Poetry: Unsure

So many years I was dissatisfied
Not sure what I wanted from life
Felt there was nothing I could do
Nothing I could look forward to

But I know now that's just a lie
Something I was telling myself
Just to get by
Held myself back for someone else

Put your shoes on your feet
and walk right out that door
Cause there ain't no need
to feel that way anymore

Take some time for yourself
And put things back together
Put depression on the shelf
Misery shouldn't last forever

Your experiences are counterfeit.

Note: This is kind of a cerebral post. A lot to sink in, and a lot of information. Links provided for further reading/citations whatever. Have fun and try to get lost in the rabbit hole, then when you get out drop me a line and tell me what you think.

"The world is like a ride in an amusement park, and when you choose to go on it you think it's real, because that's how powerful our minds are. The ride goes up and down, around and around, it has thrills and chills, and it's very brightly colored, and it's very loud, and it's fun... for a while.

Many people have been on the ride a long time, and they begin to wonder, 'Hey, is this real, or is this just a ride?' And other people have remembered, and they come back to us and say, 'Hey, don't worry; don't be afraid, ever. Because this is just a ride.'

And we... kill those people!

'Shut him up! I've got a lot invested in this ride, shut him up! Look at my furrows of worry, look at my big bank account, and my family.... This has to be real.'

It's just a ride." - Bill Hicks


I spend most of my free time reading stuff. I'm a curious guy. I've always had this feeling that something wasn't quite right, but due to my limited understanding, I've never been able to properly express it. I still can't really. Coming up with this "article", if you will, even had me stumped at times. But my understanding has grown since I first had this feeling, and has lead me to a point where I think I can get my point across, and maybe somebody else will get what I'm saying or maybe it'll interest them to look into it further for themselves. Or they'll think I'm a kook. And they'd be right but that's besides the point.

As we collectively understand the universe through science, it is an objective universe, as in the physical reality is constant and true outside of and independent of observation, a subjective viewing (that would be us and any other thinking creature.) As an aside, some research can suggest at times that our universe may not be as objective as we think, but it's not exactly mainstream or commonly accepted yet, so keep your eyes peeled. This is a very interesting sector of science that's always changing. I digress, we know that the universe is objective, or mostly objective on the average observable level. Yet, if you know anything about human biology, our interpretation of reality is entirely subjective. Our senses are imperfect. This is a core tenet of most philosophies and generally accepted by most scientists. Objective reality; Subjective viewers.

Just think of your circle of friends. Surely you have friends who view the world entirely different from you. (Chances are I'm that guy.) How can billions of people have vastly different views on such an objective place? Every mind is unique in it's own way. Think of all the religions. Think of all the mental illnesses that affect interpretation of reality. Schizophrenia certainly comes to my mind. Our minds are very, very powerful. (This clip is extremely dramatic, but not far from the truth.)

So what am I trying to tell you? Okay, bear with me, I'm sure you've seen the Matrix. You know how in the movie, they've got the humans hooked up to computers and they've tricked their minds into thinking the Matrix is reality? That's not exactly an unrealistic concept. (Now, technologically you'd probably have a hell of a time trying to get this to work.) But our senses work in such a way that this is within the realm of possibility. Your eyes don't actually see. Your ears don't actually hear. So on and so forth. All they do is gather information. Then that information is given to your brain and interpreted.

Curiously, our brain interprets reality slower than it happens. Which is to say, technically we're about a second behind the present. Literally living in the past. But our conditioning has lead us to deal with this now imperceptible time discrepancy. Not only that, but what our brain remembers is just bits and pieces. It only stores what it thinks is important, leaving out innumerable details and not noticing some altogether. Your mind will trip you up because what it perceives is often what it expects, not what is actually happening.

So in practice, our senses aren't actually that important when compared to the mind. Think about psychedelic drugs for example. People see things. They hear things. They taste things. They smell things. They feel things. But none of it is supposed to be real. But it feels real to them. This is the power of your mind. Think about your dreams. Are they not much the same? It all feels real at that moment in time. One of the greatest points in all of philosophy is known as the dream argument; You're never sure that you're dreaming until you wake up. How do we know that life isn't much the same? Maybe it's all just a dream. It's certainly a hard argument to prove or disprove. So that brings us to the inevitable question. What is real?

(Speaking of dreams and drugs, it appears that the brains of mice produce DMT, giving credence to a long postured theory that our pineal glands produce DMT in our dream cycles and near our deaths. Although the fast manner in which our bodies process DMT has made it very difficult to research the veracity of this theory.)

