons. No map. No Virgil. No peaking. No crystal ball. And especially no following when I'm supposed to be leading.

I want to struggle. I want to overcome it. To achieve and make it mine. How primal. And beautifully moral. And beautifully difficult.

persistence

Marked by the moon, your cheek provides canvas--as the distant light hurriedly dispatches across millions of empty, meaningless miles, evading innumerable obstacles and potential respites for the improbable prospect of finding its purpose in your smile. A fair illumination, despite Romeo's envious satellite, the light draws just attention--not just draws attention--both to your highlighted beauty as well as your presence beyond the rays.

You are here. Like the sun is here--in reflection, in spirit.

A hand transgresses the darkness--as casually as the light is swift--lifting the beam from your face and with it the burden of perception. Notice the difference and ask the question. Take to heart what only you know is the answer. Contrast the hand with your vanished smile, with what is no longer made "object" by a gaze, with the intentions of 10,000 ignorant veils.

Realize, then, that the hand is mine.

Reaching through the tired light toward your cheek, gently gliding as the fingers brush your skin, feeling the intensity of your smile and the clarity of your comfort and the softness of your character, the hand stalls at your lips--stationary but for the pulse, a moment of hesitation, of self-doubt, of "what if," of "what not," of "why not," of "who cares," of reaffirmation. But the time is too great. And its greatness too fleeting. And the light intensifies--painless but bright--until white pervades the spectrum and makes absence the rule.

[...]

Persuaded by the sun, two eyes hesitantly open. Reluctant to acknowledge what the mind has already concluded, a hand reaches out. And where your smile once teased the light into action, a palm finds a pillow--cold to the touch. In the wake of your absence, the hand recoils slightly, feeling foolish and excited and anxious and, among other emotions, everything else.

You were there. Like the light was there--in conception, in love.

But the light remains and with it the "burden" of reality--of realizing that the attainable comes from, not with, the ability to attain, of accepting, not expecting, defeat only if it is just and only if it is real, of running toward life instead of away from death.

There is something to be said about the light. It is actual. It has potential. It is persistent.

The hand guides the body to its back then to its opposite side, away from the pillow. Two eyes blink into focus, fixated. They look beyond the immediate, perceiving the possible:

"Good morning," she says.

Where once silence meant the absence of noise and, therefore, a solemn emptiness, a new meaning emerges--one of understanding, comfort, self-knowledge. Letting it be--as it is, as I want it to be--a pause encompasses both a moment of introspection and, consequently, the confidence of a mind finally at ease with itself, its perceptions, and the emerging meaning. Filling the silence no longer seems imperative, its potential no longer ominous. It's absurd now to recall that quiet once symbolized the capacity for danger and regret--that given enough time to think you might reconsider "it all" and conclude...whatever it is that one concludes when realizing time has been wasted.

No more. Honestly and confidently: No more.

To revel in my happiness; to consider, thoughtfully, our words; to recollect; to reminisce; to laugh silently; to arrange my thoughts for future interjection; to rest my voice; to consider, in awe, the intricacies of "it all": These are the infinitives that begin in silence.



Jim Burden's words are infinitely perfect. But also consider Antonia's response:

"How can it be like that, when you know so many people, and when I've disappointed you so? Ain't it wonderful, Jim, how much people can mean to each other?"

Intimately perfect.

I know.

But being reminded first thing in the morning makes for a remarkable day.





Words have a way of motivating us unmatched by other techniques. When they're pleasurable, we consume them, like Alice's cake, and we grow taller for awhile--bounding from one moment to the next with a certain sense of invincibility.

Burke argues that language is symbolic action, that when we speak the words hold the promise of thought transferable into operation. Like most sophists, he is partially right. Words are metaphors for interplay between consciousness and reality. They fill the interstitial space between object and perception. Without them we have no way of dealing with the process of thought and its relationship to the world and our relationship to that interaction. For this reason we distinguish between words and noise, words and grunts, words and mere sound.

Action, even as metaphor, requires something on which to act. There is scarcely any walking without something on which to walk fighting without something to fight or thinking without thoughts. Why, then, consider language as symbolic action instead of simply action?

The person who has no convictions--no substantial thoughts or beliefs or morals--has nothing for words to act against. For Burke, and other modern relativists, the action is symbolic because he could not imagine a world were someone believed strongly enough in something to be moved by language. (Burke might try to defend himself by citing his belief in propaganda and manipulation as forms of "movement." I'll let you read his work and decide if they're the same thing...)

I remember a time when nothing anyone said moved me--in a positive or negative way. To me language was noise. I prided myself on not being able to be offended. I dared people to try. It wasn't as if I was born without the capacity for taking offense. I just didn't understand what it entailed. And therein I found the horrific duality of living without a morality.

The man with no convictions cannot be moved by the most vile words, but neither can he find meaningful pleasure in the praise of a teacher, adoration of a friend, or love of a significant other. Conversely, the man who believes that all convictions are equal will find himself strangled by competing emotions and consumed by every whim of his subconscious. Unable to discern which "offense" or "pleasure" takes precedence, he follows them all--blindly and without the comfort of certainty.

The number one criticism leveled against me--when I try to explain to people how I've decided to live my life--is that I'm "emotionless," a "robot," "without feeling." I can't help but smile even writing these words. It's impossible to show them the vast difference from where I was to where I am. No physical distance metaphor accurately describes how far I've come in terms of emotions. I find myself moved not only to anger by offensive words--described previously--but to tears by what seemed liked trivial matters to me before: song lyrics, 80s cartoon plots, quotes from books, art, etc.

It's a misunderstanding to think that my goal is to suppress my emotions. An emotionless life is a contradiction in terms. Stillness is the antithesis of life. If you cannot move, you cannot live--physically or "symbolically."

Understanding something does not destroy it--like Phaedrus claims in Zen. Understanding emotion allowed me to experience it in a way that I never thought possible--in a way that allows me movement and excitement and happiness.

And so I've moved through the day with a heightened sense of awareness and pleasure, taking to each task a remarkable attitude--one of exhilarated pride--and a feeling of being just slightly taller than I was yesterday. Some people might think my actions--physical and verbal--an overreaction to something as inconsequential as text, expression, "words." Hark! When you understand your emotions, you realize that there can be no such thing as an overreaction.



All of this--from five words at 6:53 a.m.

If I desire a soda, I walk to the refrigerator and retrieve one. If I desire entertainment, I watch an episode of House or read a book or play a game or sing at the top of my lungs when no one is home. If I desire creative fulfillment, I start a project and work on it until I'm satisfied--often until it is complete.

But what if I desire something beyond my immediate reach? What if, for example, I desire a red velvet cupcake from Sprinkles in Dallas, TX?

I am not beyond fulfilling my desires no matter the cost--based on my rational self-interest--being aggressive to achieve a certain end. Except in one instance. In one "genre" of desire.

And the cupcake seems a terrible metaphor. Enjoy terrible metaphors. (Schrodinger had a cat. I have a cupcake.) If I desire a cupcake, assuming I've considered the physical and philosophical implications of consuming it, and, presumably (what an ominous word), the only thing stopping me from having said cake in a cup is my willingness to obtain it and the "finances"--both of which I have--then it would seem absurdly self-interested and even moral to plan a day trip.

Yet a soda is not a cupcake and a cupcake is not a cat. And so on. And on so. And what of the cupcake's free will? What if it won't be had even by willingness and "finances"?

And there it is. The question mark that negates transactions. The swirly sword of infinite resignation.

Oh, what the hell. Airplanes are fun. Trips are fun. Even if I don't return with the pastry.

---------------------------------------------------------

This is all true.

I've never been accused of being affectionate--let alone too affectionate. Perhaps it's time.

putting words in your mouth

"Wake up," she said in my head, in my dream about waking up and seeing her there. "Wake up from this five minutes rest and kindly remember what you've known through and through since that night in September. Layers of complexity are perplex, I see, but they are not a different answer, different path, or different key. It's the same as it has always been--until it isn't. It's the same as it always will be until it's no longer so. The words change; the meaning doesn't. The melody lilts, but the song stays the same. A non-choice is a 'no' but a non-choice in this voice makes me wonder, 'How so?' There is no avoiding choice only deciding not to partake--which is a decision I'm willing to make and one you're willing to accept and one that ultimately means your choice is my choice by means of not choosing. And what are you losing by my frank non-decision? Nothing less, nothing more--by choice and definition. What I offer you is what I have always offered you--until it's more. It's the same as it always will be until I have the confidence to decide to decide. My words change--their meaning only slightly. The tempo wanes, but the song stays the same. My missing you neither means that 'to miss' rhymes with 'kiss' nor that poetic license requires you dismiss what you want to shout into that massive space between our phones and our ears, 'I would give anything to silence your fears with an embrace lasting into tomorrow's dawn. (Like that one in the doorway when you confessed your confusion about where this had gone and I reassured you that going is not the same as too late--and you said that you'd taught me that when I was in slightly different psychological state.) I would give anything to know that you're safe at night as I watch you dreaming, to know that you're rested as I watch you awake, to know that you're happy as I watch you laugh--to know by my presence instead of my phone.' But you don't condone saying this directly--only through metaphor and pretentiously long sentences and not-poetry where words have meaning but also infinitude. Where express expression and intimate confession create a cathartic experience and intellectual progression. Where I love you means I love you--until it doesn't. Where it's the same as it always has been until it's 'yes' instead of 'no.' (The 'word' changes--the meaning most of all.) Where the rhythm advances, but the song stays the same."

