Favorite Journal Entry

I have this journal that I neglect to keep. The greatest thing written in it simply reads as follows,

“Fight seasonal depression”

It appears to have been immediately crossed out. It is the only thing written on a whole page.

Allan GinsBERN

Socialist Jew writing about a socialist Jew mayor who is now running for president. Sharing because sharing is caring. That is all. #FeelTheBern

Burlington Snow

Socialist snow on the streets

Socialist talk in the Maverick bookstore

Socialist kids sucking socialist lollipops

Socialist poetry in socialist mouths

—aren’t the birds frozen socialists?

Aren’t the snowclouds blocking the airfield

Social Democratic Appeasement?

Isn’t the socialist sky owned by

the socialist sun?

Earth itself socialist, forests, rivers, lakes

furry mountains, socialist salt

in oceans?

Isn’t this poem socialist? It doesn’t

belong to me anymore.

Allan Ginsberg, 1986

On Color In Star Wars

Human beings have an instinctive draw to color, remnants from the days when life had to be earned and each plant and animal was a serious life or death situation. Our brains fire different chemical signals based solely upon the color pattern our eyes receive, hence fast food restaurants are coated in shiny reds and yellows which literally make you feel hungry. A college study has linked the color blue to more creative thinking patterns. So we, as a consciousness, have built-in responses to our perception of the color-coding of our world. It only makes sense, we need every signal we can get to help us sort out the fundamentals of living a human life. As we draw out away from the singular insanity that is one human, we have to look at how society has further used color to denote value and create symbols. The color purple was a sign of royalty in medieval and renaissance Europe, East Asian countries tend to wear vibrant whites to funerals, and the hippies discarded the crisp colors of their fathers and mothers in favor of vibrant swirls (which would become more indicative of their own hypocrisy than their melding of cultural ideas). Color has always been a method by which humans have sorted and made sense of the world, it is one of the sole universals (minus the disadvantaged males whose chromosomal makeup denies them this right) through which we can validate our existence and that of others. That idea is what gives those who manipulate it so much power.

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Notes from the Back Seat

Macklemore is the accessible, friendly neighborhood rapper. Eating a cheeseburger without knowing how it’s made. An entrance point for cultural appropriation, a real Ellis island for white people to re-conquer their lost African jewel. Maybe this isn’t a bad thing. The struggle of African men and women has produced the largest amount and the most crucial high points of American music culture. That sounds like a negative thing to say. It sounds wrong to say Macklemore is the tip of the whip being cracked, the first blow from the ruling class, the call for the best of black culture to be held up to the screen, the light, the temple, the inquisitor, the beginning of the great census leading back to Bethlehem. “White people move through resources quickly” seems to be the message of Macklemore, ” start preparing the next thing we are going to want to have.”

Fear People

This is me at my most… Masochistic. Wait, sorry that’s Kill Bill, this is me at my most honest. I’m sitting on the toilet, sweaty from working in a kitchen, contemplating the serious issue. The issue I thought too stupid to consider. What if Donald Trump does become president? What if, by simply being able to scream the loudest, the idiots win?

But this is only the tip of a far larger iceberg, a far more dangerous idea, the kind of crime that would launch one to the top of the thought police’s most wanted list. To continue reading is heresy. Let us take the tool most loved by modern society, the dichotomy, and categorize people by the most basic of assumptions. There is only two basic states of being, fear people and love people. I shall describe fear people only, and you can come to realize that love people simply means those who live without fear. To be a love person is an ideal, a challenge one must constantly strive for. Fear is a base emotion, it’s what the game of peek-a-boo runs on, it’s kept humanity going forever. So as I begin bashing on a sector people who have made fear define them, understand that having fear and belonging to fear are in fact different.

Fear people are driven by ignorance. Fear people think it actually is a small world. Fear people’s every action is prefaced with the thought “I don’t want to die”. The “I” is more important in that thought than the “die”. Fear people live in small towns and think themselves worthy targets of terrorist attacks. Fear people are solipsists, but incapable of recognizing that. Fear people are proud to replace intellectualism with barbarism. Fear people are simply those who cannot be faced with an unknown. They truly believe that that which they cannot comprehend must therefor be hostile. Their ideals are confirmed every time human life is lost, because death, being so against being able to feel fear, must be the worst possible thing. Their fear confirms each morning they are alive. Best of all, fear is easy to commercialize, and each morning fear people can wake up and confirm their fears with their morning spray-tanned botox anchorperson.

