Just a Thought...Just a Playful Thought

Disclaimer: This is entirely theoretical. It’s stupid to say this I know, but I feel that if I don’t someone might think that I’m being serious and that I may actually be fucked in the head enough to try something this insane. I hope people aren’t thins stupid…but you never know.

I offer this as a social experiment of sorts to maybe dribble through your thinking brains. And think of it in the way of testing how the average American’s ‘survival of the fittest’ ‘fight or flight’ responses have changed with our modernized leisure/security culture. First, picture this; you’re in a chain restaurant, the kind with some sort of shitty Italian or Western Cowboy ambiance (pick whichever one you want, there’s really only six places to go now-a-days) and fill it with the average cliental. Some examples: sudo-buisness people in JC Penny suits talking about the happenings in their office, the sad looking overly stressed parents with seven children that are all twitching with too much sugar and energy in their systems, the young teenage couple on an economy date, any one trying to enjoy what constitutes as a 'dinner out' in middle class America. To sharpen your mental image, crank the volume in this establishment by about a thousand decibels as everyone tries to scream their conversation over everyone else.

Welcome to the Friday Night Special.

Now, set yourself in the far back corner of the restaurant and conduct the experiment. Reach into a bag, pull out an M67 fragmentation grenade, quietly and without any fuss pull the pin, and roll it down the aisle towards the most densely packed area of the dining room. After that, see who survives. See who still retains the response and awareness necessary to flip the table and hide in those precious seconds before the world shatters. See who will remain oblivious the entire time and end up with a large metal shard blowing through their thick neck serving both their jugular and spinal cord simultaneously. See if there's anyone who will have the awareness, but not doing anything because their expectation of security is so high that they assume someone will rescue them.

Situations like these are what I think about when I scribble down some piece of fiction, mostly because I thinks it's fun. I hope you enjoyed a little ride through my crazy sauce.

Small Questions

You might see this as a small, personal bitching session or personal attack, but deal with it I suppose because it probably is just that. I've been a bit depressed lately (which I might get into at a later date) and have spent some time thinking. Good combination Right?

In our society we ask each other small questions all the time that, in reality, demand much more information from the other person than we have any real right to request. "How are you doing?" Much more in-depth and invasive than I'm sure most of us ever think it of it as being. the small question I get asked from time to time:

Why do you write?

First let me do a little scene sketch. I have three (3) notebooks on my desk with two (2) legal notepads sitting on top of them,a notebook in my bag, two (2) on the livingroom end table with another legal pad, and most of the time I have a piece of scratch paper in my pocket. These are all filled with notes and scenes and observations and quips and character sketches and chapter excepts and lists and brainstormed nonsense. All this equating to hundreds, or maybe even thousands, of hours of work sitting somewhere jotting quietly.

So why?

Why not practice and get better at the guitar/drums? Why not work on fixing up and adding value to my house? Why not restore a car? Why not focus on getting a better career for myself? Why not focus on any number of other things that might create measurable productivity?

Why do I continue to relentlessly scribble away on these papers without even the slightest hint of a reader somewhere?

Answer: It could be because I'm immensely stupid, or insane; but mostly it's because I'm socially unskilled and can't find anything else that offers both the challenge and calming that writing does.

 But where's the logic in that?

I've been pointlessly keeping up with this 'dream' without ever being paid or compensated for in any real way. I've cater to the idiotic delusion that it might one day turn into a career for me, with no real reason why I should believe it will.

Second answer: It's not logical.

Fuck all.

I'll be fine in about an hour.

Acid Rant Eric

Today at work, as the day was winding down and I was making preparations to close the store I work at, Eric walked in. For the vast majority of you who don't know Eric, he has a few mental problems brought on by one massive overdose of acid some ten years ago. This is a man who regularly wears corsets, fake space helmets, hand cuffs, a Native American medicine bag around his neck, spandex shorts over fishnets, fur boots, and a Captain America Halloween costume; all while walking the streets of this town balancing a glass ball on his head.

