Five Years Ago

Five years ago, I was the shit. I was a man, not that I'm not now, but I was a man with fucking established determination and vision. I was a full-time student at UCSD, finishing a Bachelor's in Philosophy and Sociology. I was a full-time intern at New Hope Church in San Diego. I was taking three seminary courses per semester, as well as creating, inventing, and working at an Inner-City Community Center at least 20 hours per week that focused on education for children and adults. I lead worship, gave sermons, taught music/guitar, for the Junior High and High School programs as a part of my internship. I was reading three books a week, prayed daily, worshiped daily, and met with a mentor 2x per week on my own. And finally, I was engaged to be married.

Five years ago my future-wife left me for our college pastor. I was on a mission trip, living in India for three months as a part of my internship. The weekend I came back my fiancee and I had a conversation, in which she could not say whether or not she wanted us to be together, just that she "loved me". Ever perform an open-heart surgery and dissection on yourself? Over three hours I cut open my own heart, using her hands and words, dissected every investment she made into it, removed every tumor of falsehood and "I love you, but..." and returned them to her, then placed what was left of my heart back into my chest and closed it up. So finally, I verbally forced her into an anti-people-pleasing and pacifying corner, wherein she stated "I don't know if I want to marry you." This took hours for me to get her to say, and as abusive as I may sound, she would never express this on her own even though she had already been on multiple dates with our college pastor while I was gone.

What is this I don't even fuck I don't understand if why this... I asked for my ring back and I left her home (after just getting back in the country hours earlier). She called me one hour later, stating "I know I just made the biggest mistake of my life. I'm sorry." Keep in mind, I didn't know anything about her and the pastor, but nevertheless I told her that she made her decision to be undecided and that wasn't good enough for us to be married. I kept driving home, to my parents' house, and there I stayed for two years.

During that two years, I enrolled full time to get a teaching credential in Social Science. My father's mother, my grandma had been diagnosed with two different forms of cancer, and she had moved into my parent's house at the same time. So, my normal daily routine was to take care of her while I wasn't at school, whilst still maintaining a healthy lifestyle. My fiancee visited, mostly because I was hesitant to visit her parents' house where she lived, on rare occasion but with frequent emotionally-passive protest. She would drive up, calling me while on the road (two hour drive) completely stressed and in need of promises for attention and spoiling when she got here. I still wanted her, so I did everything to make her experiences around me pleasant and relaxing. We did this for a year.

Oh, by the way, one year prior I was fully intending to marry this girl, so upon my return from India I had already arranged a job at the USC police department (where my fiancee was intent on attending for grad school) so that she could get 50% off tuition and I could pay for her education. That, of course, fell through, took many called-in favors from my former employers to arrange, but fell through with the "I don't know, but I can't say" marriage commitment. As such, I rearranged my entire life in one full weekend. The works.

After a full year of her saying "I want to marry you, but..." I decided (funny word here, as I felt I had no other choice except to kill myself due to pain) to end it. I told her over the phone on one of our many long phone conversations. She was so upset, crying, blubbering, speechless but asking why, asking if I loved her still, etc. I was empty but felt relieved, if not a bit guilty too. I was relieved because I knew I would no longer be strung along, but felt guilty because if this girl actually loved me but didn't know how to be with me....?

Thankfully, that only lasted two weeks. You see, I called my fiancee to ask her to please remove her number from my cell phone plan, as I was paying for both of our cell phones. She sounded quite happy to do so, which surprised me. What shouldn't have surprised me was her response to my next question: So, how are you doing? "Good, I'm dating someone. Do you remember Jeremy [our college pastor]?" This was a facetious question. Of course I knew Jeremy, we hung out together on multiple occasions, as well as in a group setting with my fiancee. I squeaked out a "yes" before my heart sunk and my lower face started to go fuck itself. After she finally agreed to get off of my cell phone plan, I hung up.

Damnit if I didn't do everything right. Respectful, loving, virgin for my entire life and through two years of dating, praying, working more than full-time for a better future not just for me but for my future family, going to counseling for personality tests/profiles of compatibility prior to the engagement, continuing to go to therapy on my own to prepare for marriage... There was nothing I didn't do. No suggestion was too small, no obstacle to big for this. I did it all.

And what was the result? My fiancee's mother being a two-faced bitch and my fiancee dating our FUCKING COLLEGE PASTOR FOR A FULL YEAR that was more acceptable to her mother without telling me a god-damned thing about it. What I thought were the problems, what EVERYONE told me MIGHT be problems, I addressed with full commitment. And yet, NOT ONE PERSON imagined or advised me on what was actually the key problem: my fiancee wanted to marry someone else.

I haven't stepped back into a church since. Been to a few Sunday services, but stayed outside, so I could just socialize and connect with friends. The few times I walked through the doors, I also walked through the bullshit character of everyone I saw: my pastor who was "struggling" (FUCKING FUNNY WORD!!) with affair(s), my female friends who were engaged to other men actually telling me that they thought they would cheat on their husbands with me (FFUUU!!!), my college friends who got married early in college getting divorced and fighting against each other using "Christian" guidelines for divorce (e.g. "He was smoking pot. His body is supposed to be a temple." "She's so obsessed with her career, it's like she doesn't care about me anymore." etc). It was like my entire core belief system was resulting in people I loved becoming insane, narcissistic, vigilantes.

I left. Five years ago I cut out my own heart without anesthesia and returned it sans falsehood. I was left with a new perspective. Five years ago I was the shit. I could've gone to any country in the world amongst any people eating any food or not doing anything or not and been successful. But, I loved and lost.