I'm lucky, I thought, that this decision means for me what all of your decisions have meant. Nothing less (by choice) and nothing more (by definition). The mere--though how inconceivably not-mere--conversation reaffirms it since its very existence presupposes the achievement of a goal I once told myself was unattainable.

I'm lucky, I thought, to have been "given" the "chance" by god, Bog, and the rest to make the "right" choices--properly understood--in the "right" contexts. Like Ms. Taggart, I realize that tomorrow is not an abstract understanding of impending difficult decisions and relentless quagmires. Tomorrow is another day of my life--another opportunity to demonstrate my love of knowing, beyond any doubt, the fact that I exist and understanding its implications.

I'm lucky, I recognize, to have found someone else--and how!--that understands the unintended evil, but evil nonetheless, behind the suppression of desire, behind the sacrificial slaughter of pleasure to asceticism, behind telling someone to withhold "I love you" not because it isn't true but because people believe that truth can be offensive.

I'm lucky, I recognize, to comprehend so clearly A is A and that which happens happens. And whatever "A" chooses to represent, it will be "nothing more" than proof of what I already know--because nothing more, in that sense, is possible.

I'm lucky, I know, to have a glimpse of your beautiful rational faculties even from hundreds of miles away, to have my lifevalues inexorably intertwined with yours, and, most importantly, to understand that no matter where our choices lead us--or to whom our choices lead us--my "luck" in life would have been remarkably lessened, and perhaps impossible, without your charm.

I know that regardless of your choice--not to discount my rational self-interest in the matter--my luck does not end where your decision begins. I love you because I love you. The recognition of that "I" is not choice-dependent. It is a constant, an absolute within the context of the recognition of my existence. It is, necessarily, a value-laden realization that whispers softly but with fervent desire:

Pssst! It was always lemon. And it always will be.

You have a lot more power than you realize and a lot less power than I realize. It's as if, metaphorically speaking, you're not living up to your potential and, at the same time, I'm giving you too much credit--and neither is necessarily a negative (at this point).

Weird, eh?

Not if you consider absolute truth within a context.

Non sequitur (or is it?):

Words have meaning. Ideas have consequences. Nothing operates in a vacuum--especially culture and love.

Non sequitur (or is it?):

I once professed that I could never be offended. How naive a statement. It was, I suppose, that I could not understand the concept of being so deeply moved by a remark--mere "words"--that it would cause me emotional distress. It is a mockery of the term "offend" to use it in a non-personal context. No one is offended by a wardrobe malfunction at the Super Bowl or nativity scene in the town square. People may find those displays distasteful or inappropriate or "gross" or scary--but not offensive. A "people" cannot be offended. Only a person can be offended. And an offense comes not from experiencing something you do not like but from a violation of your values by someone you trusted not to do so and whose opinion you value. Consequently, it is impossible to be offended by a known scoundrel, a person without the capacity to control his or her language, or your known enemy. That being said, it seems silly to take offense to the truth or a statement made with a lack of knowledge--assuming the statement is recanted once the knowledge is available. These criteria leave very few experiences that fit into the "offensive" category, but they also acknowledge that truly offensive statements are not something to be taken lightly. With these constraints in mind, consider what it means to be offended: You are, essentially, betrayed--though that word has some interesting connotations about motive that I do not (necessarily) intend--by someone you trust through an experience that violates one or more of your core beliefs--values that you have "grokked" honestly by your rationality that guide your life. To be offended is not to acknowledge that you derive your self-esteem from someone else's opinion. It is, in fact, a recognition that your values are what drive your life, and that you take those values very seriously. A violation of those values, even in jest, is not tolerable. As long as it's not a reoccurring theme, a joke may be forgiven as a slip of the tongue or repudiated quickly by mentioning that the joke isn't all that funny--some things are just too important.

Non sequitur (or is it?):

Fundamentally, all I have are my actions. The corollary of that statement--as much as I dislike Kenneth Burke--is that "words are symbolic action." My "word," in fact, is a metaphor for my integrity and honesty and love of justice. Stripped of all other bartering tools, my reasoning mind gives me my actions and my symbolic actions as a means of dealing with other people. Therefore, I take both of these very seriously.

Non sequitur (or is it?):

I consider myself to be a very honest and open person. It is not in my rational self-interest to evade truth or reality. I often spend hours--if not days or months--critically reflecting on different aspects of my life searching for contradictions, false conclusions, and outright evasions. To date, I think I have a fairly high success rate, and I only continue to improve.

Non sequitur (or is it?):

The foundational criterion for someone to be considered my friend--the one value on which all my other criteria are built--is that he or she trust me. I'm not speaking about classmates, acquaintances, roommates, or even people with whom I hang out occasionally. I refer only to the few people with whom I have a close enough relationship that I have earned their trust and trust them in return. This point, however, does not imply that we agree on everything or that our trust is a substitute for our own judgment or that the trust is infallible and perpetual. Trust, like all relationships, is based on values within a context. If those values change or if the context changes, then the trust must be reevaluated. What I mean by trust is the knowledge that our relationship is built on common values: "Love, friendship, respect, admiration are the emotional response of one man to the virtues of another, the spiritual payment given in exchange for the personal, selfish pleasure which one man derives from the virtues of another man’s character." What you trust is that I have no ulterior motives for our relationship, that I am not manipulating you as a means to an end, that I am not sacrificing your life for mine for any reason. What you trust is that we deal with each other not as beggars, looters, second-handers, or murderers but as traders. "A trader is a man who earns what he gets and does not give or take the undeserved. A trader does not ask to be paid for his failures, nor does he ask to be loved for his flaws. A trader does not squander his body as fodder or his soul as alms. Just as he does not give his work except in trade for material values, so he does not give the values of his spirit—his love, his friendship, his esteem—except in payment and in trade for human virtues, in payment for his own selfish pleasure, which he receives from men he can respect." Without this level of trust, there is no friendship. Acquaintance, yes. Someone to hang out with in group settings, perhaps. But I cannot trade my value with anyone who believes it is a faulty transaction from the beginning.

Non sequitur (or is it?):

It is often pointless to be angry or resentful, so I'm not. And I won't be. I love life too much to waste it with any form of regret.

Non sequitur (or is it?):

There is a nuanced philosophical difference between "expect" and "deserve" that I want to explore later. This note will remind me to do so: You may deserve something you don't expect, but you cannot expect something you don't deserve. This idea has some interesting implications for love and relationships, methinks.

on emotions and knowledge

Emotions make life worth living while, at times, challenging us to question our rational faculties by putting them at odds with our feelings. (A man who claims control over his emotions is not a liar but neither is he a wordsmith. Men no more "control" their emotions than they do their hunger. A rational man understands hunger and acts accordingly. The man who "controls" his emotions understands them and also acts accordingly. And just as men may change their eating habits, decide when and how to eat, and learn to manage their appetites, so also can men change their emotional habits, decide when and how to act on their emotions, and manage their emotional appetites.) Far too often, when an emotion conflicts with our rational decision we conclude one of two things: either our emotions are irreconcilable with rationality or the decision we made was incorrect. While the latter might be true--based on a proper understanding of "emotion"--the former is necessarily false.

"Your subconscious is like a computer—more complex a computer than men can build—and its main function is the integration of your ideas. Who programs it? Your conscious mind. If you default, if you don’t reach any firm convictions, your subconscious is programmed by chance—and you deliver yourself into the power of ideas you do not know you have accepted. But one way or the other, your computer gives you print-outs, daily and hourly, in the form of emotions—which are lightning-like estimates of the things around you, calculated according to your values."

Emotions, though, are not as immediately rewritten as a logical construct. Emotional response builds up over years of programming. Eventually, some logical processes become automatic. That is, they become emotions.

For instance, if a man continually finds high values in someone's character, he grows to love that person. It is impossible for him to love a stranger since their values are unknown. (Unless our hypothetical man ONLY values physical appearance--which I suppose is possible but unlikely.) But as he gets to know the stranger (Betty) and identifies the values, he gains pleasure from the interaction. Over time the pleasure becomes such a positive experience that the man's mind decides to automate the process to conserve logical processing power. His mind formulates the emotion "love."

His love is necessarily conditional and necessarily contextual. If the conditions or context change, then the man becomes confused and may even decide that the changes are enough to stop loving Betty. But even as he consciously understands that it is no longer in his rational self interest to love, he finds it incredibly difficult to halt his emotions. He might become distraught, angry, or otherwise fed up with feeling "that way" for someone who no longer deserves it.

If a newly formed conclusion stands in opposition to an emotion, you have to understand why in order to make a value judgment about both the conclusion and the emotion. Note:

"Learn to distinguish the difference between errors of knowledge and breaches of morality. An error of knowledge is not a moral flaw, provided you are willing to correct it; only a mystic would judge human beings by the standard of an impossible, automatic omniscience. But a breach of morality is the conscious choice of an action you know to be evil, or a willful evasion of knowledge, a suspension of sight and of thought. That which you do not know, is not a moral charge against you; but that which you refuse to know, is an account of infamy growing in your soul."

