And Another Thing Democrats...
With the Democratic debates raging on, with no sign of civility ahead; I can't help but bubble and roil like Vesuvius. These ridiculous personal attacks each Democratic candidate is hurling at each fellow candidate reeks of myopia. We would be better served to just pick the Presidential and Vice-Presidential candidate as quickly as possible, without all this frivolous infighting that's going to come back and haunt the Democrats later, in the form of a large, bombastic orange tornado of arrogant power and sheer luck that will leverage each and every one of these barbs in the general election.
Each petty swipe is just another round of ammunition for the opposing side. Doesn't anyone on that dais of twenty candidates fucking get that? Gnawing each other apart is only going to help Trump in the long run. This ridiculous game of who can throw the most "zingers" out is so tedious and cringe-inducing. You're not comics, assholes; this isn't a roast. Jeff Ross isn't back stage in an Alexander Hamilton costume. You're politicians, fucking act like it. For fuck's sake, just focus on the actual issues at hand in this country, instead of getting sucked into the circus vortex Trump's victory has created. Be the anti-Trump. But with balls. Cast Trump as the villain he is, not all the other Democratic candidates. Save some of that venom for the real opponent. You're going to need all the momentum you can muster to beat a candidate with absolutely zero scruples, willing to say anything to win, no matter how outlandish, impossible, or God-awful.
I don't even care who the Democrats pick at this point, but let's just make it a winner. A real contender. We need someone that can really go head to head with Trump in the debates, and in the media. And someone fucking likeable; someone with a lot of mass appeal. Now is not the time to fuck around with candidates who sound good on paper, but have no real chance of getting swing votes, no matter their qualifications. (I'm looking at you Julian Castro...I'm sure the conspiracy mill already has a big hard-on just thinking about that.) We need a win, by any means necessary. Playing nice, and playing by the rules, cost us the election last time. That's what got us into this mess; acting like a bunch of self-righteous know-it-alls. And how did that work out?
So just fucking pick someone already, and let's all rally behind them like everything depends on it, because it does. Let's rally behind our candidate the way the Republicans rally behind Trump. They bend over backwards and contort themselves into all kinds of inhuman shapes kissing Trump's ass and defending his outrageous, inflammatory speech. But God damn it, they stand by their man. Which is what we need to do in the Democratic party. We need to extol only the virtues of our candidate, while decrying every awful thing Trump does, to drum up people who just want to vote against Trump, not necessarily for our candidate. We can pick apart their policies, and character, and whatever else we hate about the Democratic candidate, once they move squarely into the Oval Office, and not a second before.
And, I don't want to hear this whiny "I'm not voting" bullshit because your primary candidate didn't win the nomination. Pull on your adult panties, and fucking vote for whoever the Democratic candidate is, and shut the fuck up about it. There is no perfect candidate, because there are no perfect people. Sorry to disappoint you all, but these are just three-dimensional human beings like the rest of us, full of faults, foibles, and pedestrian errors. But guess what, they are still all better than Trump. That's really the only thing we have to bear in mind at the moment; 'Still better than Trump.' In fact, that's a pretty truthful campaign slogan. Let's put it on blue hats, and blue t-shirts, and overlay our profile pictures on social media with it. Still Better Than Trump: SBTT. MAGA vs. SBTT. Let's start chanting that at Democratic rallies. We could do with a little populist fanfare to get voters emotionally invested.
Meet the New Boss; Same as the Old Boss
Which ties into the other movement that is sticking in my craw; the far left and their authoritative rhetoric. I know I've harped on this before, but it seems to be getting more pronounced as the elections looms. Much like the fever pitch it reached right before and immediately following the 2016 election. I'm just as tired of hearing about the white, male patriarchy as I am about Trump's latest racist-filled, garbage tweet. I'm not even sure which I find more distasteful; the directly bigoted pig, or the snake who hides their judgement behind the guise of sanctimony.
If I wanted to be told what to do by a bunch of people I'm supposed to respect by default, I would just attend church. I have been rebelling against whatever authority existed, on a micro level, and on a macro scale, since I was a kid. It's just the way I'm wired; to question everything that comes across my proverbial desk. To rebel, or full-on revolt, if what I see isn't what I think is right. Now that doesn't mean everyone has to agree with me, or think like me, or whatever, I'm just doing what is right for me. I don't need nor want to push my personal, philosophical beliefs on anyone else. If so, then they would cease to be my personal, philosophical beliefs, and more of a tyranny of sorts, or maybe even worse, some kind of guru-ism. Blech. "What might be right for you, may not be right for some," claimed a wise theme song, once. One of the core tenets of my philosophy is that I mind my own fucking business. I can advocate for change or certain principles, I can express my opinions and beliefs passionately, but I cannot force-feed or browbeat those principles into anyone. For if I do, then they are no longer real or true, but just a symptom of brainwashing or fatigue in whoever I am instilling (or rather, installing) them in. It's like a forced confession, after hours of grueling interrogation; the suspect will say anything to just make it stop.
One of the patent hypocrisies I can't stand about some of the voices gaining traction on the left, is this idea that instead of simply expressing an opinion, or suggesting different solutions, its laid out as THE opinion, THE solution. Instead of "I feel this way about A, B, and C," its "You should feel this way about A, B, and C." It's that subtle and insidious difference that is simultaneously galling and so effective. Perfected over thousands of years by none other than, the very Patriarchy in question. Meet the new boss, same as the old boss. Does one really care what type of person is inside the jackboot that is stepping on their neck? So we trade a white, male patriarchy for a more physically diverse and inclusive, but ideologically similar on the other end of the spectrum oligarchy? Oh, great. This is really soooo much better, thank you wise, Far Left Overlords! Pfft.
Everyone on this earth has some sort of cross to bear, because we all have mixed-up garbage brains ourselves, on top of trying to interact with other garbage-brained people. We are more similar than we are different when we really boil it down, but we seem to be cordoning everyone off into even smaller groups than expanding ourselves into wider teams. It's mind-boggling to me, some of the completely foreseeable, but unstoppable effects of this intersectionality theory. No one wins when we play the game "Who's got it worse?" Most people have it bad, because existing is exhausting. Let's have compassion for all people, across all different kinds of situations. The old saying, charity starts at home, keeps leaping to mind. Let's take care of the people immediately around us, instead of worrying about what some D-list celebrity or random citizen said on Twitter. Or what some teen wore to prom, or who's allowed to make tacos. Who gives a fuck? Why does it matter? We're giving platforms to bozos who don't deserve platforms. And babbling about shit on social media and tweeting feigned outrage is no where near the same as enacting policy and law, which is the only real way to change any of these rigged systems. Telling white, cis-gendered males that their feelings no longer matter,
because they have historically mattered long enough, is not a great way
to get votes. And I'm just spit-balling here, but maybe that is a huge
reason why Trump drummed up all the votes he did. Because even if he was lying through his capped teeth, people still want to hear "Don't worry, I got you." While the Dems squabble over meaningless tripe, the Republicans are out winning elections, where it counts.