All of that is to say, none of that matters now. Five years later, not one of those people or experiences is significant enough to inform my present life. Nothing I did, built, accomplished, sacrificed or love-lost is significant. Why? I am. I remain not as the sum of my past but as the sum of my present, with character and wisdom tempered by the trust of life experience. The specifics of them don't matter, I'm the product. I can still go anywhere in the world to do anything with anyone eating whatever, but I can do so today with tempered character to love that which can be and hate that which deserves it. I fucking love this shit.

The Most Difficult Thing Ever

Reject, disregard, and dismiss as nothing those opinions or peoples that make you feel guilty or ashamed. The most difficult mental and emotional task I have ever attempted to is reject and dismiss the approval and disapproval of others. In fact, I don't think I can even accomplish it using only my mental and emotional facilities. I have to bring in the physical. Either by severe pain or severe pleasure, I need to train myself not to regard the opinions of other people.

At first, this seemed counter-productive, almost counter-intuitive. After all, are we not, as individuals, meant to be a part of others, as part of a larger group of individuals in community? One can reject and dismiss the needs from and obligations to a community only so much. But what of the need for intimacy and fulfillment, specifically the inherent desire of all people to "help" or "benefit" or "love" others? This is not a heroic desire, despite what popular culture sources exemplify, but an innate one. How do we determine the differential between investing ourselves in others and allowing others an investment in ourselves?

We only allow them so much. We are a privately traded stock, non-negotiable and not available on any social or public trading market in the world. Neither Microsoft nor Google nor China nor the entire U.S. federal reserve could make an offer to invest in our personal success. So it should come as no surprise that a solitary doctor's or family member's or friend's opinion cannot afford an investment in our self-directed path toward happiness. They have no say, nor do they (or would they) risk anything on it.

As such, my personal influence of self-worth and moral-compassing needs to be drastically reduced, nearly cut-off from others. I'm talking reducing the size from a chicken wire fence to cheese cloth. The fuck offs, fuck yous, and fuckthatshits need to grow like weeds. The truth only needs to be the size of a mustard seed, fuck all else.

The State

Three cups of coffee with sugar and creamer, followed by two cocktails or beers all within one hour.

That is the formula of drugs/narcotics I need to be at my absolute very best every day. If I follow this formula, I am 100% stress free, happy, motivated, and productive for at least 3-5 hours. This, despite mid-night nightmare awakenings of me killing others or myself. It doesn't matter. I've adjusted and am free and clear of last night's activities.

This is normal. This is what I need to be normal. And yet, this is impossible. My doctor not only gives me direct orders to not drink coffee/caffeine or alcohol, but says I need to stop what I'm doing in order to talk to a psychologist in order to do something. Even further, he prescribed me Valium against my wishes (that I'll throw away as soon as I get them) in order to substitute this formula from my routine.

Well, fuck you. I'm happy, functional, growing, and consistent on my own. Fuck your drugs. Fuck your recommendations. Fuck your therapy and "treatment". Fuck stopping my own growth while I pursue your prescribed growth.

My only problem right now: I feel guilty for using this tried and true method of happiness, fulfillment of potential, and growth. Is there some morally correct way I'm supposed to be doing this? I don't know. But, nevertheless, EVERY FUCKING DOCTOR tells me I'm doing it wrong. I feel guilty.

Yet, here I stand, I cannot do otherwise. I'm going to school, even in-class courses, going over to friends' houses for social events, earning good grades, etc. BULLFUCKINGSHIT IF THIS WAS POSSIBLE UNDER DOCTORS' ORDERS. I'm happy and I will defend it to the death. Fuck Valium. Fuck therapy. I'm doing everything I need to, through apathy despite all else.

Fed Follow-up and Reply

Here is the response I received to my last email (see previous post) from my professor. I have also included my reply. Honestly, the bitch is lucky I don't post her email, physical address, social security number, and cell phone number throughout /b/ (nerds, you know what I mean):

From: XXXXXXXXDennis
To: benjaminsmyth@yahoo.com
Sent: Wed, September 22, 2010 1:06:23 PM
Subject: RE: Lost student in BUSI 140 - City College

Dear MR. Smyth, the class meets at the same time and place. Since your e-mail reveals you have experience with school Iam sure that if you attend and do all the work you should succeed. I will see you in school. SD

My reply, and yes, I did bold, underline, and italicize everything as written:

Professor Dennis,

I must apologize for my persistent ignorance during our communication. Again, I seem to have missed an obvious answer to a relatively simple question. My question was: "Where are the future lectures being held?" Somewhere in your reply ("the class meets at the same time and place") the answer was presumably present, but I seem to have missed it. I have read your last email over at least three times, but I have yet to find a location, or even a time for the next lecture. To what "same time and place" in your previous emails are you referring? When and where is the next lecture? What, exactly, is the problem with telling me where and when the next lecture is available?

The last time I was present at lecture (with other people) was on Friday, September 3, at 9:00am. At this lecture, I was not listed on your attendance sheet, and when I asked you why I was not, you told me I needed to leave to go to "the administration building" to receive an add code. I left immediately, asked strangers and found the admissions office to no avail, asked strangers and found the staff Business offices to no avail, then went to the SD City College Police Station and told them my predicament, wherein they suggested my problem might by solved on the second floor of the "T" building, which was relatively correct. I obtained an add code and (sparing you the above process of information) found a computer lab wherein I could add the course as you instructed. By the time I returned to room A-15, no one was present.

