Susan Jacoby's "Freethinkers: The History of American Secularism" is simply riveting. I finally started it on Saturday evening--after finishing "Soon I Will Be Invincible", about which I can only say bellisima!--and I'm three quarters done, sadly.
But I'll walk away from it with a thrilling new reading list that includes anything on or by:
Whitman (esp, Leaves of Grass, unexpurgated)
That massive, awesome-looking John Adams biography I was too cheap to buy last month
Emma Goldman
WEB DuBois
EC Stanton
Lucretia Mott
Susan B Anthony
WL Garrison
Robert Ingersoll
Ethan Allen
Frederick Douglass
Eugene Debs
Thomas Huxley
There's just so much about my world--my own country that I didn't even suspect. I'm so humbled by this fact, and as I learn a bit more, every day finds me rather ashamed at having ever called this world I find myself in and the only one I'll ever have boring. Whether I use human or natural history as focal point, there's more than enough in my world to keep me engaged with but a little effort on my own part. Hell, the hardest bit so far, was actually learning how to read, but those efforts are twenty-three years behind me.
(Though anyone'd be right to observe that learning to read, and learning to read critically are two different beasts, and some people die without learning to do the latter. I, hopefully, am taking steps to not be one of them.)
So lately, instead of feeling stupid at the feet of the vast Everest of Things I Don't Know, I've begun thinking, instead, that with such a mountain to climb--which I will likely die before getting higher than the foothills of--the only way my life can be boring, or without happiness, is if I completely disregard the simple, renewable joy of learning and penetrating life's mysteries.
I don't think I've ever in my life been this hungry to know.
Everthing.
"If wishes was horses, we'd all be eatin' steak."--Jayne Cobb
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Thursday, December 25, 2008
'And tell me who is victor....' *
ZOMG, this is a whole heap o' crazy.
However fundie my elementary school was, none of them were like this woman. There aren't even words for this kind of--it's actually beyond insanity. It's willful . . . self-loathing? Self-abnegation? And now it's being projected on an innocent child, and warping her mind.
This is why I'm an antitheist. Though, in the face of people like this . . . I feel like a cricket faced with a glacier. It's so big and seemingly indestructible. Hard and unfeeling, unknowing, causing harm just by existing.
Fuck--I don't even know a word for this kind of crazywrongbadignorant . . . but there's no way to exterminate it completely. It's a disease that will always be with us, in some form or another. Passed down from this wackjob, to her daughter, and her daughter after her. And despite their loathing for even their own children, people like this breed like rabbits. I fear they'll someday constitute a majority that has to be reckoned with. Put down like a horde of rabid dogs. Though if not them, then some other Fundies of some other crackpot religion.
Though, maybe Fundamentalism's not there to be destroyed, but to be fought. Combatted, like any great evil. One thing I agree with the Fundies on, though our definitions of evil differ greatly.
Ignorance and superstition must be beaten back. But it's wearying, knowing that the struggle against such evil will be with us for as long as our species continues. That it's a struggle we're all born fighting and will die fighting, on one side or another. War without end, or victor.
Merry Christmas.
*King Henry the Sixth [V, II]. 'Ah, who is nigh? Come to me, friend or foe, / And tell me who is victor...'
"If wishes was horses, we'd all be eatin' steak."--Jayne Cobb
However fundie my elementary school was, none of them were like this woman. There aren't even words for this kind of--it's actually beyond insanity. It's willful . . . self-loathing? Self-abnegation? And now it's being projected on an innocent child, and warping her mind.
This is why I'm an antitheist. Though, in the face of people like this . . . I feel like a cricket faced with a glacier. It's so big and seemingly indestructible. Hard and unfeeling, unknowing, causing harm just by existing.
Fuck--I don't even know a word for this kind of crazywrongbadignorant . . . but there's no way to exterminate it completely. It's a disease that will always be with us, in some form or another. Passed down from this wackjob, to her daughter, and her daughter after her. And despite their loathing for even their own children, people like this breed like rabbits. I fear they'll someday constitute a majority that has to be reckoned with. Put down like a horde of rabid dogs. Though if not them, then some other Fundies of some other crackpot religion.
Though, maybe Fundamentalism's not there to be destroyed, but to be fought. Combatted, like any great evil. One thing I agree with the Fundies on, though our definitions of evil differ greatly.
Ignorance and superstition must be beaten back. But it's wearying, knowing that the struggle against such evil will be with us for as long as our species continues. That it's a struggle we're all born fighting and will die fighting, on one side or another. War without end, or victor.
Merry Christmas.
*King Henry the Sixth [V, II]. 'Ah, who is nigh? Come to me, friend or foe, / And tell me who is victor...'
"If wishes was horses, we'd all be eatin' steak."--Jayne Cobb
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Bah! Humbug!
Lurking around richarddawkins.net forums and came across this thread:
What if I don't care if "God" existed or not?
To which I replied:
There's a zen koan:
“If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him.”
Change "Buddha" to "God" and that sums up my feeling on the matter.
::gathers a hammer and nails::
::leans against the tree to wait::
That right there? Is the reason I can't tell my mother I'm an atheist. Not because I think she'd freak--she'd probably think I was going through a phase that's a direct result of me never getting Confirmed, or whatever the Episcopalian bullshit equivalent is--but because even one simple question would provoke that sort of smackdown response. My atheism wouldn't make it weird to be out to my mother and family (except for my mother, they can all go auto-eroticize themselves, frankly) but my boiling-over-rage at religion period, my strident, aggressive, unapologetic, junkyard-dog mean antitheism would likely alienate her. Maybe not totally, but . . . more than I'd like.
I guess this is the kinda revelation I'll have to sit on till I'm a bit more chill about it. Though in light of the aforementioned antitheism, coming out about my sexuality? Doesn't seem so wearisome and nerve-wracking.
In the meantime? Xmas, tomorrow.
I think I'll start drinking tonight.
"If wishes was horses, we'd all be eatin' steak."--Jayne Cobb
What if I don't care if "God" existed or not?
To which I replied:
There's a zen koan:
“If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him.”
Change "Buddha" to "God" and that sums up my feeling on the matter.
::gathers a hammer and nails::
::leans against the tree to wait::
That right there? Is the reason I can't tell my mother I'm an atheist. Not because I think she'd freak--she'd probably think I was going through a phase that's a direct result of me never getting Confirmed, or whatever the Episcopalian bullshit equivalent is--but because even one simple question would provoke that sort of smackdown response. My atheism wouldn't make it weird to be out to my mother and family (except for my mother, they can all go auto-eroticize themselves, frankly) but my boiling-over-rage at religion period, my strident, aggressive, unapologetic, junkyard-dog mean antitheism would likely alienate her. Maybe not totally, but . . . more than I'd like.
I guess this is the kinda revelation I'll have to sit on till I'm a bit more chill about it. Though in light of the aforementioned antitheism, coming out about my sexuality? Doesn't seem so wearisome and nerve-wracking.
In the meantime? Xmas, tomorrow.
I think I'll start drinking tonight.
"If wishes was horses, we'd all be eatin' steak."--Jayne Cobb
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Two doses in one day?! The devil, you say!
But I couldn't resist. Memes are my achilles heel. I'm powerless against them.
Cadged from two different places--so it's like Jeebus is commanding me to post it!--but originated here. I copy and paste for your snickering enjoyment:
And the scale:
Seventeen. Huh. Makes me a "New Atheist". Sounds about right, lol. And hey--now I definitely have a purpose in life. Making PZ Myers my padawan :)
In other news. . . .
