Slightly Moderated Stream of Consciousness

good guy lucifer y u so funny?

2011-12-07T13:06:00.001+10:00

Is Satan really the bad guy?

today it starts again

2011-10-26T19:46:00.001+10:00

i am loren hopkins. loren means crowned one. my dad told me that hopkins means son of the goblin (and later revised this to: son of the cobbler, which is far less interesting). when i first watched labyrinth, i decided, thanks to my name, that i would be the goblin king, not because of my unhealthy obsession with jennifer connelly, or my cannibalistic fetish for baby flesh, but mainly because goblins are vile and foul creatures and king's are noble and elevated (or at least pretend to be) and david bowie has very tight pants. i like the juxtaposition of incongruent things.

i am a burly man and a philosopher, a mystic atheist, a master of ambivalence, paradox and contradiction. i am loren hopkins and i'm back.

there are more worlds than we know in the world, let alone in the universe. for starters there is my inner and outer life. i went to the gold coast 600 hundred this week and watched half the race on tv, the track wrapped around my apartment complex, but there's something comforting about peering into a little black box. everything is mediated. experience is always filtered, the outer world is shaped by my inner life. i try to use words to set my conscious free, but perhaps a new approach is in order.

i am a collection of several incomplete jigsaw puzzles, the pieces don't quite fit together properly. someone get me some dmt.

breaking news

2011-08-15T18:37:00.003+10:00

I suffer from ADHD or visual motor ecstasy or whatever you want to call it. Makes it hard to concentrate.

I get bored easy, and tinker a lot. So I've gone and started another new blog: Aggravated Mayhem... Documenting my descent into insanity aka I Now Do Combat Sports (because I'm awesome).

You can breathe easy though, I'll still blog here about my Mormon hate ;) - I'm not bitter though - and my ever evolving philosophy about life, the universe and everything.

One way I deal with many of my psychological issues is by drawing (very badly). I have a satirical Joe Smith and Brigham Young comic in the works. Should be lots of fun. Stay tuned...

punch on

2011-08-08T22:25:00.004+10:00

OK, so I wrote up my little contract which I'll post one of these days when I get a scanner (or maybe I'll just snap a photo of it with my iPhone). Part of what is involved is me having a fight. I've never been in a fight before and honestly "how much can you possibly know about yourself if you've never been in a fight? ... It's only after we've lost everything [like consciousness for instance?], that we're free to do anything." (I love Fight Club, but I've said too much already). Of course my fighting will take place within a cage or ring, sanctioned by the appropriate authorities and not in some dingy underground cult of violence. One question that I'd like to answer is why there are even legally permissible forms of violence at all, especially at the level of brutality that boxing or MMA allow (and I'd also like to find out why I'm a willing participant. Am I insane? I mean, I'm a pacifist except in the cases of self-defense or fighting for millions of dollars).

I'm just doing my part for posterity in a way. How many slacker/nerds have ever traded blows with a meathead and lived to write the tale (at least onc that I can think of, can't remember the name of the book right now. Tiger something?). This'll be a peculiar type of writing, history, meets travel writing, meets memoir, meets sociology and maybe a little philosophy for good measure, on a blog. Why is violence such a major part of the human condition? So many questions to wade through. It's a cruel universe out there. The search begins in earnest, one punch at a time. Happy trails peeps...

no free lunch

2011-08-08T18:00:00.003+10:00

Two days ago I read this article on Sacrifice via The Art of Manliness website. I was Flabbergasted! Befuddled! If a 6'2 Mormon whiteboy, with the athleticism of an octogenerian, can make the NBA, then all bets are off (I wasn't watching basketball when Danny Ainge was making noise with the Boston Celtics, so this feat to me seems unprecedented). It's now official: anything's possible. Go Jimmer!

James Jimmer Freddette with the help of his brother wrote up this contract, when he was but a wee lad...

Jimmer paid his dues, which took four words for me to say and years to achieve. Now he'll play for the Sacramento Kings next season (if the lockout between players and management ever ends).

Success has a price. The cost of admission is Sacrifice. This has got me thinking. What am I willing to give up to live how I want. There are too many things to name here. What it comes down to is putting priorities first. A seemingly simple yet deceptively difficult thing to accomplish. Suffice it to say today I wrote up my own contract today. It's only a matter of time now ladies and gents. I'll keep you posted.

being an apologist means never having to say you're sorry

2011-07-27T20:39:00.008+10:00

Let me begin, in the appropriate manner, which is to say that I will sweeten up my intended targets before I give them their medicine. It's only fair. On reflection, I have arrived at this conclusion through no small effort on my part. It is a bitter pill to swallow, and I may require some of that sweetness that I am so generously doling out as a chaser, but here it is: apologists are like me (and other disaffected for intellectual reasons x-mos). We are two sides of the same coin, both willing to grapple with difficult questions, and for this I applaud in their general direction. However, we often, and by often I mean always, tend to reach very different conclusions.

Two of these disagreements unfailingly propel me into a rabid inextinguishable rage. One of which I will share with you today (I told you I was generous).

It's really quite simple. I don't even need a fully fledged syllogism to explain it (maybe just a tautology). One premise will do...

(1) The prophet and leaders of the church are fallible.

(2) Therefore: They make mistakes.

(1) Most Mormons would agree with this statement in principle, but the practice of it sometimes varies. This is partly because there are a cacophony of quotes that discourage members from criticizing the prophet and his cronies at all (One example: "It is wrong to criticize leaders of the church, even if that criticism is true" - Dallin H. Oaks. Don't get me wrong, I can think of a time when God's chosen people reaped the rewards of certain individuals unquestioningly going along with what their leaders said. Oh yeah, it was called The Holocaust). This creates an environment where their every word and deed are somehow beyond reproach. However, the premise stands on its own merits, those primarily being its appeal to common sense. I don't think anyone would seriously argue differently.

(2) It seems an obvious conclusion. This is were I part ways with apologists. If you were to peruse any website dedicated to defending the faith you will find that any and all criticisms are addressed in a way that ultimately suggests that the church and its leaders are not at fault. The contradiction here is that if the leaders do in actuality make mistakes then sometimes there is no valid reason why the leaders made the choices that they did. To paraphrase Freud: "sometimes a cock-up is just a cock-up." Certain hot button issues like polygamy, blacks and the priesthood et al. are sometimes justified by intimating that the leader in question who perhaps made a questionable statement was speaking as a man and not a prophet. Do I really need to go into how this is merely a miserably convenient cop out?

Here's an idea. Fallibility of the leadership is built into the religion, therefore it isn't necessary to try and justify every single stance, and utterance that has ever been made or taken. Especially ones that are reprehensible in hindsight and tend to defy any reasonable explanation. Hint: If your answer to a query begins with "He was speaking as a man..." or "It's not pertinent to our salvation" (in any of their guises) or you feel compelled to blame or criticize the questioner for particulars on their part that you find unsavory then you probably need to reconsider your conclusion. It's difficult to admit that you don't know something or that worse yet, perhaps you might be wrong, but I would find it utterly refreshing if just once when I logged onto one of these sites that they did just that. Mistakes were made, it's OK, it happens to the best of us. Hey, I thought the church was true for about 28 years.

What this month taught me...

2011-07-26T21:27:00.004+10:00

Perhaps semi-inspired by this TED talk, and definitely by this Testosterone Nation article, this month I decided to embark on a daily regimen (missed 3 days so far, oops) of heavy squating. Nothing gets me all burly-manesque like a solid session of Hemorrhoid inducing weights. I am one of those bizarre people that is addicted to moving ponderous amounts of iron just for fun. Can't really explain, I just do it.

Here's the thing though, too much of a good thing can be bad for you. If you walk into the gym and are significantly weaker than the previous day, and/or feel like bursting into tears for no apparent reason, then it's time to back off slightly. Both my knees are on the verge of exploding, my left hip flexor has been strained since day 3; too many arse to grass squats (not me in the video). I Need to do some box/power-lifting squats, hit the posterior chain, and balance things out. "Moderation in all things, except moderation itself." Hammies, your time has come.

how to be awesome

2011-07-24T21:40:00.002+10:00

Don't just stand there, destroy something

This is self-help, by misanthropists for wretched fucking assholes

Creation is a violent act

Order is a special kind of Chaos

Have you met Punk Jesus?

Go thy way and sin some more

you are reading this

2011-07-23T23:08:00.003+10:00

The Neo-Nietzsche is here. No more needs be said. When you speak you plant a seed. No one knows what it will look like when it grows to full maturity or if it will grow at all. Everything starts with a lie or truth, and it doesn't matter which. Belief transcends and or devours facts. You either get a baby a stillborn or an abortion. The end will happen in due time.

Fold time back on its self and you start to see the genealogy of the present. We are here. And we are not alive. What is the lynchpin that will trigger the seachange? Should we strive toward hopelessness or embrace our fantasies? We decide.

paradigms of greatness 2

2011-07-19T21:00:00.006+10:00

part 1

Now it's Michael Jordan's turn. By most accounts Jordan is a dick. He's also a psychopath and a bully. Apparently these traits can get you somewhere in life. I think my favourite Jordan anecdote is when he punched the smallest skinniest white Dude on his team in the face (Steve Kerr, who was a one trick pony in the NBA and thus only receives a parenthetical mention), over some trivial disagreement at practice.

Jordan loved to win but even more he hated to lose. If you beat him at cards or virtually anything, you could guarantee you weren't going home until you had a rematch and he won. His accomplishments have become legend. Do you remember the time he beat an entire NBA all-star team for the 'ship while in a full body cast? That's how ludicrous the stories about Mike's exploits have become. He made Nike (or was it the other way around), arguably became the world's first truly transcendent global sports icon and left a litany of top talent championshipless in his wake (Poor Stockton, Malone, Reggie, Ewing, and Chuck, just to name a few. If they'd played in any other era they'd all have had at least one title each). What he possessed was a singular focus, an unrelenting drive, something sports writers like to call the killer instinct. And let's not forget ridiculous athleticism/talent. Talent can only take you so far though. There have been several unfairly talented NBA players, but there's only one Jordan. Mike summarized himself best when he said "Desire makes the difference."

So, which approach is optimal? The level-headed gentlemanly way of Coach Wooden or the tenacity and overbearing approach of Jordan (I haven't exactly been objective in my review of their styles, but I think in many ways I'm more like Jordan than Coach Wooden. Except that I'm white, poor and never have set foot on an NBA court. We're both bald though. Yeah!)? One seemingly did not concern himself with winning, while the other obsessed over it and any slight fired in his general direction. Yet both were successful. Hmmm, so which way is it gonna be?

not by the hair of my chiny chin chin

2011-07-18T23:10:00.003+10:00

I'm flying over a bridge.

Let's unpack that sentence. I'm flying, which is to say the vehicle that's carrying me is airborne. The bridge in question is the last bastion point of humanity. Not that we need one. I personally believe that humanity is extinct. Except that I'm here, and even if I wasn't the bridge would still be standing (to say nothing of my plane, but I already have), a solemn reminder that architectural immortality is a sad similacrum of the real thing.

Where there are bridges there are trolls. Three billy goats taught me that once. I've forgotten their names.

goodbye skye

2011-07-17T21:52:00.005+10:00

He was floating on a hill, which defies the rules of physics and English to a lesser extent. Over the distant dark cityscape that stood in place of what used to be a forest, which was also at one time a molten wasteland and before that was probably nothing, there should have been a sky. At the bottom of everything is nothing, at the end: also nothing. Nothing makes everything possible.

Where had the sky gone? It hadn't exactly fallen. Someone would have noticed. Presumably. Just one day it wasn't there. Anywhere. In it's place was something or maybe nothing. Who would or could decide? He volunteered, but that wasn't really noticed either.

cold pizza

2011-07-16T16:53:00.003+10:00

You can't appreciate anything fully unless you've gone some time without it. Denial is your best friend, in both its self-inflicted and externally imposed varieties. Heaven tastes a little sweeter after you've been through hell.

Conformity has fueled my dissent. Subversion is my new modus operandi. Walking the straight and narrow has lead me to some crooked paths, and I am grateful. Now I know what I have and have had and better yet what's waiting just over the horizon.

paradigms of greatness 1

2011-07-12T21:08:00.002+10:00

As David Tua*, one of the great orators of our time once memorably said: "There are ways, and then there are ways." Finding the right way is probably one of the trickiest and most rewarding experiences in life. Somehow, whether by evolution or testosterone or other factors heretofore undefined we are driven toward goals. Stagnation while always an option, never seems satisfying. There is always a striving, a call to improvement and ultimately success, whatever it is that that nebulous term alludes to. Self-organizing teleologies pop up, and then prop up our sense of self. What is this will to apotheosis? I do not know.

As in all, or should I say most things, there is a wide spectrum of approaches to success, and so it is with becoming "the baddest man on the planet" (let's keep the boxing parlance going). Let me share just two. At the risk of creating another false dichotomy, something that I have become partial to as of late, let's call 1. The Coach Wooden Way and 2. The Michael Jordan way (OK so it's basketball now).

1. Coach Wooden** led UCLA to 10 NCAA basketball championships in a 12 year period. The secret to this unprecedented achievement, according to him, was teaching his players how to be successful at both life and basketball. He came up with The Pyramid of Success, which distilled visually the values that he thought would be most beneficial to those under his tutelage. He was also renowned for an ample supply of pithy maxims that he would dispense with acuity. My favourite of his was "be quick but don't hurry." To summarize the man's legacy in less than a paragraph, which doesn't come close to doing him justice, he was old school. He believed in being good to people, in doing your best no matter what, and that if you were a person of character and integrity then you'd win no matter what the final score said. And he did.

*Besides gaining notoriety for his left hook and crazy hair in the vaudevillian world of Heavy Weight boxing, he is also world famous in New Zealand for an appearance on the game show Wheel of Fortune, where he once requested to purchase an "O" for awesome.

** Check out his TED talk.

TBC

transcendent redemptive epiphany 1

2011-07-08T19:30:00.005+10:00

At the risk of sounding overly dramatic, although that's never stopped me before, I have been given a new lease on life. Some people loose limbs or loved ones or get cancer and as a consequence they develop a fresh perspective about the world and their place in it. Me, I just quit my job and it's probably one of the most meaningful things I have ever done.

I feel like I'll never take anything for granted ever again. The antecedents of my eventual disaffection seem almost trivial on reflection. Examined in exclusion they hardly seem noteworthy, but somehow each combined to create one deadly Molotov cocktail of I can't take this shit anymore. Alienation was rife. I was ready to declare myself Marxist and begin a revolution. I was ready to go postal. *Primal Scream* GRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!

I'm no mathematician, but sometimes in life you get addition by subtraction. Bruce Lee used to say "Strip away the unnecessary. Take what is useful, dispose of what is not, add that which is uniquely your own." Ever get the feeling that you're too old to waste time doing shit that you don't want to do. I'm 31 and I'm already having a mid-life crisis. That job was not helping. Then again it did give me this wonderful sense that if I could get through that difficult period of my life, I could get through anything. I had to wonder though if I can get through anything, then why prolong this suffering longer than necessary, let's try something else.

TBC

my hero with a thousand faces

2011-07-07T19:45:00.009+10:00

Jesus is my all time favourite imaginary friend, and trust me I've had a few, so that distinction definitely means something. On ya Jesus. Score another one for the good guy(s).

There are many Jesuses though. So I suppose I should introduce you to mine. But first, let's familiarize ourselves with some of his many manifestations...

There's the Apocalyptic-Prophet-Jesus, one of the more virulent forms. Come to earth to establish the Kingdom of God and turn child against parent and so forth. This Jesus is going to kick arse directly preceding the millenium. Watch out sinners.

We also have I'm-Insecure-About-My-Popularity-Jesus. "Just say the word, accept me as your personal Lord and Saviour and I'll give you carte blanch on your conduct, plus you get to go to heaven, plus you get to act like a smug prick condemning everyone else to hell. What a deal." Hallelujah! I feel like clapping my hands, and falling over, and shooting someone.