This is what Eric had to say when I looked up and I'd hello (and keep in mind when I saw him this time he was wearing copper wire around his head like a tiara and around his waist like a belt):

"Hey you look like a guy I met earlier today, but you can't be him because he looked different. Unless, unless you're a shape-shifter. Are you a shape-shifter? Or are you a sort of clone? Hey clone, where are all the Japanese girls? You know, the Japanese ones. I know where they are, they're at the Albertson's in Kennewick next to the Mormon temple. Which is where the devil lives. Well lived, until I banished him. But, fuckin, he came back with some friends and we had a war.

"It's okay though because I sent them running for their lives...or their tails rather.

"You know, I really want to get my tail pierced. I need a better tail though. Man isn't that the story of most peoples lives, they all need a better tale to tell. I'm doing pretty well though because I have three tails and I'm going to pierce them all. And you know what the best part is? The punch-line? Five dollars and ninety cents. Yeah, that's how much I owe you, but you already know that. How could you forget? You have a crystal for a mind. Hold on to that, it will win you the war one day.

"Flasks made from guns. Is that a real word? Wordle? Wort? Wordie-birdie? Wordilization? What the hell kind of a word is word? How does it sound? And how would you spell it?

"How do you spell the word 'no?' N-O probably right? I don't. I spell it K-N-O-W, and BOOM now your entire perception has changed. Nothing can be the same...it's that easy.

"Dammit.

"I can't get into the whole lamp thing. It makes no sense to me.

"Okay well, I've mastered this place and can claim no more ownership of the aura you give off. I have to go away before the night turns into a fantasy."

And with that Eric walked away, to chisel out his place in the world, by being the superhero I no doubt think he envisions of himself, in his own head.

A Study in the Health Value of a Wallet

I'm in a economic debate class right now, and the most recent debate is over the healthcare system in our country. And I enjoyed (yes I find vanity in words) my argument enough to feel the need to post it here for you.

This is copied and pasted verbatim:

I never like the approach of using personal stories in a debate forum, so naturally I'm going to start with one of those, because it was the linchpin in shaping my opinions on health care.
When I was nine (9) my step brother of the same age thought it best to spend a lazy September afternoon shooting me with a bb-gun; and as Murphy's Law would have it, one wayward pellet hit the perfect spot at the base of my ocular cavity, bounced upwards and obliterated by right eye. After I started screaming Old-Man Grumpy Neighbor came outside to tell us to shut up but instead called my brother slew of words I had only heard in Lethal Weapon movies I would watch when my parents weren't home, and called 911. Skip ahead to one less working eye for me, and the $11,000 dollar bill my family received for an ambulance ride, because we didn't call to get pre-approval to seek the care of paramedics. Even as I child this struck me as screwed up. At what point, with blood frothing from a fresh and unfortunately placed hole in my head, was I supposed to have the where-with-all to stop this gentleman and say, "No sir, please, first I need you to contact my insurance company," (of which a nine (9) year old knows nothing about), "and make sure the dollar value assigned to me will warrant the help of men with EMT printed on their T-shirts."? Answer: Probably before my brother loaded the bb-gun.*

Having a health care system that forces us to weight pros and cons in the form of dollar signs ($$) has essentially made it so health in this country is a privilege, not a right. Ah, but there is a plus side...we're told there is a plus side, because we have the freedom of choice to choose our doctors (based on who our insurance companies tell us we're allowed to go see); that's the free market, thus rendering any other ideas about our health care system deem terrible because...well...SOCIALISM. Then the debate simply gets blown out of proportion and spirals into nonsensical jabber after that.**. An argument I've heard quiet a bit is that if we make health care cheaper for the consumer (yes, even regarding our health we're consumers) then the free-market would suffer because cheap means less pay for doctors, thus less people want to become doctors, ergo less choice. My issue with this: The freedom of choice is a wonderful thing, to be able to choose what I want to do with my life and strive to attain it; but I don't consider the freedom of choice a wonderful thing if its strung as 'I have the freedom to choose which ever one of the 67 flavors of Doritos chips that I want.' And on another note, I personally don't want to go see a doctor who's in it for the money anyway.

