"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...

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?