I would be remiss if I failed to mention Anal-Retentive-But-Oblivious-To-Real-Issues-Jesus. He once told good ol' Joe Smith "We teach them righteous principles and let them govern themselves." However, Joseph got distracted and pulled his head out of his hat before he caught this important caveat..."I am the Alpha and Omega, ain't no one better blah blah... It's important to note that this principle does not apply to how many earrings one can wear, or what colour your shirt is at church, or facial hair (ignore my beard), or what underwear you wear, or what hand you take the sacrament with, or how much money I require of you, or what pronouns you use in prayer blah blah etc... Also, please stop praying for world peace, I'm too busy helping you people find your keys/other irrelevant items."

You know what? It's time for my Jesus, who as you will soon observe stands in stark contrast to ARBOTRI-Jesus. It's the dreaded I've-Had-It-Up-To-Here-With-You-Goddamn-Mother-Fuckin'-Hypocrites-Jesus, aka Temple-Tantrum-Jesus. This Jesus abhorred the legalistic fetish that the Pharisees of his time got off on. He openly condemned their ability to raise hypocricy to the level of an art form. A condition where appearance trumped intent, which unfortunately has found it's way into certain religious practices today. We ignore this Jesus at our peril. You've been warned.

Behold my cat-o'-nine-tails beeatch

wrasslin, nostalgia and my escalating rage

2011-07-02T23:03:00.005+10:00

In 5,000 words or so you will question my sanity, and I will smile...

My likes have calcified. This is the sure sign that I've gotten old. Yes I'm an old man at 30 or whatever it is that I am now. 30 will do. There was a time when I loved pro-wrestling. Well, everything that's old is new again. I feel younger already.

I'd like to share how truly, epically, fantastically (and any other vaguely relevant hyperbolic superlative you can think of), ridiculous my life is. I have come to the conclusion that religion and science are non-overlapping majesteria after all. Science is about finding the truth of how the universe works (notice the little 't') and religion (or spirituality if you're averse to the institutionalization of personal values) is about defining meaning. But that's not the ridiculous part, this is were wrestling comes in...

Whenever the topic of my liking wrestling comes up, the most common question I get is "You know it's fake, right?" Always delivered with a tinge of doubt in the inquirer's voice. Did you know movies are fake? Angelina Jolie's collagen laced lips: fake. Snooki's orange complexion: fake. Your girlfriend's orgasm last night: you get the idea. Yep, I have a fair idea, so it's ironic (we should get used to the fact this is just the way people are going to use this word now. The Alanis Morissette way) that this is the most real thing I've heard in long time (and I don't even watch wrestling anymore, I happened upon this because of an article on grantland.com)...

Now without any context to go on, or knowledge about the players involved this will all be an incoherent rant, but right here CM Punk does something that I truly respect, and that I think is all too rare: he told the truth. Sure, it was probably a work, but he touched on many things that resonate with me: his critique of mass consumerism, his anti-authoritarian bent, his lack of overacting, his full head of hair.

In the moment that I watched this CM Punk, a wrestler whom I had never seen before, instantly became my favourite of all time. His actions we're heroic, authentic and pedestrian (he's talking on a microphone) all at the same time. This is courage. This is manhood. This is what I am not. I'm feeling all religious; I want to believe this is true, even if it isn't real.

Born Again Wrestling fan phase 2:

A quick history lesson. WWF Wrestlers in the 80's were typified by oiled up, chemically enhanced physiques (was Hogan subtly referencing his steroid use, with his constant implorations to "take your vitamins"?), and cartoonish gimmicks. In the 90's the ECW came along. It was to the WWF what Grunge was to Hair Metal Bands. One of the new aspects that the upstart company introduced was the shoot interview, where actual events outside of the ring were referenced (another use of the term includes "going off script") blurring the lines between reality and the fantasy world of wrestling. Goodbye Kayfabe. So, during my little youtube wrestling revival, that followed CM Punk's tirade I came across this old shoot by a then not very famous Steve Austin (who later moved on to the WWF/WWE and became their biggest box office draw ever).

He called himself the best and ended up being the best, something I admire. Now we can't all be the best, it's kind of an exclusive position, but we're all naturally good at something. Not even compared to others, just compared to ourselves. There are certain ways of thinking that we favour, and certain activities that we are drawn to. Me for instance, I'm drawn to mediocrity and doing as little as possible. I don't think this attitude is going to cut it anymore. Thank the flying spaghetti monster for wrestling.

Comparing yourself to others isn't always the most productive way to go about life, but I'm a product of evolution. Competition is part of my nature. Usually the only time I like to toot my own horn is when I'm rubbing one out, in this case however I'll make an exception. I am an athletic freak, there I said it, at a conservative estimate I'd put myself in the 90th percentile of raw athleticism *everyone shifts uncomfortably in their seats* not bad for a white guy. I also have approximately a 140 IQ *more squirming from the crowd*. Guess what I do for a job? I'm a labourer. Not that there's anything wrong with being a labourer. Who am I kidding, labouring sucks ass. Hmmm, how the fuck did this happen? You'd think with some fairly decent natural gifts I could have placed myself better.

In New Zealand self agrandizing statements are frowned upon (it's just as well I moved to Australia, otherwise I'd be lynched, actually the only mouthing off that Aussie's like is when they're the ones doing it). These "tall-poppies" are quickly chopped down to size through belittling taunts and other forms of social control. In the little area where I grew up the celebration of stupidity and false humility had reached epidemic proportions. Not only was bragging ridiculed, but so was actually doing well at anything academically. Now I don't blame these people for my current situation, my penchant for laziness took care of that all by itself. All I'm saying is that humans are strange creatures, perhaps especially the ones that I hang around. Nobody really failed at anything because no one really tried, and if anyone did we laughed at them. Seriously, our mums went through 9 months of shit in order shit out us useless pieces of shit? Extreme self-loathing is also one of my many gifts.

So I was walking through this clusterfuck wasteland and then CM Punk happened and I was saved. I think the best part about blogging is that there's no intonation or indicators where you can tell exactly which parts of my writing I'm actually serious about. Blurring the lines of fantasy and reality, it's beautiful. You know how evangelicals can pull out an atomic clock and tell you to the millisecond when their personal Lord and Saviour rescued them? I get it now. I just don't understand it. Something seriously strange happened this week. I feel energized about life for the first time since I can't remember when (am I or was I depressed?). Is this some kind of bizarro menopause? I actually feel like kicking the world's arse. This is awesome.

I'm even going straight edge for a while, which is like living the Word of Wisdom without the dogma, but with really bad punk music instead. I'm doing this for a few of reasons: 1. Because by all accounts I'm a bad drunk, of course I never remember the dumb stuff that I do, but damn it's still embarrassing. 2. My bodies tolerance for alcohol is decreasing, I spew after every drink up now. 3. I get to draw an x on the back of my hand which looks bad ass. Experiencing adolescence in your 30's is fun, you get to try on all these different identities and everybody thinks your crazy. You can't please everyone.

Well, that's the story of how I overcame years of apathy and actually started caring enough to do something. This could change at any time I'm aware. I guess sometimes you can't just go with how you feel. Even if you're run down, got a shit job, or have any other sad sap tale of woe you still gotta find your reason for being here, or create it. Nostalgia helped me find my way out of nowhere (through wrestling!?!), but it could equally pull me back into my old ways (procrastination and laziness). Wish me luck.

manhood, that which escapes me

2011-06-27T12:46:00.004+10:00

Beware: possible misogyny ahead...

I come from New Zealand where men are men and sheep are girls*. At least, I wish the first part were true. In a world of shifting values and rampant emasculation I cast my net of manliness out across the four corners of the earth and often as of late find my catches wanting. Am I the last man left?

We are the lost boys, "young men stuck in neutral", children in mens bodies forever clinging to our sophomoric antics and nostalgic sheened pasts, afraid that the throes of modern adulthood may one day swallow us up entirely. Alternatively we may assimilate into the feminine imperative adopting traits of the fairer sex, ignoring our proud heritage. The blood of monkeys runs in these veins (and testosterone through my balls). Can we not be equal and different. The anima is not the animus or vice versa. I am a man's man. I will conquer. I will create. I will destroy. As soon as I finish this level of Call of Duty.

I am not a man because of what I am (a disappointment). I am a man because I ask the question: What is manliness?

*stole this line from someone, can't remember who

the arrival

2011-06-06T20:33:00.007+10:00

I thought I gave up living in the future. "Everybody wants to go to heaven but nobody wants to die." I don't believe in heaven anymore, so it seems that I only have death to look forward to. Before I become worm food, I might as well make the most of now. But what does that mean?

Meaning can emerge internally or it can be externally imposed , either way it is created. Why do I clean my room when it will inevitably return to its natural state of messiness? Why do I shave? Why do I deteriorate? Why do I do anything?

There is a mythical realm that exists, if only in our minds (I'm not sure if imaginal places or entities are any less valid than physical ones) where all wrongs will be righted, and the righteous will live forever in peace, harmony and eternal happiness. This is a nice goal. We tend to be goal driven creatures.

The future cannot rescue me from now. If heaven exists it'll be a nice bonus, but relying on the promise of reasonably implausible future destination is no way to live. Now is an all-encompassing thing, a place where I must perpetually live out my existence. I cannot entirely defer all present gratification in pursuit of a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.

I'm not saying abandon hope all those who read this post. I'm saying that every goal I create in my mind is a pot of gold. An internal Trojan horse that will prove my undoing. I tire of imagining hallucinations when I could be smoking perfectly good pot.

There is what you do and what you do not do. Choose wisely friend. I keep waiting for the moment when I can say I've made it. I have finally arrived. That this is the endgame. Now I pray the endgame never comes, that somehow I'll live forever. Seen as that is an impossible hope, I have to settle for merely living. Living is being and doing, everything else is what other people think and what do they know?

Some more than me, others less, but I don't need a proxy for life. I sell a little piece of my integrity everyday to eat and than a little more to be like everyone else. There is no pot of gold. A rainbow is light reflecting through raindrops. Heaven doesn't exist, but I do, and if I don't keep on doing, keep on being here right now, I might as well be a figment of someone else's imagination too.

listen to this podcast

2011-06-06T00:41:00.002+10:00

Amazing podcast touching on Mormonism and general religious weirdness

the curious case of LeBron James

2011-05-30T12:19:00.005+10:00

part 1

part 2

Basically I posted those blogs, so that I could post this one. I think they serve to offer the proper context for what is about to follow.

How do you become incredibly unpopular? Let LeBron James show you the way.

LeBron James plays basketball in the NBA. Last summer as a free agent he decided to leave his home town Cleveland Cavaliers and join the Miami Heat with two other top level free agents, Dwayne Wade and Chris Bosh.

He was roundly critiziced for the decision and especially the way he went about it, an hour long show on ESPN where he announced his new destination to the world. People generally resented the fact that he would abandon his home team (his jerseys were burnt in the streets of Cleveland by former fans), that he'd do so in such a self-absorbed fashion, and that he would join forces with other high level talent instead of plugging away on an inferior team where he was the unquestionable alpha dog.

This week LeBron and the Miami Heat prepare to play in the NBA finals. I'd say that in hindsight he has been vindicated in his decision. If you had the option of playing in Cleveland with a bunch of scrubs or Miami, where there's better weather, more hotties per square mile than anywhere else on earth, and where you get to join players who can contribute far more than what you're accustomed to getting from your teammates, well, you'd likely make the move too.

This is what I can't understand, the consensus was that LeBron should have stayed out of a sense of perverse loyalty to the city of Cleveland and the Cleveland Cavaliers organization. To which I say bullshit. If you're a free agent you have the right to move to any place you choose. You make the decision that is best for you. Does anyone think for a second that if LeBron was ever injured that the Cavs (let alone the Heat) would have any moral issues about dropping ass? The NBA is a business pure and simple, the players in this system are there to make old rich white men richer.

This is the part I love, 3 young black men gamed the system; did something that's never been done before: have 3 premiere free agents still in their prime go to the same team in the same year; and barring injury have ensured that the team they chose to play for will dominate the NBA for the next decade. This is a classic story of the tiny rebel alliance (Bosh, James and Wade) taking on the evil empire (the NBA franchise owners) albiet while playing their game.

I can't understand why the general populace would side with the bosses when the majority of us are workers. Sure LeBron and co aren't exactly classic examples of the prolitariat, they're multi-millioniares, but they're still working class heroes in my book. Who doesn't want to stick it to the man? People who love their jobs I guess. As for me I've been an LBJ fan from the beginning and I'm not about to stop now. Go the Heat!

mutating religiosity

2011-05-29T00:13:00.006+10:00

"Let them worship how where and what they may." - Joseph Smith

Indeed Joseph. Indeed. I'm not against Mormonism or Christianity or Islam (especially not Islam, peace upon you, don't kill me etc.) or any other flights of fancy. I'm all for them, until people start flying planes into buildings, that's a little extreme even for my tastes. I pick and choose what I like from humanity's vast history of faith traditions and moral thought and go from there. Take for instance prayer. It seems ridiculous at first, the way most people do it; where god's a genie, minus the lamp, with an offer of unlimited wishes that may or may not be granted depending on the creativity of the individual offering up the supplication. You're doing it wrong people. I am of the opinion that the universe is at best indifferent, but more likely hostile. The majority of it is inhospitable to life. But you've gotta be grateful for small favours. If the big bang didn't happen I wouldn't be here to lament our existence and wouldn't we all be the poorer for that. The sperm that formed half of me beat out about 50 million others on the way to fertilize the rest of me. The only time I've ever won anything, and a good thing too, otherwise I wouldn't be myself. They died that I might live, which was nice of them. Sometimes I get up and just say thank you universe. I'm alive for a little while longer. Let's make today awesome. I don't expect much help from the universe with the awesomeness part of my prayerish type request, so I'm never disappointed, but as for the rest, sometimes it just feels good to say thank you.

How about scripture study? I need daily reminders of what to do and why I'm doing it, because it's too easy to get distracted by present concerns that have little long term pay off. Studying these specially selected works helps me to do just that...

THIS WEEK'S TOP 5 CANONICAL WORKS

1. The War of Art by Steven Pressfield

2. Improv Wisdom by Patricia Ryan

3. Fight Club, Chuck Palahniuk

4. Expanding Mind podcast, by Erik Davis

5. This is Water, by David Foster Wallace

as a bonus here's...

THIS WEEK'S TOP DEMI-GOD

1. ^^Adam Carolla

extra bonus bonus...

THIS WEEK'S TOP SACRED DANCE MOVE...

1. The (Melbourne) Shuffle.

Yes, it reached its zenith popularity wise about 2 years ago, but it looks like it's finally hit the main stream, and I only learned how to do it this week, hence its inclusion here.

Thank you.

the socio-economics of basketball and the question of race or how to alienate almost every one in 3 easy steps part 2

2011-05-28T22:17:00.002+10:00

here's part 1

2. College guys play for love and not for the money

The Joker said it best: "If you're good at something never do it for free."

Basically everyone involved in college athletics is getting paid (in some cases insane amounts of money) except for the people responsible for this crazy cash cow: the athletes. Sure, many of them are on scholarships, but that's a pittance compared to the quagillion dollars that college sports generates annually. If college ballers could get paid they would, as demonstrated by those who declare for the NBA draft as soon as they are eligible (you have to be 19). The argument for motivational purity is always a precarious one. This is just another version of art versus commerce and in my mind just another false dichotomy. Can you not love something and get paid for doing it at the same time? Has anyone heard of a sperm bank before? Conclusion: Anyone who uses money in real life and could get paid for playing a child's game for a living would do so. It's all academic.

3. College guys are fundamental

This feels like another culturally embedded racial stereotype, but this one may originate from a true premise as opposed to point #1. Has anyone seen White Men Can't Jump (it's about basketball)? The only thing I remember from that movie, besides Rosie Perez's areolas, was a conversation between Wesley Snipes and Woody Harrelson about how black men would rather look good first and win second (style over substance) while white guys are the other way around. I realize that this is a powerful piece of evidence, a redundant, long forgotten piece of throw away cinema, but hey it feels right. Not what they said as it applies to reality, but more as a way that many people perceive reality. I think this point comes down once again to the fact, that from what we can tell black people are better athletes than whites or anyone else. For white men to compete they need to master the basics, it's easier, although still extremely difficult, to develop skill, rather than (legally) generate more fast twitch muscle fibers and somehow learn how to jump 50 inches. Sometimes, unfortunately either you got it or you don't. I don't have AIDS. For some reason (a reason I will explore no doubt in a future post) a 360 slam dunk is aesthetically more pleasing than a 3-point shot at least according to sportscenter. So, black men do end up looking good (they're more likely to get more highlights shown on ESPN because they dunk more than everyone else) as well as winning more too, because genetically or otherwise they are better suited to athletic activity.

final conclusion: black men are better at basketball than white men. Some white men don't like this so they gravitate toward watching the college game more than the NBA, because there are more white men playing at the college level.

