After 20+ years of being non-religious (I never really was religious, just hadn't cut the cultural Christian cord.) I have grown tired of being asked, "What are you?" and feeling the need to defend my position on religion. I considered myself an atheist when I was the angry young man and I delighted in the mockery of religious institituions and in gleeful blasphemies. As I grew older I found that such a staunch position was hard to justify rationally and I decided that agnostic was a better label for my position or lack thereof. I still take delight in the mockery of all institutions, religious or otherwise, but that is just my natural reaction to bullshit.
Calling myself agnostic has gotten me more argument from atheists than from Christians. The Christians, at least the educated ones, see agnosticism as a philosophy or viewpoint that they disagree with but that doesn't refute their belief outright. I didn't do this in deference to their poor pious feelings, but because I don't like to speak in absolutes on any subject in which I lack conviction. I have no religious conviction one way or another.
The atheists, my wife being chief among them, see this as some sort of cop out. "If you don't believe in God, then you're an atheist!" Some of them seem as hardcore about proselytizing and recruiting as their Christian counterparts. My lack of lack of faith troubles them greatly and they are more likely to debate me on the subject than the goddamned Christians. My wife's main concern is how to handle the subject with our children. My oldest is now almost seven and she sees through bullshit pretty clearly. She still gives lip service to the Santa thing because she doesn't want to rock the sleigh full of gifts, but she knows what's up. She has been told about God by various adults and other children already and we've given her a plain and simple explanation about how we feel about it. When asked, she tells the other kids that she doesn't believe in God and has gotten some flack for it. That's the part that causes my wife to argue her point with me. She sees my agnosticism as a moral weakness in the face of first-grade religious enemies. She fears that my lack of concern about the subject is going to confuse our daughter when she needs conviction the most. I hope my daughter adopts my attitude of casual indifference towards religion rather than my wife's strident tone.
I have therefore decided to refer to myself henceforth as a religious apathist. I don't know if there is a god or not and I don't give a shit, quite frankly. Pray or don't. I couldn't possibly care any less, as long as you don't attempt to impose it upon me in some legal or political fashion. You can have the afterlife, but this one is mine and don't fuck with it. Amen.
I googled "apathist" and found www.apathist.org. No club to join nor even a forum. Just a philosophical statement. Perfect.
The simple theory of the apathist:
Perhaps there is a god, or gods, or goddesses, or higher powers.
Perhaps not.
It's irrelevant.
You do the most good you can with what you have.
If you get help from somewhere else, that's just icing on the cake.
Tuesday, 16 November 2010
Saturday, 16 October 2010
Monday, 11 October 2010
One Year Later...
This place has sat vacant for damn near a year now. The dust is thick and world wide webs hang off of everything. The windows are all broken (should have used Linux) and the homepageless and the spambots are squatting. Somebody shit on the floor.
The bastard is still rotting right where we left him though. Most of the meat may have fallen from his bones, but there's still some gristle left to chew.
What say ye abominable illegitimates? Halloween is the day that the dead rise. Shall we reanimate this corpse and watch it dance or just let 'er RIP?
I've got a tale to tell.
The bastard is still rotting right where we left him though. Most of the meat may have fallen from his bones, but there's still some gristle left to chew.
What say ye abominable illegitimates? Halloween is the day that the dead rise. Shall we reanimate this corpse and watch it dance or just let 'er RIP?
I've got a tale to tell.
Sunday, 1 November 2009
A little late but...
Halloween sucks.
Stupid costumes. Stupid shitty candy.
At least there's no mention of Jesus.
Bless you all.
Stupid costumes. Stupid shitty candy.
At least there's no mention of Jesus.
Bless you all.
Wednesday, 28 October 2009
BOO!
I'm just not feeling it these days. Several months ago, my muse went out for beer and cigarettes and just never came back. Can't say I blame her. I've always lacked discipline, but now I've got the attention span of a kid whose Ritalin was replaced with candy corn.