"If wishes was horses, we'd all be eatin' steak."--Jayne Cobb
Cadged from two different places--so it's like Jeebus is commanding me to post it!--but originated here. I copy and paste for your snickering enjoyment:
How serious do you take your atheism?
Let’s find out.
Copy and paste the list below on your own site, boldfacing the things you’ve done. (Feel free to add your own elaboration and commentary to each item!)
- Participated in the Blasphemy Challenge.
- Met at least one of the “Four Horsemen” (Richard Dawkins, Daniel Dennett, Christopher Hitchens, Sam Harris) in person.
- Created an atheist blog.
- Used the Flying Spaghetti Monster in a religious debate with someone.
- Gotten offended when someone called you an agnostic.
- Been unable to watch Growing Pains reruns because of Kirk Cameron.
- Own more Bibles than most Christians you know.
- Have at least one Bible with your personal annotations regarding contradictions, disturbing parts, etc.
- Have come out as an atheist to your family.
- Attended a campus or off-campus atheist gathering.
- Are a member of an organized atheist/Humanist/etc. organization.
- Had a Humanist wedding ceremony.
- Donated money to an atheist organization.
- Have a bookshelf dedicated solely to Richard Dawkins.
- Lost the friendship of someone you know because of your non-theism.
- Tried to argue or have a discussion with someone who stopped you on the street to proselytize.
- Had to hide your atheist beliefs on a first date because you didn’t want to scare him/her away.
- Own a stockpile of atheist paraphernalia (bumper stickers, buttons, shirts, etc).
- Attended a protest that involved religion.
- Attended an atheist conference.
- Subscribe to Pat Condell’s YouTube channel.
- Started an atheist group in your area or school.
- Successfully “de-converted” someone to atheism.
- Have already made plans to donate your body to science after you die.
- Told someone you’re an atheist only because you wanted to see the person’s reaction.
- Had to think twice before screaming “Oh God!” during sex. Or you said something else in its place.
- Lost a job because of your atheism.
- Formed a bond with someone specifically because of your mutual atheism (meeting this person at a local gathering or conference doesn’t count).
- Have crossed “In God We Trust” off of — or put a pro-church-state-separation stamp on — dollar bills.
- Refused to recite the Pledge of Allegiance.
- Said “Gesundheit!” (or nothing at all) after someone sneezed because you didn’t want to say “Bless you!”
- Have ever chosen not to clasp your hands together out of fear someone might think you’re praying.
- Have turned on Christian TV because you needed something entertaining to watch.
- Are a 2nd or 3rd (or more) generation atheist.
- Have “atheism” listed on your Facebook or dating profile — and not a euphemistic variant.
- Attended an atheist’s funeral (i.e. a non-religious service).
- Subscribe to an freethought magazine (e.g. Free Inquiry, Skeptic)
- Have been interviewed by a reporter because of your atheism.
- Written a letter-to-the-editor about an issue related to your non-belief in God.
- Gave a friend or acquaintance a New Atheist book as a gift.
- Wear pro-atheist clothing in public.
- Have invited Mormons/Jehovah’s Witnesses into your house specifically because you wanted to argue with them.
- Have been physically threatened (or beaten up) because you didn’t believe in God.
- Receive Google Alerts on “atheism” (or variants).
- Received fewer Christmas presents than expected because people assumed you didn’t celebrate it.
- Visited The Creation Museum or saw Ben Stein’s Expelled just so you could keep tabs on the “enemy.”
- Refuse to tell anyone what your “sign” is… because it doesn’t matter at all.
- Are on a mailing list for a Christian organization just so you can see what they’re up to…
- Have kept your eyes open while you watched others around you pray.
- Avoid even Unitarian churches because they’re too close to religion for you.
And the scale:
0-10: Impressive, but not too far from agnosticism.
11-20: You are, literally, a “New Atheist.” But you now have something to strive for! Go for the full 50!
21-30: You are an atheist, but babies aren’t running away from you. Yet.
31-40: You are the 5th Horseman! Congratulations!
41-50: PZ Myers will now be taking lessons from you.
Seventeen. Huh. Makes me a "New Atheist". Sounds about right, lol. And hey--now I definitely have a purpose in life. Making PZ Myers my padawan :)
In other news. . . .
"If wishes was horses, we'd all be eatin' steak."--Jayne Cobb
Dose of Cogitatin'
Been down with a cold the past two days, and by "down", I mean forced to do all the usual shit I do, only hacking and wheezing-like, while glaring at people who wisely move away from me.
(Fuck you, lady at Shoprite with the over plastic-surguried face. If you coughed, your lips'd probably fly right off and hit me in the eye.)
But I've been thinking.
Atheism: lacking belief in any gods.
Antitheism: active opposition to religion.
Now that I've gotten over the sudden shock of realizing "I may very well be an atheist", and the fact that there's no bright-shiny afterlife where I'll spend eternity getting hugs from my Gramma--now that I've kinda mellowed, I'm starting to realize some other things about myself.
I've been a raging antitheist since I was ten, or so.
I don't know how deeply rooted my belief in the sky fairy was. Ten was the age I really started to think, and actively break commandments--not all of them, I'd have been a shit adulterer . . . but I was a smashing murderer--waiting to be struck down. Every time I wasn't, I'm sure my belief became less internal, and more cosmetic. A sort of fail-safe "just-in-case".
Just in case there really was some big asshole sitting on a cloud and judging me. Some killer of babies and smiter of women that found me unworthy.
I still believed, I think, but I hated god. The Judeo-Xtian one. The others . . . I knew very little about (though I'd grow, and maintain an inordinant fondness for the Krishna of the Bhagavad Gita). But I've hated that god since I was old enough to understand what it stood for, what atrocities it committed and commissioned. I can remember being seven, and giving god the finger. And being more afraid of my mother catching me, than of god striking me down.
But that carried on to this very day. I've almost always hated religion. Like a very active burning hatred, that you only reserve for people that shoot your Pa, or ex-girlfriends that you can't seem to fall out of love with.
I hate what religion does to people, especially what it's done to me. Attending a fundamentalist Xtian elementary school made the Catholic junior high and high schools seem like a cake-walk. At least no one hit me, there. Though after six years of that crap at my elementary school and a freakish growth spurt, I was large enough to hit back and make it felt.
This hatred of religion--and by extension any god it feeds--is one of the strongest things I've ever felt, and certainly one of the purest. There's no arguing with it or reasoning against it, it just is. It's damn near perfect. It's a part of every atom of me. It's in my RNA.
If I could, I would obliterate every religion on Earth--even those wishy-washy, candyass pagan ones that I used to try to sell my brain to, in desperation to believe in something--though more would certainly spring up to replace it. Though erasing religion from the world is no real substitute for erasing it from my own heart and mind.
I'll never get back the clean slate I was born with.
So, I've been an anti-theist for as long as I can remember, and for almost all that time, I was also miserably theistic. Very self-defeating. Now that I'm embracing atheism--it's a very day-by-day choice, one that needs contant re-affirming, constant deciding, constant exploring--the antitheism doesn't burn as much. It feels . . . more right. Like there're parts of me that are finally at peace with each other.
If I'm a wobbly six on the atheist scale, I'd say I'm a Christopher Hitchens on the antitheistic scale, and have been for most of my life. I'm not as smart, well-traveled, or well-versed, but I've got that passion, and I believe it'll only get stronger and more potent with age and experience.