Next: The Curious Case of LeBron James

this is not a pipe

2011-05-25T21:26:00.006+10:00

I'm driving to work. Well, my mate is driving me to work. I have been deemed a hazard by the Queensland Transport Authority. So these days the only way I get into a car is as a passenger. These are typically long drives, a daily commute from the Gold Coast to Brisbane. At least an hour. You do enough of these and eventually you run out of things to talk about. Well, I never run out of things to talk about, but there's something about long drives, heading in the opposite direction of where you'd like to be, that is incredibly depressing and depression has a funny way of rendering me mute.

I shake off the brain fog. We start talking about drugs. A new favourite topic of mine. Can't wait for my first acid trip. Ah yeah, TMI. He's giving me the run down on 'E', 'P', coke, heroin, and old reliable marijuana. We're debating the merits of Friday the movie, and the evaporation of Chris Tuckers career. We're speculating about an over-under on whether a cop, if given the option, would rather pull you up on a traffic violation or a drug possession offence. If you go to jail, it costs the system money, if you get caught speeding the system gets money. It's all about the Benjamins Baby.

After a few tangents we start on effects and the side effects of drugs. Back to weed again. It makes you lazy, forgetful, gives you the munchies and paranoia. I run the list through my brain, checking boxes. Hold up. I'm all those things. All the time. I eat like crazy, always worried about nothing, forever loosing my keys, or wandering into rooms and then wondering why I'm there, and my preference in life is to do as little as possible. I'm manifesting all the signs without even using. Can you imagine if I actually smoked the shit? I mention this in passing. This is the part where he's supposed pipe up and say something supportive like "Loz, no, you're not like that at all..." Instead he's like: "Yeah that sounds right." Cheers mate.

Worst. Plan. Ever.

2011-05-25T00:12:00.004+10:00

Buckle up. I'm Agent Smith, you're Neo. "I'd like to share a revelation I've had during my time here..."

Premise: The god of Mormonism is a dick.

THE GRAND COUNCIL IN HEAVEN

Look children gather round, I've got a special announcement. I've been consulting with my favourite, Jesus H Christ, and we've put this amazing plan together that we've worked out for all of you based on agency. Just as a side note if any of you don't want to be a part of this right now we'll book you tickets straight to outer darkness*, or if you fuck up any of it along the way we'll just send you to a slightly less intense form of hell, so listen up. I love you guys, as such I'm going to send you all to a horrible place called earth, were the majority of you will experience terrible indignities, marvelous suffering and eventually death. But don't worry. I'll be with you always and you'll know this because I'll make you forget this entire conversation, and when things are at their most dire and you really need some help you know you can count on me, because I'll communicate with you down there in the most vague way that you could possibly imagine. As a bonus I'll also have these fun hoops that you'll have to jump through if you ever hope to make it back here in one piece, hoops that less than one half of one percent of you will ever find out about, muwhahahaha. Sorry didn't mean to laugh just then. The funniest thing happened to me this morning. Long story. Anyway. Um, no questions? Good. Everyone follow Jesus to the nearest exit. All righty, let there be light etc blah blah. Come on let's get a move one people. Adam. Eve. Earth. Now.

...and we all "shouted for joy", because god was S & we are M.

*some accounts contend that the outer darkness part of this statement was kept as surprise sprung on dissenters after they expressed disagreement.

the aimless aim

2011-05-22T22:00:00.005+10:00

"not all those who wander are lost" ~ JRR Tolkien

Each time a cliche is repeated it looses part of its rhetorical power. You'd (and by you I mean I ) think that at a certain point along a cliche's asymptote any value it could offer would eventually drop to zero, but infinity rarely behaves in ways you'd expect. If I've lost any of you, don't worry, calculus was invented by an asexual occult theoretical physicist alchemist Englishman. Not that there's anything wrong with asexuals or alchemists etc, but those bloody English, hooligan's all of them, especially my granddad. So the sins of my father's fathers may explain why any explanation of the preceding sentences would be futile. I'm speaking English after all.

Everything diminishes over time, empires, hairlines, sexual virility, hard-ons, but I repeat myself and that's the thing isn't it? Not to put to fine a point on it, which as I have masterfully demonstrated is in no danger of occurring. Repetition is the mother of all boredom to simultaneously borrow and murder a phrase. In its more traditional form the said cliche also holds true. I share this first, because I am incredibly generous, and second, because it's Sunday night, what the fuck else am I gonna do?

The joy is in the journey and not the destination. The truth of this statement grows like the average bra size for women (for the sake of political correctness I should include men here too. There has been a dramatic increase of man tits recently compared to historical instances of man chests) in the western world. I'm not sure if something can become more true over time, but such is the mystique of the humble cliche. In the beginning a punch is just a punch, when you're learning to punch it is many things, when you've learned to punch a punch once again is just a punch. Punch on compadres.

Hasn't it been far more fulfilling for you to arrive at this moment of lucid insight with me, through arduous and unrelenting non-nonsensical verbiage? Would things have not been a tiny tad more dull, had I spoken off the cuff, on the nose, and called a shovel a shovel to begin with? I like wandering. I like meandering. I'm in no hurry to meet my final destination. I enjoy not being at the end, because that's the part where you (and by you I mean I) die.

The end.

the socio-economics of basketball and the question of race or how to alienate almost every one in 3 easy steps part 1

2011-05-20T18:05:00.019+10:00

It's NBA playoff time. Quite possibly my favorite time of the year, ever since I discovered Santa isn't real. Every time I think of fictional Christmas characters I'm reminded of my mission. Did you know Jesus has been to New York? I've never been to New York. That asshole. Speaking of my mission almost every white boy from the USA that I met while serving mine(The Adelaide, Australia, Zion Mission) hated professional basketball (despite b-ball being the unofficial sport of the Mormon church). The consensus was that college basketball was far superior to the pros, based on the stellar reasoning that college basketball is blah, blah, blah, bullshit etc. Douchebags. Let's be clear, college basketball blows goats. Speaking of its merits collectively and not individually: The athletes are inferior, the skill level is second rate, the centers barely surpass 6'7 (what's basketball without freakishly overgrown men, there's something about watching Shaq run the floor that is both fascinating and frightening ) and there's a lot more white people who play percentage wise than in the professional ranks. Yep, I just threw down the race card, read 'em and weep boys and girls, I win again.

Complaints against the NBA and the championing of College basketball usually come down to these points...

Guys in the NBA don't really try where as college boys hustle (like dope dealers) all day long baby.
College guys play for love and not for the money.
College guys are fundamental.

Real talk time. Here's the rebuttal..

1. There's this pervasive insidious racial stereotype that applies to people of colour in every country that I've ever lived in. It goes as follows: If you're a shade darker than white, you're lazy. Where did this come from? It can't be from the good old days i.e. when slavery was legal. Pardon the colloquial language, but those niggas did all the work. Apparently shedding the shackles of oppression includes adopting a slacker attitude which is genetically passed on to your descendants ad infinitum. Some one please explain this stereotype to me. I mean do all stereotypes really start with a kernel of truth? Really? Anyway, a whopping 82% of the players in the NBA are black according to some anonymous poster on answers.com. That's a lot of homies. Quick side note: Thanks to the progressive folk doctrine surrounding the offspring of Cain in the Mormon church (this has to have been some kind of lame attempt at a theodicy on the part of the brethren .) our darker skinned brothers and sisters have been cast as fence sitters. This designation doesn't exactly conjure up images of thoroughbred work horses. That's the Mormon explanation. Not really satisfactory.

Back to the big picture: the stigma remains, origin unknown, black people are lazy, especially overpaid, self-entitled black athletes (This sentiment echoes far beyond the parochial confines of my once and past church). Of course this is only my opinion, but you don't get to the top of a profession in any field by not working your ass off. I fail to see how basketball is an exception to this inviolable rule. I get the feeling that some of my fellow white boys (well, I'm half Samoan, so I'm doing my own kind of fence sitting "my skin may be white, but I'm brown on the inside". Name the movie) resent the success of young black men. Keep those confederate flags under wraps boys the south wont be rising again anytime soon. Not in the NBA.

A valid question at this point is: why are blacks, or excuse me African Americans, over represented in American professional sports, particularly basketball and football? There are two basic theories: (a) black people (I'm wanting to say those of African descent, but if you go back far enough we're all from Africa) on average have more fast twitch muscle fibers, higher calf insertion points, basically they're just more physically robust than their every-other-race counterparts. (b) The socio-economic condition of the black man is worse than white peoples. Therefore they're more motivated to get out of the ghetto so to speak, than those who live relatively more comfortable lives. Think about the USSR circa communist rule. You live in a country that has an arctic climate, it's $50 dollars for a loaf of bread. You can work on a farm or in a silo or some other shitty alternative or you can become an Olympic Level athlete. For a while there Russia won a lot of medals. Some people believe that this is because they had a big enough Why as motivation. Getting out of the hood, making elite athletes since forever. Perhaps the success of black men in the NBA is a combination of both factors. Or maybe I'm racist.

That will do for today.

music is my friend

2011-05-15T14:50:00.006+10:00

I'm listening to the Tron Legacy soundtrack. This is the greatest movie score of all time. The movie wasn't even very good (as far as story goes), but the visuals and music are entertainment MDMA without the come down. Especially the music.

Have you ever seen that episode of the Simpsons where Bart get's an 'F' and he has to pass his next test or he'll have to repeat the forth grade? Well Bart prays for help. The next day Springfield is hit by a blizzard. School is canceled and Bart has a day to cram for the upcoming test. Everyone is playing outside and enjoying the snow, but Bart instead of having fun gets to sit there like a chump and study.

That's what it's like when you choose the writer's life, or any other form of non-collaborative creative endeavour. Except in my case it's sunny outside, there are probably 100s of beautiful woman dotting the beach, which is a 3 minute walk away. What the hell am I doing? Like Kobe, I'm doing work. I signed up for this. Me, alone with all that could happen.

When I've got music blasting away in the background, while I tear out the few remaining strands of hair that are left from my undesired follicular diaspora, trying to figure out what to do next, it feels like I'm a little less alone, that there's a tiny channel connecting me to the outside world. This is good.

Sometimes I even feel like I'm on a roll. That I just wrote something moving. Then I realize that it wasn't the writing it was the soundtrack that gave me that feeling. Oh well. Then I keep going.

Daft Punk rocks. The Tron Legacy soundtrack is amazing. There are no lyrics to distract me from thinking, and every moment it feels like something profound is about to happen. Fuck yeah!

the opiate of the masses without the masses

2011-05-09T17:47:00.003+10:00

It's time for your irregularly scheduled, goodbye I don't love you, church related post. The church is perfect, but the people aren't. So don't worry true believer, be happy (hopelessly devote yourself to a particular form of bureaucracy?). I hear this all the time, but what does it mean?

I don't know.

OK, try again. For the person saying it, it probably means that it's unrealistic to expect people to be perfect no matter how amazing the organization is that they're associated with. Fair call.

But what is an organization without people? If the church is the platonic ideal of a religious institution and it's just the people that contaminate it, what would happen if we took the people out? It would just be an abstract idea, but maybe not even that because no one would be around to think it.

Shouldn't an organization exist to serve the people who are party to it and not the other way around anyway. What is more important the institution or the individual? Either way an institution is nothing without its people. It is its people. You gotta dance with the one you came with.

the greatest speech of all time

2011-05-05T15:33:00.003+10:00

loren 2.0

2011-05-03T20:56:00.004+10:00

"They call me the [Tortoise], because I take my time, but in the end I always win." ~ Tortuga (from Breaking Bad)

One day I will be dooced, but it's OK I'm still going to write things like: every time I'm at work, I'm like Dorothy, I just wanna go home. This should not be interpreted as a slight toward my current form of employment (although let's not kid ourselves, it is shithouse), there are deeper forces at play here. The truth is I don't like work of any kind, even the kind the I purportedly want to do. It's like they say "I don't like to write, but I love to have written." Whenever I sit down to do one of my projects Resistance kicks in immediately. I want to retreat to the safety of internet browsing, alcohol, weed, fast food and other less flattering time eaters. 30+ years of training yourself to flow like water, away from the hard stuff, is not easily undone. I need new habits.

To facilitate the transition from uber slacker to ass kicker extraordinaire I've had to start very small. Tiny, tiny premature midget baby steps. My iPhone has been helpful in this regard. I recommend to anyone 3 types of apps to assist in keeping focus on whatever you decide is important.

Get a daily planner e.g. Things, Remember the Milk, Pocket Informant. I use Awesome Note. The name speaks for itself.
Get a time tracking app. I use Eternity, this app allows you to log what you actually did minute for minute throughout the day in categories of your choosing. You can instantly generate reports that give you a percentage breakdown daily, weekly or monthly of what you do. It is amazing how much time I spend on inessential stuff.
Finally get The Habit Factor (or alternatively use Don't Break the Chain, not a native app). This app let's you set goals then habits that are related to those goals. This is where I do my major micromanaging. For example, I want to meditate. I designate a week (you can choose whatever time period you like) where I will at minimum meditate for at least 1 minute a day. At the end of that week if I achieved my minimums and how could I not, it was 1 minute a day! Then I add another minute to the next week. 2 minutes a day. When I get to 15 a day I'll sit on that time for a few weeks. This is how they treat phobias apparently: gradual increased exposure to the object of fear over time, in a controlled environment.

Is 3 Apps really necessary to get my ass in to gear? No, I could probably get away with just the daily planner, but doing it how I do is like an injection of OCD in the arm. Everyday I'm semi-obsessed with what kind of stats I'm going to tally up so it motivates me in that way. Plus I like how Eternity and the Habit Factor and even Don't Break the Chain chart the data that I record, giving a visual breakdown of my proceedings.

I want to be the frog that is boiled to death without noticing. There's an old philosophical conundrum (sorites paradox): when does a pile of sand stop being a pile? You take away one grain at a time and eventually you don't have a pile anymore, just a single grain of sand. Where does the transition point from pile to non-pile occur? That's the conundrum. That's also me, except working in the opposite direction: Building piles of awesomeness one fucking grain at a time.

a meandering path to unelightenment or the re-enchantment of the world

2011-04-28T18:32:00.006+10:00

Fantasy exists for a reason. Possibly because of our dissatisfaction with reality. Although reality, or at least our perceptions and beliefs about it, have proven over the course of human history to be quite malleable. Reality, whatever that is, and fantasy intersect at a point of synthesis that we call an individual. Neither of these binary opposites are strictly limited to solipsistic interpretation, there is a broad spectrum of social consciousness that informs the context of our shared understanding about what constitutes reality or fantasy, but it is at a personal level where we experience these elements.

On any given day I can swing from being a fully functioning adult to a pouting emo reprobate. At times I'll convince myself that I'm level headed, logical, above the everyday pettiness that afflicts normal humans. In truth I am all these things, but only occasionally. I still have a lizard brain, emotions, and other bits of biochemistry that derail my best efforts to attain an ideal that in the end may be unhealthy, unrealistic. Perhaps I should give myself over to the fantastic.

There I was sitting in a cinema watching Thor. My expectations set to: this-will-likely-be-worse-than-Ghost-Rider-and-every-hair-piece-Nicholas-Cage-has-ever-worn-combined. Sometimes it's good to set the bar low. Surprisingly it was good, not I'm-going-to-channel-the-little-girl-from-Adventures-in-Babysitting-and-adopt-Thor-as-my-new-personal-god-good, but hey it was fun. For a little while there I suspended my disbelief long enough to wish I was in Asgard wearing some funky cool Jack Kirby inspired garb and fighting for the hearts and minds of its imaginary denizens. It was like I was 12 again and had discovered marvel comics for the first time.