Being a fear person is not a crime. In fact, the fear people have essentially won. They exist in far greater numbers. But that doesn’t mean it is ever something to be proud of, and it certainly can’t be something a night terror is allowed to build a fucking political platform out of.

(This rant has had the misfortune of not being finished in one day, and much of the fire went out of my belly recently. I can only apologize. I will update the definition of fear person as I get into a more manic (and therefore angry) disposition.)

The Company I Keep ( go to http://shirtlessmike.com/ )

I woke up this morning knowing I’ve been neglecting this blog for the past few months, and so my first action was to grab a cup of coffee and head straight to my good friend’s photography blog. Michael, Mike, Moldy Eye, Shirtless, Human Punching Bag, Demonic Fishpicking Maniac, WOOOOmanizer, Yogi, cereal magnet, world traveller, spiritual guru, the list of titles this man has is essentially endless. This of course is because  Continue reading

Episode Titles

I’ve become enamored  with the notion that each day of my (and your) life can most poetically be summed up by giving it a episode title. Go pick up a TV guide if they are still in print, or hop on your Netflix device and pick a show, any show. The title does more than the actual show can, gives you the viewer an idea of what will come without actually bogging you down in the minutiae of the episode. It’s the freedom to imagine with minimal constraints. It’s the Christmas present while it’s still wrapped, before you find out it is just socks. It’s Brad Pitt screaming “what’s in the box?!?” So with out further ado, here are my past few days in episode titles.

10/18/15 “the one with the fight with his girlfriend”

10/19/15 “The one with co-worker conspiracies and D&D”

10/20/15 “The one with counting to 10 and cheesy fries”

10/21/15 “The one where he gets a haircut and the cat eats a condom”

Now you try.

Dude, I’m So Fucking Hot (Dan Harmon Blog Repost)

All credit for the following goes to Dan Harmon, Demi-god of nerd writers. Posted to Myspace on August 14th, 2005, still applicable today.

“Dude.  I’m so fucking hot and awesome.  Whenever I walk into a bar, everyone sees me in slow motion.  All the women want to stick their hands down my shirt and run their fingers through my ursine coat, and I have to grab their wrist and say, “take it easy, sugar.  We’ve got all night for that stuff,” and then I just blow their minds with my knowledge of story structure until an appropriate song comes on the juke box, at which point I leap to my feet and start shaking my ass, and I shake my ass so hard that quarters start flying out of it, and everyone starts cheering and picking them up, but I shout out, “take it easy, sugars!  There’s no such thing as property!”  And they’re all like “holy fuck, he’s so hot and smart and socialist,” and they drop the quarters and we all start dancing together like in that “love is a battlefield” video, looking at the camera and shaking our shoulders, and I lead everyone outside into the street and we’re all dancing, and cars are screeching to a stop and people are honking, but then my followers pull them out and they start dancing, too, and everyone in the city starts dancing, and old ladies are throwing away their walkers and black teenagers are dropping their handguns and doing the robot like black teenagers should, and the entire city of Los Angeles follows me across America, and everybody in every city we go through starts following us, snapping and dancing, and when we get to the Misissippi River, the people form a human bridge by drowning themselves and letting the others walk across their backs, and the government realizes we’re headed for D.C. so they deploy tanks but our bodies just gum up their treads and the soldiers get pulled out and they start dance-marching with us toward the White  House, and the Secret Service tries to shoot us all but they can’t and we just dance into the oval office and everyone locks hands in a tunnel and I come dancing in and the president is like what is the meaning of this and I’m like what is the meaning of piss, and I just start peeing all over the president, and he’s like agh, agh, you’re peeing on me, and I’m going yeah, because you’re human, and you’re accountable to humanity, and this is what the insides of a human being feels like, it’s hot liquid, it’s visceral, it’s life, it’s God, and you’ve forgotten all that, so now you get peed on, and then I say, get him up, and two of the black teenagers that were previously redeemed lift the president to his feet and I say this is for not protecting the people that pay your salary, this is for hurting the people stupid enough to trust you, this is for taking advantage just because you can, this is for telling people they should sit in a cubicle in a black tower, letting them think that doing that would eventually pay off, and then just letting some fucking assholes that you pissed off fly airplanes through their families, through their dilbert cartoons and bobble heads and “wake me for the weekend” coffee cups while you sit in a bulletproof bubble paid for with their unpaid labor.  This is for lying, to yourself, to them, to everyone, this is what happens to liars, and I fake like I’m going to punch him, and he cringes, but then I just kiss him on his piss soaked cheek and walk away, back through the tunnel of humanity and it closes behind me and absorbs me and the president just falls to his knees and starts crying, and he says I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ve done such a horrible thing, I’ve been so bad, it’s the power, it changes you before you even get it, it demands things of you, there’s no such thing as doing a little bad to get into a position where you can do a lot of good, if you have to do bad to get into a position, then it’s a bad position, and when you get into it, the devil is going to be on your call sheet, and he’s going to have a list of things for you to do, and it never stops, you just get more and more evil, and I’m so sorry that I was born rich, I’m so sorry, someone forgive me.  And all the laws and all the money just turn to dust because humanity has advanced, we don’t live in that world anymore, everyone just acquires this innate and universal sense of priority, everyone understands that people should just be good to each other and the next five thousand years are spent in peace and they put my face on a stamp.  That’s how fucking hot and awesome I am.”

