After an unfortunate glance into the delusional lifestyle and attitude of the young, wealthy and entitled, I'm delighted to say I'm officially 'over it.' I whine, bitch, and moan when some jackass robs or cheats me and then I use it as an excuse to avoid responsibility..."that guy has lied and cheated, and as a result, I am less accountable for my actions - after all, how can I be accountable? He's not playing by the rules?" I get angry and unruly, and accept the role of the victim, which helps me justify my bad behavior. This same logic drives people to perpetuate injustice in the first place. Is there ever an end to this cycle? What happens when the usually-innocuous knee-jerk inclination to lie or cheat has real consequences?
However many times I've seen the cheater win, I can't seem to escape this anger when it is shoved in my face. How are we supposed to watch idly as others gleefully and repeatedly trounce on the honest with utter disregard for justice; then, watch them excuse themselves (or taunt and mock when provoked) because they have trained their minds to fabricate false truths so easily in order to preserve the illusion of self-worth. "I live on the lake and drove my dad's million dollar yacht over here. You expect me to play by the same rules as your dumb-asses?"
Upon being afflicted with such bullshit (albeit of the relatively innocuous type), how do I delude myself into believing I am not the victim? Isn't this type of delusion just as bad as the type convincing the "entitled" that their self-preserving fabrications are valid?
I think accepting that one is not a victim requires a value judgment about relative utility...what good can come from being pissed-off? Instead, why not acknowledge the danger of such behavior and respond in an effective, cathartic, yet non-destructive way? Well, that takes effort. That takes recognizing the devil for what it is, and immediately forgiving and forgetting, allowing the perpetrator to believe he/she has won, and that their behavior was justified because there were no consequences. Sick and twisted still, but the lesser of evils.
I think discussing abhorrent behavior in conditions that are consequential helps put things in perspective. "Charles" was the disturbing result...just a reminder (to myself) not to sweat the small stuff.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Charles
Every morning Charles arose in darkness for his morning walks. He savored the mist over the empty streets and then the faint purple glow against the horizon. At first the horizon meant the clay rooftops, then a patch of woods, and finally the shallow hills of the countryside. By the time he had sauntered off the cobblestone and onto the dirt path, the dew shimmered on the prairie and the silhouette of Garvey's barn could be seen way off in the distance. The silence was pure other than the gravel beneath his feet, and would finally be broken as the birds commenced their ruckus among the intermittent willows, which spotted the landscape like hundreds of shaggy puff balls; completely still in the heavy air.
Today was like any another in the mid-summer, and he didn't expect a soul to awake by the time he returned. As such, he was surprised to hear splashing in the stream nearby. He decided to adjust his course and slowly walked through the tall grass to the edge of the valley. The splashing continued as his journey became encumbered by a rock pile and a steep grade. His curiosity overcame him, and despite his weak bones he decided he must see what was causing this unfamiliar disturbance. As he finally crawled to the crest, he looked down into the valley. What he saw startled him.
A burley middle-aged man was dragging a young girl out of a stream, her bloody legs thrashing the calm water. He turned his head and covered his eyes, but couldn't help but look through a crack in his fingers as tears began to well in his eyes. Helpless, he observed three men hold down the struggling girl as the other had his way with her. She was bound with a gag, which muzzled her screams entirely, and her hair was gnarled with sand. He recognized her. She was Tom Garvey's daughter, Ann, the sweetest little girl he had ever known. Her 12th birthday was yesterday, and his wife had helped her mother bake the cake. As one of the men raised his hand he closed his eyes and heard the crack off her cheek. He shuddered in horror and loathed his old, weak frame. He knew he was helpless.
After all had taken their turn, her battered body lay half covered by the slow moving stream. When the sound of laughter faded into the distance, Charles rushed down the inside of the valley as hastily as caution allowed. He cradled her head and sobbed, telling her it would be alright, removing the gag. She was barely conscious, her clothing torn, and bloody scars ravaged her delicate skin. He knew what he needed to do.
With all his strength, Charles lifted Ann's frail body and began scaling up and out of the valley. His joints ached with arthritis and the pain shook him tremendously. The rage from what he had witnessed was all that carried her as he finally approached the crest. By now his shirt was soaked in his blood. Every step along the gravel shot terrible pangs through him. With every last bit of his strength he carried her to the edge of the cobblestone and then his body failed him. With his last, he lowered her gently onto the grass and shuffled as quickly as he could into town. He decided to go directly to the doctor's house, through the woods. He knew that Dr. Gray had a carriage and could ride to her quickly. He marched bravely, knowing each step was causing grave damage to his faltering body. Finally, he could see Dr. Gray's stable through the trees. He knew he could make it.