(In our situation, Betty represented herself as pure--as pure as a South Carolina snow storm in March. Betty was, in fact, a whore. And when the man found out, he decided not to love her. His was an error of knowledge. He had no way of knowing that Betty's representation was, in fact, a misrepresentation. He is neither God nor Greg House; therefore, he is not omniscient. He cannot be blamed for giving his love to someone who was hiding her true character. If he decided to ignore Betty's whoreishness even though it deeply conflicted with his values, then he would also be committing an act of evasion and, ultimately, a breach of morality. But for the sake of this argument, he's making the (right) choice to no longer love (ugly) Betty.)

The man's emotions conflict with his decisions because the automated processes of his mind are confused by their new orders. They had been programmed to accompany being around Betty with the values that caused the emotion love. Seeing Betty resulted in pleasure, and the man's body liked it--was addicted to it--as we're all addicted to pleasure. The man must now struggle to reprogram a computer that does not want any such reprogramming. It wants what its always had: Betty (as a representation of an achievement of values). His mind can certainly be reprogrammed. Over time the new logical processes--Betty as a representation of misrepresentation--will over write the old code.

(It's hard to say if the old programming ever goes away. It depends greatly on how deep the attachment was and the will of the programmer. Its as if the programming is written in ink. Sure, it can be erased, but it almost always leaves traces of its previous message.)

Of course, the man's automated processes do not stop receiving orders during this entire process. They start writing new reports about "love" and how it actually sucks. His brain goes emo. It creates a new automated logical process in the form of the emotion fear (of attachment). The hypothetical man finds it difficult to form new relationships because he's overly suspicious, paranoid, and afraid of abandonment. He certainly enjoyed the pleasure of loving Betty, but he also wants to avoid the pain of having to experience another break up.

Its a vicious cycle but not one that's impossible to break. His rational mind keeps up with the reprogramming and, over time, his emotions stop conflicting with his conclusions--but it doesn't happen instantly. It can't and shouldn't.

Consider the ramifications of emotions forming as quickly as logical conclusions. Emotions form over time because we're fallible. That may seem contradictory, but it is, in fact, a fail safe mechanism to help us deal with the world. We do not know everything, so our mind gives us time to find out, to make multiple rational conclusions, and to make sure that our investment is worth the emotion. And, yes, we are sometimes rewarded with emotions for situations that turn out to be something other than they appear. These situations, though, should not be used to damn our emotions but to damn the people that evade reality. They are literally messing with our minds by perpetrating lies. In falling victim to these evasions, we make an error of knowledge while they breach morality.

Sometimes I feel like we're middle school boys, you and I, sitting in our backyard playing with a junior chemistry set. I glance over at you and excitedly declare, "OK, now try this!" Our mixtures occasionally create beautiful little puffs of smoke and we stare in awe. Just as often, though, our experimenting results in annoying explosions. And not the cool kind of explosions, either--the Michael Bay kind that merely distracts us from what's actually happening. But whether we see the colorful flashes or the frightening detonations, it's difficult for our adolescent minds to determine how they came to be. We're ultimately messing with something we don't understand, that we want deeply to understand--that we need to understand. But unlike actual chemistry, we can't learn it from a book or a professor or those naughty sites on the Internet that our moms tell us to avoid. (Yes. Those naughty chemistry sites.) We have to learn it by causing more explosions. And more puffs of colored smoke. And even more explosions.

Now if only we had started when we were actually in middle school...

"[The argument about words versus actions] is not important. It doesn't matter which signs/clues are more important, because what's most important is whether they have fun together, whether they make each other happy."

It's hard to decide when every decision feels like the wrong one. And here we see the problem of using feelings as decision-making tools. One decision is not wrong, but I can only know after the fact. Cruel. But incredibly exciting.

Also, cruel.

Also, exciting.

-------------------------------------------------------------

On third thought, why does only one decision have to be right?

I stand by my previous post 100%.

I'd still rather be me, but I am learning a lot from you--your passion for the "minutia" of life and everything it entails. Bad luck may follow you in games of chance, but in the cliche "game" you (clichely) make your own luck. And what an amazing concept I'm just beginning to embrace. My personal diagnosis: A classic case of mind/body dichotomy. Since my rediscovery of reason, I've been adamant about my philosophy and how it guides my intellectual and professional life--to talk in dichotomous terms. Yet I've been slow, if not reluctant, to apply the same sort of practical application of philosophy to my personal life. It happens. Slowly--not even methodically, just slowly. Not quickly enough, though. And here you are. A living example of how to do it--even if, at times, you have no idea what you're doing--an inspiration if not a model. But both more often than not.

----------------------------------------------------------

Judd Apatow has become one of my all time favorite writer/directors. Praise be to him.

We are now, officially, old enough for drama--though I'm sure you'd argue that we were never too young.

Fine. Perhaps. But we're definitely old enough now.

So your apology for the dramatic seems unnecessary, yet I find it fascinating that it's the part for which you feel the need to apologize.

Funny, isn't it, that not so long ago it was I who had a long way to go before I could stop feeling inferior--many thanks to Mihm, Hesse, AJE, Rand, and others. I "got" there "some day." And yet it wasn't too late--because neither my self-esteem nor time were the proper conditions under which the referent "it" would necessarily change.

"Everything is conditional," says House. "You just can't always anticipate the conditions." Love is conditional. You just can't always anticipate the conditions. Life is conditional. You just can't always anticipate the conditions. My life is conditional. You just can't always anticipate the conditions. Your life is conditional. I just can't always anticipate the conditions. ("You" and "I" bolded in two separate sentences about the conditions of love, life: Apropos.)

When you say, "It just might be too late," I literally do not know what you mean. I know how to read the combination of words, to put together what they might mean in other contexts--e.g. if I can't get on the heart transplant list, "it just might be too late." But aside from their structural meaning, I cannot understand their significance or point. Very seldom can I admit such an ignorance of contextual meaning (outside of my short-lived discussions of time travel), but in this situation, it seems more appropriate to be forthright with this feeling of "uh...woof" than to disregard it and pretend to know. Faked knowledge is an evasion of reality, and I've been trying to evade evasion for quite some time now.

The following is a list of my expectations to rectify my ignorance:
[null set]

The following is a list of my desires to rectify my ignorance:
1. Converse.
2. Not make assumptions no matter how grand or minuscule.
3. Go on living my life.
4. Who is John Galt?

I am not making mole hills out of mountains or mountains out of Floam or mountains out of macaroni and Elmer's glue. The meaning you ascribe to your words is important to my rational self-interest in many different ways, but not more important than my life. The meaning you ascribe to your words is important to your rational self-interest in many different ways, but not more important than my life.

A is A. What is B, I wonder...

Yet I'm reminded of another House moment:

Wilson: I'm curious...
House: No you're not.

Is this entire post rhetorical? What's the alternative? Who is John Galt?
[Fact.]

A student recently said to me, "I see the point, and I have no counter argument, but I disagree." The basis for his disagreement was the fact that he wanted the point to be false. The Universe doesn't care what you believe. Somehow, though, I think this entire post is connected in some weird sort of way. I don't have time to think about it. I'll just assume it's true.

deus ex machina

There are moments when we have our own flashbacks--brief and fleeting an intensely moving. Something we experience sends us back, filling in a forgotten moment of a life that resembles our own but somehow fascinates us with its simplicity. They're not revelations--but scenes. They're not memories in the immediate sense--but shots, angles, arcs. The mind's peripheral vision: items moving toward and away from clarity with our focus and the lighting. Something reminds us of that cut and we relive it. And it retells a part of the story, a part long since un-remembered--not in the bad or painful sense, more so a rank ordering. Was it, at the time, important that I remembered the theme to "Fraggle Rock"? No. But having that flashback, that brief cut, allowed me to make a connection--a connection I had un-remembered. It moved the plot: unexpectedly.

If you're afraid to look silly once in a while, nothing good will ever happen.

Thank you, old guy on House.

reprinted from Facebook for those of you that think it's the devil

I AM SHEEP (or 25 Things)

Rules [modified for future madlibbing]: Once you've been [verb], you are supposed to [verb] a [noun] with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about [you]. At the end, choose [number] [noun] to be [verb]. You have to [verb] the [proper noun] who [verb] you. If [noun] [verb] [direct object], it's because I want to know more about you. [Also, bored.]

1. I am half-Mexican (the left half), but I have not identified myself as such on any unofficial government forms since sixth grade--when I attempted to fill in half of the "Caucasian" circle and half of the "Hispanic" circle on a standardized test. My teacher protested. Instead, I filled in "Other" and wrote "American." I now use my race only in socially awkward situations when someone tells me I wouldn't understand the plight of minorities because I'm white.

2. My "Star Wars" collection is absurdly large and absurdly nerdy, filling two rooms of my house. It will, hopefully, pay for something less nerdy in the future. Like an Edward Tufte sculpture.

3. I have, undoubtedly, been in love--and plan to be again.

4. Before spring break 2008, I was drunk only one other time in my life. I was nine. My mother used to drink vodka and cranberry--moreso straight vodka with a splash of red coloring. Coming home from t-ball one day (4b. I used to play t-ball and baseball.), I saw my mother's red-colored vodka and mistook it for virgin cranberry juice. I downed it. I had to sit down for a while. (4c. I do not like vodka to this day.)

5. Like John Scott, I'm told at least daily that I look like Ashton Kutcher. (5b. That was a lie.) (5c. I have been told, at various points in my life, that I look like: Wayne Knight or Newman from "Seinfeld," Pavarotti, and the professor from "Sliders.") (5d. I have no idea what these people have in common.)

