Sunday, 28 December 2008
there's a saying (or i just made it up) that "we grow by learning from our mistakes". i've fucked up a lot and i'm sure a lot of others have too. how are we learning from it though? is life just a set of unfortunate fuck ups and when we die we ultimately have learned all of our mistakes? or is there perfection in finding the little things that some call defects, flaws or jailable offenses?
i say fuck the perfect world, it would be a boring place. we don't strive to watch other people succeed. if we did, wouldn't there be a talk show on how joe schmoe didn't miss a day of work for five years instead of some dumb 15 year old whore who still doesn't know her baby's father after seven paternity tests?
Thursday, 25 December 2008
Needless to say, such instance are many and varied.
Doubtless, one could list myriad occasions and circumstances where people and events were far from perfect.
Naturally one began to look for instances that had a slightly narrower scope than all of creation.
I began to think that perhaps, the time of year being what it is, the holiday season would be something that one could use as a means of studying perfection. Or at the very least, ascertain what it is not.
How? I hear you ask.
Surely, one's task would be made that much more Herculean in its aspect if one were to use Christmas as an example of what is imperfect in this world.
I assure you, it is not.
Take, first of all, the common creed espoused at this time of year by those who celebrate the anniversary of the birth of Jesus Christ. That is, "Peace on Earth and goodwill to all men." Often known as the true Christmas message, this invocation implores us to be civil to one another. If only for one day.
A noble sentiment, to be sure, however one cannot help but ask the question - why is it only on this day that men should feel goodwill toward one another?
In a perfect world, one would hope that every day would be such a day. Everyday men would open their hearts to their neighbours. Everyday people around the world would put down their swords and the only struggle would be for peace.
Sadly, we do not live in such a world.
We live in a world where children are bribed, threatened and cajoled into behaving properly. If you behave, you will receive a pleasant surprise in your stocking. If you do not, you will receive a lump of coal.
What kind of parent would willingly raise a child to believe that the reason one acts decently and behaves well is to receive some material reward? Not to mention the fact that in order to teach this lesson parents consistently lie to their children about the magical fat man who delivers these rewards.
In a perfect world, children would be taught that behaving well and doing good deeds have other benefits, both personal and societal, besides material gain. There would be no need to lie to them to teach this lesson.
But lie we do. Lie and spend.
The cost of Christmas to the average Christian consumer is a financial burden that often causes more grief than it does joy. It is, no doubt, a wonderful thing to give as well as to receive. However, there are many among us whose capacity to give is severely diminished and attempting to partake of the holiday festivities can be a severe financial burden.
Even if one can afford to give one must ask oneself - why only at Christmas? Surely, the love I feel for my kith and kin is something which is reasonably consistent all the year round?
In a perfect world, one would give if and when one could. At a time that suited both the giver and the receiver. And both would be the better for it.
In a perfect world, we would not need such an excuse as Christmas to be good to one another. We would not need such an excuse to gather together with our loved ones.
In a perfect world, these things would always happen, everyday.
Tuesday, 16 December 2008
Does such a thing even exist?
Is she just fucked up enough to make me happy?
But what I do know is that when I'm around her I feel comfortable. Content. Relaxed. At ease.
I can say what I feel and mean what I say and not hold back a thing.
Does such a thing even exist?
Do any of our ideals really exist?
Are we just faking it?
I think that, perhaps, this may be the closest I've ever been to really loving someone.
For who they are.
And not just for what I wanted them to be.
Tuesday, 9 December 2008
And the LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul.
And the LORD God planted a garden eastward in Eden; and there he put the man whom he had formed.
And the LORD God said unto the man whom he called Adam, "Hey man, how about giving names to all of these animals. I've got some other shit to do, but I'll be back later to see how you're doing."
"Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Of every tree of the garden thou mayest freely eat. But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die."
And the LORD God returned after many days and found Adam making a burnt offering unto Him. And He said unto Adam, "Hey man. What's up?"
And Adam said unto the LORD God, "Oh hey, Dude. How's it going? What’s that? The animals? Oh right, the naming thing. Well I got some of them done but not all. You made a hell of a lot of them, you know? I kind of got a bit sidetracked. What happened? Yeah...you know that tree of knowledge you were talkin' about? Yeah…no, I didn’t eat any…no, not that…you said not to so no way, right? Heh heh…no Dude there’s this weed growin’ all around it and I picked some right and I dried it in the sun with some nuts and berries n’ shit. Oh yeah…trail mix Dude…it’s really awesome. Oh! Hold on a sec…gotta turn my barbecue or it’s gonna burn. Okay, so I dried this stuff to make incense, you know? You like that stuff, right? Anyway, it smelled…like sooo funky Dude. And, okay, so I picked one of those apples from the tree of knowledge. No, I did not eat any, I swear. No, I just dug out the center to make a pipe and put some of that dried weed in and lit it and well…wow…just like wow Dude…that is some awesome shit you got growin’ here Dude.”
And the LORD God said unto Adam, “Yeah, that’s pretty good stuff, huh? I made it special for my day off. I call it Seventh Day Heaven. But listen man, I see you’ve named the cattle and the fowl of the air and the beasts of the field, but you have no mate for companionship. Aren’t you getting lonely out here all by yourself?”
And Adam said unto the LORD God, “Huh? Lonely? Nah…not me Dude. I got my dog. Here, boy! That’s a good boy! Want me to rub your belly? Yeah...that feels good doesn't it?"
"Oh, sorry Dude. A woman? Hmmm. You know Dude that sounds like a great idea…but, I just know she’s gonna want to talk all the time and I’ll have to listen to all her shit. And she’s gonna want me to do this and she’s gonna want me to do that. And she’s gonna want to know where I’m going and what I’m doing all the time. Nah, why ruin paradise? How ‘bout I keep the rib and just fuck the goats instead?"
"Hey c’mon have a seat Dude and let’s eat this pig. They are delicious, by the way. If you hadn’t intended for them to be eaten, you wouldn’t have made ‘em so tasty, right? Maybe after supper we could spark up another bowl of Number Seven and go watch the monkeys. Those little bastards are hilarious.”
And it was good.
Tuesday, 2 December 2008
On the flip side... You know? There really is no flip side. I value horrifying experiences the same as good times with friends. It may seem weird to you, but any visceral, raw experience is good. Bombing in a standup gig in Harlem because of a bad nigger joke, well thats the same as performing at C.B.G.B.'s opening for the Ramones in the seventies for me. I may have a broken brain, but fuck if I don't enjoy it like a retard shitting his pants.
I can barely find the words to describe it.
Her skin was so soft and white and beautiful.
Her lips were luscious and tender and moist.
She was beautiful.
In that moment, she was the most beautiful, most amazing, most spectacular, most perfect woman. Ever.
Every time I try to remember, it brings me such joy.
God. I love her.
The memory of her.
The way her lips gently caressed my lips.
How her tongue pressed softly against mine.
Such sorrow to think that it won't ever happen again.
The touch of pale, soft skin under my fingertips, to set my nerves aflame.
To caress her cheek once more would be enough to be the cure of this terrible ache.
The passion. The fire.
Why do I love so much the memory and despise so much the remembrance of it?
Parting is not sweet, but sorrow.
If someone's hope, I could but borrow.
For hope has all but left me dead.
And devils feast on what angels dread.