On that subject, before I forget, trick or treats is nigh approaching and I just could not care any less. Halloween used to be fun. As a kid eating candy, a teenager drinking beer, or a college student dropping acid, Halloween was a good time. Now my own kids get excited at the thought of the coming candy orgy, but it's just a pain in the ass for me. I've got to watch out for predators and poison and drunk drivers. And we can't even make it scary anymore. All it takes is one good old-fashioned, bowel-eliminating scare and I'm up every night for weeks with nightmare traumatized kids. But the real icing on the cupcake is this year's costumes. I will accompany a five-year-old Hannah Montana and a three-year-old Michael Jackson along the parade route. I'll be the embarrassed father with the flashlight/billy club acting as bodyguard to the stars. Sigh.
On that subject, before I forget, trick or treats is nigh approaching and I just could not care any less. Halloween used to be fun. As a kid eating candy, a teenager drinking beer, or a college student dropping acid, Halloween was a good time. Now my own kids get excited at the thought of the coming candy orgy, but it's just a pain in the ass for me. I've got to watch out for predators and poison and drunk drivers. And we can't even make it scary anymore. All it takes is one good old-fashioned, bowel-eliminating scare and I'm up every night for weeks with nightmare traumatized kids. But the real icing on the cupcake is this year's costumes. I will accompany a five-year-old Hannah Montana and a three-year-old Michael Jackson along the parade route. I'll be the embarrassed father with the flashlight/billy club acting as bodyguard to the stars. Sigh.
Thursday, 24 September 2009
Cooler than you
I read Kerouac and Ginsberg.
I dream of being a beat poet.
I live in a newly renovated loft apartment.
All my clothes are pre-owned.
My record collection is nothing but original one-off pressings of bands you've never heard of.
My sandals are made from hemp.
My favourite book is Che Guevara's biography.
I only smoke European cigarettes.
The best movies ever made are Soviet underground animation full length features.
I'm a vegan.
I brew my own beer.
I ride a bicycle.
Nothing is cool unless I say it is.
The things you like don't count for shit unless I deem them worthy to be called 'cool'.
I have no label.
I am unique.
I dream of being a beat poet.
I live in a newly renovated loft apartment.
All my clothes are pre-owned.
My record collection is nothing but original one-off pressings of bands you've never heard of.
My sandals are made from hemp.
My favourite book is Che Guevara's biography.
I only smoke European cigarettes.
The best movies ever made are Soviet underground animation full length features.
I'm a vegan.
I brew my own beer.
I ride a bicycle.
Nothing is cool unless I say it is.
The things you like don't count for shit unless I deem them worthy to be called 'cool'.
I have no label.
I am unique.
Tuesday, 22 September 2009
the music shop douche
there is no one who irritates me more is the "hipper than thou" music shop douche. a few years ago some one lived in my town who i will refer to as aaron bono (his last name starts with those letters which just begins to show his douchiness). aaron worked in a music store and of course heard of all these bands before they were famous and whenever you went to buy a cd who would go on a rant about it to you.
aaron also had the amazing personal characteristic of being a chronic liar. sometimes people are able to keep up or have some rational behind their lies to make them somewhat plausible and believable. not aaron.
the music store was in the mall but it was the closest thing to an independent music store we have in this town. even though i despised aaron i will admit he kept the store filled with some decent metal albums. the con to this was hoping he wasn't working when you went to buy one of these albums. i admit to waiting sometimes until he went on his lunch break or to the back of the shop so i didn't have to deal with his chronic lying.
i bought a soulfly album from there and he was working. he went on about how max cavalera fired his band mates for showing up fifteen minutes late and how he was a piece of shit. all i wanted to do was listen to the album and not hear a personal critique of what makes a good band leader. this was minor for an aaron bono moment though.
a few weeks later i was in the store wearing a korn shirt and he told me how he jammed with korn when he ran into them before a concert. i asked what instrument he played and he said guitar. aaron did not play the guitar though. a few months earlier i ran into at a house party and he picked up a guitar and said how he wish he knew how to play.
aaron also talked about how he went to ozzfest one time and drank with rob zombie and partied with pantera. this might have happened but knowing aaron, it did not.
the ultimate aaron moment was when i bought a bill hicks cd. he told me that he saw bill hicks perform right before he died in seattle when he did a small tour. time for a little math.
this incident occurred in 2001. bill hicks died in 1994. aaron was a year ahead of me in school and i was 18 when he told me this story so that would make aaron 19 and born in 1982. aaron was such a hipster at the time that he went to the united states and witnessed this comedic legend at a bar when he was maybe 12 years of age. i finally had enough and called him on his bullshit and asked how he saw hicks when he was 12. he paused, started to speak but stuttered and then answered:
"i'm thirty years old".
i asked him how he could be that old when he was only year ahead of me in school and he paused again.