With his goal in sight, he cried out as he tripped and fell headlong into a boulder. Dazed, he continued to crawl toward Dr. Gray's house. He tried to holler, but his throat had grown horse. In the distance he heard something call out. To his relief it was Ann...she was screaming for help. He prayed someone would hear her. They did. He lowered his head against the mossy soil and sobbed as he heard a group of men from town running for her aid. "Thank God" he muttered before slipping out of consciousness.
Her body lay in a pool of blood as the men rushed over to her. Her father walked a few yards into the grass and vomited as Dr. Gray knelt over Ann, wrapping bandages on her torn flesh.
To Dr. Gray's anger and astonishment, Ann's father interrupted the treatment and took her daughter by the head.
"Who did this to you!?" he pleaded.
"Tell me, please, who did this to you!?"
She was delirious and incoherent. She bobbed her head back and forth.
"WHO DID THIS TO YOU, ANN!?"
Finally, they heard the slightest whisper.
"Char...Charles...he...he."
Ann's father's eyes filled with rage and bewilderment. He lowered her head and finally allowed Dr. Gray to resume caring for her.
Ann died from her wounds hours later.
That afternoon, a manhunt began. It did not take more than a half hour to find him sleeping in the middle of the dense forest at the edge of town, near where he had fallen. Ann's father reached for his hand and a tear fell from his cheek as he felt his daughter's blood on his hand.
They helped Charles back to town and placed him in jail.
The next day everyone gathered in town square for the execution. Charles stood on the gallows wearing the same bloody shirt, at Ann's father's request. The noose was hung around his neck and he was asked if he had any last words. Charles, weak of breath and still hoarse, managed to utter...
"God rest her soul..."
They dropped the trap door and his neck snapped. Charles was buried in an unmarked grave in the forest.
Today was like any another in the mid-summer, and he didn't expect a soul to awake by the time he returned. As such, he was surprised to hear splashing in the stream nearby. He decided to adjust his course and slowly walked through the tall grass to the edge of the valley. The splashing continued as his journey became encumbered by a rock pile and a steep grade. His curiosity overcame him, and despite his weak bones he decided he must see what was causing this unfamiliar disturbance. As he finally crawled to the crest, he looked down into the valley. What he saw startled him.
A burley middle-aged man was dragging a young girl out of a stream, her bloody legs thrashing the calm water. He turned his head and covered his eyes, but couldn't help but look through a crack in his fingers as tears began to well in his eyes. Helpless, he observed three men hold down the struggling girl as the other had his way with her. She was bound with a gag, which muzzled her screams entirely, and her hair was gnarled with sand. He recognized her. She was Tom Garvey's daughter, Ann, the sweetest little girl he had ever known. Her 12th birthday was yesterday, and his wife had helped her mother bake the cake. As one of the men raised his hand he closed his eyes and heard the crack off her cheek. He shuddered in horror and loathed his old, weak frame. He knew he was helpless.
After all had taken their turn, her battered body lay half covered by the slow moving stream. When the sound of laughter faded into the distance, Charles rushed down the inside of the valley as hastily as caution allowed. He cradled her head and sobbed, telling her it would be alright, removing the gag. She was barely conscious, her clothing torn, and bloody scars ravaged her delicate skin. He knew what he needed to do.
With all his strength, Charles lifted Ann's frail body and began scaling up and out of the valley. His joints ached with arthritis and the pain shook him tremendously. The rage from what he had witnessed was all that carried her as he finally approached the crest. By now his shirt was soaked in his blood. Every step along the gravel shot terrible pangs through him. With every last bit of his strength he carried her to the edge of the cobblestone and then his body failed him. With his last, he lowered her gently onto the grass and shuffled as quickly as he could into town. He decided to go directly to the doctor's house, through the woods. He knew that Dr. Gray had a carriage and could ride to her quickly. He marched bravely, knowing each step was causing grave damage to his faltering body. Finally, he could see Dr. Gray's stable through the trees. He knew he could make it.
With his goal in sight, he cried out as he tripped and fell headlong into a boulder. Dazed, he continued to crawl toward Dr. Gray's house. He tried to holler, but his throat had grown horse. In the distance he heard something call out. To his relief it was Ann...she was screaming for help. He prayed someone would hear her. They did. He lowered his head against the mossy soil and sobbed as he heard a group of men from town running for her aid. "Thank God" he muttered before slipping out of consciousness.