At the (I presume) next lecture on Friday, September 10, in room A-15, between 9-9:30am, no other person was present and the lights were off in the classroom. Why was this lecture room empty? Was it canceled? Was there a change? Did you leave early? Nevertheless, on Friday, September 17, I was not present at lecture for two reason: I did not know where and when the lecture was scheduled, and I was order by the U.S. Department of the Army to be qualifying with M9 and M4 weapons elsewhere in the state of California. Did you receive my official U.S. Department of the Army orders (in pdf format) that I sent you three emails ago? Was it even necessary to send them, or was my attendance to an empty lecture room correct?

Let's simplify. In addition to the above listed questions, here are additionally required questions I need answered in order to continue to be a part of this course:

1. Where is the lecture currently being held? (Exact building and room number)
2. When is the lecture currently being held? (Exact time)
3. What happened to the lecture I attended on Sept 3, 2010 at 9-9:30am? Wrong room or wrong time or canceled?
4. What exact chapters should students have read in the textbook up to this point?
5. What assignments should students have completed up to this point?
6. What are the exact (format, length, wording) specifications you have given for the assignments up to this point?
7. What quizzes have been given up to this point?
8. What tests have been given up to this point?
9. What reading should students have completed up to this point?
10. In general, what should your students have done up to this point?
11. Why have I not been provided with a syllabus?
12. Why have I not received a syllabus after four weeks into the course?
13. What is the problem with attaching your syllabus to your reply to this email?
10. Where can I obtain a syllabus?
11. Why have I not received a course schedule after four weeks into the course?
12. What is the problem with attaching a course schedule to this email?
13. Where can I obtain a course schedule?
14. When can I obtain a course schedule?
15. Why have I not received a description of assignments due after four weeks into the course?
16. What is the problem with attaching a description of assignments to this email?
17. Where can I obtain a description of assignments?
18. When can I obtain a description of assignments?

I cannot make this more simple, nor less complicated. I need basic information that I've already paid for. I am sure your syllabus would answer most of my questions, but after five emails, no relevant information has been provided. Finally, do you mind, if these questions are not answered, I forward this email to the Dean of Business and the Dean of San Diego City College? If you are unwilling (out of sheer laziness to read and write) to answer these simple questions in my attempts to complete a course I have paid for, I will have to use other resources to resolve the problem. Again, I apologize for the inconvenience.

Thank you for your time,
-Benjamin

Fed the Fuck Up

The following is an email conversation that took place between me and my Professor of Business "Law and the Legal Environment." I attended the course, but was inexplicably dropped from the attendance sheet on my second day of lecture. After failing to receive a response from the professor for instruction, I called the Dean's office for her contact information.

Date: Tue, 14 Sep 2010 13:37:42 -0700
From: Benjamin
Subject: Lost student in BUSI 140 - City College
To: XXXXXXXXXXXdennis1@hotmail.com

Professor Dennis,

I am currently enrolled in your Business 140 course on Fridays 9:00-12:10pm at SD City College. I apologize for contacting you at your personal email address (had to call the Dean's office to get it), but I am in desperate need of any information regarding this course. It has been over three weeks since this course started and I have no information regarding required reading assignments, in-class assignments, homework, quizzes, tests, research papers, etc. If it's possible can you reply to this email and attach any material (at the very least, a syllabus and/or current assignments) so that I can catch up?

Background: I attended your course two weeks ago (if you remember, I was in blue jeans and a blue t-shirt) wherein you informed me I needed to go to administration to receive an add code prior to attending lecture. I went to administration, waited for and received an add code, found a computer lab, added the course, and returned to the lecture room (A-15) only to find that class had ended. Last week, I went to the same room (A-15) only to find that the room was empty with the lights off and no class members were there.

What reading should I have already completed? What assignments should I do? Are there any tests/quizzes/papers I need to prepare for? Has there been a room change (not A-15) that I need to know about?

I do not wish to be behind in this course.

Thank you for your time and consideration,
Benjamin Smith

From: XXXXXXXDennis
To: Benjamin
Sent: Sun, September 19, 2010 11:07:26 AM
Subject: RE: Lost student in BUSI 140 - City College

Were you in class on Friday the 17th? Please attend so I can help you.

Date: Tue, 21 Sep 2010 10:55:21 -0700
From: Benjamin
Subject: Re: Lost student in BUSI 140 - City College
To: XXXXXXXXdennis1@hotmail.com

Professor Dennis,

I was not in class on Friday the 17th due to mandatory active duty training for the Army. I have attached a copy of my orders to this email as proof. I am not skipping class.
I still need to know everything I asked in the original email, but now I'm four weeks behind instead of three.

Thanks ahead of time,
Benjamin

From: XXXXXXXDennis
To: Benjamin
Sent: Tue, September 21, 2010 4:58:23 PM
Subject: RE: Lost student in BUSI 140 - City College

You need to attend class especially when it meets only once per week. Make sure you outline each chapter and I believe we are up to fiftteen. See syllabus. Also, I reccomend to all of my students to obtain students phone numbers etc. I cannot be held to keep you informed, in college this is generally your responsibility. Will you be attending this week? See you soon. Professor Dennis

So, finally... I just sent the following:

Professor Dennis,

Clearly, I have failed you as a student. This is my final attempt to obtain any information, either administrative or content-based, concerning your course. As of today, September 21st, 2010, I am utterly ignorant as to how I can access any information regarding what, when, where, or how your expertise in Business Law is available. I surrender to my stupidity and request your gracious leave.