6. I have no pet peeves--only absolute moral imperatives.

7. My first dog was a pug named Simon. It was the first and only time I remember crying because of a Christmas present.

8. I seriously considered dropping out of school after my sophomore year of college, having been convinced by existential philosophers, politicians, and our culture that life was meaningless. I cannot be sure, but "Atlas Shrugged" may have literally saved my life.

9. A corollary to number 8--that deserves it's own number, nonetheless--is that I firmly believe that I'm the most important person in my life and that my happiness, derived from my rational self-interest, is the meaning of life.

10. If JML's fantasies came true and we could all travel in time, I would not want to meet my high school self--nor would any of you. I pity those who have. Looking back, my goal in high school was not to learn or engage in any sort of rational thought or present any solutions of my own, but to make everyone's arguments look bad. Basically, I was on my way to a PhD in a modern philosophy program.

11. I am often incredibly quick to decide whether or not I will like you or want to be your friend. Remarkably, I'm right a great majority of the time. I have only been REALLY wrong once. My bad, ARM.

12. I am a member of a social fraternity. Our values are music-based, but we are not honorary or professional. Yeah, I'm a frat guy. Wanna fight about it?

14. I have an irrational fear of spiders and the number 13.

15. Nature has no appeal to me except as resources for production. It never has. Lakes do not make me sigh; mountains do not make me weep; the sky does not make me feel small. In high school, I started a "Pave the Earth" campaign to increase the availability of parking at my favorite store, my temple, my Mecca: Walmart.

16. After getting to know people, they often tell me that upon our first meeting they had two distinctly different thoughts: A) My voice is much higher than they expected. B) I scared them. Yes, I sing tenor--always have. The choir director at my church told me I was going to grow up to "sing a lovely baritone." When my voice changed, I gained fewer than three steps to the bottom of my range. (16b. I would trade any of my talents to sing bass or play jazz piano.) For whatever reason, though, my piercing tenor voice does not make me any less intimidating. I work hard to tone down the intimidation factor, but it may come from the fact that:

17. I am terrible at small talk. It's a "skill" I've only recently tried to learn, having previously disregarded it as useless. Nonetheless, I'm still at a loss for how to start a conversation with someone I don't know. I'd just so much rather talk about politics, religion, philosophy, current affairs, or pop culture.

18. Several people have told me that I'm the "smartest person" they know. I often reply, "You need to get out more." Confidence can be mistaken for intelligence if done right. Not that I would do such a thing...

19. I was never a confident person. I am now. In most matters. (19a. I'm incredibly confident when I'm teaching.)

20. I cannot be true friends with someone who does not believe in the primacy of reality. I can "get along" with them. I can work with them. I can even be acquaintances. But I cannot invest time and energy into people who believe we live in the Matrix.

21. There are at least three people I could not tag in this note because they do not have Facebook. Can you guess which three? (21b. No, you can't.)

22. I was a terrible, but clever, child. Evidence: A) I once shouted, "Where's my G-D Coke?" at a waitress. When she brought it, I decided I wanted to take it home with me, so I poured it in my mother's purse. B) My mother once scolded me for not finishing my spaghetti. She said, "There are starving children in Africa that would love to have this food." I got up from the table with my plate and proceeded to pour it into an envelope. I told her, "Send it to them." C) Upon seeing a black man for the first time, I started pointing in the middle of White Castle and rather loudly exclaiming, "Look, mom! A chocolate man! He's made of chocolate!" We immediately left.

23. I love you all, but to be completely honest, there is only one person tagged in this note that I would like to know more about per the "rules" of this note game. Fight amongst yourselves. (23b. I love inciting riots.) (23c. Among my friends.)

24. My favorite food ever: Gyros. A close second would have to be homemade tamales. [See number 1.] (24b. One of my close friends in high school used to call me "refried bean" because I was half Mexican.)

25. I'm often reluctant to consider "things" that are "popular." I'm skeptical of anything new. In fact, I did not even consider doing one of these "25 Things" until I saw Danny Rowland's. He gets a free tag for the inspiration. Knowing him, he'll be elated.

26. [Don't freak out that I'm on number 26. See number 13.] Some of the best advice I've ever been given is to live my life without regrets. From the time I received that advice on, I've done so to the best of my ability. And it has been glorious.

rock,

DTR

"You only get put on the friends ladder if you suppress your own desires." - someone smarter than me

Academic: Breaking - I'm not prepared to be an academic--a teacher, perhaps, but not an academic. With every word I write, I think about the meaninglessness of my action. My topic has been so bastardized by certain "orders" or "discourse" that it has lost its significance to me. Like a defeated Roarkian (an oxymoron?) or moreso a pre-Galtian Rearden, my efforts to salvage what's left of an atrocity are futile and, perhaps, even immoral. And today I learn that the mutant proposal--which I allowed them to create--is not even good enough. I must be fair to all theories. Even my thesis must be multicultural / postmodern / dead. If someone said to you, "Even if you believe in the value of your own life, you must consider the fact that it's not valuable at all for the sake of everyone else who think's their life is worthless," what would you do? Would you make the argument? The proper response, it seems to me, is to punch them in the face and walk away. But that won't get me a master's degree in most states. This isn't Alaska for God's sake.

Social: Breathing - Aren't I always?

Personal: Confused - Aren't I always? No. That's not fair to me. In a time when I feel as if I'm able to live more freely than ever before, it seems as if I don't know what to do with my new found freedom.

on duty

This link is the perfect example of what I mean when I say that I have neither the time nor the desire to restate arguments that have already been made.

Taxation is theft.
I am against theft.
Therefore, I am against taxation.

All taxation.

If only a crazy person can hold such a view, then I wholeheartedly accept my insanity and unrepentantly damn the sane.

She can explain. I don't have the time or the patience to repeat what's been said.

You may gladly pay any taxes you'd like to the government. Cut them a check. Send 90% of your paycheck. They'd accept it. They'd even tell you you're moral for doing so. It's just money. What's the big deal? It's just paper. Paper with no attachment to reality. With no attachment to production. With no attachment to value. It's nothing. What's one more percent? Two? Three? Four? Five? Six? Seven? Eight? Nine? Ten? Eleven? Twelve? Thirteen? Fourteen? Fifteen? Sixteen? Seventeen? Eighteen? Nineteen? Twenty?

The question is not whether you should pay more in taxes. The question is whether you have the right to make someone else pay more in taxes. What hold do you have over another man's life? His production? What right do you have to his time and effort? By what right do you hold a gun to his head and say that he must work for his "brothers and sisters?" Show me that right, please. I didn't say "should" or "ought" or "it would be nice if." I said "right." Show me that right.

Since you are undoubtedly tired of reading Ayn Rand quotes, no matter their truth value, I'll leave with some from another writer I greatly admire:

"A democracy is nothing more than mob rule, where fifty-one percent of the people may take away the rights of the other forty-nine." - Thomas Jefferson

"A wise and frugal government, which shall leave men free to regulate their own pursuits of industry and improvement, and shall not take from the mouth of labor and bread it has earned - this is the sum of good government." - Thomas Jefferson

"There is a natural aristocracy among men. The grounds of this are virtue and talents." - Thomas Jefferson

"To compel a man to furnish funds for the propagation of ideas he disbelieves and abhors is sinful and tyrannical." - Thomas Jefferson

"I predict future happiness for Americans if they can prevent the government from wasting the labors of the people under the pretense of taking care of them." - Thomas Jefferson

"Force is the vital principle and immediate parent of despotism." - Thomas Jefferson



How far we've come.

Why do people think I'm joking when I gleefully cheer impending socialism? I welcome it with open arms and wallet. I emphatically pre-endorse every collectivist policy that President Obama and the Democrat Congress plan to pass.

When universal health care arrives, my health will be the envy of my friends. At even the thought of sickness I will schedule a visit to my doctor. I'll take every drug s/he prescribes until the refills run dry. Headache? Doctor. Stubbed toe? Doctor. Tired? Doctor. Angry at my roommates? Doctor. I plan to take full advantage of such a program and encourage everyone else to do the same. Hell. I'm not paying for it!

Likewise, I will relish in my tax cuts, tax breaks, or any welfare system enacted. If only those making $250,000 or more are to be taxed then I will plan my life accordingly. My salary will cap at $249,999. I'd certainly like to work hard and make more, but we all have to make sacrifices in these troubled times.

The left is right. (See what I did there?) It's about time some of these rich people started paying for my well being. They have so much money. It's absurd. What right do they have to it? The only right any of us really has is the right to obey the majority. Individual rights are as antiquated as the second amendment. I don't own a gun. I've never fired a gun. And I don't plan on owning a gun. So if they're banned, restricted, or taxed, I suppose it won't bother me in the slightest. At least they'll finally be out of the hands of criminals.

Nationalizing the banks? That's fine with me. Why would I care? If it works, it must be right. While we're at it, we should nationalize the car companies so this whole "bankruptcy" thing doesn't happen again. Our government has a great track record with managing money. Or, at least, it will with Obama in office.

Oh, change can you see by the dawn's early change
What so proudly we changed at the twilight's last changing?
Whose broad change and bright hope thru the perilous Bush,
O'er the changes we changed were so gallantly changing?
And the rocket's red change, the bombs bursting in change,
Gave change through the night that our change was still change.
Oh, change change that change-spangled banner yet change
O'er the land of the change and the home of the change?