"that's some guy who looks like me".
finally for the grand finale i asked him if he thought it was a coincidence that this guy was named aaron as well.
"i'm not named aaron".
i pointed to his name tag which said aaron and he commented that it was another worker's name tag. he quickly said he had work to do and went to the back of the shop. his co-worker looked at me after he left and was laughing her ass off. apparently she had heard similiar stories from him and was glad that someone finally shut him up.
a few years later i was in a different city for a concert. beforehand my buddy and i were wandering the mall and went into a music store. guess who was working? i said "hello aaron" and he replied "hello" back to me.
"i thought your name wasn't aaron?" i mentioned.
he looked at me with a weird look and went back to work. i guess it's hard keeping your lies straight.
aaron also had the amazing personal characteristic of being a chronic liar. sometimes people are able to keep up or have some rational behind their lies to make them somewhat plausible and believable. not aaron.
the music store was in the mall but it was the closest thing to an independent music store we have in this town. even though i despised aaron i will admit he kept the store filled with some decent metal albums. the con to this was hoping he wasn't working when you went to buy one of these albums. i admit to waiting sometimes until he went on his lunch break or to the back of the shop so i didn't have to deal with his chronic lying.
i bought a soulfly album from there and he was working. he went on about how max cavalera fired his band mates for showing up fifteen minutes late and how he was a piece of shit. all i wanted to do was listen to the album and not hear a personal critique of what makes a good band leader. this was minor for an aaron bono moment though.
a few weeks later i was in the store wearing a korn shirt and he told me how he jammed with korn when he ran into them before a concert. i asked what instrument he played and he said guitar. aaron did not play the guitar though. a few months earlier i ran into at a house party and he picked up a guitar and said how he wish he knew how to play.
aaron also talked about how he went to ozzfest one time and drank with rob zombie and partied with pantera. this might have happened but knowing aaron, it did not.
the ultimate aaron moment was when i bought a bill hicks cd. he told me that he saw bill hicks perform right before he died in seattle when he did a small tour. time for a little math.
this incident occurred in 2001. bill hicks died in 1994. aaron was a year ahead of me in school and i was 18 when he told me this story so that would make aaron 19 and born in 1982. aaron was such a hipster at the time that he went to the united states and witnessed this comedic legend at a bar when he was maybe 12 years of age. i finally had enough and called him on his bullshit and asked how he saw hicks when he was 12. he paused, started to speak but stuttered and then answered:
"i'm thirty years old".
i asked him how he could be that old when he was only year ahead of me in school and he paused again.
"that's some guy who looks like me".
finally for the grand finale i asked him if he thought it was a coincidence that this guy was named aaron as well.
"i'm not named aaron".
i pointed to his name tag which said aaron and he commented that it was another worker's name tag. he quickly said he had work to do and went to the back of the shop. his co-worker looked at me after he left and was laughing her ass off. apparently she had heard similiar stories from him and was glad that someone finally shut him up.
a few years later i was in a different city for a concert. beforehand my buddy and i were wandering the mall and went into a music store. guess who was working? i said "hello aaron" and he replied "hello" back to me.
"i thought your name wasn't aaron?" i mentioned.
he looked at me with a weird look and went back to work. i guess it's hard keeping your lies straight.
Sunday, 6 September 2009
Saturday, 29 August 2009
Get out of my head
It's easy enough isn't it?
Just block them out.
Pretend they're not real. They don't exist.
Don't think twice.
They are the other. The outsiders. The unfamiliar.
It's easy to block them out and imagine they are somewhat less than you are.