However, I would be remiss if I did not point out the multiple messages I sent to you via the San Diego City College "Schedule of Classes" professor contact information. I do not mean to insult you, but you are not actually listed on either the Staff, Administrator, Professor, or Employee directories (both telephone and email). I now understand that you are an Associate Professor, but apparently, who cares? I had to contact the San Diego City College Dean's Office just to obtain an email address for you. I do not think they meant to offend you, but perhaps they intended to protect your perishable contribution to the student population at their college.

Speaking of which, I appreciate you reminding me that I "need to attend class especially when it meets only once per week," as I was completely unaware of this silly requirement. It was surprisingly necessary to tell me this in response to my providing orders from the United States Department of the Army for me to be elsewhere on the day of your lecture. I was remiss in regarding the authority of the President of the United States as superior to your own (possible coursework?) requirements. Rest assured, I will attend all of your future lectures despite the literal punishment of death for desertion during a time of war. I am now prepared to learn everything I can about the "Law and the Legal Environment."

Speaking again to my obvious stupidity, where are the future lectures being held? Clearly, despite asking for such information multiple times, I have missed the answer. I sat (in a quite lonely and, I daresay, sad state) in the dark and deserted lecture room of A-15 on September 10, 2010 between 9:00am and 9:30am. Neither you nor any other person was present. Again, thank you for requesting me in your second email to "please attend so I can help you," as I was unaware that your intentions were so freely available. Without such advice, I believe I would've considered a lecture in a dark and empty room as a complete waste of time.

Additionally, your succinct sentence instruction to "See syllabus." was incredibly insightful in response to my request to "please reply to this email and attach any material (at the very least, a syllabus...)," as this is exactly what I was missing. Again, I must beg pardon for my idiocy. I have obviously missed an obvious point. I'm relieved to hear that you "believe we are up to fiftteen" chapters in the book, since I know that such faith works in mysterious ways. Am I correct in assuming that "fiftteen" outlines have been turned in by all other students during the past three weeks in your course? The other students, none of whom I've met at lecture, must be some of the smartest smart people ever to explain to themselves what, when, where, and how you want these "outlines" written.

But you, even to me, further explained that you "cannot be held to keep [me] informed" of course information, which pretty much goes without saying. Faithfully enough, you "reccomend [sic] to all of my students to obtain students phone numbers," which would nigh be impossible if I hadn't attended an empty lecture room, a lecture when you told me to leave to find "the administration building", and a U.S. Army training drill. I will no doubt soon learn that "in college this is generally your responsibility" when it comes to obtaining the phone numbers of other college students. I imagine this is part of learning about the "Law and the Legal Environment."

As a point of said fact, you were correct in your blunt implication that I have never attended college, nor am I aware of my responsibilities in college, when you stated "in college this is generally your responsibility." Granted, I have never introduced myself to a single student in your course during my dark and lonely college attendance days, but I regress. I have only earned a Bachelor's degree from the "University" of California, San Diego and a professional clear teaching credential from California State "University" of Bakersfield. Great of you to remind me of my freshman collegiate responsibilities. The difference between my previous education experience and your "cannot be held to keep you informed" policy towards students is mind-boggling.

I am still enrolled in and looking for any information regarding your course. I'm paid in full, money-wise.

-Benjamin

Five Full Seconds

Earthquake. My bed is shaking, I'm shaking, and the window's blinds are sitting perfectly still. Hm. What's going on here? I hear thumping, a pulse perfectly synced to the quick techno beat at a local rave. Must be party music? If it is, must be a one man band. My pulse. That's my heart! Bed, chest, head, eyes blur to the rapid tump tump tump tump tump tump of blood expanding my skin. I'm laying perfectly still, despite my eyelids. What happened? I listen, hear nothing. What brought me back to reality? Some danger close?

Nothing. There is nothing there. Are you sure? Wait. Yes. Just me. And I'm breathing, fast and hard. My sense kicks in and I see - through color-washed and watery-eyed sight - the edge of my pillow, my mattress, my desk. My bed is still shaking. Someone thumps my spine with a rubber triangle, electric shock seizes me (my brain sends my entire body a panicked signal to move because it thinks I'm dying, thanks Wikipedia). Lasts 0.1 seconds. The...th... what the... fuck? I am ready to kill. I just did, I think. But I'm hurt, badly. I can feel blood on me, erm... wait. (My memory has a one second half-life) Sweat. Sweat? Sweat.

Uuuugggggghhhhrollmyeyeshhh Goddamnit... I'm sweating like a whore in church. Check the temperature, it's fine. I'm covered with only a sheet. Still nothing here. Something happened. I don't know what. Probably a dream, PTSD, stressed about something, etc. Oh well. This is why I don't like to be around people. Back to bed. I haven't moved.

Just A Reminder

This is a letter for me tomorrow. Yesterday you drank a beverage containing some form of alcohol and/or high caffeine (coffee or tea). You do not feel nearly as good as you did yesterday. Your energy is low and you feel exhausted. You have a headache and did not sleep well last night. You are telling yourself you're a piece of shit and forming explanations as causes for low self-worth. Let me remind you of why you did what you did yesterday while knowing what would happen to you today:

Yesterday, while you were consuming whatever type of beverage CONFLICTS WITH YOUR MEDICATION, you were creative. You were on point, on target, focused, calm, non-delusional, assertive with respect, productive, secure, and quite happy. The reason you drank/ate said "chemical contradictions" is so you would feel that way, and at least, get something done. In other words, you did what you could to make yourself do what you wanted to do. No person, no human, ever, in the history of existence, or commas, has ever, done anything, different. People do whatever fulfills their deepest satisfaction for happiness. This was your purpose and your goal, and you succeeded.