Is there a god in the sense of any of the Earth religions I've come across? I doubt it. It's certainly possible. A zebra that juggles live hand-grenades is also possible. But it's highly, highly improbable. But still more probable than a god. I've seen both zebras and live hand-grenades with my own eyes. The only thing in question is one's ability to juggle the other, not whether either exists.
There are some that consider the Big Bang "god", but that strikes me as silly. An event, no matter how important, is simply an event. That's all. Size and importance make it neither conscious nor intelligent.
"God is love"? Ugh, even sillier. God is hate, god is ennui, god is schaden fraude, god is the giggles, god is that empty-light feeling you get after taking a massive shit.
"God is each and every person, thing, atom, force in the universe". . . ? If one is willing to give over the idea of god being in any way conscious, intelligent, or solicitous of our comfort or happiness.
(And I must admit, if there has to be a god, I'd prefer it was one that didn't watch me in the shower.)
Still, any "god" begs the question "well, then what created it, and what created the event/thing that created that, and the event/thing that created that?"
It's a mind trap. One I doubt humanity will ever be equipped to answer. Rather, we'll have to answer every other question in the universe, know every other secret before we know that one with any certainty. And I suspect the ultimate answer will be very simple, and very disappointing.
"Plastic, asshole!"
"If wishes was horses, we'd all be eatin' steak." --Jayne Cobb, "Firefly"
(Fuck you, lady at Shoprite with the over plastic-surguried face. If you coughed, your lips'd probably fly right off and hit me in the eye.)
But I've been thinking.
Atheism: lacking belief in any gods.
Antitheism: active opposition to religion.
Now that I've gotten over the sudden shock of realizing "I may very well be an atheist", and the fact that there's no bright-shiny afterlife where I'll spend eternity getting hugs from my Gramma--now that I've kinda mellowed, I'm starting to realize some other things about myself.
I've been a raging antitheist since I was ten, or so.
I don't know how deeply rooted my belief in the sky fairy was. Ten was the age I really started to think, and actively break commandments--not all of them, I'd have been a shit adulterer . . . but I was a smashing murderer--waiting to be struck down. Every time I wasn't, I'm sure my belief became less internal, and more cosmetic. A sort of fail-safe "just-in-case".
Just in case there really was some big asshole sitting on a cloud and judging me. Some killer of babies and smiter of women that found me unworthy.
I still believed, I think, but I hated god. The Judeo-Xtian one. The others . . . I knew very little about (though I'd grow, and maintain an inordinant fondness for the Krishna of the Bhagavad Gita). But I've hated that god since I was old enough to understand what it stood for, what atrocities it committed and commissioned. I can remember being seven, and giving god the finger. And being more afraid of my mother catching me, than of god striking me down.
But that carried on to this very day. I've almost always hated religion. Like a very active burning hatred, that you only reserve for people that shoot your Pa, or ex-girlfriends that you can't seem to fall out of love with.
I hate what religion does to people, especially what it's done to me. Attending a fundamentalist Xtian elementary school made the Catholic junior high and high schools seem like a cake-walk. At least no one hit me, there. Though after six years of that crap at my elementary school and a freakish growth spurt, I was large enough to hit back and make it felt.
This hatred of religion--and by extension any god it feeds--is one of the strongest things I've ever felt, and certainly one of the purest. There's no arguing with it or reasoning against it, it just is. It's damn near perfect. It's a part of every atom of me. It's in my RNA.
If I could, I would obliterate every religion on Earth--even those wishy-washy, candyass pagan ones that I used to try to sell my brain to, in desperation to believe in something--though more would certainly spring up to replace it. Though erasing religion from the world is no real substitute for erasing it from my own heart and mind.
I'll never get back the clean slate I was born with.
So, I've been an anti-theist for as long as I can remember, and for almost all that time, I was also miserably theistic. Very self-defeating. Now that I'm embracing atheism--it's a very day-by-day choice, one that needs contant re-affirming, constant deciding, constant exploring--the antitheism doesn't burn as much. It feels . . . more right. Like there're parts of me that are finally at peace with each other.
If I'm a wobbly six on the atheist scale, I'd say I'm a Christopher Hitchens on the antitheistic scale, and have been for most of my life. I'm not as smart, well-traveled, or well-versed, but I've got that passion, and I believe it'll only get stronger and more potent with age and experience.
Is there a god in the sense of any of the Earth religions I've come across? I doubt it. It's certainly possible. A zebra that juggles live hand-grenades is also possible. But it's highly, highly improbable. But still more probable than a god. I've seen both zebras and live hand-grenades with my own eyes. The only thing in question is one's ability to juggle the other, not whether either exists.
There are some that consider the Big Bang "god", but that strikes me as silly. An event, no matter how important, is simply an event. That's all. Size and importance make it neither conscious nor intelligent.
"God is love"? Ugh, even sillier. God is hate, god is ennui, god is schaden fraude, god is the giggles, god is that empty-light feeling you get after taking a massive shit.
"God is each and every person, thing, atom, force in the universe". . . ? If one is willing to give over the idea of god being in any way conscious, intelligent, or solicitous of our comfort or happiness.
(And I must admit, if there has to be a god, I'd prefer it was one that didn't watch me in the shower.)
Still, any "god" begs the question "well, then what created it, and what created the event/thing that created that, and the event/thing that created that?"
It's a mind trap. One I doubt humanity will ever be equipped to answer. Rather, we'll have to answer every other question in the universe, know every other secret before we know that one with any certainty. And I suspect the ultimate answer will be very simple, and very disappointing.
"Plastic, asshole!"
"If wishes was horses, we'd all be eatin' steak." --Jayne Cobb, "Firefly"
Friday, December 19, 2008
Rag-tag Dose
Dentist, Thursday morning. One of four yearly cleanings.
Apparently, my teeth are like snowflakes: beautiful and fragile. Nice to look at, but incredibly succeptable to decay. I have to use prescription toothpaste and everything, to prevent . . . I dunno, something to do with calcium and my teeth losing it. I zoned out as the dental hygenist was explaining, lost in a copper-flavored haze of pain.
She was all, like, "hey, at least your gums aren't bleeding . . . as much."
Yeaah-heh! Woo-hoo! Go, me! Go, my trickling-blood-totally-weak-ass gums! They can't even fucking bleed properly. And not for lack of her trying, lemme say. I felt like Dustin Hoffman in "Marathon Man". I thought at any second she'd start asking me if it was safe.
I've got whole new reasons to hate my parents now, besides the passive aggressive disapproval and the ridiculous huge-feet gene that sadly doesn't skip any generations. I've got decay-prone teeth.
Well. I guess it could be worse. They could be ugly, too. But they're actually my best feature. Till they rot and crumble out of my skull, that is ::sigh::
A foot of snow, between now and Saturday, and another few inches on Sunday. I'm ecstatic.
My new favorite quote?
"Needing the money to buy a Cassie Wright replica, fully realistic sex surrogate, that makes you pretty much the bitch slave of every old lady in town."-- Mr. 72, "Snuff"
Possibly. I'm a sucker for Chuch Palahniuk--whose best novel was not Fightclub, though I'll allow that I liked it just fine. Survivor is miles better, however--and I'm not that far out of my quotable-Palahniuk phase. So it's either that, or an oldie-but-goodie repeat: "If wishes was horses, we'd all be eatin' steak."--Jayne Cobb, "Firefly"
Why is it so important to have a favorite quote? Dunno. But ever since I was eight, there hasn't been a time in my life that I didn't have one quote that seemed to sum me up, as a person. Even if it only did so for a day or two.