Faceless. Heartless. Immoral.
Evil and unclean.
Their destruction would be a justified and holy act.
Their continued existence would be an anathema.
Or worst still. They don't even register.
Your radar remains mute.
There is nothing to notice. Nothing more important than yourself.
Other people don't count.
Even those closest to you barely register a blip on your screen.
Other people are outside. They are the other.
No matter how hard you try. You cannot know who they are.
No matter how much they reveal, they will always remain hidden.
Basically. Essentially. When you get down to it.
What I'm trying to say is. In the gayest, most poetic way possible.
No matter how hard you try.
And no matter how much you think you know.
You will never, ever truly know someone.
And they will never, ever truly know you.
Other people will always be removed and apart from what you are.
And that's a large part of what makes life interesting.
Just block them out.
Pretend they're not real. They don't exist.
Don't think twice.
They are the other. The outsiders. The unfamiliar.
It's easy to block them out and imagine they are somewhat less than you are.
Faceless. Heartless. Immoral.
Evil and unclean.
Their destruction would be a justified and holy act.
Their continued existence would be an anathema.
Or worst still. They don't even register.
Your radar remains mute.
There is nothing to notice. Nothing more important than yourself.
Other people don't count.
Even those closest to you barely register a blip on your screen.
Other people are outside. They are the other.
No matter how hard you try. You cannot know who they are.
No matter how much they reveal, they will always remain hidden.
Basically. Essentially. When you get down to it.
What I'm trying to say is. In the gayest, most poetic way possible.
No matter how hard you try.
And no matter how much you think you know.
You will never, ever truly know someone.
And they will never, ever truly know you.
Other people will always be removed and apart from what you are.
And that's a large part of what makes life interesting.
Saturday, 22 August 2009
them
as i walk down the street i can hear their stares.
what are they staring at me?
why do they keep looking at me?
is it something i am wearing, do i have something on my clothes?
can they see my erection?
anxiety soon takes over and i notice my breathing is irregular. trying to get your breathing back to normal when you consciously recognize it is like trying not to cum when you are about to orgasm. it is possible but us average folk can not control it.
i am able to breathe slowly. for every one breath that makes it through, i choke on three. the lump in my throat gradually shrinks until my breathing is back to normal. my attention now switches to the paranoia of the people passing me by.
i continue to walk and avoid eye contact. if, for a split second my eyes lock with a stranger's eyes, my gaze goes directly to my shoes and i continue to walk.
this continues until i see a gorgeous girl walking towards me. gorgeous meaning that she is a girl i would have the courage to talk to. a smirk forms in the corner of her mouth and my eyes meet hers. being shy i quickly look down to my feet but muster up the courage to look back at her and return the smile. we walk by each other, both smiling but nothing else is said.
i continue to think about her smile while i walk.
after passing me she thinks to herself, "i wonder if he knows i am a lesbian?"
Wednesday, 12 August 2009
More People
The Proud Addict
A caricature.
Compensating for a lack of substance
with substances.
Denying reality by substituting another.
Cannot make sense
so become senseless.
Celebrate self-inflicted demise
and call it a party.
Drinking from the punchbowl of death
in a slow, cultish, mass-suicide.
Solace in knowing the outcome:
death by own hands.
The Temptress
Muse, muse, muse again and confuse.
Flames of desire tower high and only a mist to quench.
Is the occasional whetting of the tongue worth
the burn ever-present?
It’s about control.
Only a moment here and there for her;
A brain –racing, -folding, -twisting, -turning, mind-fuck
that defines and stops time
for him.
Oh damn you, goddamn you…
What can I do for you next?
Please leave me alone
so the dejection can take hold
to restore the blandness of normalcy.Monday, 10 August 2009
Random Poem
The Skank
Asking nothing of your soul or emotions
the skank is there for you to fuck.
What isn’t at risk cannot be lost.
She has lost too many times before.
Her trying heart took a pounding
harder than her dignity and snatch.
She fills her void of love with cock
and the seed of possibility.
Like the potential of life shot on her face,
hers is also wasted.