In case you're doubting that, let's recap yesterday's events starting AFTER you had finished your first TWO cups of coffee. You had a stable conversation with your landlord about renewing your lease and correcting some of the landscaping deficiencies around your house. Through BOTH email and telephone conversations with multiple people, you arranged packing and plans for this weekend's Army drill. Again, through BOTH email and telephone conversations with multiple people, you arranged for contact with one of your "lost" professors and spoke intelligently with the OFFICE OF THE DEAN OF COMPUTER SCIENCE at your college. You completed two homework assignments for one of your courses. You worked on a final project for another. You called and left a voicemail message with a friend. You texted another. You posted and commented on other posts on Facebook. You downloaded a few movies and T.V. shows, incorporating them into your database for easy viewing. I could go on, but there is no point.

You still feel like crap. The science behind this is simple, even if the explanation is not. The science says that any decrease or increase of blood pressure, motor functions, anything that effects mental reasoning, or diet will fuck you up. Your negative mood, attitude, feelings, or thoughts are the result of conflicting chemical reactions. You knew what you were doing yesterday. You knew it would work, both then and now. You knew it would affect you here and now and until the reaction ceases to exist.

This is not a moral wrong. This is not harmful to you. This is a neutral cause and effect. You are not an alcoholic, a drug addict, nor an addict to anything at all. Remember, remember that your DOCTORS WANT YOU TO BE ADDICTED TO VALIUM OR VICODIN OR CLONOPIN. You refused, and continue to do so. Vodka, beer, and rum are nothing compared to that. Coffee, soda, or straight sugar are nothing compared to that. Fuck them, you knew and know yourself best.

I know you've stopped reading. I know you've stopped listening. I know you don't want to hear it. But, just in case you're here, just in case you care, just remember that you don't care. Apathy is your cure. Indifference is your motto and motivation. Whatever results from those says nothing good or bad about you, but is exactly what you expected. You know this shit! You are who you planned to be, good or bad, who cares? Indifference Benjamin, Indifference. Beyond that, the motivation, action, and vision will come. Fuck good, fuck bad, fuck them, you've got this shit. You really do. Because today, in this moment of chemical contradiction, you were honest. Yourself.

Meritocracy

I have just now learned that I live in an actual, real life, sociological theory called a meritocracy. A meritocracy is a society structured according to "merit", or in a practical sense, according to tangible ability. Basically, run personal responsibility through a societal blender and you'll get social self-worth. You do good? You're good. You do bad? You're bad. Such is the nature of this culture's profession. And, like all cultures, it's relatively relativity bullshit.

I don't know why it has taken me this long to realize this, nor do I understand why it is at all relevant, but at least I know now.

Socratic Shit

Is it really that complicated? No, no, it's just not as simple as I want it to be. Addressing the events of life as they come down the conveyor belt, rubber stamping them into the log, categorizing, sorting, prioritizing, explaining their worth in units of emotion, thought, effort, time, stress... like a factory. A function that I learned to perform and call "living". Actually, not quite. The true method by which we are supposed to expel our puppet strings is to critically reflect and examine that whole process, then improve it. So quoth Socrates, "The unexamined life is not worth living." Dig deep, taste the marrow of life and be... something, er, somebody, er, better.

Just one problem in this seemingly efficient ordering of compounding chaos, something which I affectionately like to refer to as "people". People just fuck shit up. Myself included. Or take Socrates, the quotethable thee art thou to thine own self SUICIDE. Probably the dumbest smart person to exist in his time. Self-taught unemployed military genius scientist, raised up Plato (who in turn raised up Aristotle) and supporter of Spartans (circa "THIS IS SPARTA!!!" B.C.), who was accused of corrupting the minds of youth. Rather than say something cool at trial, he asked instead to be paid and sentenced to death, despite a successful jailbreak by Plato and co (so says Plato). Since the justices wouldn't allow a death sentence sans trial, Socrates took it upon himself to pour his own poison and cheers to his wife and three sons with a straight-no-chaser gulp. And yes, we quote him and all of his followers to this day as a model of intelligence, logic, and above all, good sense.

I used to care. Really, I used to love logic, self-critical examination, reason above all... derp derp derp. The factory floor was a beautiful symmetry of black and white functioning at maximum capacity while studying every gray area that dusted up until it picked a side. I used to be smart, too. That's what smart is like. Really busy factories. I was learned, studied, educated; which is really just another way of saying I paid people to read to me and ask me questions (a modern method invented by, you guessed it, Socrates). Now, I'm not that smart. In fact, I'm the dumbest smart person I know. Maybe the dumbest dumb person I know, too. I shit the bed in "living" years ago and I still haven't cleaned it up, nor do I care to, nor probably will I. Why? One word: comfort.

Example: I recently couch-binged a movie called "Nanny McPhee Returns" in which I saw an interesting exchange about cow shit. (No, my time isn't that valuable, nor busy). An elderly lady is about to sit in the middle of a field to have a picnic when a gentleman takes her by the arm to stop her...

Woman: "I think I'll sit right here on this cushion..."
Man: "Whoa ma'am, that's not a cushion, it's a cow patty"
Woman: "Oooh..." [looking at it more closely] "...well, can't I sit on it anyway? It looks so comfortable."
Man: "Uhh..." "Um..."
Woman: "Well... help me down."
Man: "Err..."
[Wet squishy sound]
Woman: "Ahhh... " [giggling] "...there we are, much more comfortable."