Her body lay in a pool of blood as the men rushed over to her. Her father walked a few yards into the grass and vomited as Dr. Gray knelt over Ann, wrapping bandages on her torn flesh.
To Dr. Gray's anger and astonishment, Ann's father interrupted the treatment and took her daughter by the head.
"Who did this to you!?" he pleaded.
"Tell me, please, who did this to you!?"
She was delirious and incoherent. She bobbed her head back and forth.
"WHO DID THIS TO YOU, ANN!?"
Finally, they heard the slightest whisper.
"Char...Charles...he...he."
Ann's father's eyes filled with rage and bewilderment. He lowered her head and finally allowed Dr. Gray to resume caring for her.
Ann died from her wounds hours later.
That afternoon, a manhunt began. It did not take more than a half hour to find him sleeping in the middle of the dense forest at the edge of town, near where he had fallen. Ann's father reached for his hand and a tear fell from his cheek as he felt his daughter's blood on his hand.
They helped Charles back to town and placed him in jail.
The next day everyone gathered in town square for the execution. Charles stood on the gallows wearing the same bloody shirt, at Ann's father's request. The noose was hung around his neck and he was asked if he had any last words. Charles, weak of breath and still hoarse, managed to utter...
"God rest her soul..."
They dropped the trap door and his neck snapped. Charles was buried in an unmarked grave in the forest.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
The Carpenter
Addendum to "The Walrus and the Carpenter" by Lewis Carrol, with inspiration from a mysterious source (thanks for that Ryan)...
Among the sand there fell a tear,
It splashed upon a shell.
His tusk had cracked the final one,
It lingered with the smell--
He hadn't left but one to waste,
As far as he could tell.
"What breed of walrus does such things?"
He pondered as he cried.
"If only I had warned them,
or if I hadn't lied--
what oyster youth has earned such fate.
Digested! While Alive!"
The Carpenter rose to his feet,
And belched a mighty roar.
"Come on, my friend, let's wash up,
don't be a dismal sore--
we haven't got all night you know,
for dinner let's find more."
They walked among the wettest sand,
the imposition done.
The orb above them stood alone,
far off purple from the sun.
It kindly acquiesced by now,
Not to spoil the fun.
"Greetings my fair oysters,
won't you come along,
Yonder sits a treat for you,
We'll entertain with song--
My friend here says he knows the way,
this Walrus is seldom wrong."
This time dozens fell in line,
each dressed in fine attire.
Coats with tails impressed the snails,
a sight one would admire--
though lacking arms the poor ones
stuffed their tiny sleeves with wire.
And a mile up the beach,
the Oysters needed rest.
"No need to ask my friends,
we've made it to the crest--
our walrus carries all of you,
now climb upon his chest.
The Carpenter then pointed to
an island just of shore.
And with his wink the walrus knew,
He'd swim the oysters over--
The Walrus understood, he thought,
"His heart is also sore."
"How nice," the Walrus gave a sigh,
the charity did warm.
The Carpenter would spare these ones,
and for them would perform--
And on the island none would see...
none could give him scorn.
The Walrus did a backstroke,
and smiled broadly still.
And headed for the island,
brimming with goodwill.
Between his flippers, dozens sat.
He was careful not to spill.
With a "SNAP" down they went,
into the slimy dark.
And felt a tingling on their skin,
digestion pure and stark--
The oysters screamed in terror,
his last word was a "bark."
The Carpenter smiled broadly,
"A meal fit for a king!"
His killer whale was gracious,
And asked if he would sing.
"Coo coo! oh I lose the words.
What next shall I bring?"
It splashed upon a shell.
His tusk had cracked the final one,
It lingered with the smell--
He hadn't left but one to waste,
As far as he could tell.
"What breed of walrus does such things?"
He pondered as he cried.
"If only I had warned them,
or if I hadn't lied--
what oyster youth has earned such fate.
Digested! While Alive!"
The Carpenter rose to his feet,
And belched a mighty roar.
"Come on, my friend, let's wash up,
don't be a dismal sore--
we haven't got all night you know,
for dinner let's find more."
They walked among the wettest sand,
the imposition done.
The orb above them stood alone,
far off purple from the sun.
It kindly acquiesced by now,
Not to spoil the fun.
"Greetings my fair oysters,
won't you come along,
Yonder sits a treat for you,
We'll entertain with song--
My friend here says he knows the way,
this Walrus is seldom wrong."