I'm dragging my feet on Unweaving the Rainbow or A Brief History of Time. Just as I get a bunch of science-y books, all I wanna do is read novels. And not even sci-fi, or fantasy. Just plain old fiction.
And speaking of everything being about me . . . narcissism. I think that's the habit I need to kick. Dumping the sky fairy was easy, as I suspect my belief had been delining for a very long time. Maybe since I was ten, when I actively decided prayer was a childish waste of time.
But there's still a huge, vocal part of me that believes in some form of woo, not for its own sake, but because--the universe is so obviously out to get me. It likes to screw with me--like a bored cat playing with a tired, frightened mouse. I can't prove there's a god, or that there isn't, but something is fucking around with me, and has been all my life. It's conscious and a giant effing prick.
That's its only purpose. That's what its good at, and what it enjoys doing. Chipping away at me.
Just because I'm narcissistic doesn't mean the universe isn't singling me out.
I think that deeply held belief, more than anything, is what keeps me from being a seven on that atheist continuum, instead of a wobbly six. I don't like the idea of something larger than myself, but I fear that there is something. Simply because it's what I don't want. And not only does that something not like me--the feeling is entirely mutual-- but it's capricious and callous. Like Q, on ST:NG, only not as amusingly flamey.
I just have this gut feeling that if I could stop believing in, or kill this something, I'd be my own god, and that'd be pretty freakin sweet. Virgin sacrifices every evening.
I think I'll go with the wishes were horses quote. It fits, and . . . the idea of being some old ladies' bitch slave is kinda unnerving.
"The Seether is neither big nor small. The Seether is the center of it all."--Veruca Salt
Apparently, my teeth are like snowflakes: beautiful and fragile. Nice to look at, but incredibly succeptable to decay. I have to use prescription toothpaste and everything, to prevent . . . I dunno, something to do with calcium and my teeth losing it. I zoned out as the dental hygenist was explaining, lost in a copper-flavored haze of pain.
She was all, like, "hey, at least your gums aren't bleeding . . . as much."
Yeaah-heh! Woo-hoo! Go, me! Go, my trickling-blood-totally-weak-ass gums! They can't even fucking bleed properly. And not for lack of her trying, lemme say. I felt like Dustin Hoffman in "Marathon Man". I thought at any second she'd start asking me if it was safe.
I've got whole new reasons to hate my parents now, besides the passive aggressive disapproval and the ridiculous huge-feet gene that sadly doesn't skip any generations. I've got decay-prone teeth.
Well. I guess it could be worse. They could be ugly, too. But they're actually my best feature. Till they rot and crumble out of my skull, that is ::sigh::
A foot of snow, between now and Saturday, and another few inches on Sunday. I'm ecstatic.
My new favorite quote?
"Needing the money to buy a Cassie Wright replica, fully realistic sex surrogate, that makes you pretty much the bitch slave of every old lady in town."-- Mr. 72, "Snuff"
Possibly. I'm a sucker for Chuch Palahniuk--whose best novel was not Fightclub, though I'll allow that I liked it just fine. Survivor is miles better, however--and I'm not that far out of my quotable-Palahniuk phase. So it's either that, or an oldie-but-goodie repeat: "If wishes was horses, we'd all be eatin' steak."--Jayne Cobb, "Firefly"
Why is it so important to have a favorite quote? Dunno. But ever since I was eight, there hasn't been a time in my life that I didn't have one quote that seemed to sum me up, as a person. Even if it only did so for a day or two.
I'm dragging my feet on Unweaving the Rainbow or A Brief History of Time. Just as I get a bunch of science-y books, all I wanna do is read novels. And not even sci-fi, or fantasy. Just plain old fiction.
And speaking of everything being about me . . . narcissism. I think that's the habit I need to kick. Dumping the sky fairy was easy, as I suspect my belief had been delining for a very long time. Maybe since I was ten, when I actively decided prayer was a childish waste of time.
But there's still a huge, vocal part of me that believes in some form of woo, not for its own sake, but because--the universe is so obviously out to get me. It likes to screw with me--like a bored cat playing with a tired, frightened mouse. I can't prove there's a god, or that there isn't, but something is fucking around with me, and has been all my life. It's conscious and a giant effing prick.
That's its only purpose. That's what its good at, and what it enjoys doing. Chipping away at me.
Just because I'm narcissistic doesn't mean the universe isn't singling me out.
I think that deeply held belief, more than anything, is what keeps me from being a seven on that atheist continuum, instead of a wobbly six. I don't like the idea of something larger than myself, but I fear that there is something. Simply because it's what I don't want. And not only does that something not like me--the feeling is entirely mutual-- but it's capricious and callous. Like Q, on ST:NG, only not as amusingly flamey.
I just have this gut feeling that if I could stop believing in, or kill this something, I'd be my own god, and that'd be pretty freakin sweet. Virgin sacrifices every evening.
I think I'll go with the wishes were horses quote. It fits, and . . . the idea of being some old ladies' bitch slave is kinda unnerving.
"The Seether is neither big nor small. The Seether is the center of it all."--Veruca Salt
Sunday, December 14, 2008
A Dose of Hope?
My mother called my uncle on Saturday to wish him happy birthday, and--boring family crap aside--he asked her to have me pass my resume on to him, so he could forward it to a friend (ex-girlfriend) of his who lives in Seattle, now. She's part of some environmental agency thingy, and he figures it couldn't hurt to shoot my resume along to her.
So, I'm updating my resume--a task that, three years not withstanding, has taken less than half an hour--and trying not to get enthused about this. Even if she liked what she saw, and said: "Well, kid, ya got moxy. And if ya can get out here, ya also got a job."
Even if she said that, how would I get out there? Where would I live once I did?
These are not questions beyond the realm of consideration. Not because my resume is so helladamn awesome that everyone wants to hire me, but because the one contingency I don't plan for is the one that always happens. Like clockwork. Not that this would be a Bad Thing, her liking me enough to offer me a job if I can get out there, but . . . to be that close to something I want, to have it so close, and to be stopped by my own financial limitations--
That'd just about kill me.
And assuming I could get out there, where would I live? I don't know anyone there, have next to no money saved up. I've been through enough real estate sites and craigslist to know what I'd need for a halfway livable--and for a chance at Seattle, I would willingly adjust my standards of what constitutes 'livable'--apartment and I haven't got even close to that. Though this might be doable if it isn't full up. If it is, I'd probably wind up in some nightmarish shithole.
So even if this beneficent never-was-my aunt took a pass on my wonderful skill-set, if I could save plane fare, and a few hundred beyond that, I could probably go out there, and get any shit job to tide me over till I found something else. Through sad, and extended experience, I know something about the workings of Best Buy. And there are customer service jobs everywhere.
I'd probably have to leave all my stuff but the essentials here if I did that, though. That includes all my books, my banjo, and my computer. I'd be lonely as shit a lot of the time. Bored, and broke, too, but the payoff. . . .
I dunno. That's a pretty shit plan, as plans go, but it may be time to do something drastic. Even if it means sleeping in a nightmarish shithole for a few months. It wouldn't be the first time. And it'd be Seattle. I'd rather be miserable and lonely there, than comfortable and apathetic here. And I'm not getting any younger. I've gotta do this bohemian, spur-of-the-moment, life-changing, spontaneity thing before I get too old for it.