But what we can do, is let everyone voice their opinion. Let everyone squawk about whatever they want, and let the chips fall where they may. Hear everyone out, and try to enact policies that do the most good for the most number of people. Which I still believe the Democrats are capable of, by a mile. While staying above the petty fray. Attempting to silence any one group of people is going to have a backlash, just like it did in the 2016 election. The Republicans, namely the Donald Trump campaign and its affiliated cohorts wielded the Far Left's disdain (no matter how deserved) of white, cis-gendered males to court and woo a lot of former Democratic voters over to their side, flipping formerly Democratic stronghold states red. Conversely, Barack Obama wooed plenty of voters over to the Blue Team, using emotional speech of a positive nature back in 2008. The power can be used for good or for evil, and remains subjective as to which is which.
If the people rebelling against the patriarchy aren't any more morally
sound or capable than the current patriarchy, what have we done but
waste more fucking time? If they are engaging in the same power
corruption, in-fighting, and oppression of certain groups, then all
we've made is a lateral move. Everyone should have a voice, not just
who the people in power deem acceptable as to having a voice. We have
to at least strive toward the ideal that "All (hu)men are created
equal." And that cuts both ways, yes that means traditionally
marginalized people get a say, but so do the traditionally privileged.
It's not a one or the other scenario. It should be all. And yes, I
understand that's overly idealistic, but so are most of the notions on
the far left anyway. Like "love trumps hate" and all that bullshit.
Yeah, in a perfect world, maybe. Hate often wins. Might often winds.
Power often wins. Greed, selfishness, anger, often triumph over love,
kindness, and altruism. A brilliant friend once told me, "It'd be nice
to live in a world where poems cure cancer, but we don't live in that
world." It's unrealistic, and naive; immature, really.
We can't engage in the same oppressive tactics and dismissive behaviors and policies that the Patriarchy in question did, and call ourselves different or better. Meet the new boss, same as the old boss. It's simply another set of people who think they should have authority over others telling us all what to do, and what to think, and what to feel. Instead of urging us to go find the answers for ourselves. But with the Far Left; it seems an even narrower road to walk on their path of goodness or acceptance. At least in the Catholic Church, you could repent any and all of your sins and be absolved. (No wonder the Catholic Church has been around 2000 years, they know how to play to the human psyche.) With this new faction, differences of opinion on the dogma are not allowed, let alone mistakes, with severe social media flagellation to follow, with no thought to absolution. Social Justice Heretics are simply exiled forever, no longer allowed to exist, even after the humiliation rituals.
And each side, throughout history, has always thought that they had supreme righteousness on their side. There is nothing new under the sun, after all, so I rebel against it all. Don't tell me what to think or how to feel, I can manage just fine on my own, asshole. If anyone thinks that they are somehow vested with some authority that was bestowed upon them from on high to rule others, I say to them, you can fuck right off. I don't care which group they are affiliated with.
I think of all humans as measly grains of sand on a vast beach; no one grain of sand any better than any other grain of sand. We are all equally as arbitrary and pointless as the next. The only thing we can do is try to be decent little grains of sand. Where we don't act like our sand is somehow less gritty than our neighbors' sand, and we don't encroach on any other grain's right to be on that vast beach. It's deceptively simple.
I'm tired of everyone acting like they know all the answers, and so definitively too. I don't fucking know any of the answers, and I turn this shit over in my mind a thousand times a day. The best I can come up with is people should be free to pursue whatever happiness they can scrounge up in this dumpster, as long as it doesn't infringe on the rights of another in that same pursuit. It isn't much, I know, but it's all I got.
Saturday, August 3, 2019
Tuesday, March 19, 2019
Facebook Babylon: Essays From The Edge
March 19th, 2019
Interesting
read. This is something I worry about as social media becomes judge and
jury on all issues ranging from trivial, pop culture minutia to complex
geopolitical and philosophical questions. Mobs, posses, factions, and
zealous sects bubble and foment on either side with ease. Emotional,
knee-jerk reactions are taken as fact or gospel, and if you’re not on
the loudest side, hell, any side, God help you.
We can’t try to shame or browbeat defense lawyers into not accepting cases. The fact that we have a legal justice system in the country, as imperfect as it can be at times, that allows for due process is something that seems to be taken for granted. This is not a global right. The citizens of many other countries don’t have the privilege of a court system. You dissent, and you’re thrown in the gulag, never to be heard from again.
And yet, we have people here bitching about feeling “unsafe” because a professor at their law school takes the case of a notorious villain. These are Harvard students, not some dum-dums living under a rock. You would think their critical thinking skills would be a bit sharper than this. What disappointing lawyers they’ll make, with that state of mind.
Under our legal system, that notorious villain is allowed the same right to due process and a fair trial as any other citizen in this country. Why? Because our system presumes innocence until PROVEN guilty. That means in a court of law, with a judge presiding over the case, both sides present their evidence for review, and if the defendant so chooses a judge or jury of their peers weighs that evidence and renders a verdict. Not, ‘I heard a bunch of shit about someone on Twitter, and something similar happened to me, with someone else, so let’s give this person the chair.’
Trial by Twitter doesn’t sound like the road to an utopian future. It sounds like a sanctimonious , bumbling gouge in the side of Democracy.
When I think of the brilliant minds that have pondered these concepts over the last 5,000 years, much more brilliant minds than me, I’m humbled, but also kind of awed. By the level of critical thinking it takes to philosophize these intricate concepts and systems, and build on them piece by piece, over the ages. But I guess back then, there was no social media to distract the shit out of everyone either. And these weren’t perfect humans, because perfect humans don’t exist. These were just humans that spent a lot of time thinking about things, instead of assuming they know everything there is to know already. Which I really can appreciate.