I'm broke, like (pre-fame) Louis CK broke . Before I went to Thor I brought a lotto ticket for a possible $25 million prize. Realistically I have a better chance of being struck by lightening, while being eaten by a shark, while being crashed into by a plane, but at one point my thoughts turned from Asgard to my less than stellar financial situation and since I was already straddling Fantasyland I thought I might as well enjoy it. Have you ever allowed yourself to entertain a thought that is both simultaneously totally ridiculous and unbelievably awesome? I could see all the ways I'd spend the money and hoard it and invest it and laud it. For a brief shining moment it was real. This was Winning on a whole new level. I was delivered from poverty into a whole new set of wonderful privileges and problems. Fooling yourself is dangerous, because it's intoxicating.

After my little pilgrimage to Fantasyland I was alone with myself again. Everything was the same, except that I'd decided to bring a little souvenir back with me: "Whosoever holds this hammer..." Um anyway. Can you change the way you experience the world by changing the way you see the world? I'm angry at the Mormon church (this is always floating somewhere between thoughts, this is me being emo), because I feel they fooled me and worst of all that I was complicit in my own delusion. But If I settle on a new equal but opposite black/white position has anything really changed? As Einstein would suggest "you cannot solve a problem from the same level of consciousness that created it." Why not a world where there is a whimsical interplay between fantasy and reality like Asgard, many people live satisfying lives filtering reality this way. As always there's only one way to find out... I'm a walking on a rainbow bridge. I'm a chaos magician. Belief will change my world.

the philosophy of first world eating

2011-04-19T19:41:00.009+10:00

12:04 I walk into McDonald's and I can't buy anything, it's been a little over 4 months and I want to eat something shitty, but the power of habit is keeping me from indulging in my tendency for self-sabotage. Besides, it just seems wrong ethically. How many creatures, and people, and how much of the environment got fucked over just so I can have the convenience of a $2 in 2 minute cheeseburger? I walk past the counter, and away disappointed. So you refuse to indulge in any activity that is potentially harmful to the world in anyway Loren? Why not become a hermit. That way no one gets hurt. Go on, leave no footprints. Pretend that we are not in fact part of the natural world, a world that is far from stable anyway. I can justify anything in my mind, but it raises the classic philosophical question: where do you draw the line?

00:02 I walk into Maccas blind drunk. Around 24 hours have passed since my earlier encounter. In my inebriated state I now know where the line is and I cross it. I remember too late, all justifications aside, that McDonald's is not in the business of food (see Fast Food Nation), they're in the business of real estate. Food is just something that they happen to do, and not particularly well. Mmm fries that taste like cardboard, burgers that taste worse than what a severely retarded 5 year old could prepare, oh yeah. I walk away defeated, but secure in the knowledge that it's a while before I'll do this again. Doesn't even taste good. Old habits die hard, new ones die easy. I don't want to die at all. Not eating McD's will help.

fashionably late jesus

2011-04-11T18:54:00.003+10:00

I'm plodding away inventing errands for myself to run, because it's a lot easier to shop for a designer pen than it is to write something with one. When I was a religious zealot, hey we all have our weaknesses, I used to fret over procrastination. My mindset is pretty much why do something when you can do nothing? When I put it to myself like that, doing nothing wins out more often than not. I've converted some of my down time to meditation which helps me to feel a whole lot more productive while sitting around accomplishing not much of anything.

I've still got a lot of time leaks though, but before I shore up and right my ship I'm going to cast my mind back to the footprints I saw on the sand before I sailed out here (warning there is an allusion here to some BS feel good story that I'm not going to go into too much). Jesus, thanks for carrying me and the rest of humanity buddy, I don't think I could have made it across the beach without you. There's just one nagging question I've got though: where the hell are you?

Apparently the second coming (thanks to my sophomoric sense of humour I can never say or write that with a straight face) is well on the way. It's the last days (still), so any minute now, watch out, boom, it's gonna happen. Jesus is probably just holding off, because he's a guy and sometimes we take a little while to recover. 2000 years though? Come on Jesus put your omnipotence where your [insert, um never mind] is.

The second coming is going to happen around a time when the world is at it's shittiest, talk to some Christians and they'll have you believe that that time is upon us. We are buried in the shit of the world right now. The bubonic plague wasn't bad enough. The holocaust and Hiroshima and world wars weren't enough to trigger it either (yep, I totally stole this from The Daily Show's farewell to Glenn Beck). No none of that, gay marriage and advanced medical care are truly the signs of the end times. Hmmm.

I propose that Jesus is actually a lazy ass bum. This not only makes sense, but also makes me feel better. Just like everyone else he'd rather put the hard stuff off. Descending in a cloud of glory while your infidel brothers burn and with angels blowing trumpets and stuff is probably a daunting prospect. There's a lot of planning that goes into a genocide on that scale. Besides this is a guy who literally invented the phrase "the 11th hour" at least that's what Matthew said or at least whoever wrote the book of Matthew said that he said it.

Back when we used to be friends, Jesus seemed a little untouchable, he was so perfect and I was just human, all too human. It's great that at this late stage we can finally find some common ground. Jesus hasn't not come back yet because he's dead and resurrection is impossible, it's because he's procrastinating. I like him better already. This is going to make my spontaneous combustion at his return all the more enjoyable. In other good news I've found a pen, now all I need is a fancy exorbitantly priced writing pad. Anyone know where I can find a moleskin?

the end of the world

2011-04-04T19:18:00.004+10:00

No matter how bad things get they could always be worse. Times are challenging for me at the moment. I look out and realize it's not the end of the world though. That happens next year. We're well on our way with earthquakes, and revolutions and other upheavals, all of which entirely dwarf my petty so called problems. That's right, things could be worse. I could be radioactive or dead. How very stoic. You know, somehow I don't feel any better. Why does our sense of wellbeing need to piggyback on the misery of others. Haven't they suffered enough. I'm glad I'm not so and so, stranded on a roof, surrounded by water out in the middle of wherever. It's terrible, even with the worst possible scenarios imaginable things can and do devolve into a pissing contest. I know that statements of the sort that I'm describing are not intended to be insensitive and are probably just an abstract way of coping with life's problems. It's just strange to me. Is it possible for movement up or down Maslow's hierarchy of needs (I find myself struggling to even scale the bottom 3 levels at the moment) be self fulfilling within it's self without the need for external comparison? I'm not preaching. I'm asking. I don't know the answers. Maybe this is a necessary part of the human condition, a residual directive of our evolutionary programming? We are social creatures, so relating to each other, I suppose, would be difficult without contrasting our individual circumstances. If we lacked the ability to do so, there could be no empathy either. You can't have the good without the bad? I am at an impasse.

21st century male seeks the good life

2011-03-29T16:45:00.012+10:00

"Study strategy over the years and achieve the spirit of the warrior. Today is the victory over yourself of yesterday; tomorrow is your victory over lesser men." -- Miyamoto Mushashi via @i570k

If I could do anything as my main gig for the rest of however long I'm around, I'd blog. Which is funny, in a you're probably not going to laugh at this kind of way. I've had a lot of time on my hands lately, being virtually unemployed and all, yet still I've managed to neglect the old SoC. Random Flashback: There's nothing like the rush of starting an assignment 1 hour before, and handing it in 2 minutes after it's due (Uni oh, how I miss you). That's what I used to think before I couldn't pay rent. Now I watch deadlines fly by like they're F-16 fighter jets given a mandate to terminate with extreme prejudice. It's thrilling. I could be applying for jobs that I don't want right now (done plenty of that already), or I could keep living the dream. Yes, it's true, I exist in a dream world where writing for the pure joy of it makes sense. I need to do more of this.

Dedicating my time to things that I care about is not a novel idea, but more often than not a rare occurrence (unless you count browsing the net in which case the time invested has probably long passed the point of diminishing returns). It's like I've been poisoned by one of Angelina Jolie's magic spiders from Salt -greatest movie reference of all time - and only now are the paralytic effects beginning to wear off. I can wiggle my toes, almost feel my arms. Am I awake yet?

The metaphor is a strange one, granted, but no less so than the abstract notion at the heart of my perpetual lack of motion. Look back over the sum and total of my writings. Perhaps (sadly?) you'll find the voracious but ultimately empty barking of a young dog transitioning into a "mature" dog, devoid of any new tricks, having failed to properly learn the old ones. I am Peter Pan with a receding hairline, king of the lost boys. I tire of this. I want to grow up. I want to be a fucking pirate and fight alligators or something. Yes we're back to metaphors, I'm starved for imagery that would imply that I'm taking any of this seriously. This is as adult as I get without the aide of internet porn. Pirates? Shiieet. Well, what is the heart of the problem then, the Alligator I must slay? Myself? Yes, partly. I am utterly terrified of everything. Success, failure these are foreign concepts, I cringe at the very of thought of thinking about them. You know the old story about 2 fish swimming in water? Old fish bumps into them and asks how the water is. They swim on for a bit until one of them wonders: "What the hell is water?" For me fear is water, it is so much a part of my world that I don't even notice it's there anymore.

Did I mention that I used to be paralyzed? Damn you Angelina and your goddamn dirty spiders. I grew up believing one day I would be a god. If you believe that type of nonsense you'll probably believe anything (Mormonism, you can be my fall guy any day). Becoming a god is a lot easier than it sounds, tick a few boxes, adhere to the social expectations set out by the group and one day, before you know it, you'll be making big bangs like primordial atoms. Yes, that was a double entendre. Making universes and populating earths is what Mormon graduate gods have to look forward to. I'll concede on this point: fucking for eternity is my idea of heaven too. But what was the real point again? Hmm, Due to my docile nature, a collection of placid eccentricities and a suffocating culture I by chance happened upon a combination of learned helplessness (don't think, just obey) and a powerful aversion to non-conformity (don't rock the boat). I'm that little elephant that grew into the big elephant that doesn't know that a simple rope can no longer retrain him. Indeed I am a lot of things.

Can't blame the church or anything else though. Jesus isn't going to materialize out of thin air and save you. No one can save you, not Obama, not Jersey Shore, not even viagra. No one. Nothing. The last bastion of hope is yourself. Same as it ever was. I've been waiting to arrive for a very long time now, but for who and for what? I fear (there I go again) that in the process of trying to play the game, I've been getting played. Living lives and dreams that I never wanted. Gradually I just packed it all in and became a hermit locked away in a 6'2 foot frame comprised primarily of pure NZ beef. I sometimes wonder when I gave up trying, just simply trying (maybe Yoda was wrong, there is a try). Success is too big a burden to contemplate, because it takes so much failure to get there. What is success though? Other people probably do not give 2 fucks about what I'm thinking. If only they knew how much I dread their opinions of me, so I shut down, operating strictly in safe mode as it were. Success was being invisible.

So now, I'll start simple: success is breathing. I'm still here mother fuckers. There are other useful suggestions about the topic as well: "Spend less time fantasizing about 'success' and way more time making really cool mistakes." says Merlin Mann. Repeat after me, it's OK to mess up, it's OK to look stupid messing up. In fact from now on it's mandatory. Still breathing? Good. Coach Wooden offers: "Peace of mind, is attained only through the self satisfaction, in knowing that you have made the effort to do the best of which you are capable." The measuring stick is one's self. It's a low hurdle at the moment for me admittedly, so why wait, time to get on track ;)

the show goes on all right

2011-03-24T11:18:00.006+10:00

I've never been this almost homeless before. Wow, I never even contemplated that eating could ever become a luxury. To quote Stu from the Hangover "This situation is completely fucked." I'm sure there's a lesson in this somewhere. It's times like these where I like to brake out little nuggets like this one, courtesy of Chris Prentiss: "Everything that happens to me only happens so that I can be benefited to the maximum amount possible." A lie probably, but a lie worth living. While I'm on a roll, David Foster Wallace offered this gem (which makes me more comfortable about adopting these sometimes ridiculous personal mantras): "In the day-to-day trenches of adult existence, banal platitudes can have a life or death importance." And he killed himself (that last fact makes me less comfortable). My personal favourite at the moment, though, I stole from Lupe Fiasco, no matter what, no matter how bad things get: "The Show Goes On."

*update*

stupid me, I forgot to mention "winning", oh yeah, that's what I'm all about.

on writing

2011-03-11T19:09:00.001+10:00

"We all learn to write by the second grade, most of us move on to bigger things." -- Bobby Knight

good point.

the art of thuggery

2011-03-09T20:36:00.008+10:00

Can aesthetic beauty be communicated through an act of barbarism? Is there artistry in the timing of a face intercepting a punch meant to bludgeon? Boxing is a dying sport, a spectacle that satiated the blood lust of the masses for centuries. Can I find solace in the discomfort and challenge it promises? That, my friends, is completely up to me.

I am at a crossroads, yet again: Boxing or MMA? When I began my journey into the fight game, a little over year ago, I asked the same question. I decided on boxing because it's got a smaller range of skills to learn, which is beneficial at my advanced age, but then I began training MMA. I'm more decisive then a potential GOP candidate. And then I discovered alcohol... Fast forward to now and I'm slowly weening myself off the bottle and contemplating the finer points of punching peoples faces in. It's not easy being an ultra violent pacifist, but someone's gotta do it.

I hear boxing calling to me: "Come here Loren, become a practitioner of the sweet science. You've got WMDs where most only have guns, a black hole for a heart, and the business savvy of a Don King. You were built for this." Cus De Mato, legendary trainer of Mike Tyson, once said: "A boy comes to me with a spark of interest. I feed the spark and it becomes a flame. I feed the flame and it becomes a fire. I feed the fire and it becomes a roaring blaze." I'm on my way to becoming a fucking blazing inferno at the moment (thanks in no small part to Santa Olivia by Jacqueline Carey, The Wire season 4 wow this TV show continues work me over, The Fighter and my cousin's unending enthusiasm about the sport).

I am a thug, a butcher, an incandescent intellect. Why am I doing this? Because I need to do something. Life is boring in the relative safety of normalcy. The human condition is pleasure and pain. Sex and Violence. I can no longer function within the former parameters that I have set out for myself. Punch on mother fuckers.

Ask Loren

2011-03-04T17:17:00.007+10:00

Mr. Justin commented on the previous post. Comments have a word limit. I do not like these. Here is his comment and my obtuse response...

"[What you value is] Significance then. Besides that you could choose from:
Security, Variety, Love/Connection
Growth, or Contribution. Try to find at least one more that resonates with you.

Despite what you've said about athiesm being motivating, I'm convinced that a more eternal perspective has greater potential for generating motivation. It, at least, adds more weight to those last two factors in the list above.

I'm about to make a sweeping generatization here, but I get the impression that those who consciously adapt atheism have a pessimism overshadowing everything that they do (especially if they once held a religious/spiritual view), that isn't helpful for motivation. Any motivation they have seems to be self-focused.

If you can somehow get a motive that extends beyond yourself, that is bigger than yourself, and is constructive... then it's likely that your motivation will be stronger and more satisfying."

Are you going all Tony Robbins on me or is it Covey? I can't remember who's material that is. Genuine moment: thanks for the advice though. Anyways, I'm not sure about the accuracy of your conclusion. How many ex-mormon atheists do you really know? Sure there are a few bloggers that I link to here, but I'm not sure that any of them agree with my, shall we say, unique perspective about the world. All I see is good people trying to do the best they can with what they have. These are blogs though, you can't read too much into them. Besides I haven't come out officially until this very moment, but here goes, I am no longer atheist, more of a zen nihilist really, sometimes a chaos magician, but always pessimistic.

Some psychological research (see Happiness, the thinking person's guide) indicates that we all develop a default point of happiness that we naturally gravitate to in spite of external circumstances. If you're a curmudgeon before you win the lottery, chances are you'll still be a curmudgeon after you win (this is not to say that you can't change, just that change is very hard and takes a long time). I was an emo before I left the church, make no mistake about it, and surprisingly I'm still an emo from time to time now. So with this in mind, extrapolating from my writings the general outlook of an entire cross-section of the population is probably unwise.