But back OT, I was flirting with not even bothering to send my res, but I'm far too hopeful not to. And if I didn't at least try, I'd have no more right to complain about the state of my life and how much I hate this town, having not at least made a grab at a chance out.
Not to hang my hat on such a flimsy thing as "friend of a friend" half-assed networking bullshit, but it'd be nice to achieve escape velocity with some measure of security. I've been hovering on the event horizon for far too long.
Hope's a fucking bitch, and I think it's more likely to someday see my wrists slit than despair.
And I'll be goddamned if I didn't get into that Irvine Welsh novel, after all.
"The Seether is neither big nor small. The Seether is the center of it all."--Veruca Salt
So, I'm updating my resume--a task that, three years not withstanding, has taken less than half an hour--and trying not to get enthused about this. Even if she liked what she saw, and said: "Well, kid, ya got moxy. And if ya can get out here, ya also got a job."
Even if she said that, how would I get out there? Where would I live once I did?
These are not questions beyond the realm of consideration. Not because my resume is so helladamn awesome that everyone wants to hire me, but because the one contingency I don't plan for is the one that always happens. Like clockwork. Not that this would be a Bad Thing, her liking me enough to offer me a job if I can get out there, but . . . to be that close to something I want, to have it so close, and to be stopped by my own financial limitations--
That'd just about kill me.
And assuming I could get out there, where would I live? I don't know anyone there, have next to no money saved up. I've been through enough real estate sites and craigslist to know what I'd need for a halfway livable--and for a chance at Seattle, I would willingly adjust my standards of what constitutes 'livable'--apartment and I haven't got even close to that. Though this might be doable if it isn't full up. If it is, I'd probably wind up in some nightmarish shithole.
So even if this beneficent never-was-my aunt took a pass on my wonderful skill-set, if I could save plane fare, and a few hundred beyond that, I could probably go out there, and get any shit job to tide me over till I found something else. Through sad, and extended experience, I know something about the workings of Best Buy. And there are customer service jobs everywhere.
I'd probably have to leave all my stuff but the essentials here if I did that, though. That includes all my books, my banjo, and my computer. I'd be lonely as shit a lot of the time. Bored, and broke, too, but the payoff. . . .
I dunno. That's a pretty shit plan, as plans go, but it may be time to do something drastic. Even if it means sleeping in a nightmarish shithole for a few months. It wouldn't be the first time. And it'd be Seattle. I'd rather be miserable and lonely there, than comfortable and apathetic here. And I'm not getting any younger. I've gotta do this bohemian, spur-of-the-moment, life-changing, spontaneity thing before I get too old for it.
But back OT, I was flirting with not even bothering to send my res, but I'm far too hopeful not to. And if I didn't at least try, I'd have no more right to complain about the state of my life and how much I hate this town, having not at least made a grab at a chance out.
Not to hang my hat on such a flimsy thing as "friend of a friend" half-assed networking bullshit, but it'd be nice to achieve escape velocity with some measure of security. I've been hovering on the event horizon for far too long.
Hope's a fucking bitch, and I think it's more likely to someday see my wrists slit than despair.
And I'll be goddamned if I didn't get into that Irvine Welsh novel, after all.
"The Seether is neither big nor small. The Seether is the center of it all."--Veruca Salt
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
I'm an atheist/ I'm not the faithiest . . . hey-nonny-nonny-nonny, ob-la-di-ob-la-dah. . . .
I own a tenor banjo.
I say this not to make anyone jealous--please, don't hate the player, hate the game--but because I've been neglecting my as yet unnamed baby for nearly two months. I'm still no shakes at playing "The Marines Hymn", and nowhere near the intro to "Drunken Lullabies", but I showed some promise, I like to think.
I spend all my time reading recently. Or catching up on writing fanfic I promised people. Which is really no excuse. Especially since I quite enjoyed playing "Tavern on the Town", as it was the only song I was halfway decent at. Besides "Buffalo Gals", which is a stupid song, IMHO.
But meh, decent, shmecent. Maybe I should start writing songs. Atheist songs, about atheism, and . . . I dunno, booing god, who's way too nonexistent to appreciate my well-crafted and tuneful defiance, anyway.
So. Yeah. Maybe I should just buckle down and focus on my, ahem, music, and leave WoW alone, for the nonce.
Only . . . I need a word that rhymes with atheist. . . .
"The Seether is neither big nor small. The Seether is the center of it all."--Veruca Salt
I say this not to make anyone jealous--please, don't hate the player, hate the game--but because I've been neglecting my as yet unnamed baby for nearly two months. I'm still no shakes at playing "The Marines Hymn", and nowhere near the intro to "Drunken Lullabies", but I showed some promise, I like to think.
I spend all my time reading recently. Or catching up on writing fanfic I promised people. Which is really no excuse. Especially since I quite enjoyed playing "Tavern on the Town", as it was the only song I was halfway decent at. Besides "Buffalo Gals", which is a stupid song, IMHO.
But meh, decent, shmecent. Maybe I should start writing songs. Atheist songs, about atheism, and . . . I dunno, booing god, who's way too nonexistent to appreciate my well-crafted and tuneful defiance, anyway.
So. Yeah. Maybe I should just buckle down and focus on my, ahem, music, and leave WoW alone, for the nonce.
Only . . . I need a word that rhymes with atheist. . . .
"The Seether is neither big nor small. The Seether is the center of it all."--Veruca Salt
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Dose of Reality!
Proof-positive that humans evolved--not just from monkeys, but from demons, as well!
I for one, am neither shocked, nor appalled. I can't wait to try out my demonic powers. And this certainly explains all the unfortunate body hair I combat with razors and Nair. Thrice daily.
The video is also apropos for another reason. Everyone seems to be pressuring me to get into WoW: my friends, Ozzy Osbourne--my mother, for corn's sake!--and I'm wondering if I should succumb to the pressure.
Only one of my friends, a Final Fantasy fan-boy, is trying to save me from the perdition that is WoW. But only so my eyes won't glaze over when he talks about FF.
It's all the same to me, though I do have a soft-spot for FF from the Eighties, when I used to play it for ten hours straight on my NES . . . oh, yeah. The original FF, on the original Nintendo system.
(What's that?
No, I'm not old! You're old! And you smell like feet!)
So for once, I found myself at GameStop not to buy used dvds--"Hell Comes To Frogtown", on dvd? Pricekless--but to check out WoW. I asked a helpful and geekily hot staff member if she recommended it. She said she thought it was only okay, but everyone she knows loves it. That it's lotsa fun only if you don't mind having a second, all-consuming life spent killing trolls with people you will never meet in RL.
That actually sounds perfect, to me. Especially all the killing and not meeting. But I have to see this woman on a bi-monthly basis, and give her my debit card, so I try not to creep her out. Much.
I took her advice and got a 14-day demo for two bucks instead of the actual game for ten times that. I'm gonna start the trial on Xmas Eve, which means I'll have most of a day to find out if I like it before I have to go back to work. Then a whole weekend after that to play some more.
I'm nothing if not a cheap, money-grubbing bastid. But with good reason.
Office's annual Festivus party in a few hours. I plan to take full advantage of the open bar, as per usual.
Reading "Atheism: The Case Against God", by George Smith. Pretty dry reading, but thorough. Interesting. After that, it's either "Unweaving The Rainbow", or that Irvine Welsh novel I got. Probably Rainbow, since I've never been able to get into Irvine Welsh no matter how hard I try.