This all brings to mind René Descartes' "Cogito Ergo Sum" (I think, therefore I am. in latin.) The very act of doubting your existence is proof of your existence. While I don't ascribe to Solipsism strictly, it sure has a good point to it; There really is one thing I can know for sure, that I exist. I cannot know for sure that the things around me, or the other minds I know about actually exist, because I am not those things. Who's to say I'm not plugged into some computer somewhere with information being pumped into me? Or just the thought of a butterfly? Your mind is more of a canvas than the paintbrush.


"It is a good viewpoint to see the world as a dream. When you have something like a nightmare, you will wake up and tell yourself that it was only a dream. It is said that the world we live in is not a bit different from this." - Yamamoto Tsunetomo, Hagakure

Thanksgiving Part Two: The Giving of Thanks

    It's a beautiful Thanksgiving morning here in Nowheresville, VA. Cold, but beautiful. I'd like to take a moment to reflect, and I'm glad you're reading this. I'm not exactly known for being a grateful person, in fact, I'm called an "ungrateful prick" on a pretty regular basis. I guess my dissatisfaction with many things is misinterpreted. It's just a part of my personality, I'm an ISTP with an enneagram of the Reformer with a wing of the Peacemaker. It's just how I'm going to be. Forever.

    But if you read about the enneagram, and how the Reformer with a wing of Peacemaker works, it all makes sense. Nothing is good enough, because things could be better. It's not that I'm ungrateful, it's that I'm disappointed. ISTPs are also precision-oriented people who love to over-examine complex systems.... like society. My brain will get all flubbed up with information and over-processing, so sometimes I might forget to explain that my criticisms are from the approach of "Things could be better; Let's do it." I'm with the seminal hardcore-punk band D.O.A.:

Talk - Action = Zero

    So what am I thankful for? The first thing that comes to mind is something Jello Biafra said in his song Stars and Stripes of Corruption. "I'm thankful I live in a place where I can say the things I do without being taken out and shot; So I'm on guard against the goons trying to take my rights away." And that's really what it's all about. To paraphrase Arlo Guthrie, if you wanna end war and all that stuff, you can't sit down with a shut mouth. You gotta get up and stand up for your rights.

    But I'm also very thankful that I'm alive. I'm glad I'm here. I think even if I don't say it too often, I'm where and when I belong. I just fit right in there. I might complain... a lot. But I really do like this place, it's just easy to get jaded when it seems like so few people are trying. Which is why I try to surround myself as much as possible with people I'm thankful for, my family. And you don't have to be blood to be my family. You know who you are. I'm also thankful I'm a mostly healthy young guy, with not only the ability to work, but the opportunity. Maybe not as often as I would like, but it seems life always drops exactly what I need in my lap. You just can't ask for more.

    I guess you can boil it down to four things; Life, liberty, love, and the pursuit of happiness. I am thankful for all of these aspects of my life. I might not have as big a piece of pie as many or even most people, but I really appreciate what I've got. Because I like me, and all of my experiences, especially the worst of them, have turned me into who I am. To change one aspect, would be to change myself. So I am thankful for my learning experiences, and are there many. Likely many more to come.

    Thanks for lending me your 'digital ear', I hope you found this enjoyable in some way and maybe you reflected on what you're thankful for. In all likelihood you could just find me a preachy numbskull, and I'll take that handle. I hope you have a blessed, joyous, and stress-free day, and hopefully you can see people you love and maybe help out people you don't even know. Just don't go shopping.

Introspective Solipsist Phony Baloney #1

I forged myself out of a vacuum. I am a human anvil. I am who I am because I chose such. I could have strung along the typical, expected, and instilled path. I chose not to follow it of my own volition, because I didn't like what little it had to offer. This has made my life infinitely more difficult in almost every way, being self-aware I realise the futility of it all. All I truly have is myself; No crutches whether they be drugs or faith or anything else. I guess you could say I'm a solipsist. A unique and disadvantaged disposition. Outcast even among outcasts, but I was always comfortable there. Funnily, I know you don't care, yet I don't care that you don't care. I'm just babbling away to myself. But if you must take anything away from this, it's like Carlin said, remember any cynic is just a disappointed idealist.

Poetry: Generic Self Hate Song in C

NOTE: This one is being turned into a song by my band, FIPHSD.