We're told that with our health care system we have the best opportunity in the world for health and well-being because the government is not involved. If this is true why do we rank down at 50 for life expectancy, 41st for infant mortality rate, and 73 in hospital bed availability?*** These rankings come with one other ranking, we are number 2 in the world for health care expenditures for citizens.

Putting something important enough as our health and the health of our families into the hands of a collective of companies who's sole venture is the accumulation of profit will always be a bad idea that leaves us out in the rain. So I purpose that what can be done to improve our health care system is have money be the absolute least of our concerns when dreaming up what improvements we can make. Our internal question as citizens should be 'Am I sick enough to need a doctor's help right now?' not 'Can I afford to go to a doctor right now?' Aside from that, I say a complete wipe and overhaul, because the beauty of change is that if the ideas aren't working as well as we hoped, we can change the system again. Having said that, the status quo went sour years ago, so why keep it around?****

Please understand, this is not an argument for Socialism. I don't try to hide my dislike for what our Capitalistic system has turned into; but in my head I categorize Capitalism and Socialism roughly the same way: They both are wonderful, inspired ideas when laid out on paper, but they go ruin when you add the element of human beings into the equation.

*Moral: Guns are terrible in any respect.

**Blown out of proportion to the point that we demonize Canadians for their health care system.

***From the CIA World Factbook. "The World Factbook." www.cia.gov. Central Intelligence Agency. Web. 24 Feb. 2012.

****On another note, the recent episode of religion stepping into the health care debate and calling it religious warfare should be a no-go.

This Thing is Stapled to My Fucking Head

"Writing is a tough game. You need to be different people, and wear different hats."

This is a quote from a woman who was helping me for a bit back when I was just starting to write.

And right now, years later, I'm sitting here thinking about this quote because I can't write. I keep trying but what translates from my head to paper is nothing anybody would want to pretend to read. I understand this fact, and every time I tear the page out of my notebook, crush it, and toss it at the wall, my irritation level is enough to send my head into a proper mushroom cloud of an explosion.

It's been going on for a while now. I haven't been able to write anything worth using in a few months.

There's a reason this is happening. I know exactly what it is; and it wraps full circle back to the quote at the beginning. The point of the quote is this:

Writers don't simply think of a story, write it down, then smile because job well done. No. They have to edit, to make what they wrote actually good. Which means an author needs to be an editor; two jobs that require separate sides of your brain. Two jobs, two metaphorical hats one has to wear. And it can be hard to jump back and forth between the two.

(FUN FACT) The hats don't always need to be metaphorical either. I've heard of a couple authors who have one hat with WRITER printed on the front, and another with EDITOR. Literally, while working, they will switch hats depending on which job they're doing at the time.

Well it appears my Editor hat has been somehow stapled to my scalp. And it's not coming of just yet. Since I wrote my last story I've read and made changes to my finished book five times, made changes to the first couple chapters of a new book two times, printed out and edited every short piece of work I've ever written, helped rework a few of my friends written pieces, and even mentally edited a couple books I've been trying to read for fun.

This is more annoying than you'd think. Because I can still think up stories, just not put the right words to paper.

To sum up, there is no point to this. Just complaining I suppose. I don't know, maybe my sub conscience is telling me to give up a stupid goal, or maybe because of the elections coming up my mind is in too much of an analytical loop to do anything creative.

Either way, this is getting old.

Linguistics Study of Social Propriety

I've been absent. I am aware of this, and I would apologize if I had a basis of people painfully hanging on my every word. I don't however, so I can't imagine my 'sorry' would mean much.

Moving on.

I should be doing homework right now. Economics. Right now I should be logically debating the different ways ecological protection could benefit our economy. I should be doing this superficially at least. But no, I’m not doing that, instead I’m sitting here with a damn pad of paper and a pen scribbling down this meaningless bullshit drivel for no one to notice.