Slowly making my way through the piles of unread books. Continuing to learn stuff. Still in my Good Place for a record three straight days.
"The Seether is neither big nor small. The Seether is the center of it all."--Veruca Salt
I for one, am neither shocked, nor appalled. I can't wait to try out my demonic powers. And this certainly explains all the unfortunate body hair I combat with razors and Nair. Thrice daily.
The video is also apropos for another reason. Everyone seems to be pressuring me to get into WoW: my friends, Ozzy Osbourne--my mother, for corn's sake!--and I'm wondering if I should succumb to the pressure.
Only one of my friends, a Final Fantasy fan-boy, is trying to save me from the perdition that is WoW. But only so my eyes won't glaze over when he talks about FF.
It's all the same to me, though I do have a soft-spot for FF from the Eighties, when I used to play it for ten hours straight on my NES . . . oh, yeah. The original FF, on the original Nintendo system.
(What's that?
No, I'm not old! You're old! And you smell like feet!)
So for once, I found myself at GameStop not to buy used dvds--"Hell Comes To Frogtown", on dvd? Pricekless--but to check out WoW. I asked a helpful and geekily hot staff member if she recommended it. She said she thought it was only okay, but everyone she knows loves it. That it's lotsa fun only if you don't mind having a second, all-consuming life spent killing trolls with people you will never meet in RL.
That actually sounds perfect, to me. Especially all the killing and not meeting. But I have to see this woman on a bi-monthly basis, and give her my debit card, so I try not to creep her out. Much.
I took her advice and got a 14-day demo for two bucks instead of the actual game for ten times that. I'm gonna start the trial on Xmas Eve, which means I'll have most of a day to find out if I like it before I have to go back to work. Then a whole weekend after that to play some more.
I'm nothing if not a cheap, money-grubbing bastid. But with good reason.
Office's annual Festivus party in a few hours. I plan to take full advantage of the open bar, as per usual.
Reading "Atheism: The Case Against God", by George Smith. Pretty dry reading, but thorough. Interesting. After that, it's either "Unweaving The Rainbow", or that Irvine Welsh novel I got. Probably Rainbow, since I've never been able to get into Irvine Welsh no matter how hard I try.
Slowly making my way through the piles of unread books. Continuing to learn stuff. Still in my Good Place for a record three straight days.
"The Seether is neither big nor small. The Seether is the center of it all."--Veruca Salt
Saturday, December 6, 2008
A Dose of Dr. Myers
"All those surveys of people's attitudes towards evolution experience major shifts if the questions are simply reworded: ask whether they believe humans evolved from apes, and half of Americans will say no. Ask them if animals evolved from simpler forms, and the yes answers surge upwards by tens of percentage points. It is not an objection to evolution in principle, but to evolution as an explanation of their personal history. I'm sure there's a marketing principle to be stated there.
--PZ Meyers, "Marketing Evolution" on Pharyngula, December 6, 2008 12:33 PM
Yes. Exactly. I can see myself in the second paragraph, with all my fears and mile-high angst. Though I was never bothered that I evolved from primordial ooze and apes. That's fine. The part that bothered me was that I evolved only for evolution's sake, as opposed to some grand purpose (though I'm realizing that's the grandest purpose there could ever be: to change, and avoid stagnation).
I think, speaking as someone who threw money down the shitter chasing the speckled-advertising degree, that Evolution is a wonderful product, especially since it's impossible to dispute, the more you know about it. But there does need to be better marketing. Teachers can only do so much. Civilian atheists have to get out there and support them, because they're ultimately supporting their children, and their community.
I can't stand people, but . . . if I had a head for science, I'd teach it. Physics, if I could wrap my brain around it, or biology, if I couldn't. I think, in the absence of an Objective Reason, dedicating a portion of, or one's entire life to eradicating ignorance wherever one finds it is quite a fine Subjective Reason.
I find myself hopeful, lately :)
Also? I didn't write the parts of the post you can click on, and mean no stealy-stealy. So please don't sue or otherwise prosecute me. Thanks.
"The Seether is neither big nor small. The Seether is the center of it all."--Veruca Salt
--PZ Meyers, "Marketing Evolution" on Pharyngula, December 6, 2008 12:33 PM
Yes. Exactly. I can see myself in the second paragraph, with all my fears and mile-high angst. Though I was never bothered that I evolved from primordial ooze and apes. That's fine. The part that bothered me was that I evolved only for evolution's sake, as opposed to some grand purpose (though I'm realizing that's the grandest purpose there could ever be: to change, and avoid stagnation).
I think, speaking as someone who threw money down the shitter chasing the speckled-advertising degree, that Evolution is a wonderful product, especially since it's impossible to dispute, the more you know about it. But there does need to be better marketing. Teachers can only do so much. Civilian atheists have to get out there and support them, because they're ultimately supporting their children, and their community.
I can't stand people, but . . . if I had a head for science, I'd teach it. Physics, if I could wrap my brain around it, or biology, if I couldn't. I think, in the absence of an Objective Reason, dedicating a portion of, or one's entire life to eradicating ignorance wherever one finds it is quite a fine Subjective Reason.
I find myself hopeful, lately :)
Also? I didn't write the parts of the post you can click on, and mean no stealy-stealy. So please don't sue or otherwise prosecute me. Thanks.
"The Seether is neither big nor small. The Seether is the center of it all."--Veruca Salt
Thursday, December 4, 2008
A bitter pill, but not for me
I've had a bit of a back-and-forth with a tool.
His initial post.
My response.
The tool's response to my response.
My final smackdown of his monkey ass.
I'd worried that I'd indeed been offensive, or derisive--beyond reason, anyway. That maybe my sarcasm was a little too, as it can sometimes be. But fuck self-doubt, that guy's shit was all 'tarded. I simply felt the need to school him on that fact.
No, I shouldn't say that, that's mean. There is no 'tarded shit, only 'tarded individuals. . . .
. . . I watch Idiocracy waaay too often.
But if that poor 'tard-burger can't even defend his ill-conceived, badly-worded ideas to me, he needs to get off of RD.net, or bend over and take his dressings down like man. (Heh, the mods told him if he didn't stop making personal attacks, they'd kick him off. Good looking out, RaspK)
Arguing with people is delightful. Especially when I happen to be right, though I'll play devil's advocate at the drop of a hat. Must be my huge, humanity-destroying ego :D
Another killer day at work, by which I mean I fantasized about killing each. And every. One of my customers, and at least a third of my coworkers. My job requires me to be nice to idiots and assholes--I'm not allowed, not supposed to argue with them, or hang up on them, or be honest about all their myriad short-comings. Which is painful to the point of actual physical pain and stress. Hence the job hating. I need to get a job at the DMV, where I can be as honest to people as I want and treat them like shit all day. . . .
That'd be nice.
Because I'm sick of being respectful to my mental inferiors. Not that I'm so wonderfully smart, but that so many of the people I meet are so exceptionally dumb. It's a good thing for them there is no objective point to life; if there was, these jerks wouldn't exist. They're cockroaches. Worse, really, since if put down in a truly adverse situation, they wouldn't adapt or survive nearly as well. My apologies to cockroaches everywhere. I'll try to think before I speak, in future.
On an up-note, oh, my gawds . . . isn't it ab-fab (and aren't I horribly bad at being femme):
Seattle.