Slowly dripping away,
turning cold and hard;
the threat of life is avoided.Friday, 24 July 2009
IT'S A TRAP!!!
No, not really. I'm going to just re-use one of my first bits on the subject as best as I can remember it.
"So, I don't know if I'm queer or not... It's worrying because, I'm terrified of dicks. Not this one(points at Sgt. Terror) we got a good thing going. But I had a moment recently watching the movie Smokin' Aces. HEY, any man who can't admit Ryan Reynolds is a pretty man is gay by default!! Anyway, there's this big ending where my little Ry-Ry has this hero moment... Quoth George Kostanza, 'It moved'. Not that I sprung a bedpost sized erection, it was more like when you're in a department store and see a cute saleswoman undressing a mannequin and you just get that little... twinge. Eh whatever."
"So, I don't know if I'm queer or not... It's worrying because, I'm terrified of dicks. Not this one(points at Sgt. Terror) we got a good thing going. But I had a moment recently watching the movie Smokin' Aces. HEY, any man who can't admit Ryan Reynolds is a pretty man is gay by default!! Anyway, there's this big ending where my little Ry-Ry has this hero moment... Quoth George Kostanza, 'It moved'. Not that I sprung a bedpost sized erection, it was more like when you're in a department store and see a cute saleswoman undressing a mannequin and you just get that little... twinge. Eh whatever."
Thursday, 23 July 2009
i'm not gay but...
first off, i'm a hetero guy and lesbian porn doesn't do much for me. yet if it's a girl going down on another girl while a guy is railing her (also known as a 3-way) i like it. maybe it's because i know how shitty my oral technique is and i am sexist towards lesbians are way better at it than me? or maybe it's because it is more likely for me to have sex with a girl than to be a first hand witness to some hot lesbo action.
Wednesday, 22 July 2009
Firm Footing
I'm not gay but...
I'm knot gay but...
I'm not gay butt...
I'm not ghey but...
Eye'm knot ghey butte.
I'm not gay but I know how it feels to love and lust and want.
I'm not gay but I understand wanting to spend your life with someone.
I'm not gay but I want to be happy.
I am not a homosexual, however...
... I am a human being.
Which gives me something in common with all of you.
Gay included.
I'm knot gay but...
I'm not gay butt...
I'm not ghey but...
Eye'm knot ghey butte.
I'm not gay but I know how it feels to love and lust and want.
I'm not gay but I understand wanting to spend your life with someone.
I'm not gay but I want to be happy.
I am not a homosexual, however...
... I am a human being.
Which gives me something in common with all of you.
Gay included.
Thursday, 2 July 2009
Mr Smith and Miss Veronica discuss Money
"I have a tree which grows great abundances of cash, all in different currencies of course" Miss Veronica said to Mr Smith. It should be known that being a Miss Veronica she was obviously a scarlet woman in fishnets and red lipstick.
"Why should I believe you Miss Veronica? you are after all a scarlet woman in fishnets and red lipstick" said Mr Smith, who being a Mr Smith tended towards tweed suites and thick glasses.
"You know Mr Smith I know you're only insulting me to belittle my confidence so I'll sleep with you but you really need to take me more seriously" Miss Veronica replied placing her sassy hands on her sassy hips.
"How could I possibly take you seriously? you are a woman, even in the most outrageous narratives the male protagonist would find the money tree NOT the woman" he snarled back with a triumphant flick of his sandy brown hair.
Miss Veronica, if this had been a full fledged romantic chicklit novel would have through trial and error eventually won over Mr Smith.
He would see the money tree and begin to take her seriously.
But this wasn't a full fledged novel so instead she walked away.
And spent her money tree earnings on a pair of baby pink heels that cost at least three grand.
"Why should I believe you Miss Veronica? you are after all a scarlet woman in fishnets and red lipstick" said Mr Smith, who being a Mr Smith tended towards tweed suites and thick glasses.
"You know Mr Smith I know you're only insulting me to belittle my confidence so I'll sleep with you but you really need to take me more seriously" Miss Veronica replied placing her sassy hands on her sassy hips.