Play change.

Kevin James perpetuates "the lie." And no. The lie is not that Kevin James is funny. He is often funny-ish.

"Giddy" is often a good thing. Most of the time, at least. And in this case as well. It's an accomplishment--or as the French say: "accomplissement"--something to take pride in.

Giddy-pride. (Sounds too much like "gay pride.") Prideful giddiness. (Eh.)

Giddy is a terrible word phonetically. It's not manly at all.

Do you want to...
Yes.

Strrrrrrike one!

How about...
Sure, sounds great.

Swing and a miss!

Well, I still want to... Do you?
Yes, absolutely.

Strike three! You are outta here!

Good thing I have two more batters. And it's only the bottom of the second.

(Was that a sports metaphor? On this blog? My, my how things change.)

------------------------------------------------------------------

Yes, BRT, that was four exclamation points in one post.

It's I who have won in this situation, you know. It's not a "sad" feeling to glance or a "depressing" feeling to emote. Awkward? Ok, yes, a bit. But more so invigorating.

------------------------------

When you say, "I want to share an experience with you," what power are you conceding? Does the content of someone's answer change based on your saying what you desire? Does your mere expression disqualify you from its attainment? Is acknowledgment of reality the ultimate turn off? It might be more appropriate to ask, "Should I be interested in someone for whom the acknowledgment of reality is the ultimate turn off?" It could become a litmus test.

Dagny didn't believe that he was possible. She was ready to die searching for an ideal.
(Dagny is a fictional character.)
(He is a fictional character.)

I didn't believe that she was possible. She is not the ideal--for the simple fact that I am not her ideal--but she is an acknowledgment of the possibility. For me. I am ready to die searching for an ideal.
(I am not a fictional character.)
(She is not a fictional character.)

You¹ do not believe that she is possible. You¹ are ready to die not searching for an ideal.
(You¹ are not a fictional character.)
(She is a fictional character.)

Nuances of possibility and actuality.

What do you think it was that I thought when you opened the door and entertained the idea of aesthetic supremacy--of knowing a Platonic ideal through the witness of beauty? (It's nonsense, you know, what they say about Platonic love. "Selfless love" is neither selfless nor love. How flattering to say, "I derive no pleasure from loving you." Platonic "love"--a bastardization of the term--is more so a prison than an emotion, more so a self-imposed panopticon of shame.) But Plato may have been on to something he could not understand. (People who don't believe in the primacy of reality cannot comprehend its frighteningly beautiful complexity. You may ask anything of "philosophers" except that they admit what they see.) "Ideal forms" exist but not in some higher realm. (What higher realm exists besides that which I can achieve with my life?) Death is not a prerequisite for their attainment. But truth is. And ego. And happiness.

What do you think it was that I thought when you commented on my "looking great"--aside from my Payless shoes? It wasn't that I was the luckiest man in the Universe wearing cheap footwear--though it probably should have been. It wasn't that I was overwhelmed with happiness to be blessed with this evening--though it probably should have been. It wasn't that "love sometimes occurs without pain or misery." Or that "the idea of you is part of my mind; you influence my likes and dislikes, all my tastes, hundreds of times when I don't realize it." Or that "[a man] will always be attracted to the woman who reflects his deepest vision of himself, the woman whose surrender permits him to experience--or to fake--a sense of self-esteem."

What was it, then, that pervaded my senses--both physical and spider--when your hair draped your shoulders to hide them from undesired glances--as if there were such a thing--when your red dress refused, demanding eyes and everything they bring and everything they imply and everything you want them to bring and imply? (Like looking at a sculpture except that art represents the potentiality of man and you the reality. And the actual is much more exciting than the potential, let me tell you.)

I thought to myself, and no one else, that you deserved something tonight that I couldn't provide: a date. (There is something to be said for independence--something grand and profound and incredibly important. But your independence is not dependent on your relationship status on Facebook.) Every new year that passes with our celebration is one without your celebration. A travesty of told--though still unbelievable--proportions.

Don't think me an ingrate. Or a fool. Or whatever else you're thinking of me. Every moment I have the privilege of spending with you provides me incalculable happiness--pure, unadulterated, selfish happiness. "And you think it's not the same for me," you ask? "You are my friend and I love you." To which I reply: It's not the same. And you know it's not. (And I'm still not scolding you.)

And it's OK, your difference in experience. More than OK, even.

It's beautiful.









But it's also not something I want for you for/ever. "That's awfully selfish to want something for me? What if I don't want it?" The first hypothetical question invalidates the second. How's this for your double meaning: I want for you but I can't actually want for you--no more than I can breath or think or move for you, no more than I can make you want or give you permission.

You're allowed, killer. And you should take every advantage. I do. And I will continue.

How's that for scolding?

Maybe it's the hotcake syrup talking, but today sucks. The temperature is approximately -infinity and the metropolis I call home hasn't had power for going on twelve hours. It is so cold [how cold is it?] that the Diet Dr. Pepper in my bedroom has turned to Diet Dr. Pepper icee--and not the good kind that AJE used to get at that gas station. The bad kind, the kind that tastes watered down and anemic and depressed. [that wasn't very funny.] (I don't live to amuse you.)

At the current moment, the present time, this exact second, I'm sitting in the Gilman McDonald's. They have heat. For the first time in my life, I payed for temporary Internet access only to stare at an empty e-mail inbox and an iChat list with lots of red dots and the word "Away" staring me in the face, provoking me like a damned Diet Dr. Pepper icee. And not the good kind, either.

Let's play a game, I say to myself. Let's see how long it takes me to stop staring at "Away" and start doing something productive.

I would participate, but I don't like these storts of competitions with myself. They wouldn't be so bad if the cards weren't so stacked against me that it was impossible to win.

Chicken.

More so, I would participate if my participation didn't imply weakness, which it almost inevitably does. Feeling weak isn't my "thing." Confused, yes. Frustrated (AJE style), sometimes. Weak? Not so much. Perhaps a self-esteem issue here and there might project an aura of weakness. It's not so much weakness, though, as a self-evaluation of my shortcomings--with the knowledge that I have the ability to "fix" most of them. Granted, I'm often the harshest critic of mysef--and you of yourself, and you of yourself, etc. But I don't feel weak, often.

Well, no more "Away." It took only 47 minutes, and I'm pretty sure I stared the entire time.

Is that weakness or strength, self-control or self-immolation?

It felt something like this:

My tongue is in my fingertips and it abhors the keyboard's bitter zest. It's not possible to say how I feel or how I think you feel. I can't imagine because I haven't experienced. This isn't so much a conversation as a dance and not even a good kind of dance, having recently learned that there is such a thing, where at least one of the participants actually enjoys the movement. It was, more so, a dance of avoidance--a dance where the purpose was, in fact, to avoid moving too abruptly, to carefully step away from each other and on to more important ritualistic dances, to elevate the discourse such that it ceases. Because it's impossible to comprehend this rhythm. Because the tempo is much too fast to feel this remarkably slow. And because it's not a fad. Or the chicken dance. Or the electric slide.

And that's why I won't type, "I'm sorry..."

You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him realize that the water is actually a metaphor for free will and that the horse, itself, isn't actually a horse but a symbol for man.

You can never lead a man on, but you can't stop him from leading himself on.

You can show no interest in a man, but you can't stop him from imagining interest.

You can lead a horse to a certain conclusion, but you can't make him accept that conclusion--no matter how self-evident.

You can lead, but you can't make.

You can, but you can't.

You, but you.

You, you

You can lead a lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink his own reflection.

(Why do you continue to lead this horse, anyway?)

(Oh, that's right, you're not. I already forgot.)

----------------------------------------

This is not poetry.

It's liberating, really, to do something you want to do and are afraid to do simultaneously. You decide to do it and the fact that it happened is more important--for the time being--than the actual action itself--the importance of which will come as the action acts. Even if the action turns out to be wrong or false, it doesn't negate the importance and impact of your doing it. And if it's right...

well...

...hot damn.

--------------------------------

Post 150. And there was much rejoicing.

Yay.

from June 21, 2007:

"As much as I hate the idea, it's going to take South Carolina. How pitiful is that? (Rhetorical?)"

hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha...ad infinitum

It's going to take something more powerful than a state, larger than the South, or stronger than sweet tea.

It's going to take someone.

my strengths according to an online test I took this test (registration required). Here are the results. I mostly agree. ........................................... Your Top Strength

Creativity, ingenuity, and originality Thinking of new ways to do things is a crucial part of who you are. You are never content with doing something the conventional way if a better way is possible.

Your Second Strength

Industry, diligence, and perseverance You work hard to finish what you start. No matter the project, you "get it out the door" in timely fashion. You do not get distracted when you work, and you take satisfaction in completing tasks.

Your Third Strength

Judgment, critical thinking, and open-mindedness Thinking things through and examining them from all sides are important aspects of who you are. You do not jump to conclusions, and you rely only on solid evidence to make your decisions. You are able to change your mind.

Your Fourth Strength

Perspective (wisdom) Although you may not think of yourself as wise, your friends hold this view of you. They value your perspective on matters and turn to you for advice. You have a way of looking at the world that makes sense to others and to yourself.

Your Fifth Strength

Honesty, authenticity, and genuineness You are an honest person, not only by speaking the truth but by living your life in a genuine and authentic way. You are down to earth and without pretense; you are a "real" person.