I'm a New Yorker by birth and by 'tude. But there are a few other cities that I'm sure wouldn't be a step down to live in: London, Toronto, Sydney, Chicago, Edinburgh, Cardiff, San Francisco. Seattle tops that list. I've got such a deep yearning to be there, have for years. It just about kills me that I'm not there right now. . . .
I suppose my life has a point, after all: get the hell out of Kingston, and out to Seattle. Once there, I'll sort something out--if I'm not totally distracted by all the unparalleled happiness, that is.
"The Seether is neither big nor small. The Seether is the center of it all."--Veruca Salt
His initial post.
My response.
The tool's response to my response.
My final smackdown of his monkey ass.
I'd worried that I'd indeed been offensive, or derisive--beyond reason, anyway. That maybe my sarcasm was a little too, as it can sometimes be. But fuck self-doubt, that guy's shit was all 'tarded. I simply felt the need to school him on that fact.
No, I shouldn't say that, that's mean. There is no 'tarded shit, only 'tarded individuals. . . .
. . . I watch Idiocracy waaay too often.
But if that poor 'tard-burger can't even defend his ill-conceived, badly-worded ideas to me, he needs to get off of RD.net, or bend over and take his dressings down like man. (Heh, the mods told him if he didn't stop making personal attacks, they'd kick him off. Good looking out, RaspK)
Arguing with people is delightful. Especially when I happen to be right, though I'll play devil's advocate at the drop of a hat. Must be my huge, humanity-destroying ego :D
Another killer day at work, by which I mean I fantasized about killing each. And every. One of my customers, and at least a third of my coworkers. My job requires me to be nice to idiots and assholes--I'm not allowed, not supposed to argue with them, or hang up on them, or be honest about all their myriad short-comings. Which is painful to the point of actual physical pain and stress. Hence the job hating. I need to get a job at the DMV, where I can be as honest to people as I want and treat them like shit all day. . . .
That'd be nice.
Because I'm sick of being respectful to my mental inferiors. Not that I'm so wonderfully smart, but that so many of the people I meet are so exceptionally dumb. It's a good thing for them there is no objective point to life; if there was, these jerks wouldn't exist. They're cockroaches. Worse, really, since if put down in a truly adverse situation, they wouldn't adapt or survive nearly as well. My apologies to cockroaches everywhere. I'll try to think before I speak, in future.
On an up-note, oh, my gawds . . . isn't it ab-fab (and aren't I horribly bad at being femme):
Seattle.
I'm a New Yorker by birth and by 'tude. But there are a few other cities that I'm sure wouldn't be a step down to live in: London, Toronto, Sydney, Chicago, Edinburgh, Cardiff, San Francisco. Seattle tops that list. I've got such a deep yearning to be there, have for years. It just about kills me that I'm not there right now. . . .
I suppose my life has a point, after all: get the hell out of Kingston, and out to Seattle. Once there, I'll sort something out--if I'm not totally distracted by all the unparalleled happiness, that is.
"The Seether is neither big nor small. The Seether is the center of it all."--Veruca Salt
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Half dose
Though no less potent than a single--nay, a double!
So, I'm gonna be dead, someday. Irrevocably, and possibly soon.
Why am I not having fun?
If I was told that I would die one day from now, I'd feel cheated, horrified. I'd probably spend the time I have left crying, or just cut my wrists to get the whole mess out of the way.
Twenty-eight years, down the drain. Most of them spent in various degrees of unhappiness.
So why am I not having fun?
It's not a rhetorical question--I have no idea why live sucks so hard. Or what I can do to change that. I hate my job, but what are the odds of having a job I like? One that pays me in more than self-satisfaction and peace of mind?
Because of an over exposure to them through my job, I don't particularly care for people, in general. You don't judge a society by the way it treats its prisoners, but by the way it treats its customer service representatives. And how I've judged. . . .
I hate the town I live in. I mean, it's not a shit hole . . . if you don't know any better. And I do. I know a lot better. I grew up in the greatest city in the world, and I've been relegated to this backwater for just a little over three years.
The city I want to live in is the entire continent away, and my savings consists of roughly $200.
So, I guess the reasons I'm not having fun are obvious: I hate where I live, 98% of the people I come in contact with, and most days I have to fight not to walk out of my job. I never seem to have any money and the odds of me getting to the one place I'm pretty sure I could attempt real happiness, and before I turn thirty, are laughable.
It's starting to feel like I'm gonna die miserable, and alone. Although the upshot of that is, I won't regret the dying and there'll be no one pestering me during.
Okay, why, again, am I not having fun?
"The Seether is neither big nor small. The Seether is the center of it all."--Veruca Salt
So, I'm gonna be dead, someday. Irrevocably, and possibly soon.
Why am I not having fun?
If I was told that I would die one day from now, I'd feel cheated, horrified. I'd probably spend the time I have left crying, or just cut my wrists to get the whole mess out of the way.
Twenty-eight years, down the drain. Most of them spent in various degrees of unhappiness.
So why am I not having fun?
It's not a rhetorical question--I have no idea why live sucks so hard. Or what I can do to change that. I hate my job, but what are the odds of having a job I like? One that pays me in more than self-satisfaction and peace of mind?
Because of an over exposure to them through my job, I don't particularly care for people, in general. You don't judge a society by the way it treats its prisoners, but by the way it treats its customer service representatives. And how I've judged. . . .
I hate the town I live in. I mean, it's not a shit hole . . . if you don't know any better. And I do. I know a lot better. I grew up in the greatest city in the world, and I've been relegated to this backwater for just a little over three years.
The city I want to live in is the entire continent away, and my savings consists of roughly $200.
So, I guess the reasons I'm not having fun are obvious: I hate where I live, 98% of the people I come in contact with, and most days I have to fight not to walk out of my job. I never seem to have any money and the odds of me getting to the one place I'm pretty sure I could attempt real happiness, and before I turn thirty, are laughable.
It's starting to feel like I'm gonna die miserable, and alone. Although the upshot of that is, I won't regret the dying and there'll be no one pestering me during.
Okay, why, again, am I not having fun?
"The Seether is neither big nor small. The Seether is the center of it all."--Veruca Salt
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Il dose doppio--
Ya know . . . since I didn't post Monday.
The rage is back. But over my labret. Just got it done last Wednesday. Today, the spike came out while I was washing my face and down the drain it went. And of course Tuesday is the night my piercing shop is closed.
Whatever happened to remembering the Sabbath and keeping that holy? Fuck Tuesdays, if I can get holes put in my face on Sunday, I should be able to do so any goddamned day of week.
. . . .
Fucking priceless. Also, not the first time this has happened to me, regarding a labret. Two times in two years.
But fuck it, I'm about to go nuclear, again, and totally don't need to dwell on this anymore than I already have.
Last night, before I was drifting off to dreamland--with my piercing all snug and shiny, except for the base, which was probably all crusty with pus--I had a thought. Several, really, but I'll leave the ones about naked!Rachel Maddow and the fully-stocked dungeon by the wayside. The important thought was:
I should reexamine my morals, such as they are.
They used to be based on all the traumatizing shit I used to think would happen to me when I died. Hellfire, torment, being reincarnated as a neo-conservative--the big guns-punishments for living a "bad" life.
But last night, for the first time in my life maybe, I examined my morals objectively. And I'm trying to build a new, logical code. I'm thinking that's important, if only so my life isn't made more miserable by prison (I hear it's a bitch, or be bitched world in the pen. I'd be currency in less than ten hours) or sticking unthinkingly to silly, groundless morals.