I like to think that the sky is falling (time for me to throw out some stereotyping blankets now). This should be familiar territory for any self-respecting millennially minded individual. The sky has been falling for the last 2000 years or so. In fact the world is fallen already, governed by "principalities powers and the rulers of darkness." I mean it is very easy to argue that a Christian world view is excessively negative and unnecessarily cynical about human nature. I have heard the assertion that without a law giver there can be no law. On this point I agree. The law like most things is made up. However, this does not require that any and every godless heathen on the flying spaghetti monster's green earth begin raping and pillaging on the assumption that god is dead. Atheists are probably the most under represented minority group in prisons the world over (heard it from Sam Harris). The idea that the only thing holding our (assumed) depraved natural tendencies from bursting forth and fucking everyone up is the knowledge that some divine despot is spying on our every move is just sad(stole this from Dawkins).

Let's not focus on whose god can beat up whoever's non-god though or vice versa. That has proven unproductive thus far. You assert that an eternal perspective motivates better than an atheist view point. This says nothing of the truth of claim of said perspective. For some I have no doubt that it is a great motivating factor. Fine. There's an old saying: when a man knows he's going to be hanged in a fortnight, it focuses his mind wonderfully. Perhaps death in the end is what invests life with meaning. I win again. Just kidding. I have no problem with what gets you or anyone else out of bed in the morning. To me though, it looks like you're making an argument from utility (I'm a fan of this argument). This world view works the best for me so this is how I will be. However when people start making universal truth claims about metaphysical ideas/entities that are essentially unprovable, well each to their own...

We've both lived in the world on different sides of the faith (in a god) spectrum and have ultimately come to different conclusions. I think the world would be a far less interesting place if we all thought the same way. I'm not saying this is the final word and please don't engage me in friendly debate anymore. As usual I'm not sure exactly what it is that I'm saying. I think though, that we agree on one thing: you have to find a world view that motivates you to live well. Otherwise what's the point? The world is a big, crazy, scary, exciting place and we're all just trying to make sense of it. As long as I can find ways to keep growing, extending and transcending myself, then I'll be a happy camper. I just have a funny way of expressing that happiness. Remember Eeyore was a person too. There's room in the forest for all of god's ;) creatures.

feed me

2011-02-23T21:17:00.004+10:00

My body is a machine. My mind is a ghost. Or they're all just made out of the same stuff. The mind-body problem is not my battle, not this time around, but it's tangentially related. That there is one of those nice little phrases that the internet has already turned into a cliche. I couldn't help but wear it out a little more. I watched The Fighter today. What a movie. It resonated with me for a few reasons. Many of which I will not share. Who reads blog posts for what they don't say? I am conjuring up Derrida's ghost, I know. Incomprehensibility is an art form. Enough with the ghost talk, let's discuss something more visceral, like fighting. How do I master my body? By mastering my mind. Each, regardless of their physical properties, is it's own unique animal, requiring sometimes delicate and other times brutal methodologies to extract their highest capabilities. The body needs fuel, so does the mind. I look at what I eat and I'm disgusted less and less. That front is being seen to by the finest troops that I can muster. My mind however does not receive enough of the type of inspirational input that I need to offset my natural melancholic equilibrium. I need motivation daily. I look at the masters, many were tenacious in demeanor and drive, few were moved by more noble intentions. Either way they found a way to keep going, to turn the screws, to keep fighting. I need reasons. I need a why, so that I can endure any how. The Fighter was inspirational to me. I need more of this.

work. don't do it

2011-02-21T21:07:00.004+10:00

I am a scared. I am the composite net result of the Lion, the Tin Man and the Scarecrow, before the wizard intervened and "solved" their collective problems. But let's focus on the scaredy cat part of my make up for now... I thought my last job was the kind of work that was worthy of a chain gang. I now see that no matter how bad things are they can always get worse. Or better. Sometimes you have to tell yourself a lie to seek a higher truth. I can currently extract from my present form of employment a robust fully developed hatred for the world. There are people worse off than me, but who cares really. I'm not them. I got my own problems. These are the types of statements that endear me to so many readers. Alternatively, I could develop for the first time in the history of my awesome life a work ethic. Did you hear that? That was the collective gasp of the world wide slacker conglomerate choking on the mere thought of the most toxic four letter word ever uttered. Every time a slacker does something that contributes to the betterment of society, I punch a baby in the face. I'm sorry that's just the way it works. But what if? What if, for a moment I entertained argh oooaaahhhhh ieeiiiieeeeeee that this, as much as it sux could be good for me. I take great pride in my laziness. I polish it with the finest cleaning products and proudly display it in its own personal shrine. My friends are never impressed. Can't please everyone I suppose. Is this a defence mechanism? I fear taking action. I fear change. I fear everything. Maybe that's why I can't bring myself to proactively pursue worthwhile activities for prolonged efforts. Not knowing how it'll turn out is too much to bare, but I'm starting to learn that not knowing is part of what makes life great. I will chop wood. I will carry water. I will work (ouch). I am Loren hear me yelp.

we can't win

2011-02-10T19:02:00.008+10:00

Everyday I wake up and I'm fighting a loosing battle. Concrete is taking over the world. Now it's taking over my body. I walk around and see lonely trees displaced from their natural habitat. What have we become? Let's cover the world in a grey lifeless substance. It's been known to raise morale unfailingly.

I lay concrete for a living. How did this happen? I'm a manly man, don't get me wrong, but I'm not a Mr. fix it handy man type guy. I'm more of the strong silent type that is utterly incapable of performing the most perfunctory traditional male round the house kind of jobs. I can't start a lawn mower. This is insanity. Now I have to lay out concrete for swimming pools, I'm totally out of my element. It's harder than it sounds. I don't want to make things with my hands. I want to make things with my brain.

I have concrete growing out of my knees, this is not an exaggeration, chaffing on my thighs and concrete burns on my balls (don't ask). I inhale 20 metric tonnes of concrete daily. Have you ever heard of anyone suffocating to death because their lungs morphed into a pair of cinder blocks? That's what I have to look forward to. I'm just giving you fair warning. Concrete is the new chlamydia. It's spreading, we don't even notice, and I am one of it's carriers. Fight the madness please, plant some trees.

the sad truth

2011-02-01T20:41:00.009+10:00

I am a wandering ronin. A disciple without a master. Doing things for myself can only motivate me so far. When I am engaged in an activity or practice that transcends me, a higher calling if you will, then and only then do I feel fulfilled. At least in theory. Practice is often different from the idealized forms that we attempt to impose onto reality. I want to be myself and more than myself at the same time.

Reality, my oldest and dearest friend, why did you have to go and wreck everything for me. I am a placid individual. The human instantiation of the tao. I bend with the wind and break like wind. I am that I am, and that is all that there is. Times were so much simpler when all I had to do was what other people told me. Now, thinking for myself is the hardest thing that I have ever been required to do.

the secret to happiness is...

2011-01-27T19:25:00.005+10:00

Today kiddies we're going to talk about monogamy!

Ugh.

The first thing you need to know is that forming an intimate relationship with a single partner, for the rest of your life, willingly, is the first major step on the road to absolute insanity. This is not hyperbole, this is what every married couple in the history of the world has signed up for. Misery loves company. Hell is other people. Three's a crowd. So, let's compromise and form a couple. What's life without a little suffering? Or a lot? Not only that, it's totally unnatural. Do you think our simian ancestors gave a fuck who they fucked? They practically invented the 5 year itch. Some of them even gave us AIDS.

That's what makes monogamy so special, less STI's, and the fact that it makes no sense whatsoever. Total devotion to what at first blush is a complete stranger is madness at best. Hold on to irrationality it will take you to places you never even knew existed. I never thought I'd say this: Promiscuity is overrated. Our monkey programming might be wrong. The euphoria of devotion, lust, and infatuation to a certain someone trumps it completely. I'd rather be in love and miserable, than single and happy.

When the honey moon phase is over, you and I can disregard everything I have just said.

the things I do for fun

2011-01-24T21:13:00.005+10:00

~~Mormonism~~ scratch that, fundamentalist religion=unbelievably boring. You can believe in a lot of things, a lot of people do: Gods, monsters and so forth. But I defy any man, woman or child to exercise the imaginative powers requisite to form a belief in just how fantastically mind numbingly banal living with a religious world view actually is (a lot of people will disagree). Only experiencing it can do the thing justice, but why would you want to? Yes I know, spending eternity with a red satyr, trident wielding asshole is a powerful incentive to stick to the straight and narrow, but at least the guy makes things interesting. You've gotta give him that.

I feel compelled to document all the crazy (by some standards), but mostly normal (by normal standards) yet still morally reprehensible (according to my tribe) hijinks that I've been up to. You know how a certain subset of ex-Mormons want to assure their former comrades that they don't automatically participate in things like recreational drug use, casual sex, alcoholism, bizarre sacrificial rituals, ~~moderate cannibalism~~ etc. just because they left the fold? Well I do all of them. Will I ever learn? Only by experience. I'm glad I live in interesting times.

near death experience 2

2011-01-17T17:15:00.008+10:00

After a hard nights clubbing and drinking we stagger into Hectic's and Hyper's home. The affects of alcohol have rendered each of our frontal lobes redundant. We have a combined IQ of 57. I'm including her pets.

There is a flying fox, but not just any flying fox. It's a home made death trap that we can't think of any better euphemism for. So, flying fox it is. There is a tree with a piece of rope tied to it at about 7 meters in height. The other end is tied to a pole attached to the house. Between these 2 points is a swimming pool surrounded by brick tiling. The attachment used to slide from 'A 'to 'B'? A towel.

The boys sit down and drink more. Hectic takes it upon herself to demonstrate the merits of human stupidity. She scales an unsecured extender ladder leading to said flying fox. We look on in horror and yell words of discouragement like "Stop being a dick head." and "Get down you idiot." "Come and try it!" she intones. Like I said earlier I value my brains and now that I think of it especially my life. This is a very stupid idea. She jumps off, towel secured, I shit myself, she makes the pool.

Suddenly Hyper decides this is a brilliant idea. She too sets out to conquer the stultifying reprimands of common sense. More of the same. "Don't do it." from the boys. "You're all pussies." from the girls. Hyper makes the pool. We all sigh deeply.

Thankfully Things move away from the flying fox. We're sitting (outside still) on a sofa attempting to sing and play guitar and failing miserably, but in a funny way. Brain explosion! Hectic (this is the chick that invited me out remember) starts hauling ass toward the ladder. One of the boys, responds with turtle like reflexes (too much grog) and tries to run her down. She's a third of the way up the ladder by the time he gets to it. We try to talk her down again.

She jumps from the ladder. One hand slips on the towel. The most uncoordinated somersault in the history of the world occurs. Her left arm disintegrates upon impact with the side of the pool. Head smashes. Literal brain explosion. She rolls into the pool. I have a deep penetrating sick feeling in my gut.

Both the boys are ex-military. They respond immediately. She's in the recovery position, with her airway cleared, but she's breathing like Darth Vader and blood is seeping out of her nose and mouth. This is not how I envisioned things going. Maybe we should have tried to physically stop her from climbing up, maybe we're all idiots, maybe a lot of things. Maybe we all make choices drunk or sober and we have to live with them. This is real life and I'm looking at what could possibly be real death. There's no reset button. What is done is done.

The paramedics arrive. The boys saved her life or at least prolonged it. They staved off brain death momentarily, Now it's off to emergency brain surgery and uncertainty to see if capital 'D' death can also be defeated. Hyper jumps in the ambulance and heads with her to the hospital. We drink some more and marvel at what the fuck just happened.

She's got a fractured skull, a fractured neck, a shattered wrist and broken forearm. She's in a comma for two weeks. She wakes up and she doesn't appear to have any mental complications from the fall. She survived what would usually kill a normal man (which is the only reason I feel comfortable relating this story). I witnessed some one nearly commit suicide by stupidity and live. It's almost enough to make me believe in miracles or give up hope for all of humanity.

near death experience 1

2011-01-10T22:51:00.006+10:00

this actually happened...

I'm contemplating a 1 hour bike ride to work at 4 o'clock in the morning after recently losing my licence. Some Hectic Chick, who shall remain nameless, txts me to get my ass to some club so I can unleash my unco white boy dance moves on an unsuspecting world. I'm always down for brightening the dark days of my contemporaries through my selfless dedication to my personal misfortune/misdeeds. But then there's that bike ride. She sweetens the deal, a lift to work in the morning, which can mean only one thing... She owns a car ;). It's on. I should have known better. Not on a school night Loren!

I rock up to Cavil Ave in Surfers (I'm thinking I should skip the foreplay and go straight to the climax, but the introduction of certain characters is essential to the story). We are literally surrounded by a killer bee colony swarm of 18 year old zombies (It's schoolies week in Surfers which means the place is crawling with reminders of my advanced years, high school graduates everywhere argh). I value my brains so I begin drinking and Hectic Chick's Hyper Flatmate suggests we leave.

We arrive in the slightly more mature part of town: Broadbeach (the usually 21 and over crowd). Wow, everyones dressed up all classy-like, micro-minis and stilettos as far as the eye can see. Guys got their collars popped and their fake alligator skin shoes shined. I'm wearing chucks and my old school player (nintendo) T, maybe I should go back to Surfers.

Hyper Flatmate chick jumps out the taxi and waves down 2 dudes! 1,2, wait that makes 5 of us, good one Hyper Flatmate chick! Turns out it's just as well that she did. The new boys have a particular skill set that comes in handy later...

next: "just so happens your friend here is only mostly dead" TBC

evolution

2011-01-07T22:58:00.003+10:00

There's a constant nagging sensation that I carry with me everywhere I go. Maybe there's something better I could be doing with my time it says. I take great measures to dull its voice the best I can. Who wants to second guess themselves all day? It probably helps with writing, but other than that it's uncomfortable constantly questioning your every action.

What if I started listening? This still small voice tells me to do things that I feel would make this the best of all possible worlds. At least for myself. Certainly I can't discount the affect of my actions on others. Generally though the prompts I receive are in a direction that would be mutually beneficial to all parties involved.

Some people call this the holy ghost. Anthropomorphize it if you must, I don't know what it is, or where it originates from, but whatever it is it wants me to evolve. That's my theme for 2011: Evolve, mother fucker.

the bottomless pit

2011-01-06T21:56:00.006+10:00

If a chimpanzee sat at a typewriter and typed away for eternity it would almost certainly reproduce the complete works of William Shakespeare. This gives me hope, but I don't think it's true.

Infinite means infinite (I just wanted to clarify), which means that if you have an infinite amount of time and an infinite amount of typing, then you've got an infinite amount of possibilities to account for (warning: I am not a mathematician). Which also means that the Shakespeare or any other literary work would not necessarily ever be reproduced, because infinite is inexhaustible. There are an unlimited amount of combinations of words and non-words that can be typed, so the chimp could type forever and potentially never stumble upon each and every one.

I tell myself this story, because it reminds me that ideas are infinite. There are n to nth amount of possible connections that can be made about the world and it's imaginary affiliates. There are ideas floating out there in the ether just waiting to be caught like dandelions.

R.I.P. writer's block.

why am I punishing myself like this?

2011-01-05T21:44:00.004+10:00

I just finished boxing. Anyone who can box, knows that this is a lie. I just finished being put through a meat grinder. Anything that resembled boxing on my part along the way was purely coincidental. Unbelievably grueling. Being a noob sux.

You've got a canister. In it is a devastating combination of your Will and Attention. These are limited resources. Directing all of your mental, not to mention physical ("not to mention" an extremely peculiar phrase), energy toward one task is incredibly taxing. I'm a pretty extreme guy, but it doesn't matter how well intentioned you are, sometimes you use up everything in your little can secret stuff. I'm swimming in an ocean of my own blood, sweat and vomit. These are the elements that take over when you're running on empty. It's as bad as it sounds.

Uber Sapiens don't distance themselves from the utter despair of painful practice. While punching the heavy bag for multiple sets of 6 minutes and doing other unsightly drills, I found myself wishing away the time. I was daydreaming of pokemon and pretending my left arm wasn't on fire. It helped a little. What if I seized the moment, in spite of the tiredness, what if I focused on perfect technique, focused on what I was doing instead of hoping and praying to gods that I don't believe in that it would all be mercifully over as soon as possible? Well, then I'd be amazing. So many wasted moments, so much to learn grasshopper.

another year again, time to move the goal posts

2011-01-04T21:36:00.007+10:00

Let the invention begin, hopefully "existence [really does] proceed essence."

