Friday, January 13, 2017

Lie to a Child with a Smiling Face




You can lie to a child with a smilin' face
Tell me that color ain't about race
You can cast the first stones, you can break my bones
But you're never gonna break 
You're never gonna break my faith
Faith and hope ain't yours to give
Truth and liberty are mine to live
You can steal a crown from a king
Break an angels wings
But you're never gonna break 
You're never gonna break my faith

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

Anesthesia


The world has become so inhuman.  Everyone's plugged in. Blindly inarticulate. Obsessed with money, their careers, stupidly, arrogantly content. I can't talk to them. I fight them, I want to destroy them even. I crave interaction. But you just can't anymore. They pull their devices out for every little thing To reinforce their petty convenient little notions, to decide where they are going to shop, what they want to eat, what movies they're going to watch, everything they ingest. What is left? ......OK it's like this. It's like this is all a big game And I haven't been told what the rules are. Or even worse. if I had, I am ill equipped to follow them.  All I can do is provoke.  I become spiteful.  I am just as bad as they are. I'm worse. I fucking hate myself for it. Why is the world so base? Why is it so insensitive? Why is it so insensitive? Why am I?
I am not for this world. 


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  If we truly explore to find a common thread? At the outset of a century that would constitute the bloodiest in human history. Along with scientific and technological advancements that would literally make us like Gods. Even as we began to dismantle the very meaning of God. They ask, what is a life? Does to live any longer have a how? Does it any longer have a why? Against a backdrop of industrialization, people will contend with alienation, dislocation, population on a mass scale, and murder on a mass scale. They'll consider the constraints of truth. Whether metaphor or paradigm, with many concluding actual truth has never existed. A nexus in the great human saga, when we dared to trade the organizing bliss, of good and evil, right and wrong, as determined by a creator for other opiates: communism, socialism, capitalism, psychology, technology, any learnable system to replace what had begun to evaporate: the 20th century. My own. But also the one into which each of you was born. For many, an era of hope liberation, possibility. For others of abandonment and despair. A most human century in which we begin really to understand that Nietzsche was right: we are beautifully, finally, achingly, alone. In this void, philosophy at its worst becomes self-reflective, linguistic, semantic, relativism having rendered any discussion of right and wrong, good and evil, to be the quaint concerns of another age. At its most provocative, it asks other questions. Those concerned with locating our stranded selves, when meaning seems to have died, nothing less, in short, then 'why do we live at all?' and 'what makes us who we are?' They ask, 'what now?' And we're still asking it. What will fortify us as another century, your century, commences? Do we abandon finally the search for truths that seem ever more elusive, even silly to some? The ethical? The moral? The good? Principles that by definition can never be proved when so much now can be proved? Or is all this finally and forever pointless? Are we done? We can destroy cities, alter the planet irreversibly, speak instantaneously face-to-face from across the globe, create life where there was to be none, even while intoxicating ourselves with it all. And yet, how do we still seek purpose? And where do we hope to find it if we're so busy convincing ourselves there needn't be any? And so we wander, eyes closed to the dark, while technology, science, medicine and godlessness blaze illusions around us, with less to guide us now than ever, seemingly omnipotent, but more human and just as afraid. The crowd is untruth. In an era darkened by the false shade of imperviousness