So far, the only thing I've got hammered out is: why don't I kill?
The answer is: I'm not nearly smart enough to get away with it. I watch CSI: Miami. I'd be in the calabozzo within the hour of commiting murder. Even if I could argue it down to man 2.
The less glib--and, incidentally, slightly more true--answer is that I simply can't be bothered with ending everyone, or even anyone that sneds me into a murderous rage. I spend most of my day in a murerous rage, due to something/person or other. My killing arm would quickly get tired and I'd quickly get jailed.
The same answers can be adapted for why I don't steal--too stupid, too lazy--and why I lie way less than I otherwise might. Though that last one has the added reason of me not caring enough about most of the people I meet to lie to them. Lies should be saved for the few whose feelings matter.
I'm still working on, why should I care about others I don't know or like?
Nowadays, when I hear about starving children, or likely-innocent people rotting away on death row, I think: sucks to be you, but eventually we'll all be dead, anyway.
And there the consideration ends, but for a few flickers of enlightened self-interest. One thing I've already established is that I'm just in it--the slow march toward death--to keep myself as un-bored and un-dead for as long as possible. My apathy toward helping random others is matched only by my apathy toward harming them. It requires too much effort for too little return. Or seems like it would, since I've neither helped nor harmed anyone, lately.
So. There's what passes for my code, thus far.
I dunno if it's good or bad, dunno that I care. But it's at least a start. An honest one, rather than a Pascal's Wager kinda thing, where I tell myself I'm good because I genuinely am when I'm really just hedging bets. I hate being nice to people, and I'm not particularly good. I'm not particularly bad either: just lazy, and smart enough to know that I'm not smart enough to get away with all the shit I'd otherwise do.
Religion was created for people like me-- gullible, lazy, half-assed opportunists. Before there was CSI, and DNA evidence, people could get away with anything, if they were reasonably clever. Would have, too, except they believed there was an omnipotent sky fairy peering over their shoulder.
There's something freeing in not having a soul to worry about the state of. Of knowing that every time I decide not to seall, or hurt, or lie--and these are conscious decisions I make daily--that I'm doing it because I've weighed the options and decided it's not worth it. Not because I'm licking the sky fairy's ass in the hopes of sliming my way into purgatory.
If I don't lie, steal, kill, cheat, whatever, it's not because of a god, or karma--or even a desire to be a "decent person". It's because I have better things to do with the limited time I've got, than rot in prison, or listen to someone bitch at me about how I done them wrong.
I'm thinking of calling it the Dao of Leave-me-the-fuck-alone-and-I'll-do-the-same.
It's not catchy, but whatever :)
I feel, for the first time, like a fully realized person. Not necessarily a sterling one, but who gives crap? I'm me. Less adulterated and confused, less lost than I was this time last night. I'm me, and--good, bad, or to-lazy-to-care-either-way--that's all I can be, and all I want to be.
Definitely a thing worth celebrating.
For Yule, I just may get myself a Madison, since labrets are not working out for me.
"The Seether is neither big nor small. The Seether is the center of it all."--Veruca Salt
The rage is back. But over my labret. Just got it done last Wednesday. Today, the spike came out while I was washing my face and down the drain it went. And of course Tuesday is the night my piercing shop is closed.
Whatever happened to remembering the Sabbath and keeping that holy? Fuck Tuesdays, if I can get holes put in my face on Sunday, I should be able to do so any goddamned day of week.
. . . .
Fucking priceless. Also, not the first time this has happened to me, regarding a labret. Two times in two years.
But fuck it, I'm about to go nuclear, again, and totally don't need to dwell on this anymore than I already have.
Last night, before I was drifting off to dreamland--with my piercing all snug and shiny, except for the base, which was probably all crusty with pus--I had a thought. Several, really, but I'll leave the ones about naked!Rachel Maddow and the fully-stocked dungeon by the wayside. The important thought was:
I should reexamine my morals, such as they are.
They used to be based on all the traumatizing shit I used to think would happen to me when I died. Hellfire, torment, being reincarnated as a neo-conservative--the big guns-punishments for living a "bad" life.
But last night, for the first time in my life maybe, I examined my morals objectively. And I'm trying to build a new, logical code. I'm thinking that's important, if only so my life isn't made more miserable by prison (I hear it's a bitch, or be bitched world in the pen. I'd be currency in less than ten hours) or sticking unthinkingly to silly, groundless morals.
So far, the only thing I've got hammered out is: why don't I kill?
The answer is: I'm not nearly smart enough to get away with it. I watch CSI: Miami. I'd be in the calabozzo within the hour of commiting murder. Even if I could argue it down to man 2.
The less glib--and, incidentally, slightly more true--answer is that I simply can't be bothered with ending everyone, or even anyone that sneds me into a murderous rage. I spend most of my day in a murerous rage, due to something/person or other. My killing arm would quickly get tired and I'd quickly get jailed.
The same answers can be adapted for why I don't steal--too stupid, too lazy--and why I lie way less than I otherwise might. Though that last one has the added reason of me not caring enough about most of the people I meet to lie to them. Lies should be saved for the few whose feelings matter.
I'm still working on, why should I care about others I don't know or like?
Nowadays, when I hear about starving children, or likely-innocent people rotting away on death row, I think: sucks to be you, but eventually we'll all be dead, anyway.
And there the consideration ends, but for a few flickers of enlightened self-interest. One thing I've already established is that I'm just in it--the slow march toward death--to keep myself as un-bored and un-dead for as long as possible. My apathy toward helping random others is matched only by my apathy toward harming them. It requires too much effort for too little return. Or seems like it would, since I've neither helped nor harmed anyone, lately.
So. There's what passes for my code, thus far.
I dunno if it's good or bad, dunno that I care. But it's at least a start. An honest one, rather than a Pascal's Wager kinda thing, where I tell myself I'm good because I genuinely am when I'm really just hedging bets. I hate being nice to people, and I'm not particularly good. I'm not particularly bad either: just lazy, and smart enough to know that I'm not smart enough to get away with all the shit I'd otherwise do.
Religion was created for people like me-- gullible, lazy, half-assed opportunists. Before there was CSI, and DNA evidence, people could get away with anything, if they were reasonably clever. Would have, too, except they believed there was an omnipotent sky fairy peering over their shoulder.
There's something freeing in not having a soul to worry about the state of. Of knowing that every time I decide not to seall, or hurt, or lie--and these are conscious decisions I make daily--that I'm doing it because I've weighed the options and decided it's not worth it. Not because I'm licking the sky fairy's ass in the hopes of sliming my way into purgatory.
If I don't lie, steal, kill, cheat, whatever, it's not because of a god, or karma--or even a desire to be a "decent person". It's because I have better things to do with the limited time I've got, than rot in prison, or listen to someone bitch at me about how I done them wrong.
I'm thinking of calling it the Dao of Leave-me-the-fuck-alone-and-I'll-do-the-same.
It's not catchy, but whatever :)
I feel, for the first time, like a fully realized person. Not necessarily a sterling one, but who gives crap? I'm me. Less adulterated and confused, less lost than I was this time last night. I'm me, and--good, bad, or to-lazy-to-care-either-way--that's all I can be, and all I want to be.
Definitely a thing worth celebrating.
For Yule, I just may get myself a Madison, since labrets are not working out for me.
"The Seether is neither big nor small. The Seether is the center of it all."--Veruca Salt
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