"How could I possibly take you seriously? you are a woman, even in the most outrageous narratives the male protagonist would find the money tree NOT the woman" he snarled back with a triumphant flick of his sandy brown hair.
Miss Veronica, if this had been a full fledged romantic chicklit novel would have through trial and error eventually won over Mr Smith.
He would see the money tree and begin to take her seriously.
But this wasn't a full fledged novel so instead she walked away.
And spent her money tree earnings on a pair of baby pink heels that cost at least three grand.
Wednesday, 24 June 2009
another self important post.
as the great philosopher ma$e said, "mo money, mo problems". now i don't know about you but i find it hard to feel sorry for a celebrity when they say these things yet the cost of the music video for the song is more than some third world countries GDPs.
jonathan davis was a whiny cunt for "got the life" when he's complaining about fame. boo fucking hoo, go find jesus like your former guitarist and write a crappy book about it. and while your at it, quit fucking a porn star and go back to the regular bar whores.
that's not to say money solves all problems. i am making more money now than i ever had and it's not like i'm getting laid left, right and center. then again i am not making hollywood money.
money is just paper. it's paper that we attach a meaning too. if our economy turned to shit and the dollar was worth as much as the zimbabwe currency (sorry i am too lazy to research what the fuck it's called), would we value toilet paper more than money? and if so, would we wipe our asses on dead presidents (or prime ministers for us commonwealth folk).
to bring this rant to a end i think i should state the obvious. you should fuck me even when i'm poor.
Saturday, 20 June 2009
Good for something
Hey there brother, can you spare a dime? Or a penny? Or a cent? Or a Euro? Or some yen? Maybe some shellfish and shiny rocks?
No?
Oh well, thanks for your time.
Any medium of exchange will do.
Something that will allow me to obtain goods and services.
Something that will make me feel safer.
Something that I'll obsess about.
And think about constantly.
Plan, scheme, connive.
It's about comfort. It's about power. It's about sex.
Once again, your desperate need to procreate has made you a slave. Kneeling before Mammon.
But this no false god of mythology. This shit is real.
When you have it, it's your best friend. When you don't, you say you're better off without it.
But all it is, is a medium of exchange.
You exchange your labour for it. As does your neighbour there. As does farmer Jim.
How else do you propose we make this shit work?
This isn't Star Trek motherfucker.
There are no golden ages. From now on all our ages will be green.
Opening my wallet, I pull out a brand new bank note. Fifty dollars.
I feel it between my fingers. Smooth. Plastic.
I roll it slowly in my fingers, making a tube.
I put one end in my nose and leave the other end hovering above the plate.
Inhale.
Ahh... that's better.
Money. Not totally useless.
No?
Oh well, thanks for your time.
Any medium of exchange will do.
Something that will allow me to obtain goods and services.
Something that will make me feel safer.
Something that I'll obsess about.
And think about constantly.
Plan, scheme, connive.
It's about comfort. It's about power. It's about sex.
Once again, your desperate need to procreate has made you a slave. Kneeling before Mammon.
But this no false god of mythology. This shit is real.
When you have it, it's your best friend. When you don't, you say you're better off without it.
But all it is, is a medium of exchange.
You exchange your labour for it. As does your neighbour there. As does farmer Jim.
How else do you propose we make this shit work?
This isn't Star Trek motherfucker.
There are no golden ages. From now on all our ages will be green.
Opening my wallet, I pull out a brand new bank note. Fifty dollars.
I feel it between my fingers. Smooth. Plastic.
I roll it slowly in my fingers, making a tube.
I put one end in my nose and leave the other end hovering above the plate.
Inhale.
Ahh... that's better.
Money. Not totally useless.
Friday, 5 June 2009
7/8
"Even if you're clever enough to write a pop song in 7/8, you're almost definitely going to go to 4/4 for the chorus." - probably said by someone in Pink Floyd
As I've mentioned on this blog before, I've been unemployed for seven months now. Drawing a check. Living on the teat. But these days I do make it to work- if you want to call it that.
And because of my fondness for tardiness, for early-outs and absences, back when I was employed, my unemployment checks still end up being up about seven eighths of what I was making at Apple.
So this one goes in the 'win' column.
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