If I was smart, if I really don’t care to do my class work, what I should be doing is writing. Short story, book chapter, letter to a friend, anything. But again, no.

So I figure I write a new post here, I know I haven’t in a while and I keep making promises that I will. To be honest this I'm still getting used to this blog thing. To be more honest I'm still hopping to loose the dirty slim covered moss taste that's left in my mouth after each time I say the word blog. I also sometimes run out of things to say, or feel stupid for inflicting my opinions onto people who don't care. 

But anyway...

I've noticed something more and more lately that I'm wondering if anyone else has wondered about, or will even understand. I'm starting to get really sick of small talk, that little six or seven second conversation that social propriety requires us to have every time we go to a gas station, or end up waiting in a line at a grocery store, or flipping through a paperback at a book store.

(that last one was obvious theoretical only, ha, like you go to bookstores anymore)

But these conversations are almost scripted and rehearsed, even own to their timing.

Man stands behind the counter at the gas station, he looks me directly in the eyes and gives me a slight glare like he's challenging me, then our culture almost requires him to ask 'how's it going today' in the most stoic apathetic voice he can muster.

My response, as the cadence requires, is one of three options:

Pretty good/doing' alright

Can't complain too much (then add small , but manageable, complaint)

Ah, could be better/not so great (then light joke about the issues we have while living in a first world country)

Now the conversation has switched back to Person A behind the counter, cue forced bland laugh and 'yep, I understand that.' At this point, even if I've gotten all the lines right, I'm uncomfortable. No one ever really has anything to say after that. It's as if both parties involved were turned to auto pilot for a few seconds, and now that they've snapped back to some sense of reality they can only look at the other person and think, 'What? What the hell do you want from me?'

I have proof that there is an element to auto pilot when we hear something that slips into forced response. It's small proof, but it's mine dammit. A long while ago I was working at a fast-food place, and we were running a charity hung to help children's cancer research. We had one thing that we had to say over and over and over again, "And today, would you like to donate a dollar to help kids with cancer?"

Naturally people were willing to give a bit here and there. Who wouldn't? It's cancer kids.

But I started paying attention to their faces when I would give my little speech, and the slack expression made me realize they were only listening to key words in order to respond, so I tweaked my delivery a bit to see if I still could get people to donate with only the key words.

"And today, would you like to donate a dollar to help give kids cancer?"

You'd be surprised at how many people still gave me money.

So, why? Why bother? Theses conversations are nothing but fake and really only help to pass the time while we wait for the debit card to be approved. To me it's a pointless social construct. You don't care about my day, I don't care about yours, so why the lame charade?

Then again, I could just hate these little snips of banter because I'm not very good at my lines. I leave you with three of these little blips that have botched just this week to illustrate my point.

Her: "Hello, how are you doing today?"

Me: "Good to hear it."

Me: "Hey, how's it going?"

Him: "Pretty good. It's freaking cold out there."

Me: "Yeah, I just got a bit of a headache, but I'm doin' alright."

A Couple (in unison): "Hi, how's it going?"

Me: "Yep. How is it going today?"

Wrongful Needle

School just started again for me and right out of the gate I had 45+ pages of reading to get done. This isn't a large number in the sense of college reading requirements, but for those of you who know me you know I can't exactly speed read. This is all pointless obviously, but today (Wednesday September 21st when I'm writing this on my little yellow notepad) I had to put down my anthropology book for the night. I couldn't concentrate, not since I glanced at the news.

 Troy Davis, a possibly innocent man, was put to death in Georgia tonight, just a few minutes ago (again, this will be posted after I've written it longhand).

 Admittedly, I didn't know much about the case or Mr. Davis for that matter, but I had heard about it from time to time and looking him up on occasion; and from what I've read I've come to a conclusion about this case. Which is: it's not difficult to see that there was enough reasonable doubt in the case to warrant another trial. I know that's a bold statement and people will disagree with me, but I have my reasons of suspicion which I will get to in a moment.

