I Could Not Stop Crying

At these thoughts:  my fellow man has given me these gifts:  The decision whether or not to suffer is mine alone.  Now, no one is king of the world and can perfectly arrange circumstances so that one face suffering and another not, therefore no one is exempt from what one doesn't deserve, pain, injustice, et cetera.  People, however, often just by exercising their free will and operating in their own self-interest, generally treat one another fairly as best they can, so things more or less work out.  And this is what people judged me worthy of:  comfort, happiness, and contentment.  They did so consciously, and with the utmost freedom to choose otherwise for me.  This is the greatest gift I have ever received, on par with the unconditional love my parents feel towards me, a gift I was born with and one I hope I pay forward to all beings.  My heart swells with gratitude.  Another gift -- this one gives me some sorrow -- is that others have sacrificed and died so that I might have any life I choose, and may do with it whatever I please.  I pray that all who have gone before me know paradise, and am comforted that any who disrespect that sacred gift will get what they deserve.  One I always enjoy, and have since childhood, is the ability to see the beauty in every iota of perception.  I'm privy to the coolest shit on Earth.  The last is less a gift than a burden, but a sterling honor nonetheless, and it is this:  my happiness has been hell for those who deserve such.  I am not a gloater, and can't lord anything over any one.  But it's an awfully important duty in the scheme of things.

These treasures were awarded me despite my greatest sins:  failing to place enough faith in people, and inducing my own suffering despite the fact that those who wanted me to be content and well deserved to see me so.  I have also been remiss as I have not taken refuge in the sangha as I say I will every Sunday morning -- may I have time enough to do better.  I beg forgiveness, and pledge the following as a token of thankfulness:  I will pursue my destiny with diligence and self-compassion, I will make better choices for myself, and will present the most authentic me I can to everyone I meet.  My loved ones look me in the eye.  They tell me to my face what they think of me.  Moreover, I'm aware of what's said behind my back. May I ever keep these gifts in mind.

I crave everyone's indulgence, however:  I must continue living moment to moment, one foot in front of the other, because unfortunately none of the abovementioned blessings are guarantees of a tomorrow.  My karma is my karma, and I may yet face the ultimately unbearable -- who can know?  But even if I have days when I have to fake it, I promise to fake it really well.

Any Guesses What I Am?

Hints:  Mesomorph, plenty of junk in the trunk.  Big eyes, full lips.  Inclined not to pry, but everyone spills their guts to me anyway.  Well liked by most everyone except, well, they know who they are.  Children and animals attracted to me.  Rather passive, not prone to anger.  Lazy, gluttonous, lustful.  Am potentially more destructive and toxic than anyone else you know in personal relationships, but have a small social circle of intensely loyal, long-term friends.  Sociable, but not an attention whore.  Insufferable and obnoxious to myself, and to certain others who, well, again, they might know who they are -- considered extremely sweet and good by most others, and welcomed and wanted around by them.  Gratification schemes usually focus on sex, sensual comforts, food, and music.  Absolute poison to sadists, violent psychopaths.  Glancingly fascinating to or ignored by most sociopaths.  Tend to internalize abuse.  Physical pain is richly and acutely felt, but emotional pain is more traumatic and long-lasting.  Can cope with own physical injury, squeamish about those of others.  Pleasure-seeking.  Highly observant.  Diffucult to control, but inclined to get walked all over.  Emotionally sensitive and intelligent, with good realization skills, but congenitally incapable of manipulation, scheming, calculation or cunning.  Outsized conscience, small ego.  Capacity for self-destructiveness enormous, intensely averse to harming others.  Hint:  I'm actually a variety of psychopath.

7 Things OF WHICH All Americans Should Disapprove

Just putting this out there.  I was an ardent Obama supporter, and voted him in for his second term (I mean, our only alternative are Tea Party nutcases from the Land of Utter Delusion.)  I couldn't find much to disagree with in this list, and I think it's worth pondering and promulgating:

http://www.disinfo.com/2013/01/seven-things-all-americans-should-disapprove-of/

So What The Fuck You Want, Bitch?

I've got to say, I'm grateful yet harried and stressed that I've been rescued from a vast right-wing conspiracy against my life.  It's so damning because I'm such a fucking nobody.  I mean, I author a smart-ass left-wing blog in my late 20s, during the heydey of the Bush Administration, and I might end up another Tutu or Kennedy if I'm unlucky, and what happens?  I get flagged.  As soon as enough years pass by with enough bullshit in the interim, I'm deemed disposable and can be shot by a fucking dickwad.  What the hell?  It's awful on my neighbors and friends and family, and it should be the last thing my erstwhile political opponents want, but it gets planned anyway.  From Jonny E. to Arizona plates on Jeep Cherokees, from stagecraft and Rove playbook to methamphetamine to psy-ops, I'm frankly flummoxed.  It's just too much.  You'd think I was King of the World, the way I've been mistreated.