No Heaven For a Gangsta : Feminization of Hip-Hop in the Internet Age (And LOTS OF MUSIC)

Inspired by a recent viewing of “Dear White People”, which is perhaps the best movie made in the past two years (Mad Max: Fury Road doesn’t count cause they started making that shit years ago), I’ve decided to post the smartest thing I have ever written. A essay covering the history of Hip-hop, the growth of the “thug Image” and the ability to “gay up” the most dogmatically heterosexual musical genre (after white trash) “Because of the Internet”. Gambino Reference, off to a great start. 

No Heaven for a Gangsta

The Feminization of Hip-Hop Culture in the Internet Age

The offspring of DJ Kool Herc, Afrika Bambaataa and the Ghetto Brothers, Hip-hop has done some growing up since the 1970’s. From it’s birthplace in the Bronx, the movement spread like wildfire across both the United States and the world, giving a creative outlet and voice to predominantly African-American suffering. Hip-hop found its target audience in the poverty-stricken ghetto’s of American cities, and like every other musical subculture before it felt the conforming hands of record companies taking hold. The disco/funk influences and light tone found in songs like “Rappers Delight” by The Sugarhill Gang were abandoned quickly by the 80’s as anger percolated into the genre. Ice-T and NWA rapped over heavy beats about killing cops, Run-DMC, Erik B & Rakim, and LL Cool J brought a level of technique to rapping unheard of prior. The Beastie Boys proved that white kids could participate in the emerging scene, albeit in a somewhat ironic and silly fashion. De La Soul provided the hippy-esque influence that would create alternative hip-hop, but the clear direction of hip-hop was toward hyper-masculine aggression. Gangsta rap and the image of “thugs” were forged during the Reagan era.

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“The Dark Night of the Soul”

On the spiritual path, you encounter morons.  You also meet people who used to be religious and meet your enthusiasm with a jaded smile.  There are people who seem to possess secret wisdom.  There are people with strange warmth, awareness, and intelligence that you can’t explain, and that you desperately want to understand better but simply cannot.  There are people who say extremely rational, almost saintly things, but then couple those words with strange ideas like, “You just have to look for the archetype of the manic pixie in your sub-consciousness”.

Saint John of the Cross first termed the phrase “Dark Night of the Soul”.  In Vipassana meditation, the dark night of the soul is known as The Dukkha Nanas.  That is, as one cycles through the spiritual states of mind that are possible in the human psyche, they wind up stuck in our rawest understanding of the glittering jewel that is human suffering.  Some people surrender to it – adapt to it – very quickly.  Others take some time….years, even.  I think Daniel Ingram reported that he was stuck in the dark night of the soul for 10 years…he was a “chronic dark night yogi”.  You can look at the symptoms of the dark night as apart of growing up…as apart of being human.

There is a sort of vague, slippery magical element to life and to completely deny it is equally as irrational as completely embracing it.  And that subtle aspect of ourselves, for whatever reason, improved the chances of our ancestor’s survival…thus, all of the beautiful micro-cosms of the human brain.  Life is really beautiful…

It is difficult to respect the notion of a dark night in the West.  I’m not sure why.  Maybe I’m just projecting the way my parents feel about spirituality.  In any case, it is real.  And I hope that if one winds up there, they start meditating.  I think the Buddha said, “A good horse runs at the shadow of the whip.”