This time dozens fell in line,
each dressed in fine attire.
Coats with tails impressed the snails,
a sight one would admire--
though lacking arms the poor ones
stuffed their tiny sleeves with wire.
And a mile up the beach,
the Oysters needed rest.
"No need to ask my friends,
we've made it to the crest--
our walrus carries all of you,
now climb upon his chest.
The Carpenter then pointed to
an island just of shore.
And with his wink the walrus knew,
He'd swim the oysters over--
The Walrus understood, he thought,
"His heart is also sore."
"How nice," the Walrus gave a sigh,
the charity did warm.
The Carpenter would spare these ones,
and for them would perform--
And on the island none would see...
none could give him scorn.
The Walrus did a backstroke,
and smiled broadly still.
And headed for the island,
brimming with goodwill.
Between his flippers, dozens sat.
He was careful not to spill.
With a "SNAP" down they went,
into the slimy dark.
And felt a tingling on their skin,
digestion pure and stark--
The oysters screamed in terror,
his last word was a "bark."
The Carpenter smiled broadly,
"A meal fit for a king!"
His killer whale was gracious,
And asked if he would sing.
"Coo coo! oh I lose the words.
What next shall I bring?"
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Dumb Things
I should clarify that last quote...
Penning a few words here is not a dumb thing, even if it is a dumb person writing. A lot of other stuff I do is certainly dumb, and that is the stuff I like to do faster so I can have more time to write stuff here and do other stuff that is not dumb.
In fact, I feel sort of obligated to scribble some thoughts to discuss the regular dumb things. Acknowledging them and trying to understand what compels me to engage in them somehow makes them less dumb.
If they are truly dumb, maybe they are only of value if they are recognized for their futility and used as an example of what not to do. After all, the most awful movie has incredible value as an example of what not film.
Maybe the first 35 years of our lives are that dumb period where we'll one day look back and remember why we don't do dumb things any more. I hope that's the case.
Thought I had something else to say. Hm. Well, back to doing dumb things.
Penning a few words here is not a dumb thing, even if it is a dumb person writing. A lot of other stuff I do is certainly dumb, and that is the stuff I like to do faster so I can have more time to write stuff here and do other stuff that is not dumb.
In fact, I feel sort of obligated to scribble some thoughts to discuss the regular dumb things. Acknowledging them and trying to understand what compels me to engage in them somehow makes them less dumb.
If they are truly dumb, maybe they are only of value if they are recognized for their futility and used as an example of what not to do. After all, the most awful movie has incredible value as an example of what not film.
Maybe the first 35 years of our lives are that dumb period where we'll one day look back and remember why we don't do dumb things any more. I hope that's the case.
Thought I had something else to say. Hm. Well, back to doing dumb things.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Pwned! Everything!
Once Sam had found the final piece he stood back and looked at the giant jigsaw puzzle in awe. The years he spent acquiring the pieces did not disappoint, and came together in a glorious display. But, the final picture was so unexpected he put down his hot dog in amazement. What does one do with all the money, power, and influence in the world anyway? I didn't really care for all of it...
The years of struggling to earn a piece of the pie, and it was so simple all along. Why hadn't anyone else thought of this, he thought, admiring the delicate brush strokes. "Pwned! Everything! How shall I use it?" he thought...
First, I will make myself rich, he thought. Rich people can afford all of the things that happy people seem to have.
Second, I will make myself famous. Famous people seem to be the envy of everyone. So they must be happy.
Finally, I will be powerful. People will listen to me and do anything I say.
"Mr. Puzzle, now that you have been solved, we shall be great friends."
Using the information acquired on the puzzle, Sam began his quest. He looked at the puzzle and became rich, purchasing a giant mansion on the coast. Then, he consulted the puzzle again and became famous, and the envy of all who envied. Then, he became powerful, and people listened to him and did what he said. All he had ever dreamed of, he now had.
He sat on his balcony overlooking his zebra herd. He had the butler bring him another glass of dubbel. He spoke with the prime minister of England. He pondered the simple years he spent piecing together the puzzle and all of the agony and frustration. Those were the most difficult years of his life, and yet, he somehow cherished them. Looking through the bubbles in his ornate glass he wondered whether he would go back if he had the chance. He wondered if he had really acquired all the happiness he truly desired...
"Hell yas, lemon grass" he said out loud. "Butler, I'll take one more dubbel."