Strength#6

Hope, optimism, and future-mindedness You expect the best in the future, and you work to achieve it. You believe that the future is something that you can control.

Strength#7

Caution, prudence, and discretion You are a careful person, and your choices are consistently prudent ones. You do not say or do things that you might later regret.

Strength#8

Bravery and valor You are a courageous person who does not shrink from threat, challenge, difficulty, or pain. You speak up for what is right even if there is opposition. You act on your convictions.

Strength#9

Love of learning You love learning new things, whether in a class or on your own. You have always loved school, reading, and museums-anywhere and everywhere there is an opportunity to learn.

Strength#10

Forgiveness and mercy You forgive those who have done you wrong. You always give people a second chance. Your guiding principle is mercy and not revenge.

Strength#11

Humor and playfulness You like to laugh and tease. Bringing smiles to other people is important to you. You try to see the light side of all situations.

Strength#12

Zest, enthusiasm, and energy Regardless of what you do, you approach it with excitement and energy. You never do anything halfway or halfheartedly. For you, life is an adventure.

Strength#13

Curiosity and interest in the world You are curious about everything. You are always asking questions, and you find all subjects and topics fascinating. You like exploration and discovery.

Strength#14

Social intelligence You are aware of the motives and feelings of other people. You know what to do to fit in to different social situations, and you know what to do to put others at ease.

Strength#15

Capacity to love and be loved You value close relations with others, in particular those in which sharing and caring are reciprocated. The people to whom you feel most close are the same people who feel most close to you.

Strength#16

Gratitude You are aware of the good things that happen to you, and you never take them for granted. Your friends and family members know that you are a grateful person because you always take the time to express your thanks.

Strength#17

Kindness and generosity You are kind and generous to others, and you are never too busy to do a favor. You enjoy doing good deeds for others, even if you do not know them well.

Strength#18

Self-control and self-regulation You self-consciously regulate what you feel and what you do. You are a disciplined person. You are in control of your appetites and your emotions, not vice versa.

Strength#19

Citizenship, teamwork, and loyalty You excel as a member of a group. You are a loyal and dedicated teammate, you always do your share, and you work hard for the success of your group.

Strength#20

Fairness, equity, and justice Treating all people fairly is one of your abiding principles. You do not let your personal feelings bias your decisions about other people. You give everyone a chance.

Strength#21

Appreciation of beauty and excellence You notice and appreciate beauty, excellence, and/or skilled performance in all domains of life, from nature to art to mathematics to science to everyday experience.

Strength#22

Modesty and humility You do not seek the spotlight, preferring to let your accomplishments speak for themselves. You do not regard yourself as special, and others recognize and value your modesty.

Strength#23

Leadership You excel at the tasks of leadership: encouraging a group to get things done and preserving harmony within the group by making everyone feel included. You do a good job organizing activities and seeing that they happen.

Strength#24

Spirituality, sense of purpose, and faith You have strong and coherent beliefs about the higher purpose and meaning of the universe. You know where you fit in the larger scheme. Your beliefs shape your actions and are a source of comfort to you.

three related meta-pseudo-meta-rants about everything in particular

hero

"At the round earth's imagined corners blow
Your trumpets, angels, and arise..."

I want to be a hero--sans cape, powers, tights, sidekick, secret identity--a hero to someone. Not "society" or "people" or "they" or "them" or even "public" or "culture." I want to be a hero to someone who needs my heroism but doesn't demand it, who accepts it knowing that it's the most selfish thing I could possibly offer, who is appreciative of my offer--all of which are qualifications that, to this point, I've seen only partially realized in the someones in which I've invested. (And, as far as my knowledge extends, they may be impossible qualities--qualities that exist only in a perfect world, or so I'm told. If so, then, for now, I willfully evade reality--conscious that long term evasion means stagnation and stagnation means death and so on and on and on. If I truly am "hiding," then I prefer being hidden to facing what actually exists: a conglomerate of nihilistic, sad/is/tic pseudo-philosophies.) It's primal, almost, this sense of wanting to protect, to shield from the "thems" and "publics" and "theys" and ..., to provide for and to care for not in selfless, Platonic terms--but in full recognition that I would give my life to be the hero because I am selfish--not because their happiness comes before mine but because their happiness is mine. Not because I love but because I love.

think/feel/realize/do

What I think:
If you asked me to wait a year, I'd happily give you 10, 20, a lifetime. I would wait outside your window with an out of tune guitar that I couldn't even play and serenade with a tune an octave too high until my voice ceased acknowledging my desires. I would take being ignored and comforted and teased and ignored again. The sprinkler wouldn't bother me, nor the snow. I would, I would. If you asked.

What I feel:
Guilty. Anxious. Torn. Excited. Defeated.

What I realize:
That moving on means moving on. That I deserve. That the world, despite what the "theys" tell us, is not about suffering and hopelessness and despair. "That love sometimes occurs without pain or misery." That what I'm feeling is neither painful nor miserable--only gripping. That I have no idea how to enact the practical motions of "moving" "on"--from that, mind you, which never existed to "move" "on" from. That when I speak I have little chance of saying anything remotely close to what I want to say. That that isn't always a bad thing--except when it is.

What I do:
Live.

...


Try--often fail.


Learn. Take more chances than usual.







...


words

Creating friendships has never been my forte. It happens. I do not know how. When I try, it seems as if I'm being stilted, scripted, shady. I can't even imagine translating that awkwardness beyond establishing a friendship. I don't have the confidence and I don't have the social awareness. And so the words escape me.

"For, if above all these my sins abound,
'Tis late to ask abundance of Thy grace,
When we are there. Here on this lowly ground
Teach me how to repent..."

Barack Obama: The president America deserves

Daniel “Hussein” Richards

Brothers and sisters of the People’s Democratic States of America:

With the election quickly approaching and tidal waves of change washing away the recalcitrant debris of outdated logic and old-fashioned reasoning, it has become fuliginously clear that this country needs, deserves and longs for a president that reflects its most cherished values, upholds its strongest convictions and endorses everything it has come to represent. It should be no surprise then, comrades, that the Democratic Party has nominated just such a candidate: Barack “We are all ‘Hussein’ ” Obama.

In no other living person could America find such a strong combination of progressive, populist, pro-people politics. It’s as if Darwin Himself, may He bless and keep us, directed the evolution of man to its ultimate conclusion in our Savior, the “O”ne, the Alpha and “O”mega: Barack “H” Obama.

In an era when reason has been proven invalid, logic determined to be illogical, and science exposed as mere illusion, we must abandon old ways of knowing, thinking and doing and embrace the only true absolutes: pity, love and faith. Only “O”ne man can bring about that change we deserve: Barack “Help Us” Obama.

When it comes to fighting “terrorists”—a crude term that should be replaced by the more accurate phrase, “Freedom-Loving, Often Wary, Reluctant Soldiers” (FLOWERS)—both ends of the political spectrum agree that using reason is pointless. That’s why Barack Obama has advocated abandoning reason when dealing with FLOWERS or states harboring FLOWERS. Obama was even bold enough to admit his stance during a Democratic Primary debate sponsored by CNN and YouTube. When asked if he would meet with leaders of Iran (Mahmoud Ahmadinejad), Venezuela (Hugo Chavez) and North Korea (Kim Jong-il) without precondition, the Great junior senator from Illinois proudly exclaimed, “I would!”

These men are not inherently evil and their ideologies are not inherently evil. More likely than not, these men were teased as children, picked on during recess or, even worse, picked last for kick ball. We must not turn our back on them now in their greatest time of need. We must show them pity, mercy, leniency. America, need I remind you, has committed unspeakable crimes in its past—similar or worse than those committed by Ahmadinejad, Chavez or Jong-il. We mustn’t take the moral high ground lest we call ourselves hypocrites.

Irregardless, hasn’t multiculturalism proven that it’s wrong to judge different cultures and their practices? We cannot say that “destroying Israel” is any more of a noble goal than invading Afghanistan or Iraq. Ahmadinejad has his culture. We have ours. Who is the United States to judge? No one. And only “O”ne man can abandon the shackles of reason and show these countries and their leaders the pity they deserve: Barack “Heidegger” Obama.

Even on the home front, Obama is committed to breaking the oppressive death grip of logic on our economy and replacing it with the warm embrace of love. Everyone knows—and by “knows” I mean “strongly feels as if”—greed is to blame for the current economic downturn. Greedy industrialists and their greedy bankers got their greedy hands on your money and spent it recklessly to feed their greedy, greedy greed.

Greed!

And Barack Obama is ready to do something about it. He knows that the only solution to the economic crisis is love, love for your fellow man and your fellow man’s family. Only when we whole-heartedly believe “love is the answer,” that “love will keep us together, that “love shack is a little old place where we can get together,” will we finally be free from the bonds of logic and the most contemptible of all ideas: capitalism.

Even if you do not fully commit to the idea of love, Obamanomics can help you! Under Obama’s ingenious planned economy, the “free” market will be replaced by a series of committees that determine how much money you deserve to make. Always remember: The government is your friend. The House Democrats attempted to institute a Reasonable Profits Board in April of 2008 to confirm that Big Business was, indeed, making an unreasonable amount of money. The greedy Republicans shouted, cried and used their oppressive logic to defeat the matter. Conservatives are anti-love.