The other thing is, our system is set up the way it is, so innocent people aren’t randomly thrown in jail. And again, yes the system is imperfect, because humans are imperfect, and shit isn’t always fair, so there are some innocent people that fall through the cracks, and some guilty people that beat the rap, but the basis of the system is solid. Both sides present their evidence and it is weighed, which is fair, though the result may not always be just.
The court of public opinion holds no steadfast ideals about fairness or decorum, or the presentation of evidence from both sides. It’s fueled by emotion, personal past histories, biases, and so much yelling. And a lot of screen courage. It makes a big difference to read people’s facial expressions, look them in the eye, and articulate things to someone’s face. It’s very easy to judge and condemn from afar, with reports, and hearsay, and opinion. It’s much more difficult to judge in person, beyond a reasonable doubt, in front of all the evidence. As it should be. Trials are serious matters that deserves serious, scholarly attention, not some random Internet spouting off. (Irony duly noted.)
The bottom line is: I think it’s pretty lousy that people are trying to petition and protest other citizens unalienable rights away, no matter how heinous the charge. And it’s morally reprehensible, and just plain egomaniacal to make everything about oneself. Jesus man. The Harvard dean isn’t taking the case because he believes in sexual predation, he’s taking it because he believes in the law, and in due process for ALL citizens. If all the defense attorneys were intimidated against taking certain types of cases, then there is no one left to represent the accused, and there is no due process. There is no recourse, accused equals guilt, and the already overcrowded prisons will brim with even more bodies. One never knows when they might just be in the shoes of the accused, either. ‘There but for the grace of God go I’ is a phrase that has seemingly fallen out of favor, replaced with “Ahh, that will never happen to me. Fuck that guy. Burn him at the stake!”
“When the views of thinking people, whether lawyers, teachers, editors, or writers, are determined by our self-assessed risk of losing jobs or social standing, it doesn’t take a totalitarian government to repress our thoughts. We have done it to ourselves.” ~Quote from the article.
Unpopular Speech in a Cold Climate, from The New Yorker
March 4th, 2019
It’s much more palatable to think that the a-holes that cross one’s path just had their heads torn off by a velociraptor and that’s the reason they’ve taken leave of their God damned senses, instead of them just inherently being garbage human beings. Thanks New Yorker.
March 1st, 2019
I’d like to say I’m going to suspend judgement on this concept until it comes to fruition, but I just have this nagging feelings it’s going to be shit. Punk, cocktail, and lounge are already discordant words.
What is a “punk cocktail”, even? Some $16 potion, with a vague band reference, in a martini glass? Just spitballing some more historically accurate ideas here, but how about:
‘The Johnny Rotten’- a PBR with a third of the beer poured out and replaced with piss.
‘The Dee Dee’- Heroine, whiskey, and whatever collective pills patrons come in with that night ground into a powder surprise.
‘The Lou Reed’- a shot of speed followed by forced electroshock therapy.
There are a hundred ways to do something like this wrong, and maybe one way to do it right. Good luck with those odds. Because unless it has live punk bands, cheap drinks, and a sincere dive aura; this shit ain’t punk. It’s just going to be another contrived, dumbass hipster hangout for the yuppies around here to get rich off of. Pllllllllllltttttttttthhhhhhhh.
And at least with the other disaffected hipster bullshit around here, they’re not trying to pose as punk anything. This has the potential to be a real dick slap in the face to those of us for whom punk is our solace. To those of us for whom punk is our life philosophy.
In the words of Lux, “You ain’t no punk, you punk. You wanna talk about the real junk? If I ever said s@?! I’d be banned, ‘cause I’m your garbageman. Well, if you can’t dig me, you can’t dig nothin’. Do you want the real thing, or are you just talkin’? Do you understand?”
Metro Times: A 'Punk Rock Cocktail Lounge' is Headed to Southwest Detroit
February 18th, 2019
So if people are going to stop buying and listening to Ryan Adams’ music in protest, does that mean they are also going to start buying and listening to Mandy Moore albums in solidarity? Ennnnnnjoy.
Sanctimony never sounded so saccharinely insipid.
Pitchfork: Ryan Adams Album Pulled From Release After Abuse Allegations
February 11th, 2019
You know those times when you wanna hump, but talking is too much of a hassle? Then this is the product for you. Millennials and Baby Boomers alike can rejoice in never having to speak to another human being again, not even for sex, with LoveSync!
I think I’m just going to invent a t-shirt that says ‘Bang Me!’ on one side, and ‘Get the fuck away from me!’ on the other, and you can just flip it inside out at your leisure. A four dollar solution to a non-problem.
Um if this is the future of sex, sign me up for a Real Doll...
Dirty talk; both the preamble foreplay, and during is one of the best parts of sex. Sex without mental stimulation is not worth the time it takes to undress and redress.
Plllllltttttthhhhhh. Nine thumbs down!
Kickstarter: Love Sync
December 29th, 2018
I voted to legalize weed in the recent election, because I don’t think citizens should be criminalized for just having it or smoking it, even for recreational use. I think often times it is used as a cheap excuse to thrust people of color or lower socioeconomic status into the revolving door system of incarceration. Which is bullshit.
And economically, I think any sort of voluntary tax revenue is a good thing, in theory anyway. I’d like to think the increased revenue will go to things like schools, public health projects, and various other enriching programs, but people are greedy, lousy fucks, so who knows how that money will be earmarked. It also opens up a legitimate market for ordinary citizens with an entrepreneurial spirit.
I also think there are some legitimate medical uses for marijuana, that can actually help people. And anything that eases people suffering in this world, I’m all for. Also, I think with less of a stigma surrounding the drug, more research can be done on its benefits and effects. And more knowledge is an inherently a good thing.
Full disclosure; I personally do not partake in marijuana; it’s simply not my cup of tea. It just doesn’t do anything for me. It’s a “meh.” In many ways, I’m probably the poster child for the D.A.R.E program. But really, I have an hyper-sensitive system, and drugs either do absolutely nothing or I have extreme fucking reactions. This includes prescription medications. So my highs, and my lows, come from myriad other sources.
But none of this means I can’t take into account what other people find helpful or pleasing about cannabis, or what some of the secondary, social benefits of legalization are. It’s simple empathy and logic.