It is customary at the beginning of each year to set goals that will last as a target in your brain for anywhere up to an astonishingly prolonged period of 2 weeks. Thanks to the wonders of the internet I have a clear and present record of last years unrealistic designs for awesomeness...

Write and publish stories: epic fail

Self explanatory. It never happened.

Train to fight: meh (I hate that word, but it fits)

What began as an innocent foray into the brutal world of face pummeling ended in my becoming an alcoholic. Actually, causation was not a statistically significant factor in the relationship between the former and latter. But the latter did derail the former.

Be more social: win (just barely)

All the odds were stacked in my favour on this one. The act of greeting 3 people would out do the previous years total. In this area of life excess alcohol actually helped. Yeah for me!

Begin altruistic endeavors: fail

When you're walking the tight rope that is the poverty line yourself, does it make sense to try and save your fellows if it means you lose your balance along the way? It would have been nice to at least give it go. That's what the future's for, I guess, nursing away your regrets.

Guess what? I didn't make nearly as much progress as I was hoping. Guess what again? My goals are exactly the same this year, with minor modifications. Just by telling the internet this I've lowered my chances of achieving them.

In fact beyond violating the "do and don't say" rule of psychology I have also fallen victim to the classic dysfunction that manifests itself at this time every year: Self-Control Hubris. Turns out that people grossly overestimate their ability to change. The human race has designed ways to overcome the earth's gravitational pull, we can manipulate the building blocks of matter to explosive affect, but getting fat-ass Johnny up off his lazy fat ass remains one of the most daunting challenges known to wo/man. We've all got a little, sometimes a lot, of fast-ass Johnny in us.

Guess what again again? I don't care. Resistance (i.e. self sabotage) will not defeat me. Posturing doesn't count for much, especially on the internet. I don't care. I'm going to win. The goal posts stay. Time for one last march to glory. 'Til next year comes round again. Now go and tell that...

keeping it real, not the best option

2011-01-03T20:44:00.005+10:00

Humans don't like subtlety, nuance or quantum fuzziness.

Our brains begin to hurt when presented with complex information that could lead to multiple contradictory conclusions. Binary thinking is easier on the old or young grey matter: it's all either/or baby. Guess what? I'm generalizing. Star Wars or Star Trek, Ninetendo or Sega, God or the Spaghetti monster thingy (there was a time when these tired dichotomies mattered)? One or the other, but not both.

The will to myth and absolutes is inescapable. It's like "Absolute abstinence is easier than perfect moderation." So when I tell you that I've taken up a monastic lifestyle, replete with sexual inactivity, well that's just far more impressive than my saying I have sex around about once every two decades. Actually both are pretty sad, but please don't bore me with details. Just play along it's so much simpler.

Enter the latest this-possibly-might-be-or-that-might-be-a-good-explanation showdown. Naturally occurring authenticity vs. synthetic (fake?) authenticity. If I was truly true to myself I would do exactly what I'm doing right now. Not much of anything. Tautology alert or Zen nirvana. Looks like we need a contingency plan.

I want to feel what it feels like to be obscenely dedicated to something of my own choosing. Being a member a bizarre religious organization is the closest I've come to achieving this end (I promise one day to stop bringing this up). I can do better. Imagine stepping away from my chronic laziness into a world of pain and suffering and misery and achievement. I want to manufacture out of whole cloth a zest for something. I will be untrue to myself. I will invent my own authenticity.

what's for dessert?

2010-12-28T19:21:00.009+10:00

My brother wants to lose weight. I want to be healthy. We make a bet. $20 and a humiliating, but as of yet unspecified, youtube video are the stakes.

The last time we did something like this I went 11 months without soft drinks before I finally folded. Luckily that time no video was involved. Now I drink both hard and soft drinks, while he continues to wield a mildly impressive conversation piece.

The list of verboten food items is reviewed weekly and regrettably grows larger as time creeps along its x-axis . Presently all mega chain fast food e.g McDs, KFC, HJs (aka BK) are off limits. Add to that dirty (not a racial slur, but indicator of quality) Chinese take-aways, bakery food with the exception of bread and we have the makings of a very cranky Loren.

It's strange if I were to attempt this under my own steam I'd last around a week. Sibling rivalry is one of the few factors that can motivate me to perform over above my default level of mediocrity. Know thyself...

The most trying of things is when I walk to the fridge looking for a nice dessert--I'm an extreme sweet tooth--and then I have to settle for an orange or some other unenticing piece of fruit. This will all be worth it when I win.

3 day benders: not recommended, unless...

2010-12-22T20:24:00.007+10:00

"From now on the gym will be my beer, and feeling good will be my hangover." -- Homer Simpson

I've almost reacclimated myself with reality. The universe as we experience it is governed by certain laws. The Law of The Conservation of Energy being one of the least of my favourites: energy cannot be created or destroyed only transformed. There's no free lunch. You get what you pay for. The cost of 3 all nighters in concert with binge drinking is far greater than the current negative total of my bank balance.

I suffer from Delusional Invincibility Syndrome (DIS). I have difficulty believing that anything can impede my progress. Not other peoples agendas, not self abuse, not the laws of physics. Nothing. This is where getting to know reality really helps matters. The last few days I woke up with an unpleasant preview of old age. "So, this is what it feels like to be decrepit?" Perhaps I should slow down, before the brakes are applied permanently and without my approval.

Have you ever been an introvert before? Life has so many wonderful contradictions. I have DIS, which is useful except when talking to other people. There's some kind of socializing kill switch in my brain that is involuntarily triggered at the most inconvenient of times. Alcohol is my social DIS. Pray you never meet me in one of my drunken stupors. In such a state I can talk anyone under the table. Alternatively when I come to, I feel even less inclined to talk to anyone than normal. 3 days have past since the big bender concluded and I finally acknowledged the existence of my room mate with a curt "hi". Unfortunately false courage, whatever form it takes, also has a price.

When consuming alcohol the trade off seems to be brain cells, perpetual poorness, several days of lost productivity, and creaky old man bones. Why speed up the dying process and cause unnecessary stress? Because drinking is fun!?!

a special announcement

2010-12-17T18:20:00.001+10:00

I'm getting drunk cheeehoooo!!!

Tron Legacy

2010-12-16T21:10:00.009+10:00

Tron is about absent Father's and lost sons, creators and createes, paradises lost, The Big Lebowski and perty perty lights. I don't know what happened, but it looked good. Final Grade: B-

The original Tron was a flop that went on to garner an almost cult following. I was not a part of that particular cult, so I can't definitively say whether the delayed onset of attention was warranted. What we do know is that Disney has been reluctant to release a DVD version, deterring any curious potential fanboy from discovering the truth for themselves. An indication of their confidence in the original film perhaps? Some things are better remembered than re-experienced I suppose. I fear the same may be said of this iteration.

Question: Why is Jeff Bridges playing The Dude again? He abides sure, but it doesn't mesh well with the tone of the movie. That being: deadly serious. 3 things redeem this megalith from being a complete and utter bore:

The soundtrack by Daft Punk. Ever since Batman Begins, there has been a lot of distinct donging in scores. There's The Dark Knight, Shutter Island, Inception, all of them with the intense dong *dramatic pause* dong *dramatic pause* dong etc. motif, portending to something terrible. It gives the illusion of actual weight to the events unfolding, even when one of the characters, yet again, hijacks the narrative with another flashback info dump. I wish I could have something similar play every time I step into a room.
The lights fantastic. Really, I think this is the only reason the first movie was popular. A well executed aesthetic can cover a multitude of cinematic faux pas (Avatar anyone? Arnold schwarzenegger's Hollywood career?).
Speaking of which... "What is beauty?" the philosopher asks. We now have an answer: Olivia Wilde.

The only real reason to watch

the worst type of post you can imagine

2010-12-15T22:06:00.015+10:00

Wherein I castigate the entire world for not reading my blog:

In the wild wild west that is the interwebs, one can't help but be obsessed with ones self. There are exceptions, but we'll leave them consigned to the margins today. It's not about them anyway. It's about me.

They say you gotta write for yourself. Having trouble finding an audience? Well, I'm right here baby! I account for 3 thirds of the traffic on this site. The Zero Readers have made their voices heard. TL;DR. I get it >:(

Exception: One day some generous soul linked to something somewhere here on the old SoC. Wow cool, I broke the single digit visit threshold. Hell I was at triple digits every day for like 3 weeks straight. It was incredibly exciting. Cheers.

But you know how people are never satisfied, and how one day we'll destroy ourselves because of this fact? I want more damn it! Read me! Sycophants reveal yourselves! You should always try to keep your ego in check. They're ugly things that shouldn't be let out in public. Unfortunately though, I'm incredibly attached to my ego. Why should any one care about this? Oh, no good reason. They all got their own problems. FML

This is when I just need to Zen the fuck out. You start focusing on the process instead of the outcome and you begin to grow some much needed patience. For the Zen Master and the Attention(hint:this word is a dead give away) Whore, success entails 3 key elements and they are as follows: attention, attention, attention. Be careful which one you choose.

I hereby purge myself of seeking outside validation. Online personal mythologies are cool. I know not so secretly that this is a lie that truly desires the heretofore mentioned outcome. Oh well, I believed in God for almost 30 years. I'm incredibly good at deluding myself. Here's to my not caring if you read this or not.

fuck trolls

2010-12-14T20:08:00.005+10:00

Notice how trolls round these parts (them parts being the web) proliferate like fungi in a petri dish. Unleash a herd of malcontents into an arena where anonymity is the default option, and there you'll find the greatest concoction of haterade known to man.

Nazi's kill people. And they do it best in bulk. They tried mass grave execution type deals (not thinking big enough), but the soldiers didn't take well to seeing their victims shot dead right in front of them (I learned this in sociology class, so it's probably wrong). It was too personal. If you're going to fuck someone over and your not a naturally gifted psychopath it's best to do so from a distance. Concentration camps worked way better. It easier to detonate an atomic bomb than look someone in the eye and pull a trigger.

The internet gives you one remove from your potential victims. Trolls will and do say anything. They suck very badly. I am a troll. *Hangs head in abject shame, sees abs micro smiles to his self* I am now a recovering troll. Whenever one troll dies two take its place. Lord have mercy.

better than TED?

2010-12-08T18:57:00.009+10:00

I reserve this, my favorite adverbially modified superlative for only special occasions. *Deep Breath* These videos from the RSA are RIDICULOUSLY AWESOME. Andrew Park roll the tape, if you please...

Wow, I love this guy's cartooning style. Aside from that the message is amazing. Imagine a world where public disagreement didn't always end up as public disparagement (or worse). The 21st century is a scary complex place. I am not just an individual marooned on some uninhabited island of self-determinism, I am an integrally connected part of the social and natural world. There are broader issues at play than just my personal hopes and desires. Situating myself within the milieu of the post enlightenment project and finding ways to increase my empathic capacity are the next great challenges.

And one more for the road...

I feel so vindicated by this video. Few things are more disturbing to me than irrationally obnoxiously optimistic people. Be happy sure, but how bout tempering that can-do-attitude with a healthy helping of cold hard realism. I witnessed a girl almost kill herself by accident the other day. Let me tell you it's going to be a long road back to a full recovery for the poor lass. Is this a good thing, just another fantastic opportunity dressed in wolves clothing? No, this is someones life fucked up for a very long time. You can call white black, and pink orange, if you want. Congratulations you're crazy. Dirty Harry said it best: "a man's gotta know his limitations." Welcome to the real world.

talent. overrated or under appreciated?

2010-11-30T19:56:00.009+10:00

Talent is a wonderful, wonderful thing. I know because I've got bucket loads. Maybe I mean potential, but what's the difference really. I look at my mirror -- which takes up an entire wall -- and I empathize with what Narcissus had to go through. Except I'm real. If I didn't look like a neanderthal, I'd be the sexiest man alive, I'm sure of it. In the rare moments when I can reclaim my gaze from my self, I think: wowzers I eat shit on a regular basis (not literal), drink like I'm a fish, sleep 4 hours a night and I think my six pack just became an eight. I don't tell you this to brag. Well, maybe a little. Alright a lot.

Neanderthals, so hot right now

I go through cycles, reading up on different topics, because it's nice to be able to shut people down when they start discussing the finer points of what a quantum theory of gravity might look like. Disabusing people of their natural inclinations toward ignorance is just one of those many talent things I've got that I was talking about earlier. This time round I'm recycling my decade old self help book phase, which is probably why I sound so up me self right now. It's good for the self esteem.

A friend of mine, and not just on facebook (does it surprise you that I have some of these? Me too. A man cannot live by talent alone), was telling me about a cool book: Talent is Overrated. I live in Australia which incurs some kind of copyright violation in regards to this title so I read the internet equivalent of the cliff notes version. What separates super duper successful people from the average frustrated chumps out there? The answer will surprise and disappoint you.

And here it is... Work. Wasn't that a curse from god for eating an apple or something? But not just any work will do, we can all hold down a job if we're hungry enough. People who are better than good, like nigh on elite at what they do all appear to engage in an activity called "deliberate practice." Yes, it's as boring and monotonous as it sounds. Instead of just setting outcome goals, these uber overachievers also set specific goals related to the process of their desired outcomes. Usually in areas of their game where they're noticeably lacking (even if the focus area is not a commonly encountered event) and then practice in that uncomfortable region where their weak links reside for hours and hours and hours. 10,000 minimum. Fun times.

This recipe is probably equally capable of producing insanity as it is success. I'm reminded of a tiny excerpt from The Magicians (talking about the protagonist, Quentin, who's preparing for an interview) "now that the ripened fruit of all that preparation was right in front of him he suddenly lost any desire for it. He wasn't surprised. He was used to this anticlimactic feeling, where by the time you've done all the work to get something, you don't even want it anymore." If you almost despise the activity you're doing because of excess repetition you're on the right track. To exalt yourself, you must debase yourself. A little masochism goes a long way. I mean what would Jesus do?

Umm, I knew there was a reason I brought up my abs for the nth time here. But why stop there, I'm a natural born athlete. I'm white (sort of) but for some reason I can dunk like a mother fucker. I'm naturally stronger than most people I know, something to do with those throw back neanderthal genes I think. I find it hard to believe that if a usually over weight person trained hard enough that they'd ever be able to catch up. I know people who train way harder than I do and eat way better and who still look they frequent the local pub 7 days a week. Some people are just naturally predisposed to be better at some things than others. This is were I and the book part ways. But then I remember that I've never done anything useful (like making ridiculous amounts of money) with my athletic ability. Maybe Talent is over rated after all. For the best possible results though, it's probably best to pair your talents with activities that will give you the best possible return on your time investment (like I should never try to learn to sing). Why didn't I think of this 30 years ago?

In the end there's no royal road to self-actualization/bundles of cash money. Talent can take you only so far. Eventually you gonna have to work your butt off. If you're willing to pay the price, you might win. Or you might not. Go all in and you might find yourself sleeping in a cardboard box somewhere down the road. It's better to have loved and lost though, that's what the poets say. This is going to suck.

on the origin of morals? part 1

2010-11-28T16:50:00.006+10:00

Can atheists have morals?

Do rabbits like to fuck?

All the great teachers answered questions with questions. Many also made fantastical supernatural claims. Would you believe I'm the Son of God? I'll stop now before the devotees begin piling up. It's been done before anyway. I don't want to be remembered as the Hollywood rehash of the chosen Messiah. Remakes are terrible unless you believe in reincarnation. In truth (a word that has sadly become diluted through chronic misuse), I'm just an irregular old Joe trying to find his way in the world. But what to do, how to live, when north keeps moving on my moral compass? I am a godless heathen. Tell me, if God is dead, is all permitted (I read the OT and sometimes feel the opposite is true)? The initial forecast is that we have a good chance of petty and/or grotesque violence in the not too distant future, most likely justified by invoking the will of God. Believe me, if God is right than I want to be wrong. Without him things are messy sure, but with him, well the historical record speaks for itself.