But first, for those of you who know nothing about the case, here's a sum-up.

On August 18, 1989 in Savannah Georgia, Troy Davis and his friend Darrel Collins left a house party. That's the beginning of the night's events. After a tussle with a passing car Davis and Collins met Sylvester "Redd" Coles, who was arguing with a homeless man, Larry Young, over a beer near a Burger King restaurant parking lot. Off-duty policeman Mark MacPhail was working as a security guard at the Burgerking and was shot when he attempted to intervene in the pistol whipping of Mr. Young. MacPhail was shot twice, once through the heart and once in the face, without drawing his gun. No physical evidence from the crime was retrieved, apart from the bullets and shell casings, which were determined to have come from a .38-caliber pistol. Witnesses (9 of them) to the shooting agreed that a man in a white shirt had struck Young and then shot MacPhail. The next day (19th) "Redd" went to the police. He told them that he had seen Troy Davis with a .38-caliber gun, and that Davis had assaulted the homeless Larry Young.

Now, the biggest reason, from what I've read, for a retrial would have to be that seven (7) of the nine (9) witnesses later came forward and signed affidavits that either changed or recanted their previous testimonies, claiming that they had been coerced by police. Another red flag reason for a second look at the case, Mr. Sylvester "Redd" Coles later admitted to shooting Officer MacPhail, but since he hadn't been subpoenaed by the court to make that confession it wasn't considered. Understand that the case against Davis was almost completely based on witness statement since no camera were present and no murder weapon was ever found.

And I'm not the only one who thought a retrial was in order.

Over the years former FBI Director William Sessions, Pope Benedict XVI, Amnesty International, European Parliaments, and even former President Jimmy Carter have all called for a closer look at Mr. Davis.

Jimmy Carter said:

"This case illustrates the deep flaws in the application of the death penalty in this country. Executing Troy Davis without a real examination of potentially exonerating evidence risks taking the life of an innocent man and would be a grave miscarriage of justice. The citizens of Georgia should demand the highest standards of proof when our legal system condemns on our behalf a man or woman to die."

Please understand, I am not trying to undermine the fact that a police officer was killed, what I'm saying is that the possibility of proven innocence was there and the government o the State of Georgia didn't give Troy Davis a second look. Even the Supreme Court of the United States of America voted against looking at his case.

The death penalty in the country needs to be done away with, 'eye-for-an-eye' rhetoric is an outdated and dangerous concept. This practice should be banished to a footnote in history textbooks along with the practices of slavery and only allowing white people to vote;  for half-asleep high school student to pretend to care about.

That's really l  have to say. I'll end this with a final letter from Mr. Troy Davis to you:

As I look at my mail from across the globe, from places I have never ever dreamed I would know about and people speaking languages and expressing cultures and religions I could only hope to one day see first hand. I am humbled by the emotion that fills my heart with overwhelming, overflowing Joy. I can’t even explain the insurgence of emotion I feel when I try to express the strength I draw from you all, it compounds my faith and it shows me yet again that this is not a case about the death penalty, this is not a case about Troy Davis, this is a case about Justice and the Human Spirit to see Justice prevail.
I cannot answer all of your letters but I do read them all, I cannot see you all but I can imagine your faces, I cannot hear you speak but your letters take me to the far reaches of the world, I cannot touch you physically but I feel your warmth everyday I exist.
So Thank you and remember I am in a place where execution can only destroy your physical form but because of my faith in God, my family and all of you I have been spiritually free for some time and no matter what happens in the days, weeks to come, this Movement to end the death penalty, to seek true justice, to expose a system that fails to protect the innocent must be accelerated. There are so many more Troy Davis’. This fight to end the death penalty is not won or lost through me but through our strength to move forward and save every innocent person in captivity around the globe. We need to dismantle this Unjust system city by city, state by state and country by country.
I can’t wait to Stand with you, no matter if that is in physical or spiritual form, I will one day be announcing,
"I AM TROY DAVIS, and I AM FREE!"
Never Stop Fighting for Justice and We will Win!