So long-winded preface aside, I don’t think there is anything on this big, blue marble that doesn’t have pitfalls; marijuana included. Things as pure, but as complicated as love or altruism have pitfalls. Morality, beauty, honor, loyalty, bravery, all these Platonic ideals, are certainly not without their dark sides or sacrifices. But yet, according to every pot-smoker I’ve ever talked to, hell, even overheard, (and the comment section of this article is congruent with those claims), somehow, the cannabis plant is the only thing on Earth that is 100% without downfall.
Uh, yeah right.
Pot: a virginal substance of unadulterated ambrosial magic, reigned down from the Heavens by the Gods of relaxation and glaucoma-relief. And anyone who dares speak otherwise is just an unhip, stuffy teetotaler that just needs to get with the times, man. Also, bullshit.
Humans can get addicted to just about anything. Anything that triggers those pleasure receptors in our brain. It doesn’t have to be a drug, it could be sex, gambling, food, exercise, another person, whatever. Ever watch that My Strange Addiction show? That’s an eye-opener. So of course, some people are addicted to, and others can get addicted to marijuana. Just like any other thing on Earth we as humans can get addicted to. It’s absurd to think otherwise.
And no, that doesn’t mean EVERY person who smokes is addicted. Also absurd. Lots of people engage in regular, zesty enterprises like sex, eating food, or exercising, and they don’t become addicted. In fact, they are much healthier because of it. But not everyone is the same. People are wired differently and have different experiences than you. Some things, even traditionally heathy activities, can spiral out of control. Does that mean we ban sex or food or exercising? Of course not. We don’t even ban cigarettes or alcohol, though I’m sure we’ve all known someone who got lung cancer, or was an alcoholic. So why isn’t the same understanding the risks, but allowing it with some regulation given to weed?
Medical-marijuana smokers’ health benefits wanted to be taken seriously, as they should, so why discount those who struggle with the drug, or who are deleteriously effected by it? That’s not balanced. That’s not empathetic. That’s not right. We have to listen to those who are negatively effected too. They are human beings that matter just as much as anyone else. And there is almost a reverse-stigma now on those who speak about the possible risks of usage.
I’ve known someone close to me that did very much struggle with it, couldn’t get out from under it, and it was slowly and surely ruining their life. To the point where I had to start researching information about it, and talking to different professional drug counselors on the topic to learn more, to figure out how to help them. And the drug counselor I talked to, said they saw more marijuana-using patients than any other kind of drug-user. And it was absolutely addictive to some and could be very detrimental to those user’s lives. And this information was presented to me, like, “Of course, it is addictive. No shit.” And this was not some out-of-touch dinosaur either, it was a young, very tuned-in woman whose career was a therapist specializing in drug counseling.
So I guess I find the topic very personal to me. To have a mob of people conveying this message that, “Your experience doesn’t matter. It’s not relevant, because it goes against my personal narrative and recreational lifestyle,” is infuriating to me. Where is the empathy and understanding they clamored for when trying to legalize it? And geez, it sounds a lot like what the old-fashioned pearl-clutchers cited as the reasons to keep it illegal. It’s more than a bit hypocritical. Sorry that some people’s real struggle with the drug is harshing your mellow but...
Everyone’s mental heath struggle is equally relevant. And deserves equal consideration not only under the law, but in the court of public opinion also. You don’t get to spout off to strangers that their problems aren’t real, unless you want to perpetuate the cycle of someone doing that back to you.
The Atlantic: America's Invisible Pot Addicts
We can’t try to shame or browbeat defense lawyers into not accepting cases. The fact that we have a legal justice system in the country, as imperfect as it can be at times, that allows for due process is something that seems to be taken for granted. This is not a global right. The citizens of many other countries don’t have the privilege of a court system. You dissent, and you’re thrown in the gulag, never to be heard from again.
And yet, we have people here bitching about feeling “unsafe” because a professor at their law school takes the case of a notorious villain. These are Harvard students, not some dum-dums living under a rock. You would think their critical thinking skills would be a bit sharper than this. What disappointing lawyers they’ll make, with that state of mind.
Under our legal system, that notorious villain is allowed the same right to due process and a fair trial as any other citizen in this country. Why? Because our system presumes innocence until PROVEN guilty. That means in a court of law, with a judge presiding over the case, both sides present their evidence for review, and if the defendant so chooses a judge or jury of their peers weighs that evidence and renders a verdict. Not, ‘I heard a bunch of shit about someone on Twitter, and something similar happened to me, with someone else, so let’s give this person the chair.’
Trial by Twitter doesn’t sound like the road to an utopian future. It sounds like a sanctimonious , bumbling gouge in the side of Democracy.
When I think of the brilliant minds that have pondered these concepts over the last 5,000 years, much more brilliant minds than me, I’m humbled, but also kind of awed. By the level of critical thinking it takes to philosophize these intricate concepts and systems, and build on them piece by piece, over the ages. But I guess back then, there was no social media to distract the shit out of everyone either. And these weren’t perfect humans, because perfect humans don’t exist. These were just humans that spent a lot of time thinking about things, instead of assuming they know everything there is to know already. Which I really can appreciate.
The other thing is, our system is set up the way it is, so innocent people aren’t randomly thrown in jail. And again, yes the system is imperfect, because humans are imperfect, and shit isn’t always fair, so there are some innocent people that fall through the cracks, and some guilty people that beat the rap, but the basis of the system is solid. Both sides present their evidence and it is weighed, which is fair, though the result may not always be just.
The court of public opinion holds no steadfast ideals about fairness or decorum, or the presentation of evidence from both sides. It’s fueled by emotion, personal past histories, biases, and so much yelling. And a lot of screen courage. It makes a big difference to read people’s facial expressions, look them in the eye, and articulate things to someone’s face. It’s very easy to judge and condemn from afar, with reports, and hearsay, and opinion. It’s much more difficult to judge in person, beyond a reasonable doubt, in front of all the evidence. As it should be. Trials are serious matters that deserves serious, scholarly attention, not some random Internet spouting off. (Irony duly noted.)
The bottom line is: I think it’s pretty lousy that people are trying to petition and protest other citizens unalienable rights away, no matter how heinous the charge. And it’s morally reprehensible, and just plain egomaniacal to make everything about oneself. Jesus man. The Harvard dean isn’t taking the case because he believes in sexual predation, he’s taking it because he believes in the law, and in due process for ALL citizens. If all the defense attorneys were intimidated against taking certain types of cases, then there is no one left to represent the accused, and there is no due process. There is no recourse, accused equals guilt, and the already overcrowded prisons will brim with even more bodies. One never knows when they might just be in the shoes of the accused, either. ‘There but for the grace of God go I’ is a phrase that has seemingly fallen out of favor, replaced with “Ahh, that will never happen to me. Fuck that guy. Burn him at the stake!”