I gave up on religion, partly, because all institutions are inherently evil, hmm a little strong perhaps, at the very least they are inherently incapable of performing their intended function without someone getting hurt. I use 'hurt' in the modern liberal sense of the word, as in "I've got hurt feelings", type of thing. Forgive me, I'm still not used to being a sensitive and stuff, so I feel the need to explain myself. No institution can possibly cater to the varying needs of the individuals within them. Six and a quarter billion people is a lot of diversity to deal with. Even in smaller population chunks the number of possible exceptions piled on caveats filtered through loop holes, to make sure you get it right, is enormous. You will hang yourself with all the red tape. So, an outlier case will be processed just like any other regardless of extenuating circumstances. To paraphrase Einstein, if the people don't fit the system, change the people (genocide is a useful method for achieving this end).

Institutions abstract away complexity, reducing what ever needs to be done into normalized standards and so called best practices. It's like science, but in a bad way. For a physicist a cow becomes a sphere, for a bureaucrat a person becomes a number. Admittedly, this is a common mode of human operation. We develop a collection of short hand representations in our minds to help our selves deal with the world. 'Water puts out fire' is a helpful motto for avoiding danger, unless of course the fire is fueled by petroleum*. On an individual scale I find this acceptable. On a larger one, where power, money, and ideology become involved things become dangerous. Religion, at large, at its most successful achieves the most pernicious form of modern institution: a corporation. Do you trust an organization whose primary motivator is self interest to take care of your personal needs? Do we even need to go into atrocities that have been perpetuated so that pious liars could exploit pious zombies for their own gain?

Don't get me wrong, rules are helpful, in moderation. Some institutions are a necessary evil if we want to ensure progress (like all things progress comes at a price, some of us have running water and electricity, while the third world struggles, and our ability to destroy ourselves continually increases), they help us to achieve large scale goals like city infrastructures and avoid generally accepted pit falls. The problem is that the general doesn't always apply well to the specific. I'm a spiritual (and in all other ways) anarchist. Should I defer judgement on ethical issues to what often turns out to be the worst possible case of groupthink that a given committee can churn out at the price of my own sense of authenticity? In the case of Governments probably (I like jail even less than rules), in the case of God, I'm going with: No.

This alleged God sits atop the summit of Mt. Olympus, or whatever other exalted point you choose to imagine as the seat of his panopticon. The great voyeur in the sky. He is the author of the platonic ideal for correct moral conduct. An anchor to all that is good and virtuous in the world. When you begin to examine what has passed for righteousness in the past things become confusing. God is a despot, capricious and wavering. An unchanging being that has a uncanny habit of changing his mind. The source code that produced good little humans in centuries past has conveniently been retooled over time. Inconveniently despicable crimes are still perpetuated in his name, like 9-11. Stoning your children for misbehaving or hacking off a womens hand for accidental groping is no longer acceptable. If these things are in the Bible, which by the way is the inviolable word of God, why do they and other barbaric practices described therein no longer apply? Because it's bullshit. If there was an omnipotent, omni-loving God would it set up its kingdom on earth as a bureaucracy? Stipulating what forms of dress, ceremony and behaviours are acceptable? Manufacturing mass conformity and at it's worst destroying almost all individual thought in it's adherents (one thing the Bible did get right is that Phariseeism sucks).

Well, in a perfect world we wouldn't have to worry about any of that, because, going by the evidence - and something we intellectual types like to refer to as logic and reason - there isn't a God. Which helps to explain why the institutional church has been so inconsistent on what is morally acceptable over the years. So if there's no wondrous place holder out there for goodness, how do we know what is moral? Is there even such a thing as good?

This post is getting a way from me. I need a time out. Next: evolution, morality and human

relations....

*an idea borrowed from The Collapse of Chaos

i finally learned how to read 2

2010-11-16T20:10:00.006+10:00

The Wire is the greatest novel I've ever read, except it's a TV show. This recommendation may be indicative of my diminutive literary acumen, I'm aware of this, but I've never quite experienced a protracted sprawling epic of a story that held my interest before. Remember I like reading comics (not that there's anything wrong with that, and there are exceptions in the medium e.g. Watchmen). The Wire has multiple characters, multiple story threads that tie together, moral ambiguity, hyper realism, corrupt officials, sympathetic villains, and by the end of it all, it feels like it was worth the time that it took to watch it (that's a lot of it's). It gave me that greedy feeling where you can't stop watching, but where you hope it never ends*. After the final episode was finished, I reluctantly ejected the DVD. I was sad it was over, but happy that I'd experienced a masterpiece. The Wire is the greatest TV series of all time. The internet would have you believe that this assessment is based on my being white, but don't let my pigmentation fool you, I'm only 4/7's white (depending how many generations you go back). No, I think I like The Wire because it's good.

me being white

Stephen King, prolific hack or evil genius depending on who you listen to, once said something to the effect of (warning I have about as a reliable a memory as most people): how can you expect some one to be moved by what you've written if you've never had that feeling yourself. Well, now I've had that feeling. Sort of. The proof is in pudding as they say, but what if you want cake? I think you see where I'm going with this. Eat it too. I opened a book not long after the completion of my fondly remembered greatest TV show ever, and it was also good (it's the Atonement by Ian McEwan, almost finished).

Wow, could it be The Wire was my sitting under a bodhi tree while on the road to Damascus moment? I've gone to church for 30 years and never had a revelation like this before. My brain has been totally re-wired (ha). The secret I think, as corny as it sounds, is that I now care about fictional characters as if they were real people. A sign that my deep and abiding misanthropy (perhaps a residual relic of my aforementioned 30 years of piety) is fading. This can only bode well for humanity at large. Do you know what this means? I can read. Watch out when I start writing.

*some one else made up the greedy feeling quote, but I can't remember who

i finally learned how to read 1

2010-11-07T21:46:00.005+10:00

Growing up the only things I ever read were comics and the Book of Mormon (BoM). Any other prose piece I approached after this suffered as a consequence.

At the time, I was under the impression that the BoM was not only an accurate historical record but that it also held the keys to unlocking the mysteries of the universe, and that through diligent examination of the text, it might be possible that I could obtain a set of those keys for myself.

However, there was a barrier obstructing intercourse with the heavenly host of God's chosen, even before locksmithery became a consideration. When attempting to read the BoM one will immediately be struck by how prosaic its stylistic trappings are. Faced with the intense boredom (a despondency which I was never brave enough to articulate) that my personal attempts at exegesis provided, I was left with little recourse but to turn to the four colour worlds of wonder that were contained within the pages of my first love and not so secret shame: comics (it is likely that I would have found comics without the BoM, but it feels more satisfying to tell the story in this way).

The novel, or dare I say, Literature, was a foreign animal to me, immune to my then inadequate systems of taxonomy and nomenclature. People read for fun? What a strange concept. When I opened a book that didn't have pictures, either the fate of my very soul was at stake or it was an inconsequential piece of fluff that warranted no further examination. Amidst the sublime bouts of boredom that my religious studies afforded I came to experience reading as hard work. An idea only reinforced by my high school's curriculum. The required reading material was a slog, a journey that I was unwilling to embark upon. It's possible, maybe even likely that the assigned materials were literary masterworks, but I lacked the imagination requisite to extract any type of joy from their pages. I completed one novel before I was 21 and I can't even remember it's name. A tragedy.

Everyone needs stories. They help us to make sense of the world, and though my meandering accounts of my oh so fascinating life appear nonsensical at times they provide me a cathartic balm. I appreciate your patience. It's all for a good cause. In my formative years I found stories that spoke to me in comics, sure they were mostly power fantasies and unapologetic escapism, still they were a fun and easy read. How this balanced up with my strict tolerance for only soul saving works (read: the BoM) I can't say, all I know is that they needed a lot less energy to get through than "real" books. Frivolous entertainment is a token of 20th and 21st centuries, in many ways I am a product of my environment. In many ways I am a walking contradiction. I've built a slight immunity to things not always making sense.

The reason why all this matters, at least to me, is that I am irresistibly drawn to being a writer and not just any writer, a writer of novels (there'll be some comic book scripts too don't you worry). I can't explain it, and I've given up trying to. Wouldn't it be something to write the first great globalization novel, the first post post modern literary masterpiece? I must be wary of doing this in search of the intoxicating appeal of external validation. Art is probably best produced for autotelic reasons. I have made peace with being a starving artist, but I have yet to produce any discernible art. I want to live the artist's life, which means an everyday commitment to my craft. I don't get tattoos, I don't like long term commitments, but what I like and what I need are not necessarily dancing partners.

No good story is complete without a conflict and mine is this: how can I write novels when I don't even like reading them? This statement was true until somewhere in the range of one week ago, at which time I can say without exaggeration that I had the most transformative experience of my artistic life. I like novels now, and inexplicably it's all thanks to TV.

I finally learned how to read!

TBC

how to wear t-shirts and influence people

2010-10-27T21:07:00.004+10:00

The prodigal son returns once again, fresh from a perilous journey of dubious import. What pray tell have I been up to? Making a public nuisance of myself, mostly, it's more fun that way.

I look at my stats and nod my head in agreement, double digits everyday might be a bit too much to ask with my prolific output and an unquenchable penchant for puerile concerns. I want puerility matched by profundity, though I often misstep in search of the latter. Woest me. It is what it is. Resignation is better than redundancy, but not by much.

Let me give you an insight in to the way my mind operates sometimes (the rest of the time is typified by clinical logic bordering on sterility), not sure if I should seek therapy... What's more important than T-shirts? The short answer: nothing. Sure you don't want to be caught leaving the house without undies, let alone pants, but roll with me on this one, I promise either way you'll probably be disappointed. T-shirts can tell you a lot about a person, it's an essential fashion item in any self respecting manly man's wardrobe. Consequently I rigorously screen each and every t-shirt I wear in an attempt to fool people into thinking I'm cool while I'm out making an ass of myself.

A couple of weeks ago it fell to the much vaunted Sponge Bob Square Pants T to assure the goodwill and kindness (hopefully expressed in the form of free alcohol) of strangers. In which attempt its charms and mine failed miserably. I have never endured so many hateful glares and stares in my life. Except at high school. It's a cold hearted world we're living in when not even Sponge Bob can lighten the mood. Ever heard of irony people. I'd make a terrible hipster. The incongruity of a burly man, such as my self, wearing a child's t-shirt may have been too much to bare. I don't know. Cognitive dissonance strikes again. Sorry Spongey you're demoted to the bottom of the rotation.

Perhaps this cunning advertisement gave me the wrong impression

This weekend just gone, I went with a slightly different approach. The patented chimpanzee-dressed-as-a-jockey-riding-a-t-rex T-shirt, to much better results. It was amazing. I didn't clear out tables when I randomly sat at them, all was right with the world, my mojo was in full effect. I haven't quite figured out why, but it seems you can never go wrong with monkeys (requisite Ozomatli reference: check. And yeah, chimps aren't monkeys, I know, bite me. Please). So what have we learned? T-shirt selection is a delicate, nay, mysterious process oft times beset by incomprehensible reactions of alarmed onlookers. Regardless, of the outcome a soldier must persevere, imposing his/her/its will on the opposition. A anglo or nigga (notice strategically spelt with an 'a') or whatevz gotta come correct. OK, we didn't really learn anything. Class dismissed.

gods, monkeys and me

2010-10-09T13:09:00.006+10:00

Disclaimer: the following is intended for entertainment purposes only. Any similarities to the actual opinions of the author are purely coincidental. People who believe in divine old men with large beards, and thunder bolt throwing abilities, may also actually belive the previous statement, please do not hold it against them...

Is there a God?

There's an easy answer to this problem which has plagued mankind since time immemorial: NO.

Well that settles it, my work here is done...

Uh all right, for those who insist on pushing the issue, let's talk, shall we?

We'll pretend for arguments sake that there is a glorious being far beyond our comprehension watching over us, because make-believe is fun (I'm an atheist, so I worship a monkey, there s/he is over there to the right, hi Ozomatli. You know people give me shit because of this. Religiously intolerant bigot mother fuckers. )

Truth be told, I don't have a problem with the idea (truth value aside) of postulating the existence of something greater than yourself. Why not create a God in your own image? It's been in vogue for millenia now. We're genetically motivated, mostly hairless, apelike, bipedal, carbon based life forms. It's all part of the program. This means 2 and a half things: 1. We have a strong desire to survive; 2. We want to multiply and replenish earth (aka fuck); and a 1/2. and this one separates us from the animals: we have a weakness for believing in deities, like 90% us anyway. I don't know how this last part happened (as always wikipedia has an answer), but it did, and now we're stuck with it for a while. Is it too much to ask though, that if we're going to make up gods, that we at least make up some cool ones?

Imagine "a being than which no greater can be conceived." That's how the ontological argument for the existence of God starts. I wont waste your time with the rest. OK, let's step back for a moment. Judeo-Christian-Islam monotheists what have we come up with thus far? Is our conception of the greatest being ever the best it can possibly be? Well, wasn't I just saying something about intolerant bigotted motherfuckers? The man up stairs apparently is a misogynistic, homophobic, xenophobic, genocidal, megalomaniac if we're to believe anything the Bible teaches us. God you need a new PR team. Now, granted these prejudices affect the best of us from time to time, but shouldn't we expect better from a guy whose very fabric is woven out of the ethereal mists of love? Then I remember it's all bullshit, and everything makes sense again.

Oops, we're still pretending, right? This is the most benevolent entity in (or maybe outside of) the known universe, but he's still got a wicked sense of humor. You see, dinosaur fossils and the lay of the land were put here as way of testing our faith. It's Bill Hicks' Loki type prankster god in action, setting things up to look like he had nothing to do with anything. Believe without any substantial reason to do so. That's asking a lot faith, for the privilege of paying The Church oddles of your hard earned cash. Heaven's for sale, don't ya know. In a bad economy, start a church.

We could go into the Problem of Evil and a whole bunch of other stuff, but let's finish by talking about the well meaning jabronis that perpetuate these myths. Religion in theory is about creating a world were "black men and white men, Jews and gentiles, protestants and catholics will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!" (courtesy of Martin Luther King Jr, so OK they're not all jabronis, some revisionist historians don't like the guy, but he's cool in my book, holla ), so the end game is a mother fucking hippie love fest, where we'll all live in peace and love, and harmony, except, that is, for those dastardly unrepentant sinners who alternatively will burn in hellfire and brimstone for all eternity. This is were things start breaking down.

First of all ecumenical efforts although they exist are not the strong point of most religious (especially fundamentalist) institutions. If we start accepting that there's more than one way to climb Mt Fuji, the message gets diluted, solidarity decreases and the flock doesn't feel so bad about wandering into strange pastures. The answer is to make outrageous claims like exclusive authority from God, life after death, the good version of which is an exclusive right of the members of the club etc. Remember the bigger the lie the more believable it is, this is doubly true if you include an incendiary price tag. Marketing 101. Enforcing near impossible behavioral requirements of adherents also helps.

Now far be it for me to say that people shouldn't do any of this if it makes them happy, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. I see at the very least 3 problems with the above approach to life:

1. It creates a culture of elitism, where it's always us against them. The dreaded 'Other' is out there plotting away. This is dehumanizing, we're all on the same side mother fuckers (I'm aware of the irony of this statement)

2. The primary source of motivation always seems to be either fear or guilt. I don't see how this can be healthy and besides isn't this an all-loving God we're talking about? Don't fuck up though, hell's been set to simmer just in case, no pressure. Some people compare God (especially the Mormon version) to a Mafia boss, "Nice family you got there, it'd be a shame if something were to happen to it." Then you gotta jump through all these hoops to make sure they make it out of this life without getting cooked in the next one. There's a name for that kinda shit. Ah, yes: Terrorism. I also, kind of miss being told every week how badly I'm doing... The "beatings will continue until morale improves" mindset doesn't serve anyone well. Surely there has to be a better way.

3. Finally, the entire enterprise is dishonest. Call me crazy, but I think it's crazy that no one thinks it's crazy when certain "prophets" claim that they talk to God (and he talks back). Like God has nothing better to do than sit through the endless meetings and wade through the endless bureaucracy that these guys seem to revel in. This is why I worship a monkey, at least I know when its throwing shit in my direction. Hail Ozomatli.

the bitter fruits of apostacy

2010-10-03T21:29:00.002+10:00

I'm back baby, I'm back. Internet I've been neglecting you. I apologize, but only to a certain extent. That's right, things will never be the same again. As I sit here, a little bit tips, I want you to know I ain't mad at ya, got nothing but love for ya. Babylon has rolled out the red carpet and given me the 5 star treatment. Sometimes the forbidden fruit tastes the most sweet. I will never ever stop talking in slogans and tired cliches, it's part of my charm.