The years of struggling to earn a piece of the pie, and it was so simple all along. Why hadn't anyone else thought of this, he thought, admiring the delicate brush strokes. "Pwned! Everything! How shall I use it?" he thought...
First, I will make myself rich, he thought. Rich people can afford all of the things that happy people seem to have.
Second, I will make myself famous. Famous people seem to be the envy of everyone. So they must be happy.
Finally, I will be powerful. People will listen to me and do anything I say.
"Mr. Puzzle, now that you have been solved, we shall be great friends."
Using the information acquired on the puzzle, Sam began his quest. He looked at the puzzle and became rich, purchasing a giant mansion on the coast. Then, he consulted the puzzle again and became famous, and the envy of all who envied. Then, he became powerful, and people listened to him and did what he said. All he had ever dreamed of, he now had.
He sat on his balcony overlooking his zebra herd. He had the butler bring him another glass of dubbel. He spoke with the prime minister of England. He pondered the simple years he spent piecing together the puzzle and all of the agony and frustration. Those were the most difficult years of his life, and yet, he somehow cherished them. Looking through the bubbles in his ornate glass he wondered whether he would go back if he had the chance. He wondered if he had really acquired all the happiness he truly desired...
"Hell yas, lemon grass" he said out loud. "Butler, I'll take one more dubbel."
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
The Union
We call it "The Union" because it is anything but. It's fitting simply because vulnerability to the irony vindicates your membership.
Here's the thing...people sign up for a group and that's when problems start. Sign up for the labor union and you pay dues, earn less money, and then work more to make up for it. They raise dues, you work harder and the cycle continues. You pay to work more.
Here are some general things we found...Relinquish your time, money, or love to any third party and its name will stay the same, but its actions evolve. Over time you are busy and lose touch with its actions, but remember its name. So, you are partially accountable for its actions even though you have no idea what the hell it actually does. You inevitability allow it to do to things on your behalf that you do not approve of. That is how folks become "Numbers," and assumptions are made about how these Numbers care to exist.
I personally prefer the Numbers to live in a way that makes my life more convenient, especially if it makes no difference to them. The person who knows this runs for office and starts messing with anything the Numbers don't seem to care about. This cycle continues and the group, whatever it is, continues to grow and change according to what it can get away with.
We decided that doesn't make much sense and put our thinking caps on, and thought of The Union...The Union is basically an anti-union. By joining you promise not to take accountability for other's mistakes or credit for their accomplishments...that's all. If a group you are a part of starts to violate this simple rule, you drop out.
You prove that you are a member of the union not by carrying a card or paying a membership fee, but by living by this rule. If you believe this stuff, that you want to enjoy the fruits of your labor and no one else's, proving it works is easy. Just say you are a member of The Union, and people will trust you, that's all. Other folks have done the hard part, and proven The Union works. So, now you get to benefit...that's how it works down here anyway.
The best thing about The Union? People enjoy what they do because they are rewarded for it fairly. The worst thing about The Union? Beer is still not free.
Here's the thing...people sign up for a group and that's when problems start. Sign up for the labor union and you pay dues, earn less money, and then work more to make up for it. They raise dues, you work harder and the cycle continues. You pay to work more.
Here are some general things we found...Relinquish your time, money, or love to any third party and its name will stay the same, but its actions evolve. Over time you are busy and lose touch with its actions, but remember its name. So, you are partially accountable for its actions even though you have no idea what the hell it actually does. You inevitability allow it to do to things on your behalf that you do not approve of. That is how folks become "Numbers," and assumptions are made about how these Numbers care to exist.
I personally prefer the Numbers to live in a way that makes my life more convenient, especially if it makes no difference to them. The person who knows this runs for office and starts messing with anything the Numbers don't seem to care about. This cycle continues and the group, whatever it is, continues to grow and change according to what it can get away with.
We decided that doesn't make much sense and put our thinking caps on, and thought of The Union...The Union is basically an anti-union. By joining you promise not to take accountability for other's mistakes or credit for their accomplishments...that's all. If a group you are a part of starts to violate this simple rule, you drop out.
You prove that you are a member of the union not by carrying a card or paying a membership fee, but by living by this rule. If you believe this stuff, that you want to enjoy the fruits of your labor and no one else's, proving it works is easy. Just say you are a member of The Union, and people will trust you, that's all. Other folks have done the hard part, and proven The Union works. So, now you get to benefit...that's how it works down here anyway.
The best thing about The Union? People enjoy what they do because they are rewarded for it fairly. The worst thing about The Union? Beer is still not free.
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