“When the views of thinking people, whether lawyers, teachers, editors, or writers, are determined by our self-assessed risk of losing jobs or social standing, it doesn’t take a totalitarian government to repress our thoughts. We have done it to ourselves.” ~Quote from the article.
Unpopular Speech in a Cold Climate, from The New Yorker
March 4th, 2019
It’s much more palatable to think that the a-holes that cross one’s path just had their heads torn off by a velociraptor and that’s the reason they’ve taken leave of their God damned senses, instead of them just inherently being garbage human beings. Thanks New Yorker.
March 1st, 2019
I’d like to say I’m going to suspend judgement on this concept until it comes to fruition, but I just have this nagging feelings it’s going to be shit. Punk, cocktail, and lounge are already discordant words.
What is a “punk cocktail”, even? Some $16 potion, with a vague band reference, in a martini glass? Just spitballing some more historically accurate ideas here, but how about:
‘The Johnny Rotten’- a PBR with a third of the beer poured out and replaced with piss.
‘The Dee Dee’- Heroine, whiskey, and whatever collective pills patrons come in with that night ground into a powder surprise.
‘The Lou Reed’- a shot of speed followed by forced electroshock therapy.
There are a hundred ways to do something like this wrong, and maybe one way to do it right. Good luck with those odds. Because unless it has live punk bands, cheap drinks, and a sincere dive aura; this shit ain’t punk. It’s just going to be another contrived, dumbass hipster hangout for the yuppies around here to get rich off of. Pllllllllllltttttttttthhhhhhhh.
And at least with the other disaffected hipster bullshit around here, they’re not trying to pose as punk anything. This has the potential to be a real dick slap in the face to those of us for whom punk is our solace. To those of us for whom punk is our life philosophy.
In the words of Lux, “You ain’t no punk, you punk. You wanna talk about the real junk? If I ever said s@?! I’d be banned, ‘cause I’m your garbageman. Well, if you can’t dig me, you can’t dig nothin’. Do you want the real thing, or are you just talkin’? Do you understand?”
Metro Times: A 'Punk Rock Cocktail Lounge' is Headed to Southwest Detroit
February 18th, 2019
So if people are going to stop buying and listening to Ryan Adams’ music in protest, does that mean they are also going to start buying and listening to Mandy Moore albums in solidarity? Ennnnnnjoy.
Sanctimony never sounded so saccharinely insipid.
Pitchfork: Ryan Adams Album Pulled From Release After Abuse Allegations
February 11th, 2019
You know those times when you wanna hump, but talking is too much of a hassle? Then this is the product for you. Millennials and Baby Boomers alike can rejoice in never having to speak to another human being again, not even for sex, with LoveSync!
I think I’m just going to invent a t-shirt that says ‘Bang Me!’ on one side, and ‘Get the fuck away from me!’ on the other, and you can just flip it inside out at your leisure. A four dollar solution to a non-problem.
Um if this is the future of sex, sign me up for a Real Doll...
Dirty talk; both the preamble foreplay, and during is one of the best parts of sex. Sex without mental stimulation is not worth the time it takes to undress and redress.
Plllllltttttthhhhhh. Nine thumbs down!
Kickstarter: Love Sync
December 29th, 2018
I voted to legalize weed in the recent election, because I don’t think citizens should be criminalized for just having it or smoking it, even for recreational use. I think often times it is used as a cheap excuse to thrust people of color or lower socioeconomic status into the revolving door system of incarceration. Which is bullshit.
And economically, I think any sort of voluntary tax revenue is a good thing, in theory anyway. I’d like to think the increased revenue will go to things like schools, public health projects, and various other enriching programs, but people are greedy, lousy fucks, so who knows how that money will be earmarked. It also opens up a legitimate market for ordinary citizens with an entrepreneurial spirit.
I also think there are some legitimate medical uses for marijuana, that can actually help people. And anything that eases people suffering in this world, I’m all for. Also, I think with less of a stigma surrounding the drug, more research can be done on its benefits and effects. And more knowledge is an inherently a good thing.
Full disclosure; I personally do not partake in marijuana; it’s simply not my cup of tea. It just doesn’t do anything for me. It’s a “meh.” In many ways, I’m probably the poster child for the D.A.R.E program. But really, I have an hyper-sensitive system, and drugs either do absolutely nothing or I have extreme fucking reactions. This includes prescription medications. So my highs, and my lows, come from myriad other sources.
But none of this means I can’t take into account what other people find helpful or pleasing about cannabis, or what some of the secondary, social benefits of legalization are. It’s simple empathy and logic.
So long-winded preface aside, I don’t think there is anything on this big, blue marble that doesn’t have pitfalls; marijuana included. Things as pure, but as complicated as love or altruism have pitfalls. Morality, beauty, honor, loyalty, bravery, all these Platonic ideals, are certainly not without their dark sides or sacrifices. But yet, according to every pot-smoker I’ve ever talked to, hell, even overheard, (and the comment section of this article is congruent with those claims), somehow, the cannabis plant is the only thing on Earth that is 100% without downfall.
Uh, yeah right.
Pot: a virginal substance of unadulterated ambrosial magic, reigned down from the Heavens by the Gods of relaxation and glaucoma-relief. And anyone who dares speak otherwise is just an unhip, stuffy teetotaler that just needs to get with the times, man. Also, bullshit.
Humans can get addicted to just about anything. Anything that triggers those pleasure receptors in our brain. It doesn’t have to be a drug, it could be sex, gambling, food, exercise, another person, whatever. Ever watch that My Strange Addiction show? That’s an eye-opener. So of course, some people are addicted to, and others can get addicted to marijuana. Just like any other thing on Earth we as humans can get addicted to. It’s absurd to think otherwise.
And no, that doesn’t mean EVERY person who smokes is addicted. Also absurd. Lots of people engage in regular, zesty enterprises like sex, eating food, or exercising, and they don’t become addicted. In fact, they are much healthier because of it. But not everyone is the same. People are wired differently and have different experiences than you. Some things, even traditionally heathy activities, can spiral out of control. Does that mean we ban sex or food or exercising? Of course not. We don’t even ban cigarettes or alcohol, though I’m sure we’ve all known someone who got lung cancer, or was an alcoholic. So why isn’t the same understanding the risks, but allowing it with some regulation given to weed?