Additionally, Obama calls for 95 percent of all tax payers to be loved more by the top five percent of wage earners. Under his plan, the super-ultra-mega-rich people and businesses making more than $250,000 a year would be compelled to spread their love among the people that have less love. It has long been established that need outweighs all other concerns, and Obama firmly believes that men of ability should be compelled to provide for men of need. It should sicken any man with a heart to see businessmen make money for themselves. When they succeed it naturally follows that they force others to fail.

In response to a greedy plumber’s greedy concerns about a pittance more in taxes, our Fearless Leader Obama replied, “I just want to make sure everybody who is behind you that they’ve got a chance at success, too. […] When you spread the wealth around, it’s good for everybody.” Indeed! Obama understands that wealth is like a very tiny pie, and when greedy plumbers hog the biggest pieces then it’s the poor and hungry that suffers. There is no constitutional right to money like there is privacy. Why should a man complain when he is allowed to keep $400,000 of the $700,000 he made this year? The people need that money more than he does. And if the public demands it, they have the right to it. Only “O”ne man understands the principles of loveconomics: Barack “Handouts” Obama.

Finally, my brothers and sisters, only our Glorious Leader Obama can lead us out of the environmental reasoning of the past and into the environmental faith of the future. And I’m not talking about religious-like faith, oh no! Nietzche irrefutably proved—and by “proved” I mean “strongly believed in”—god’s death long before you or I even had the chance of being aborted.

No, I’m talking about blind, “shout until it’s true”-like faith—the same faith that led the Glorious Revolution in China, Cuba, and the Soviet Union.

It is now irrefutable that we are experiencing record temperatures and that global warming is upon us. Those on the political right dare to challenge our resolve by presenting “facts” and “science” that suggest world temperatures are dropping or, like the Senate Committee on Environment & Public Works, that Antarctica has shown record ice growth over the past 50 years. Blasphemy! Anyone who dares disagree with our beliefs should be considered a traitor to mankind and plantkind. Yes, comrades, we must consider the well being of plantkind, since they cannot consider it for themselves. As the progressive Swiss government recently recognized, plants have dignity. That is, plants have value for their own sake and not just because we can kill them. It should be illegal in our backwards country, like it is in Switzerland, to decapitate a flower. We must stop flower FLOWERS before it’s too late. Only “O”ne man is environmentally faithful enough to lead us into this new era of man and plant walking hand-in-leaf: Barack “tree-Hugger” Obama.

It is up to you, my fellow proletarians, to elect the only candidate this country has ever needed, to cast(e) your vote for the only man ever to understand the struggles of the commoner, to choose the president the United States truly deserves. And why do we deserve such a glorious leader? Let me tell you, brothers and sisters:

• We have finally abandoned reason in favor of pity—since being nice is more important than being “right.”


• We have finally discarded logic in favor of love—since need, not ability, now determines capital.


• And we have finally rejected science in favor of faith—since policy is now determined by who shouts the loudest.

You have a once in a lifetime opportunity to make a real difference, comrades. How will you vote?

Given the choice between an economic liberal and an economic conservative, I will always choose the conservative no matter what their social views are. Economic policy, especially at the federal level, will more directly influence my life than social policy. If a religious zealot somehow seized office and enacted a law that would require us to become Christian, I could still believe whatever I wanted to believe. Conversely, if a communist zealot somehow seized office and enacted a 60%+ income tax (I'm not referencing Obama here) I can't choose to not pay taxes. Laws cannot punish action or inaction.

This election presents me with a more difficult choice. I would say that neither McCain nor Obama are economic conservatives, but McCain is more conservative than Obama. I could vote for Bob Barr or right in my vote for Bobby Jindal. But given the political climate for third-party candidates, it would not be in my best interest to do so--since an Obama presidency would be in my worst interest.

The reason it's so easy to be pro-McCain via anti-Obama rhetoric is because Obama's ideas are a radical departure from my own. I look at his ideas, cringe, and actively campaign against him--for any other candidate running (except Nader).

"But you're for tax cuts, aren't you?" asks little Lisa Liberal. "Obama plans to give tax cuts to 95% of wage earners!"

Are you sure about that? A "tax cut" by Obama's definition does not mean actually letting people keep more of the money they earn (how sick is it that the government has to let or not let you keep it?), but it's actually giving people money that they didn't earn. A third of Americans don't even pay income tax, so how could they get a tax cut? Well, it's not really a tax cut at all. It's welfare. And how does Wundercandidate plan to pay for this change? Taxing the rich, of course. They can afford it. They don't deserve their money. It would be better for everyone to spread the wealth around. "Close the wealth gap!" The difference between Obama and Robin Hood is that Robin Hood robbed from the government to give back to the people. He didn't rob other citizens.

"There are no victims and no conflicts of interest among rational men, men who do not desire the unearned and do not view one another with a cannibal's lust, men who neither make sacrifices nor accept them." -- Atlas Shrugged

If this is what Obama considers a tax cut, I don't want it. Sure I would have more money in my pocket, but I could get the same outcome if I put a gun to someone's head and robbed them. The difference is that the government holds a monopoly on force. Their "negotiation" at the point of a gun goes unpunished. My wouldn't (and rightfull so).

The "rich" bear no responsibility to the "poor." No adult bears a responsibility to another adult unless they have an agreed upon contract.

"I do not recognize anyone's right to one minute of my life. Nor to any part of my energy. Nor to any achievement of mine. No matter who makes the claim, how large their number or how great their need." -- The Fountainhead

Obama has also said on numerous occasions--much like McLame--that it was "greed" and "lack of regulation" that caused the economic downturn in this country.

Bullshit, Mr. Obama. Bullshit by the pound.

If regulation solves finanical problems, why do we keep having them? Our market is no where near as unrestrained as it was in the 30s. How could we possibily have a situation even close to the Great Depression? How could "greed" bring down the markets now? Additionally, if regulation was the answer, why did the most regulated markets in the world collapse faster and harder than ours: Russia, China, Europe? Of all of the failing markets, we've actually fared the best--this might relate to the fact that we have the least regulated market of the four, but I'm not sure.

Additionally, I trust McCain more on foreign policy than I do Obama. The extent of Obama's foreign policy experience is giving campaign speeches to Europeans--oh the hopeless audacity.

Finally, the fuss about Palin is incredible. Yes, I personally would have preferred Romney as the VP--then again I would have preferred him as the presidential nominee. Nonetheless, to argue that Palin is inexperienced and Obama is seems breathtakingly silly to me. Two years in the Senate with no prior executive experience does not qualify someone to lead a nation--and he's at the TOP of the Democrat ticket.

Palin on the other hand has just under two years as the governor of a state with 15,000+ employees and a budget of $11 billion. Unlike Obama, she has actually changed things in her short time in office AND she's a Washington outsider AND(!) she's the Republican VP nominee...I think the media tends to forget.

I refuse to address the claim that she's "stupid." The default argument against any conservative is that they're stupid, and I think it would be a waste of my time to give it serious thought.

I am voting for John McCain because, of the two electable candidates, I honestly believe he would make the better leader of the free world. This stance does not mean I agree with all of McCain's policies or that I endorse his "maverick" style. Equally, though, it does not mean I am supporting the "lesser of two evils." Neither candidate is "evil" in this race. One just has horrible ideas.

Now, KGF, where is your treatise on how someone as smart as you could possibility support someone like Barack Obama?

------------------------------------------------------------------

This is the worst blog post I have ever written.

What have we here? the man asked.

A "Bottle of Sense," his sidekick eagerly replied. I got it for you. It's a present. It cost me a week's wages. It's for you. To have. [The man looked at the bottle in disgust.] Are you going to open it?

What use have we for sense in times like these? Fetch us a bottle of hope instead.

The sidekick complied and the man drank heartily. And yet he thirsted.

Bring us another bottle, would you? The extra large one. The Mega-Chug version with the built-in crazy straw.

The sidekick complied and the man drank heartily. And yet he thirsted.

The man continued to drink and the sidekick to fetch for many days and nights. After a particularly heaving night of hope binging, the man slept and the sidekick retrieved the dusty bottle of sense from the pantry.

And the sidekick drank.

You are not so terrible, little bottle, he said. You could be better, but I wonder why the man dislikes you so? I shall ask him when he rises.

And the sidekick drank some more.

Come morning the man had to fetch his own bottle. The sidekick had left the man that night and the next day applied for a small business loan. Within a year he was no longer the sidekick but Mr. Sidekick--as in "Mr. Sidekick's Home-Brewed Hope" and "Mr. Sidekick's Home-Brewed Sense."

And the man bought Mr. Sidekick's hope because it was the best hope around.
And while very few people bought Mr. Sidekick's sense, it was also the best around.
And the sidekick never did get to ask the man why they preferred hope to sense.

And the world was a more horrible place because of it.

and now, for your ridicule and enjoyment, my second script EVER (written as a high school English project...which we performed in front of the class)


LIBERATOR
(Judgment Day, but of course, No Death Penalty)

Narrator: Not so long from now, in a galaxy, well, NOT so far away...there will be an election.

(cue: STAR WARS THEAME TRACK___)

(Music ends abruptly)

Narrator: That’s enough of that...so anyway...The incumbent, George W. Bush, will once again face his arch nemesis, the updated GOREBOT2004.

(Boos)

Narrator: GOREBOT manages to rig the election and capture the win.