I can't help but think that life is overrated
and all your accomplishments are overstated
It goes from grey to a colour oversaturated
Your way of life is something I always hated

I try to find meaning and I just don't see it
I've read all the books and I can't believe it
I like some people and the things we create
But overall it's just a world filled with hate

It's always been the humble and noble few
Who have given me any reason to mildew
I don't want to hurt anyone for any reason
So I'll have to wait out the end of my season

Sometimes I just can't stand myself
Sometimes I wanna take it off the shelf
My patience is wearing my patience thin
But it's alright, in a while I'll be okay again

I think what takes the best of us
seems to always hurt the rest of us
I think saying our loving goodbyes
could take us the rest of our lives

I didn't ask for this
You didn't ask for this
We didn't ask for this
Why did we receive this?

I've heard them say life is a gift
But from whom and for what?
Well I'd like to thank whomever
For giving me what I didn't want

Introspective: Shaking the hand of a personal hero.

I can remember when I was first introduced to punk rock at about the age of thirteen. I didn't really get it at first, and my friend was a little older than me and had been into it for a while, so he was listening to more out there stuff. But I can somewhat remember the day I turned over. All I know is I heard The Misfits, Black Flag, the Dead Kennedys, and the Sex Pistols. (I would go on to discover GWAR, Ska music, and a pile of other formative, for me, bands shortly thereafter.) This was a whole new thing to me. I was admittedly listening to some very lame things at the time (and some not so lame things I still listen to.) There was a lot of mass produced industry garbage, so this blatant rejection of that was new to me. Something clicked. Initially I was not a huge fan of Black Flag (or the Sex Pistols.) I really liked Keith Morris, but I didn't get Henry Rollins' incarnation of the band.

As I grew older, it started to grow on me (unlike the Sex Pistols, which I just dug one day.) I liked some songs like Rise Above or T.V. Party, but Damaged I or Depression didn't make sense. I was growing up to become (and still am) a very angry, frustratd, disenfranchised, and all around dysfunctional young man. Those of you that know me, know that my life, especially as of recent, has been marked with hardship, misfortune, and some bad choices on my part, which I have admittedly taken in stride. I can honestly say if I hadn't discovered punk rock and it's inherent values in my early teens, I probably wouldn't have garnered the strong self identification I rely on today. Not to say it wasn't in me, but on the path I was on, I don't think I would have found it. This is to say, without finding this strength I didn't know I had, I don't think I'd be here on this planet right now. It might sound melodramatic, but it's true. As life stopped being jellybeans and rainbows, these songs started to make more sense to me. Essentially because I was in a similar position as many punks: Frustrated.

Henry helped to provide this groundwork (as far as music, moreso with Rollins Band than Black Flag as he didn't write most of the lyrics.) I am not claiming to be anywhere near him, but it's his hardline ethics that have inspired me to become a 'better me' by my own definition. It's taking time, but it's time well spent. Patience isn't a bad thing. Recently, a good friend of mine sent me her original copy of one of Henry's early publications, Polio Flesh, which is a compilation of journal entries and poetry. I had just a few weeks earler learned of a new spoken word tour of Henry's, and he was coming to Richmond! I took this as a sign, that I must go meet this man who has become so integral to my very being.

I was broke. I borrowed some money, and booked 70 some miles north east to Richmond in the junk-van. I got there in one piece with healthy doses of Rollins Band. I got inside, and sat down. I was about 30 minutes early. Finally Rollins hit the stage, and he was in good form. He ran from topic to topic smoothly, and things were hilarious at times, interesting or informative at others. This type of thing isn't for everyone, especially since he's not the sort of eloquent political advisor of contemporary Jello Biafra, nor his old poetic self. I enjoyed it thoroughly, however.

After the show, I went out and joined the throng forming in front of what Rollins refers to as the Bon Jovi-Mobile, his tour bus. After about twenty minutes or so, he came out ready to sign, take pictures, and briefly speak with fans. I met a friend I didn't know was also going, and we chatted for a while until it was my turn. I shook Henry's hand and told him I had something kinda cool. He looked sort of surprised to see a copy of Polio Flesh, and remarked he hadn't seen any of those early books in a while. I got a picture with him, and before I departed I thanked him for his line of work, and told him if I had never discovered this whole thing I probably wouldn't be here. In modest fashion, he thanked me back. And that's what I take away from this. Even if we don't think we're giving someone something, everyone is giving someone something, even if it's just gratitude.