Medical-marijuana smokers’ health benefits wanted to be taken seriously, as they should, so why discount those who struggle with the drug, or who are deleteriously effected by it? That’s not balanced. That’s not empathetic. That’s not right. We have to listen to those who are negatively effected too. They are human beings that matter just as much as anyone else. And there is almost a reverse-stigma now on those who speak about the possible risks of usage.
I’ve known someone close to me that did very much struggle with it, couldn’t get out from under it, and it was slowly and surely ruining their life. To the point where I had to start researching information about it, and talking to different professional drug counselors on the topic to learn more, to figure out how to help them. And the drug counselor I talked to, said they saw more marijuana-using patients than any other kind of drug-user. And it was absolutely addictive to some and could be very detrimental to those user’s lives. And this information was presented to me, like, “Of course, it is addictive. No shit.” And this was not some out-of-touch dinosaur either, it was a young, very tuned-in woman whose career was a therapist specializing in drug counseling.
So I guess I find the topic very personal to me. To have a mob of people conveying this message that, “Your experience doesn’t matter. It’s not relevant, because it goes against my personal narrative and recreational lifestyle,” is infuriating to me. Where is the empathy and understanding they clamored for when trying to legalize it? And geez, it sounds a lot like what the old-fashioned pearl-clutchers cited as the reasons to keep it illegal. It’s more than a bit hypocritical. Sorry that some people’s real struggle with the drug is harshing your mellow but...
Everyone’s mental heath struggle is equally relevant. And deserves equal consideration not only under the law, but in the court of public opinion also. You don’t get to spout off to strangers that their problems aren’t real, unless you want to perpetuate the cycle of someone doing that back to you.
The Atlantic: America's Invisible Pot Addicts
Tuesday, January 22, 2019
Erotic Nightmares and Sensual Daydreams: The Raw Power of Rocky Horror
"Give yourself over to absolute pleasure/Swim the warm waters of sins of the flesh
Erotic nightmares beyond any measure/And sensual daydreams to treasure forever
Can't you just see it. Whoa ho ho!/Don't dream it, be it."
When I was young; only a precocious first grader, I was snooping around, as children tend to do, and I found this small vinyl-lined Playboy calendar in my father's old metal desk, in the back office of his restaurant. Most likely some promotional item that would come free with a subscription to the magazine. I somehow inherently knew it was wrong to look at it; like it just wasn't something good little girls do and that I would get in trouble for snooping around, but I also couldn't resist turning to every page and studying each one of those glamorous women. They captivated me with their beauty and this look of innocence and purity on each of their faces, that somehow didn't seem to quite fit with their sensually naked forms. I didn't even quite know what it was I was seeing, but it drew me in, yet not without an overwhelming sense of impurity. But it didn't stop me from peeking at that calendar and those beguiling women every chance I could. That is the first step I can vividly remember into my rabbit hole of sexual discovery.
"Now all I want to know/Is how to go/I've tasted blood and I want more."
I had terrible nightmares as a kid, still do truth be told, but as a child they were harrowing to experience. I would run into my parent's room each night after a nightmare, and sleep on the floor in front of their TV. So, I think in an effort to help me, and regain their privacy, the same year I discovered that Playboy calendar, they bought me a small TV for my bedroom that Christmas. Every night, I would watch TV until I fell asleep, and when I had a nightmare, I could just turn on my own TV to soothe my mind back into some semblance of reality. That also meant, I could watch whatever I wanted, unsupervised and unencumbered.
"The darkness must go/Down the river of night's dreaming/Flow morphia slow
Let the sun and light come streaming/Into my life, into my life."
It was the following Halloween night, I was in second grade by then, and I was hopped up on candy and the excitement of the high holiday. I wasn't close to tired, but I could stay up all night and watch TV if I wanted. So, it had to have been after midnight, and I was flipping through the limited channels, and I came upon the strangest sight. It was this movie, clearly some kind of horror flick in honor of Halloween, but it was different somehow. There were all these strange people and strange costumes, put together in a way I had never seen before in other movies. And there was music, loud, fast, rock 'n roll tinged music; I was rapt. But there was something else even, some inexplicable sensation, that at the time I didn't know had a name, but I could feel it in every bantam corner of my body. I could feel it vibrate these electrical impulses as they danced down my back, and coursed straight through to between my skinny thighs. Later, I would deduce that the feeling that rocked my little 8 year old mind and body to the core was sexiness. That's what this movie dripped; oozed, was sexiness. And again, it felt innately wrong, somehow. Which made me desire it all the more.
“It’s beyond me/Help me, Mommy/I’ll be good, you’ll see/Take this dream away
What’s this, let’s see/I feel sexy/What’s come over me?/Woo! Here it comes again.”
Erotic nightmares beyond any measure/And sensual daydreams to treasure forever
Can't you just see it. Whoa ho ho!/Don't dream it, be it."
When I was young; only a precocious first grader, I was snooping around, as children tend to do, and I found this small vinyl-lined Playboy calendar in my father's old metal desk, in the back office of his restaurant. Most likely some promotional item that would come free with a subscription to the magazine. I somehow inherently knew it was wrong to look at it; like it just wasn't something good little girls do and that I would get in trouble for snooping around, but I also couldn't resist turning to every page and studying each one of those glamorous women. They captivated me with their beauty and this look of innocence and purity on each of their faces, that somehow didn't seem to quite fit with their sensually naked forms. I didn't even quite know what it was I was seeing, but it drew me in, yet not without an overwhelming sense of impurity. But it didn't stop me from peeking at that calendar and those beguiling women every chance I could. That is the first step I can vividly remember into my rabbit hole of sexual discovery.
"Now all I want to know/Is how to go/I've tasted blood and I want more."
I had terrible nightmares as a kid, still do truth be told, but as a child they were harrowing to experience. I would run into my parent's room each night after a nightmare, and sleep on the floor in front of their TV. So, I think in an effort to help me, and regain their privacy, the same year I discovered that Playboy calendar, they bought me a small TV for my bedroom that Christmas. Every night, I would watch TV until I fell asleep, and when I had a nightmare, I could just turn on my own TV to soothe my mind back into some semblance of reality. That also meant, I could watch whatever I wanted, unsupervised and unencumbered.