The point is this: If you one day find that you shit the bed of factory "living", it's really not that bad an idea to sit in it. After all, it's your shit. Socrates couldn't even admit that it was his, much less just leave it lay. He had to off himself over it. This is the bad kind of silly. Socrates did nothing wrong, which he thought he knew, but decided to off himself anyway to make a point to the very people who put him in a bad position. People. People screwed Socrates and so Socrates decided to screw his own person. Monkey meet wrench.

Last point: if Socrates had decided to simply sit in his own shit, the people would've left him alone. And on that day, not one single fuck would've been given. If you've ever had something break down in life, or just had a broken life, I guarantee you a person caused it. Problem meet solution. You could've just sat down in the shit, taken out your sandwich and had a picnic. Nobody would've given you any more crap (even you would shut up eventually), and as I've found, it's much more comfortable.

Meaningless Reflection

Have you ever drank alcoholic beverages in the evening while alone? Under such circumstances, have you ever called, IMed, or texted someone from your past (former ex, friend, roommate, etc) while doing so?

Yeah, thought so, we've all been there. I have.

May 9, 2010

Today, I fell asleep around 1:30 am. I took my pills and went to bed at 10:30pm the previous day. (When you have no sleeping schedule whatsoever, time is a mere semantic issue) I watched TV shows and movies that I downloaded on my computer until my eyes watered and hurt enough to fall asleep. 1:30am to 7:00am, I slept. 5.5 hrs. That is an awesome amount of unconsciousness for me. No small feat. The six medications I took at 10:30pm made this possible, no doubt in my mind, and I am grateful. I did not, however, sleep well. I experienced everything in my sleep. Three of the six medications I take are meant to prevent me from having/remembering any dreams at all. The other three medications are meant to knock me out. Obviously, they don't completely work. They never have.

Last night I was shot, stabbed, robbed, beaten, raped, blown-up, killed, murdered in my sleep, tortured, and committed suicide. At any moment during my sleep I had three separate and distinct "layers" of dreams/time-lines progressing. I could jump from torture to rape, fights to murder, verbal confrontations to robbing without any hesitation. Any detail from any layer could jump from dream to time-line to dream and form anew. I have learned that my sleeping mind can, at least, hold the full sensory detail of three different lives living simultaneously and "jump" or combine any details of each into another story. Upon my waking, only a few hours after I fall asleep (I've never slept past 3 hrs since '08), I am confronted with the sweat, overwhelming memory, and exhaustion of my sleep.

I have been terrified of falling asleep since November of 2008, when I returned from Afghanistan. I don't know why. Nothing I experienced over there in any way resembles my nightly thoughts or the contents thereof. I honestly do not know where these thoughts are coming from. But, nevertheless, they happen. Every night, every sleep, without fail, guaranteed, they happen. "Over-night delivery: Reality not included."

I awake each and every morning exhausted and sore. I wake up to bruises and scratches on my arms, face, neck, stomach, and legs. I look in the mirror and ask how. I have seen mysterious nightly injuries in the mirror since '08. I haven't looked at myself in a mirror since '09. Ah fuck it, honestly, right now, I am quite minimizing what actually happens. I am too ashamed to admit what I do and what I believe from my dreams. I have gone for days (yes, ACTUALLY FULL PLURAL DAYS) believing I had committed, been committed, or been a victim of these events. Murder, rape, suicide, etc (any and all, victim or perpetrator). I have gone for days believing these things happened. And yes, I have the scars and cuts and scrapes to prove it.

I live in my own house, under my own providership, in one of the most affluent cities in the United States.

Do you honestly believe that you're more insane or abnormal than I?

Kings and Queens

Alexandre Dumas quoted Napoleon in The Count of Monte Cristo as saying, "In life, we are kings or pawns." I see the common sense in this; that is, in life, we are either a master or a slave. For those of you who don't know, Dumas' The Count of Monte Cristo is my favorite story of all time (including the book and the movies). I do not hesitate to agree with Dumas in his portrayal of Napoleon's personality/beliefs. Napoleon was a dictator, a military one at that, so it makes sense. In fact, if I could sum up my personal military experience thus far, I would say that "in military life, you are a king or a pawn."

However, (OH the inevitable word in all of my writing) I believe there is a far more accurate summary in such few words for Americans. If Dumas were to write this same story in America today, or even if Napoleon lived in American society today, I'm pretty sure Napoleon's words would be changed to "In life, we are either kings or queens." I am probably projecting. No, I am definitely projecting. In fact, let's just cut to the chase and I'll shorten this ramble slightly from the many essays I've wrote.

If I was forced to stereotype all Americans into two categories, then I would describe them as believing "In life, we are either kings or queens." Pride. Crowns. Self-entitlement higher than a stack of Bibles to Pluto. Perceived inherent rights. Rule. Enforced justice. Forced equality. Dictators believing they're entitled to dictate to all and all who should record such dictation on legal documents presentable to all dictators. If I were forced, a "Kings and Queens" description of all Americans would fit. In fact, it's pretty accurate now.

Think about it. How often have you seen Americans fighting as King vs King (male vs male), King vs Queen (male vs female), Queen vs Queen (female vs female), and Queen vs King (female vs male)? Americans have grown up into and assumed so much freedom and so many rights that most literally believe themselves to be royalty. Entitled. Deserving of "human rights" (which DO NOT EVEN EXIST!!!). Freedom to say anything they wish (including calling anyone anywhere a Nazi, nigger, spick, haji, racist, sexist, charlie, cracker, white trash, fag, dike, bitch, asshole, etc. My God, if God does exist and there is a Heaven afterlife, how fucked will most Americans be when they get there? What if the litmus test for Heaven was simply to say "I am nothing and everyone else is too. I am dirt and so is everyone else. Everything I've done, thought, felt, accomplished, believed, and wanted was all complete bullshit. Fuck everyone and everything, including myself." How many Americans could say that authentically?