(More Boos)

Narrator: Shortly after taking office, GOREBOT manages to convince the UN to ban all guns...and eventually...the internal combustion engine. With no guns to defend themselves, and only squirt guns filled with chicken broth, the world easily falls to GOREBOT’s liberal demands.

>>>FAST FORWARD INTO THE FUTURE>>>

Narrator: The year is now 2025 and all majors cities have been demolished to make way for forests filled with bunnies and other Bambi like creatures. Animals outnumber humans 20,000 to one because of the absence of hunting. Out in the Tearwood forest, there is a small resistance against the liberal mongrels...

(cue: ODE TO JOY TRACK___)

they are...

LA RESISTANCE CONSERVATIVE

As we come upon them, we will see exactly how liberal the word has become.

(Enter George White and a Resistance Member )

(They are tossing around a poor defenseless bunny when RM notices a bug on the ground.)

RM: Oh look! A poor little defenseless bug. (Steps on it.)

SQUISH!!!

(cue: ALARM NOISE)

(Enter Two Liberal Guards (LG1 & LG2)

LG1 & LG2: (As they Enter) Hut Hut Hut Hut Hut Hut Hut...etc.

LG1: HALT! Step AWWWWAAAAAY from the bug!

(LG1 picks up the bug and puts it on a tiny “bug stretcher.” Then he takes it to the hospital. EXIT LG1.)

GW: You people are sick! LONG LIVE...uh...ANN COULTER!

(Squirts LG2 with squirt gun full of chicken broth.)

(LG2 looks at GW and looks at vest...repeat.)

GW: (explains) It’s chicken broth moron.

LG2: (With look of horror) Oh...AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...this pleather is dry-clean only! (Falls down and dies, but grabs GW’s leg first)

GW: Get your hands off me you DAMN DIRTY LIBERAL! (PAUSE) I’M SPARTACUS!!!

RM: (Silence...looks at GW.)

GW: WHAT?

RM: Uh...nothing...say, lets go invade the Liberal HQ in Berkley California.

GW: ...Ok.

Narrator: The two resistance members managed to save the last two cars on the planet. Two SUVs that get 2 gallons to the mile. They begin their treacherous trek through the forest. They gather up all the meat they can find. Just in case.

(cue: JURASSIC PARK THEAME TRACK___)

RM: Is that a liberal in the road?

GW: By George, I think it is.

RM: 10 points if you hit him.

GW: (With big grin) *BUMP* Liberal...OH ANOTHER ONE *BUMP* Liberal...(To the tune of jingle bells) Up on the sidewalk *BUMP* *BUMP* *BUMP*. What is that? Fifty points now?

Narrator: They soon come upon the most horrifying site in the world.

RM: Oh my god, that’s the most horrifying site in the world.

Narrator: Told ya.

(They “get out” of SUVs.) (They see a man hugging a tree.)

Man: I Love you tree...

(RM walks up to man...looks at him...slaps him...and then gets back into SUV.)

Narrator: There, now that that’s been taken care of, they can continue on their journey.

Meanwhile...at Liberal HQ...GOREBOT awaits their arrival.

-------------------------------------------------------------

(We come upon GBOT and LG3. Both have their back turned to audience.)

(cue: MARS, BRINGER OF WAR TRACK___)

GBOT: MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH...etc.

(LG3 smacks GBOT in back of head.)

GBOT: Thank you......They think they can stop me and my liberal ideals...MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA...etc.

(LG3 smacks GBOT in back of head.)
GBOT: Thank you...I will now unleash my army...

(cue: WICKED WITCH MUSIC TRACK___)

...OF FLYING SQUIRRLS!!! FLY MY PRETTIES...FLY!!!!!!!!!

GBOT: NO, WATCH OUT FOR THE SU...(Boom)...Vs. Ah well, there goes the army of flying squirrels.

(Heard in background: GW: That’s ten points a piece...count ‘em up!)

GBOT: Damn them and their SUVs...I INVENTED the SUV!

(Enter GW & RM)

GBOT: My army may have failed, but now I shall turn your army against you...all...ONE of them! I shall show scenes from the movie...Bambi!!!! MUAHAHAHAHA!

(GW turns away, but RM is already stuck staring at the screen.)

RM: (In drone voice) MUST WATCH CUTE FLUFFY ANIMALS...(drool)

GW: NO! YOU MUST RESIST!

RM: Must...kill...self...before...becoming...PETA member...

Narrator: He then drowns himself with the chicken broth.

RM: I will now drown myself with the chicken broth.

Narrator: Why do you always repeat everything I say?

RM: Why do you always...Oh...I mean...(he dies...kind of.) George...use the Pork George...use...the...Pork. (He really dies this time)

GW: (Reaching for the Pork) It’s time to die GOREBOT.

GBOT: (Think hard through out) But GW...I...I...(gets an idea) (stars breath like Darth Vader) GW...I am your father.

GW: (Looks at his funny) Uh...yeah...you’re a robot.

GBOT: That’s beside the point...
GW: (In Scottish accent) You can take my guns GOREBOT, but you’ll never take...THE OTHER WHITE MEAT! AHHHHHH! (Hits GBOT with Pork) (GBOT FALLS).

GBOT: (On ground) ...cough...R O S E B U D ... (dies once)

GW: (Look’s at narrator) What’s Rosebud? (Narrator shrugs)

GBOT: (alive again) It...was my bunny. (Dies again)

GW: (With big grin) OH, you mean...THIS BUNNY! (pulls out fur)

GBOT: (alive again) Yes...my poor little bunny. (Dies again)

GW: Oh. (Throws it.)

GBOT: (alive again) NO! SNOOCOMES! (Dies again...for real this time)

GW: Why won’t you die! (Gets Republican flag and puts it on GOREBOT.)

(cue: CHARIOTS OF FIRE TRACK___)

Narrator: And so, good is restored to the world and all liberals are vanquished to a far off island. Our hero eventually marries Brittany Spears and they have many many...MANY children...all named G.W. of course.

POWERPOINT: MAY THE PORK BE WITH YOU!

(cue: STAR WARS THEAME TRACK___)



The End

What goes here again?

Ah. That's right.

Stuff. About things.

Having recently learned that I have an audience beyond my close friends, I suppose I've been a bit skittish about posting. The existence of this blog a priori implies a certain level of "pretentious-dickitry" that I don't consciously perpetuate but I'm sure gets perpetuated--then again, using the term "a priori" doesn't help, does it? I'm not sure I know why--except that I know exactly why--since I write nothing here that I wouldn't say in a converstation at Nick's or an IM conversation during 886. Evidently, it "takes a lot" to be this "open" about seemingly private matters or intimate thoughts, but I don't see this space as providing either a personal look inside my head or "private" life. I'm not ashamed of anything I've written here or embarassed or humiliated or any other words with the same connotation that I haven't learned. Really, I just have precious little spare time to share my thoughts with the people I'd like. Very seldom do I have time to talk epistemology with KGF, aesthetics with DFS, politics with AJE (a lie?), rhetoric with JML (yet again), or video games with ZER. (And when was the last time I talked to anyone about literature--besides Atlas Shrugged?) Then again, even if I do have time, seldom do I have the chance to share my thoughts in writing--which is, arguably, where I do my best thinking. Enter: Blogger--a place for me to almost literally gather my thoughts, work with them, have others look at them, and rework them at a later date. Repeat ad infinitum--that's another one of those academic buzz words. This space also allows me to break rules about paragraphs, spelling, and grammar. Screw you, Mrs. Banks! I don't have to know how to spell "kneel." The computer does it for me! (Those two exclamation points were specifically addressed to BRT! And a third.)

So why are you skittish? you ask, eagerly awaiting a ridiculously, and unnecessarily, long-winded response involving at least three more ivory-tower-laden phrases and reference to Ayn Rand.

Well, I've had nothing interesting to say.

Yep.

For the first time since I was blissfully unaware of being "a fool satisfied," I can honestly say that am, and have been for a little while, "Socrates" satisfied. (The quote I just butchered was the only good thing Mill ever wrote.) This statement does not imply, of course, that I've figured everything out, that I've found the meaning of life and the key to happiness--which I have, it just doesn't imply it. (Oddly, the "key" to happiness is just to choose to be happy. Weird, eh? Not so much a "key" as a face-palm.)

When I have something to explore, I'll post it. Tomorrow? Perhaps. Late one night when I should be doing my 856 midterm? Even more likely. Before I graduate? Almost certainly. Ten seconds after this post goes live? I wouldn't bet on it.

Until then, go read other funny/interesting things. The intertubes are chalk full of them.

I once told a struggling high school student that ease of moral choice is inversely correlative with the likelihood that it will be wrong. That is, the easier a choice is to make, the more likely it will be the wrong choice. Oddly, this has very little to do with moral choices as units. It has more to with increased time and, in that time, an increase in the chance that you will thoroughly evaluate a given choice.

Perhaps this tidbit accounts for my not-so-recent change in character from an emotionally-driven child to a rationally-driven adult. I have the seemingly inconsequential ability to allow or disallow persuasive rhetoric to consciously influence my actions.

i.e. I seldom get mad at people that anger me. Instead, I choose to not let their words "offend" me.

Conversely, I wanted the news to move me this evening as I watched the reaction to Palin's speech. I wanted to be angry. I wanted to be invigorated by ignorant commentary and asinine opinions.

I often wonder what my limits are.

End It Like Beckham