"The darkness must go/Down the river of night's dreaming/Flow morphia slow
Let the sun and light come streaming/Into my life, into my life."
It was the following Halloween night, I was in second grade by then, and I was hopped up on candy and the excitement of the high holiday. I wasn't close to tired, but I could stay up all night and watch TV if I wanted. So, it had to have been after midnight, and I was flipping through the limited channels, and I came upon the strangest sight. It was this movie, clearly some kind of horror flick in honor of Halloween, but it was different somehow. There were all these strange people and strange costumes, put together in a way I had never seen before in other movies. And there was music, loud, fast, rock 'n roll tinged music; I was rapt. But there was something else even, some inexplicable sensation, that at the time I didn't know had a name, but I could feel it in every bantam corner of my body. I could feel it vibrate these electrical impulses as they danced down my back, and coursed straight through to between my skinny thighs. Later, I would deduce that the feeling that rocked my little 8 year old mind and body to the core was sexiness. That's what this movie dripped; oozed, was sexiness. And again, it felt innately wrong, somehow. Which made me desire it all the more.
“It’s beyond me/Help me, Mommy/I’ll be good, you’ll see/Take this dream away
What’s this, let’s see/I feel sexy/What’s come over me?/Woo! Here it comes again.”
| And in addition to the sexiness that I saw onscreen, and the sexiness
that I felt, there was more still. There was this bizarreness to it,
this level of depravity and acceptance of that depravity, that differed
wildly from that Playboy calendar that allured me so, the previous
year. There wasn't this posed innocence. Hell, there wasn't any posing
at all; it was nothing but the loss of innocence. These
grotesque, lust-fueled, outre freaks writhing around the screen,
recklessly indulging in their perversion to create this otherworldly
cocktail of pleasure laced with defiance. It was like a Universal gift,
wrapped up and broadcast just for me. I could barely comprehend what
it was I was seeing, but I just knew it was me. "It's so dreamy/Oh, fantasy free me/So you can't see me/No, not at all In another dimension/With voyeuristic intention/Well secluded, I see all With a bit of a mind flip/You're into the time slip/And nothing can ever be the same." It also introduced me to a concept I was wholly unfamiliar with, the idea of androgyny, and not juts as a device or an affectation, but androgyny as desirable; androgyny as highly sexual. Something I would later go on to explore, not only through glam and punk rock, but in my own sexual experiences, within in my lovers, and of course, within myself; the philosophical nature of what it is to be male or female, and how those lines are made to be blurred. To say that late-night movie, which I would only come to find out later was The Rocky Horror Picture Show, changed me wouldn't be quite accurate. It was like it unlocked, or rather, unleashed something in me, something that had already been bubbling up since conception; this nascent sexuality and burgeoning lust for sex tinged with the peculiar. I didn't realize then of course, but I was a born fetishist. It would take me years to fully embrace my own perversions; the sadomasochism, the domination and submission; the idea of sex as fuel, as food, and sex as power, but this was one hell of a fucking start. "Oh, we're trapped!/It's something you'll get used to/A mental mind-fuck can be nice." Rocky Horror would foment my love affair with the bizarre, the carnal, the obscene; the forbidden. From that time on, any nightmare I had, I could then sexualize, in this lascivious lucid dreaming technique my young brain concocted, to not only diminish its power, but give me a modicum of control and even a jolt of pleasure. And the movie was at least partially responsible for forever entangling sex, rock 'n roll and kink in my impressionable mind. I've never really stopped delighting and indulging in the filthiness and power of sex from that time on. In myriad ways, sex has not only pushed me to the brink, but saved me from going over the edge. For this little Creature of the Night, Rocky Horror allowed me to slip several rungs deeper into the seedy underbelly of the prurient and the arcane; the salacious depths. It was a thrilling leap into my subconscious hedonistic desires and into the pure decadence of orgiastic smut. | |
 "Now the only thing I've come to trust/Is an orgasmic rush of lust Rose tints my world/And keeps me safe from my trouble and pain." | |
Thursday, January 3, 2019
In Time and Blood: The Endless Variations of A Thousand Kisses Deep & Deciphering the Mystery of the Mystery Man
A Thousand Kisses Deep by the legendary Leonard Cohen: the gut-wrenching verses.
You came to me this morning
And you handled me like meat
You’d have to be a man to know
How good that feels, how sweet
My mirrored twin, my next of kin
I’d know you in my sleep
And who but you would take me in
A thousand kisses deep
I loved you when you opened
Like a lily to the heat
You see I'm just another snowman
Standing in the rain and sleet
But you don’t need to hear me now
And every word I speak
It counts against me anyhow
A thousand kisses deep
I know you had to lie to me
I know you had to cheat
To pose all hot and hide behind
The veils of sheer deceit
Our perfect porn aristocrat
So elegant and cheap
I’m old but I’m still into that
A thousand kisses deep
I know you had to lie to me,
I know you had to cheat.
But the Means no longer guarantee
The Virtue in Deceit.
That truth is bent, that beauty spent,
That style is obsolete -
Ever since the Holy Spirit went
A thousand kisses deep.
(So what about this Inner Light
That's boundless and unique?
I'm slouching through another night
A thousand kisses deep.)
The ponies run, the girls are young,
The odds are there to beat.
You win a while, and then it's done -
Your little winning streak.
And summoned now to deal
With your invincible defeat,
You live your life as if it's real
A thousand kisses deep.
(And sometimes when the night is slow
I'm turning tricks; I'm getting fixed,
I'm back on Boogie Street.
I tried to quit the business -
Hey, I'm lazy and I'm weak.
But sometimes when the night is slow,
The wretched and the meek,
We gather up our hearts and go
A thousand kisses deep.
(And fragrant is the thought of you,
The file on you complete -
Except what we forgot to do
A thousand kisses deep.)