Let's face the facts, American Sheeple. You have no rights, at all, ever, period. You did nothing to join this world. You did not earn life. You are not entitled to life. You have no right to life. You can be killed by anyone (including God), anywhere, at any time, without cause. You have no right to happiness. You have no right to pursue happiness. You are not entitled to anything you presently enjoy. You have no right to freedom. You are not free, and you never will be. You cannot say, do, think, or feel anything without direct and severe consequence. You cannot be anything you want to be. You are not a King or a Queen. You are you, just blood and bone, nothing more. Period.

All of the rights that most Americans vehemently believe they're entitled to (that means you!) were "given" to them 200 years ago by a small group of men who wrote up a single page letter addressed to the King of England. Do you honestly think that they intended you in this letter? What the fuck has driven you to such madness that you honestly believe you have inherent rights? What makes you think, besides the fact that you grew up in America, that you deserve such a life of entitlement? No human, anywhere at any time, has any rights whatsoever. As an American, the only possible way you could've inherited it is on the backs and blood of military men. (Yes, and I'm looking at you here American women, I said "men") Violence. Death. Destruction. Unadulterated anti-pacifism. But, even then, no one, not even the few men who wrote out your rights to begin with nor the men who died to fight for them, not even the God of any religion on earth, gives you ANY rights whatsoever. Honestly, if you think a government has the power to give you self-worth by assigning you rights, then you're batshit insane.

And yet, here are the Americans, acting like the Kings or Queens of their domain. High and mighty. Humble and compassionate rulers. Peaceful and loving authorities. Complaining about their lack of satisfaction as ruler of others' and their life, demanding equality and justice for other Kings and Queens, invoking fictional self-proclaimed rights for themselves and others, demanding the respect they think they and others deserve, etc. WTF? You don't even have a right to live, and yet you're demanding to rule?

Sigh. I'm too pissed off to write more. I've been in too many arguments with Americans, Christians, Liberals, American-Christian-Liberals, to explain this shit to them and cut short their self-entitled pride. I didn't even get into the Christian authority side of this shit yet. Oh well. I need a cigarette. I need a drink. I want the last two legal drugs in America.

Girls' Appreciation Night

I'm just going to get something off of my chest. This post is dedicated to the women of Intervarsity Christian Fellowship at UCSD during 1998-2003.

Once upon a time, in 2001 to be exact, Behlo and I had an idea. We wanted to throw a party for the women in Intervarsity at UCSD. We were motivated to do so because the women in Intervarsity had voiced complaints of their oppression as women for the past 3 years and we wanted to simply alleviate their pain. So, we planned, we brainstormed, we sought advice, we pursued our goal of making women feel simply appreciated.

The idea took off. The more we sought guidance, the more men started to join our cause. We raised enough funds to reserve a venue at UCSD. We had more ideas flowing in than we could possibly accommodate. With the eventually male committee that formed, we decided a live band was needed, no matter what else we did. More men joined in the cause. We introduced musicians to each other and they began to practice in the garage at our house. The committee decided we needed to schedule the event during the evening, which meant we needed to provide dinner. We recruited more men, raised more funds, and secured a caterer to feed 100+ women for the event.

We were eventually forced to organize the "Girs' Appreciation Night" committee into 3 tiers: Tier 1 included all coordinators of each branch of operations (President, VP, Secretary, Treasurer, Representatives), Tier 2 included all heads of departments for evening events (MC, dinner host, decorations supervisor, sound tech), Tier 3 included all leaders in charge of 5-6 men required to provide any service to the women during the event (waiters, security, restroom guards [males banned from male restrooms], transportation providers).

We had more men than we knew what do to with. I had no idea so many men were willing to simply serve and appreciate all women. But we had so many good ideas that we begged our male volunteers for funds to fulfill our goals. Our final plan came to a consensus two months prior to execution: We would design and personally deliver formal invitations to attend a dinner to all women associated with Intervarsity. Every woman who has met, visited, sign up for, or contacted anyone we knew would be on the guest list and receive a formal invitation. The invitation would be white with silver embossed lettering. We asked them to arrive at 4:00pm, in formal attire, with a casual change of clothes.

Once we had our plans finalized, everything began to fall apart and come together at once. Our venue canceled. We booked another. Band members quit. We recruited others. Our caterer tried to reschedule. We changed our menu. In fact, in order to coordinate better services, we recruited female advisers and followed their advice during our Tier 1 meetings to better serve our attendees.

Finally, the day of the event came. All men were required to wear a dress shirt and tie, no exceptions. We had 40+ tables of women to serve. Each table had 3 men assigned to it (one waiter, one host, and one cleaner). It was a very formal event. There were no menus for dinner. Each waiter knew the dishes by heart. We served them anything and everything they wanted. In fact, I personally left the party to buy groceries for specific vegetarian requests (which we neglected to consider). No male was allowed to eat. Everything was donated.

During the dinner, the band (first of two that had practiced) played live music. Things were going well. I was wearing a suit with a napkin wrapped over my right arm, watching all of the women enjoying the fruit of our labor. I smiled, very satisfied. The first band continued through playing their set far beyond the time we estimated for the women to finish their dinner and dessert. Behlo asked the second band to start their set early. The live dancing music commenced, and all hell broke loose.