Sorry, folks, I can't handle being the center of attention.  I'm fine being schizoaffective and bipolar with a chip in my head.  Who needs all the other drama?  Who the fuck works someone's mind as they're killing them?  Who on earth faces such a death?  I tell you, I could just drown myself in the toilet...

Alas, alack, and fuck our luck, really good people have done their damnedest to save my life.  I must do my best and abide, and hope it doesn't blow up in our faces.

And you thought you were paranoid.

I Am Siamese If You Don't Please

 

Oh, god, reminiscence.  全然見逃しちゃ駄目.  This is, however, what the holidays are for, of course.  I do not turn to the heavens for a charting of my stars so that I may understand my place in the universe.  Nothing so gauche.  Rather, I, like my Viking ancestors, recount tales of times passed, from childhoods best forgotten.

I look to the fact that now I am the proud, somewhat lackadaisackal owner of a Siamese cat.  She is utterly infatuated with me, and refuses to withdraw her claws.  I do my best to spoil her, as city "friends" are wont to do with their charges -- she has catnip infused balls, the little mouse-at-the-end-of-the-rubber-string-tied-to-a-stick toy (which occupies five minutes every day), a cruel-looking wire brush she adores to the point of sexual frisson, Taste of the Wild (kibble and soft food), an ever-clean shithouse -- but I am hopeless.  She cannot bear to let me go every morning, but I find myself emotionally rather indifferent to her.  She's more like a dog on me than a cat.

Times were once different.  In Richmond, California, on the corner of 38th and Roosevelt, there stood a tiny, canary-yellow bungalow.  Behind that bungalow lay a square of patio.  In the corner of that patio, the one between the sliding glass door of the kitchen and the back garage door, I huddled frantic and panicked, screaming and in pain, all of three years old.  I was the prey of rapacious Bat-Cat, a fiend from hell with blue eyes, grey nose and paws and tail, and a raging jealousy of the attention lavished upon me by my mother.  Bat-Cat, who would regularly steal food from my father's plate and hang upside down on the screen outside while my dad fried chicken.  Bat-Cat, who once gave my mother a black eye she was too embarrassed to say wasn't given by my father.

You would think Bat-Cat would have secured me as highly phobic of felines.  Rather, I've had cordial and warm-hearted relationships with all the cats and dogs in my life, save for one or two meth-addict-owned Pomeranians.  To the point where, I am now the semi-reluctant ward of my own Siamese cat, an emotionally needy, abusive twat who can count Bat-Cat as her proud forbear.

Tell me again how this world is supposed to make sense.

Some Thoughts on Torture

It might be consolation to a torture victim if his treatment displayed creativity or artistry.  The subject, though excruciated, can nevertheless cultivate an aesthetic appreciation of his travails.

How flattering, also, that so much attention and devotion are lavished on one.  One feels many things when tortured; neglect is rarely one of them.

That is the sweetest consummation of the ritualized, stylized yet visceral, relationship between torturer and tortured (when it's ideal):  not bloody, painful demise of the victim, but a window opened to truly knowing one's torturer on a personal level.  One keeps the memory of such a soul-touching encounter for the rest of one's life.  Torturers who think they maintain anonymity, detachment or distance do not know what they reveal of themselves when they deliberately cause pain to another who does not want it.  They'd be surprised to find what their subject has gleaned about their innermost selves from the work done.

One is never as intimate even with one's family, friends or lovers.

How To Be Evil: A Survival Guide

You're well-liked, love most everybody you meet, and have no enemies.  Animals and children adore you.  You haven't been in a fight since grade school.  Among your friends are those who would willingly take a bullet for you -- if you would allow them.  Doing the right thing has always been easiest, and you are hardest on yourself.

It's time to face facts:  you're a rare kind of person -- a good one.  People love having you around, but you and they are under no illusions:  this world is run by and populated with evil, shitty, scum-sucking louts.  It's a wonder you've lasted this long.  Your chances of reaching old age are small indeed.

The following is a brief list of tips on how to be evil.  Being evil can give you a real shot at longevity, and if you're lucky, wealth even:

• Stop blaming yourself, start blaming the world.
• Take pleasure in another's pain.
• Lie your ass off.
• Prejudice saves time.
• Be the spoiled brat whose ass even non-confrontational you would have kicked in elementary school.
• Show a sense of entitlement and learn to disrespect others.
• Reward yourself for acting cruelly or angrily.
• Hypocrisy is not the enemy.
• Give avarice and jealousy a try.
• Learn and appreciate how to hate.
• Hurt someone's feelings.
• Tell people what do do -- dominate and control.
• Manipulate people using their basest instincts.
• Treat people horribly and get them to do what you want.
• Kindness is weakness, and weakness is contemptible.
• Stop valuing anyone who lacks physical beauty, money, or power.
• Transition from good conduct to superior attitude.
• Be egotistical.
• Strangle your conscience.
• Be snide and mean.
• Stupidity is the buttercream frosting on the cake that is evil.
• Stop laughing at yourself -- laugh at someone else!
• Cultivate boredom and dissatisfaction.
• Seethe with resentment.

Be a monster!  Evil's never been so easy!