Thursday, January 5, 2017

Bobby Kennedy and the Heart of The Matter



  If I had to sum up my youth and my life with one word I would have to choose the word violent. Violence of man against man, husband against wife, man against himself, and parents against their children. And if I were allowed to ask the collective of mankind one question it would have to be why?  Why does it have to be this way? Why do people who take on the task of parenting a child so willingly,  abdicate these duties just as easily? In what is arguably the most important endeavor any adult will ever be burdened with, people take it on with less caution than they use to cross the street. I can't speak to the violence of man against mankind any more directly than Bobby Kennedy's words after the assassination of Martin Luther King
If I may share them with you, I would like you to read them. And move forward through all the stages of your life with the thought that it really doesn't have to be this way. All the violence that permeated my life was so will full and premeditated that if any one of the actors stopped for one second and thought about where his or her actions would take them there would be many graves that went unfilled, and countless tears that were were not shed, and blood that was not spilled.
Robert F. Kennedy: This is a time of shame and sorrow. It is not a day for politics. I have saved this one opportunity, my only event of today, to speak briefly to you about the mindless menace of violence in America which again stains our land and every one of our lives. It is not the concern of any one race. The victims of the violence are black and white, rich and poor, young and old, famous and unknown. They are, most important of all, human beings whom other human beings loved and needed. No one - no matter where he lives or what he does - can be certain who will suffer from some senseless act of bloodshed. And yet it goes on and on and on in this country of ours. Why? What has violence ever accomplished? What has it ever created? No martyr's cause has ever been stilled by an assassin's bullet. No wrongs have ever been righted by riots and civil disorders. A sniper is only a coward, not a hero; and an uncontrolled, uncontrollable mob is only the voice of madness, not the voice of reason. Whenever any American's life is taken by another American unnecessarily - whether it is done in the name of the law or in the defiance of the law, by one man or a gang, in cold blood or in passion, in an attack of violence or in response to violence - whenever we tear at the fabric of the life which another man has painfully and clumsily woven for himself and his children, the whole nation is degraded. "Among free men," said Abraham Lincoln, "there can be no successful appeal from the ballot to the bullet; and those who take such appeal are sure to lose their cause and pay the costs." Yet we seemingly tolerate a rising level of violence that ignores our common humanity and our claims to civilization alike. We calmly accept newspaper reports of civilian slaughter in far-off lands. We glorify killing on movie and television screens and call it entertainment. We make it easy for men of all shades of sanity to acquire whatever weapons and ammunition they desire. Too often we honor swagger and bluster and wielders of force; too often we excuse those who are willing to build their own lives on the shattered dreams of others. Some Americans who preach non-violence abroad fail to practice it here at home. Some who accuse others of inciting riots have by their own conduct invited them. Some look for scapegoats, others look for conspiracies, but this much is clear: violence breeds violence, repression brings retaliation, and only a cleansing of our whole society can remove this sickness from our soul. For there is another kind of violence, slower but just as deadly destructive as the shot or the bomb in the night. This is the violence of institutions; indifference and inaction and slow decay. This is the violence that afflicts the poor, that poisons relations between men because their skin has different colors. This is the slow destruction of a child by hunger, and schools without books and homes without heat in the winter. This is the breaking of a man's spirit by denying him the chance to stand as a father and as a man among other men. And this too afflicts us all. I have not come here to propose a set of specific remedies nor is there a single set. For a broad and adequate outline we know what must be done. When you teach a man to hate and fear his brother, when you teach that he is a lesser man because of his color or his beliefs or the policies he pursues, when you teach that those who differ from you threaten your freedom or your job or your family, then you also learn to confront others not as fellow citizens but as enemies, to be met not with cooperation but with conquest; to be subjugated and mastered. We learn, at the last, to look at our brothers as aliens, men with whom we share a city, but not a community; men bound to us in common dwelling, but not in common effort. We learn to share only a common fear, only a common desire to retreat from each other, only a common impulse to meet disagreement with force. For all this, there are no final answers. Yet we know what we must do. It is to achieve true justice among our fellow citizens. The question is not what programs we should seek to enact. The question is whether we can find in our own midst and in our own hearts that leadership of humane purpose that will recognize the terrible truths of our existence. We must admit the vanity of our false distinctions among men and learn to find our own advancement in the search for the advancement of others. We must admit in ourselves that our own children's future cannot be built on the misfortunes of others. We must recognize that this short life can neither be ennobled or enriched by hatred or revenge. Our lives on this planet are too short and the work to be done too great to let this spirit flourish any longer in our land. Of course we cannot vanquish it with a program, nor with a resolution. But we can perhaps remember, if only for a time, that those who live with us are our brothers, that they share with us the same short moment of life; that they seek, as do we, nothing but the chance to live out their lives in purpose and in happiness, winning what satisfaction and fulfillment they can. Surely, this bond of common faith, this bond of common goal, can begin to teach us something. Surely, we can learn, at least, to look at those around us as fellow men, and surely we can begin to work a little harder to bind up the wounds among us and to become in our own hearts brothers and countrymen once again.



Saturday, December 24, 2016

Estranged Parents

I stumbled across a site for estranged parents to seek solace from the nasty bastards they gave birth to (us) and I can't begin to convey their sense of hopelessness as they lash out and drub the snot nose bastard fruit of their loins.

So I will give it to you as a musical.

I know this is racist as shit but nothing captures the plight of the estranged parents at the hands of their callous offspring like a rousing rendition of "Ole Man River!"
 
Man oh man you can always count on these parents to supply just the right words at just the right time to perfectly make your point. So I am shutting down this boat anchor I euphemistically call a computer and I dash by the Estranged Parents  website and see an article about whether kids that have gone No Contact deserve to be notified of a death in the family. Since my mother forbade us to attend my fathers funeral back in the 70's and instructed my ex wife to withhold  information about her death from my sister,  I thought this might be a good learning experience for me. Seeing how I am the only person I ever heard of that ditched the funerals of both parents because the family narcissist wouldn't have it. This is such a perfect illustration of their manipulation and histrionic need to control their family so they are always prepared to pull the rug out from the family members on a whim. So I am reading this article and I read somewhere between a hundred words  and a thousand and something is not quite right, but I can't quite put my finger on what it is, so I scroll down and I scroll down some more and find the picture they plan on using for this article and its a goddamn cat. I like cats as much as the next person. But I don't think the death of a cat ranks up there with the death of a close family member. But they seem to equate one with the other.

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