If you would've looked at me during the first song of the second band's set, you would've seen my right eye twitch in convulsion, my lips go flat with straight small whiteness, and my head tilt as if I were a dog listening to baby talk. The first song of the second band was "Brown Eyed Girl", which was re-orchestrated by our musical male geniuses, who decided to substitue "brown" during the chorus to "blue", "green", and "hazel" in order to accommodate all of the eye color we could. In fact, every song in the set was re-written covers with a dancing beat [listen to "Brown Eyed Girl" by Smash Mouth for comparison]. I have never heard so many women "bbbbooooooo" so loudly in my life as during this first song. We planned this lyrical change, in the committee. I didn't understand. We all wanted them to be appreciated. Before they could recover, the all-male band stopped playing, completely humiliated, and started playing the next song in their set. Our drummer was awesome. The women started dancing again.

During this time, the men cleared the tables. We cleaned the dishes. We returned the utensils, napkins, tablecloths, center pieces, rose pedals, mints, chairs, folding tables, leftovers, and "lost and found" items to their places. Single, college-aged women were outrageously dancing in formal attire in front of us, but we were entirely focused on merely appreciating them. Giving them, without cause or strings, simple affection, fondness, admiration. We had given hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars for this night. We simply wanted these women to know they were loved for who they were.

The night moved fast. The second band's set was over just before we finished cleaning everything out of the venue. We gathered the women inside. According to table numbers, we assigned women into teams of 4-6. Every team had a male driver. Every team also had a male photographer, equipped with a video camera that us men begged for, borrowed, bought, and stole from relatives. The women were going on an all-expense paid scavenger hunt throughout San Diego county.

We gave them a map, with cryptic clues. The locations were spread throughout San Diego county. Each location had a different task to complete. Every location gave a gift to each member of each team. A florist we hired to stay open late and give a rose to every woman who showed up. A Coldstone ice cream shop who gave free cones to all women who loudly sung their jingle in their shop. A homeless man who gave out gift-certificates to women who performed a Chinese Fire Drill at their corner. Every stop was a gift. Over a dozen stops. All of it was on video.

The highlight of my college career was on this night. The final task of the scavenger hunt (and the reason for the spare change of clothes) was driving to Scripps beach. The scavenger hunt required all members of each team to fully submerse themselves in the ocean while dressed in their formal attire. I have never laughed so hard in my life. Imagine six formally dressed women in their best dress, heals, makeup, and hair running in full sprint across the beach into the open ocean water at night. They screamed in terrified fun, they tumbled laughing, they squealed in hesitance and were dragged in. It was awesome.

After they completed the scavenger hunt locations/tasks, they had to drive to our house. The first prize team recieved $100 gift cards each. The second place received $50 gift cards. The third was $25. The fourth $10. The fifth $5. However, every girl who completed the night received a gift bag filled with bath products, shower gels, lotions, various perfumes, gift cards, and flowers. All funds were donated by men. I personally gave $400.

The events of the entire night were funded by hundreds of men and thousands of dollars donated. We put every penny and every second to use. At the end of the night, I remember watching the girls watch their videos of the scavenger hunt at our house, and... well, have you ever been absolutely awestruck by something in the presence of someone else? We, Behlo and I, shared that look. Satisfaction. A few nods. A slight smile, but an absolute joy.

Aaahhhh, God!!!! This memory is so bitter sweet for me. The night ended. And, this sucks, but it was never heard of again. None of the men who participated and donated ever received a "thank you" (at least not to my knowledge). The cries of oppression from women continued without even a hiccup for the next three years. The only responses to our "Girls' Appreciation Night" were complaints. The music was bad. The scavenger hunt was too difficult. The food was bad. The service was stupid and ridiculous. The slideshow of women was not inclusive enough. The video was poorly recorded.

Throughout my entire college career of '98-'03, no activity for men was organized. There was no "Guys' Appreciation Night". There wasn't even a thank you. I am absolutely proud of what I did. I now know what wedding coordinators do. :) But I think about this event sometimes. I wonder what it means. I don't know, I guess I just needed to tell the story.

Humility

Humility is a dish best served cold. It comes without regard to any pain you feel, any morals you subscribe to, any addictions you wish to withdraw from. Humility is pain. It pursues any thought you have, any feeling you experience, any action you undertake. Humility is the most abhorrent enemy of pride.

To understand humility, we must address pride, because humility pursues pride at every turn. Pride permeates everything you experience in life. Pride is everywhere in your thoughts, it spreads throughout your feelings, it invades every action you undertake. Pride surrounds you at every footstep. It is no joke because it is a fiercesome enemy. It causes you to make irrational decisions; to choose what is ultimately devastating over what is beneficial. Pride will cause you to lie because you think it is for your best. Pride will cause you to become a slave to that which should be your slave. Pride is ultimately your master, unless you master it and everything it commands.

Humility demands a mastery of self while pride demands a slavery of self to everything. This is the battle which I now see myself in. I feel myself helpless; merely observing everything I can take place. The most vicious of attacks remains this: that I remain hopeless. Pride launches this attack on humility, which humility partially succumbs to. The lie of pride tries to hide the fact that humility does not fully submit to hopelessness. Rather, humility requires partial hopelessness in order to come face to face of what is better.

If it helps, picture this: I am lying still at the bottom of a bottle looking up. I see above me what appears to be stars and time passing. When I look to my left, I see my past through the glass that provides me with an image of failure and guilt. When I look to my right, I see through the glass my future as a one looking through a peephole from the outside, magnifying every failure and guilt from the past and present as a future abomination to remain in my life. To what do we owe this distorted view of past, present, and future? No less than pride. And what will cure it? No less than the sheer abhorrent pain of humility.