I'm turning tricks, I'm getting fixed
I’m good at love, I’m good at hate
It's in between I freeze
Been working out, but its too late
It’s been too late for years
But you look good, you really do
They love you on the street,
Somebody must have died for you
A thousand kisses deep
And I'm still working with the wine
Still dancing cheek to cheek
The band is playing Auld Lang Syne
But the heart will not retreat
I ran with Diz and Dante
I never had their sweep
But once or twice they let me play
A thousand kisses deep
The autumn moved across your skin
Got something in my eye
A light that doesn’t need to live
And doesn’t need to die
A riddle in the book of love
Obscure and obsolete
Until witnessed here in time and blood
A thousand kisses deep
(Well that's my story and I admit,
It's broken and it's bleak
But all the twisted pieces fit
A thousand kisses deep)
Deciphering the Mystery of the Mystery Man
So often my gnarled, tarred soul longs for the romance and desire to revive it back to its white hot lightening state of being. So often, disappointment reigns as it distills into bitter jade. So many attempts, so many hopes, so much failure and ruination. How does one cull the courage to get back astride the horse, after it's thrown you off so many times before? After madness, and near madness, anger, pain, and bloodlust. What could possibly be left for the sad-sack losers and lonely hearts, laying broken in the street? Kicked and knocked around, all sense curb-stomped and drained long ago.
So what does it take for the heart to rise, the hope and colour to return? The sex to come flooding back as the blood runs south? Some magician's elixir; a bourbon-scented alchemy to storm the gates of regret and fear. What or who does it take to let go, one more time; to take one last swing? A magnetic hypnotist, an enigmatic conjurer, that can simultaneously secure and disarm, ignite and comfort; love and lust. A rakish and refined closet pervert, yet tender and sweet, to unite the severed halves and disparate compartments galvanized by time and betrayal. An arcane man, who always was, lurking in the shadows, just out of reach. A marquis from another time, dominant, but unassuming; who would know? The Holy Grail, there all while, left unclaimed, waiting there for me to find. To entrance me with his gilded blaze, to make me talk, to make me kiss, to make me want, once more.
The empathy he exhales, dissolves the old sentries; the carnality he dances around, floods my senses. I expose my delicate, alabaster neck, "Go ahead Daddy, clamp the choke-collar around me, once more." And I can't get enough.
You came to me this morning
And you handled me like meat
You’d have to be a man to know
How good that feels, how sweet
My mirrored twin, my next of kin
I’d know you in my sleep
And who but you would take me in
A thousand kisses deep
I loved you when you opened
Like a lily to the heat
You see I'm just another snowman
Standing in the rain and sleet
But you don’t need to hear me now
And every word I speak
It counts against me anyhow
A thousand kisses deep
I know you had to lie to me
I know you had to cheat
To pose all hot and hide behind
The veils of sheer deceit
Our perfect porn aristocrat
So elegant and cheap
I’m old but I’m still into that
A thousand kisses deep
I know you had to lie to me,
I know you had to cheat.
But the Means no longer guarantee
The Virtue in Deceit.
That truth is bent, that beauty spent,
That style is obsolete -
Ever since the Holy Spirit went
A thousand kisses deep.
(So what about this Inner Light
That's boundless and unique?
I'm slouching through another night
A thousand kisses deep.)
The ponies run, the girls are young,
The odds are there to beat.
You win a while, and then it's done -
Your little winning streak.
And summoned now to deal
With your invincible defeat,
You live your life as if it's real
A thousand kisses deep.
(And sometimes when the night is slow
The wretched and the meek
We gather up our hearts and go
A thousand kisses deep)
We gather up our hearts and go
A thousand kisses deep)
I'm turning tricks; I'm getting fixed,
I'm back on Boogie Street.
I tried to quit the business -
Hey, I'm lazy and I'm weak.
But sometimes when the night is slow,
The wretched and the meek,
We gather up our hearts and go
A thousand kisses deep.
(And fragrant is the thought of you,
The file on you complete -
Except what we forgot to do
A thousand kisses deep.)
I'm turning tricks, I'm getting fixed
I'm back on boogie street
You lose your grip and then you slip
Into the masterpiece
And maybe I had miles to drive
And promises to keep
You ditch it all to stay alive
A thousand kisses deep
You lose your grip and then you slip
Into the masterpiece
And maybe I had miles to drive
And promises to keep
You ditch it all to stay alive
A thousand kisses deep
All soaked in sex, and pressed against
The limits of the sea:
I saw there were no oceans left
For scavengers like me.
We made it to the forward deck
I blessed our remnant fleet -
And then consented to be wrecked
A thousand kisses deep.
The limits of the sea:
I saw there were no oceans left
For scavengers like me.
We made it to the forward deck
I blessed our remnant fleet -
And then consented to be wrecked
A thousand kisses deep.
I’m good at love, I’m good at hate
It's in between I freeze
Been working out, but its too late
It’s been too late for years
But you look good, you really do
They love you on the street,
Somebody must have died for you
A thousand kisses deep
And I'm still working with the wine
Still dancing cheek to cheek
The band is playing Auld Lang Syne
But the heart will not retreat
I ran with Diz and Dante
I never had their sweep
But once or twice they let me play
A thousand kisses deep
The autumn moved across your skin
Got something in my eye
A light that doesn’t need to live
And doesn’t need to die
A riddle in the book of love
Obscure and obsolete
Until witnessed here in time and blood
A thousand kisses deep
(Well that's my story and I admit,
It's broken and it's bleak
But all the twisted pieces fit
A thousand kisses deep)
Deciphering the Mystery of the Mystery Man
So often my gnarled, tarred soul longs for the romance and desire to revive it back to its white hot lightening state of being. So often, disappointment reigns as it distills into bitter jade. So many attempts, so many hopes, so much failure and ruination. How does one cull the courage to get back astride the horse, after it's thrown you off so many times before? After madness, and near madness, anger, pain, and bloodlust. What could possibly be left for the sad-sack losers and lonely hearts, laying broken in the street? Kicked and knocked around, all sense curb-stomped and drained long ago.
So what does it take for the heart to rise, the hope and colour to return? The sex to come flooding back as the blood runs south? Some magician's elixir; a bourbon-scented alchemy to storm the gates of regret and fear. What or who does it take to let go, one more time; to take one last swing? A magnetic hypnotist, an enigmatic conjurer, that can simultaneously secure and disarm, ignite and comfort; love and lust. A rakish and refined closet pervert, yet tender and sweet, to unite the severed halves and disparate compartments galvanized by time and betrayal. An arcane man, who always was, lurking in the shadows, just out of reach. A marquis from another time, dominant, but unassuming; who would know? The Holy Grail, there all while, left unclaimed, waiting there for me to find. To entrance me with his gilded blaze, to make me talk, to make me kiss, to make me want, once more.
The empathy he exhales, dissolves the old sentries; the carnality he dances around, floods my senses. I expose my delicate, alabaster neck, "Go ahead Daddy, clamp the choke-collar around me, once more." And I can't get enough.
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