Were was I? As a part of my intense training regimen, which lately has consisted primarily of my eating an ungodly amount of Maccas, well add to the mix alcohol. Beer belly here I come, but really my abs are irrevocably ripped. What is it like to be fat? I've always wondered. I'm incredibly proud of myself, yesterday I lay comatose for almost 24 hours after an all nighter on Friday. Every minute movement on my part triggered an involuntary gag reflex. Total alcholic reversal was upon me, never cross the streams or mix drinks (if anyone can pick this bastardized reference, I will buy you a jug). What did I imbibe on my way to halcyon bliss? Everything. I never spewed though, I want you to know this.

Everyone has weird fetishes. I've got a mad crush at the moment. Her name's Lauren, like me except I'm Loren. Crazy eh. It's like dangerously close to fucking myself. Anyway, she works at Woolies a super market type establishment. Wouldn't it be cool if I had a daughter and called her Loren jnr. Holy Shit. I just blew my mind. I've seen Lauren like 3 times, I was intrigued at first, but by the third strike I was out. She was wearing a ribbon in her hair. A full grown woman, wearing a ribbon, who does that anymore? I think I'm in love. Next time I see her, she better be ready, because I'll be bringing my A-game, and this isn't even like a predatory evolutionary throw back thing. I respect beauty and bow down to greatness. Don't hate appreciate.

Well, I warmed you up with that so I could tell you this... I'm a recovering straight edge loser, like I said Friday night. On it. Out there. This Lauren situation has been going on for a week. Speaking of "the Situation", I got way out of hand, drunk as a mother fucker. I was flashing my abs left right center, everywhere. Talking smack, slobbering uncontrollably. How I didn't get booted out of the club I'll never know. Somebody make sure I never watch Jersey Shore ever again. I have an eclectic collection of interests, I like pokemon and James Joyce, WWE and Wagner. Oh and I like Laurens, so who do I meet while I'm doing my boulevardier thang, not my delicate flower who's working hard for the money, but some other Lauren, who was hot and 19. Close enough. I was completely horsed by that point. I did inappropriate things to her, (but don't worry I didn't deflower her, just made sure she got home safe). I don't know if there's any actual moral to this story.

Tomorrow I'm going shopping at Woolies.

days of my lives

2010-09-27T17:05:00.008+10:00

"Never confuse movement, with action." -- Ernest Hemingway

On the move again. What is this like 7 or 8 times now in 18 months? I'm running out of fingers, so I'm losing count. I'll be very close to Surfer's Paradise which is nice, I'll have plenty of options for when I go out sarging now, lol.

Ever notice how the amount of kipple that you accumulate is always disproportionate to the space in which it's stored. I'm such a girl. How do you fit 20 metric tonnes of stuff into one room? Unbelievable.

We're well into the year of our Lord 2010, and I'm marginally better than before. Marginally. That's not the kind of progress I like to make. I want quantum leaps, not little ant steps. I keep telling myself when I get settled, find a place where the grass is always green and all that, then I'll be good to go, but life doesn't work that way. You've got to draw your line in the sand and then no matter what: do it. If you have to, burn the boat you sailed in on. Retreat is not an option.

I'm a bit agitated, so I'm not going to do something now that the experts say you shouldn't ever do, that would be bad like using double negation in a sentence. If you're going to set a goal don't tell people about it (cheers Whore of all the Earth), just shut up and do it. So I wont tell you Internet, my friend, that I'm going to do this certain thing. You're a smart-like entity, read between the lines, you'll figure it out. Those who know do not say, those who say do not know, ya know?

Snorlax understands the principle of doing by not doing. Be the Snorlax!

As a young man in neutral, and poster child of the lost generation X, I'll just drop this one hint, things they will be a changin. Change, it's inevitable except from vending machines. Consider this fair warning universe. I wont repeat myself. Until next time.

robot unicorn attack

2010-09-22T17:27:00.005+10:00

Have I discovered iPhone casual gaming perfection? OK, maybe Angry Birds is better, but it's close. Isn't a replicant rainbow powered unicorn, the perfect metaphor for life? Throw in the easy listening pleasure that is Erasure's Always, as a backing track and all your dreams feel like they're just one over-sized starfish barrier away from being realized. It just doesn't get any better. Sir Ridley Scott really needs to make one last version of Blade Runner (what's one more?), the RUA cut, and splice in some game footage to replace Deckard's unicorn dream.

Total complete awesomeness.

*****

Creativity On Demand

2010-09-20T20:05:00.002+10:00

“Imagination is more important than knowledge. For while knowledge defines all we currently know and understand, imagination points to all we might yet discover and create.” -Albert Einstein

“We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit.”

-Aristotle

If you suffer from an impoverished imagination, you are not alone. Like stockbrokers, our knowledge of the world tells us where we are now and where we have been; while like soothsayers, prophets and other visionaries, our imagination points toward what isn’t, yet what might be. It is more comfortable to operate in the tacit world of facts rather than the uncharted realm of imagination. After all, ‘write what you know’ is rule number one. However, unless we desire to become journalists or autobiographers (noble pursuits though they may be), to write fiction we need to take something that is known and transform it into something that is not. Our thinking needs to shift to a setting of uncertainty in order to explore all the possibilities.

The unknown is a scary place, because it’s not always clear what we should do with it. Some have suggested that you write tenaciously, unapologetically about your visit. This advice is not without merit. When you diverge from what is, there will inevitably be a moment of hesitation. The instant where creativity is invoked requires a different mindset from standard ways of thinking. The transition can be daunting. If we indulge this moment too long without pushing through, writers block, the Internal Voice of Doom, and other similar maladies await to divert us from our course. Bertrand Russell suggested that we need “to teach to live without certainty and yet without being paralyzed by hesitation.” He was talking about philosophy, but his advice applies equally well to writing.

Steven Pressfield (author of “The Legend of Bagger Vance”) begins his writing sessions with a prayer to the goddess Posey. Dan Brown reputedly suspends himself upside down to stimulate thinking. Twyla Tharp, in her book “The Creative Habit,” says that we should develop our own personal patterns that precede our creative efforts to signal to the mind and body that a project which requires imagination is under way. Sports stars are notorious for reverting to suppositious practices when preparing to perform at peak levels. Michael Jordan always wore his tar heel shorts when playing and ate practically the same meal before every game. Is it possible that routinizing a personally designed ritual before writing can help us overcome the hesitancy associated with uncertainty and consequently help us reach the right state of mind to write well? That by using the same pattern we can create different results (or rather, stories)? I don’t know the answers — that’s why I ask the questions, but anecdotal evidence considered, it seems like it’s worth a try.

Note: Much of this post was inspired by the seventh essay in David Jauss’ amazing book, “Alone With All That Could Happen.”

This post first appeared ages ago on The Official Site of Cesar Torres

get busy livin or get busy dyin

2010-09-18T22:21:00.009+10:00

"It's your life. You don't know how long it's going to be, but it has a bad ending. You have to move forward. As soon as you can figure out what that is." -- Don Draper

I get it now. You don't drink beer because it tastes good. You drink for the social benefit of not having your frontal lobe over think things. The reptilian brain is an useful guide when it comes to navigating the terrain of primal instinct and even basic human interaction.

Beer... it's awesome

I've dropped the ball guys, only because I've just realized the game has changed. Certain of our number, the post/ex/anti mo brigade, think the desire for "sin" is not a major factor as to why people leave the church. Maybe they're right. Maybe they're missing out on a lot of fun. How bout this though? Fuck the thought police. "Sin" is a tool of control invented to underpin a slave morality. I can happily exist without maintaining the standards of an organization whose prime concern is ten percent of my income. Once ties have been severed, why continue hanging myself? Perhaps "sinning" wasn't the primary catalyst for my disaffection, but goddamn if it sure as hell hasn't made me satisfied with my decision.

My mother is thrilled.

The Loz says this: "Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die." Happy trails, pilgrim.

fate grows impatient

2010-09-09T20:16:00.004+10:00

"Life is a sexually transmitted disease." R. D. Laing

Life happens. This is not necessarily inevitable, except maybe in our universe, and particularly on this planet at this time. It could be seen as a gift. The plasticity of language and broad scope of interpretation allow you to wrap the world in whatever decorative paper you feel is appropriate for the occasion. Call it good or bad, or some variant of grey tone maybe when your emotional printer is running low on colour ink. Call it whatever you like, life is here, but unfortunately not here to stay. It is a tenuous fragile thing, prone to fade at any moment, likely in less time than the minute of copulation that proceeded its advent. Scarcity drives value. Is it any wonder that capitalism has become the economic vehicle of choice? Time is running out. I'm more scant than Hailey's comet, supernovae, and Kim Kardashian's wardrobe. I will never happen again for quite probably an eternity. Therefore I have decided to tag life with the simple descriptor: Good.

Once existence is established and conveniently categorized, where to from there?

what three months of hell taught me 1

2010-09-01T21:15:00.005+10:00

from the people who brought you: don't think about the ramifications of sharing every intimate detail of your life...

Every Achilles has his heel.

So you're practically invulnerable, devastatingly handsome and got balls of steel? (guilty as charged) Big deal, that's nothing a well placed arrow can't fix. It's probably bad form to reveal your weakness whatever the circumstance, but this is the age of the internet and I am a millenial. It feels only appropriate then that I let it all hang out, you know, flapping in the wind as it were, exposed in all its vulnerable glory. I'm talking about my heel people. My heel. Every ubermensch has his kryptonite. I suppose I have many, but let's not get ahead of ourselves.

I am in possession of a hermetically sealed bubble. It is incredibly handy for repelling any and all unwanted social interaction. Even stone walls get shaky when they see me coming. That's how impenetrable my defense is. Of course in public, I can't overtly draw attention to my super power, that would shatter the illusion of normality. So I sprinkle the barren wasteland of my everyday interactions with sparse helpings of convivial gestures, verbal or otherwise (trying to be more real lately after The Event That Will Not Be Named). Schopenhauer lamented: "We forfeit three-fourths of ourselves in order to be like other people."

Being an island unto yourself doesn't just mean that you get to make friends with volleyballs, it also means you're crazy. Just think I could be living in a cave, but instead I'm an eating, shitting, fire breathing 21 century everyman, enjoying the privileges afforded by an economic system built on the backs of slaves and the blood of innocents. Everything is corrupt to some degree I suppose. Entropy will sneak up on you whether you're ready or not. I make a special point to buy free range eggs, but I wont even think twice about buying cage produced Air Jordan's if my bank account is agreeable. Weird. Anyway, the point is that the amenities of modernity are made possible by a vast social structure that extends far beyond the dimensions of my own pitiful capabilities. Stuff, whether cage produced or not, comes from other people. How nice of them.

Is it time to deactivate the misanthropic powered force field yet? Wait. Why does it even exist in the first place?

TBC

Write Here, Write Now

2010-08-27T23:33:00.007+10:00

It's time to fire up the Delorean, 'cause we takin' a trip back to the old school. This post first appeared on cesartorres.net. I love and loathe writing. It's a writer's life for me, so let's talk about it shall we...

“You lack discipline!” -- Arnie in Kindergarten Cop

Worms, and other distinguished creatures of the earth, welcome to the first day of the rest of your lives. That’s what you tell yourself every time you wake up. Yesterday’s gone for good, another day begins. What do you do? Whatever you want. Our existence rests on a delicate balance of external conditions, but once our most basic needs are met we always seem to want more. We’re human after all.

With our outer needs fulfilled our inner lives begin to take on our primary focus. As a general rule we’re all searching for the same thing: happiness and fulfilment, but failing those we’ll often settle for immediate pleasure or chronic numbness. Hedonism is enjoyable for a time, apathy gets old real fast, each lead to unsatisfying ends (feel free to disagree). Balancing present day happiness with the promise of achieving future worthwhile goals is a noble pursuit and a demanding challenge.

Did I wake up today and somehow convince myself that I’m Tony Robbins? No. What does any of this have to do with writing? Everything.

Creativity is a non-destructive outlet for achieving a meaning driven life. It’s not the only path available on the way to (may I be so bold) enlightenment, but is at least as good as any other. In the coming weeks I will hopefully skip joyfully, but more likely trudge arduously, down this road less traveled taking in the sights and sounds with the intent of understanding the big questions: why do people create, how do they create, what should I create? Writing will be the major focus as it is the topic of interest here, but the answers will be applicable to any creative endeavor (your insights are appreciated).

A final word of warning… “Writing is easy: All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead” (Gene Fowler). This sentiment is typical of most writers — there are of course exceptions, people who breathe through their keyboards — but for most mortals, writing is hard work. How does that balance up with finding happiness? Sometimes you need to postpone a little joy now for a big payoff in the future. Like they say there’s no free lunch. Only you can decide if the journey will be worth it.To achieve anything of value though, discipline is the key, if you’re lacking, now would be a good time to invest. After all that, all that’s left is to take the plunge. See you on the way down.

Loren was born ~~(and still resides)~~ in New Zealand, where he grew up on a steady diet of TV and comic books. After years of consuming pop culture, he one day awoke from uneasy dreams and found that he had been transformed into a (wannabe) pop culture creator. His metamorphosis continues at [the site you're on now] .

a cruel summer

2010-08-26T13:41:00.008+10:00

By way of explanation, (<--sorry, I just finished listening to the guys on Mormon Expression talk about Mormon expressions) it's actually winter in my part of the world, but since I am partial to the ways of The West, which for better or worse, these days, originate in the United States of America, and emanate ever outward from there to the far flung reaches of the English speaking world, transmitting for your and my consuming pleasure, among other things: ideology, political interference, and all manner of pop culture detritus, one variety of the latter being the humble medium of cinema, which incidentally is our topic of conversation today, and given that the migratory patterns between film's denominators is measured usually by the seasons, therefore I felt it appropriate to include a reference to summer in the title of this post, and what a dreadful summer of cinema it has been (note: I hope to one day make my mark in the Guinness Book of World Records, by writing the longest English sentence in recorded history).

Enough of the overwrought affectation, down to brass tacks. I'm slowly becoming a cinephile, but I can't comfortably lay claim to that title yet, I'm still a noob. That of course does not disqualify me from sharing my opinions about the state of the medium. I for one have never been shy about letting the world know how it has failed to live up to my expectations (on the internet. In real life I don't even talk to people). I've been hardcore geeking it since 1979, and my geekiness like the universe and the mean weight of American citizens is always expanding. So, the last few years should have been like mana from heaven for me, with all the "genre" properties making their way to big screens, but the taste has grown stale, and this year in particular I think we have surpassed the used by date for shitty storytelling dressed up in pretty CGIness. The only bright spot I can think of was Inception, and while not quite pantheon worthy, it should still be seen on the big screen. I can't even remember half the movies that I've watched this year, but here are some snap judgments (with SPOILERS!) on some that I vaguely recollect.

SALT: Highly predictable, so called (props to Mormon Expression again), Thriller. Heralded as Jason Bourne with a vagina and who better than Angelina to pull it off (this isn't, ahem, just a clever play on words, Angelina actually goes commando at one point). She's a double triple Russian/American agent. I think the film makers may be unaware that the Cold War is over. At one point Salt (Jolie) "kills" the Russian President and I was like please don't tell me they're going to use the spider venom as an escape clause from reality, but that's what they did. Hey, maybe it's minutely possible that there are spiders that can paralyze you (while stopping your pulse) for over 24 hours, coincidentally that's the exact effect that this plot point had on my suspension of disbelief. It wasn't a complete cinematic abomination, you actually have to have talent to pull something like that off, but I'm feeling generous today, so Salt earns one extra star for replacing Tom Cruise (true story), with Angelina Jolie running around, awkwardly, and kicking ass.**1/2(out of 5)

SCOTT PILGRIM VS. THE WORLD: The first sign, was that Michael Cera was the lead. The second was that there were only 2 other losers (apart from myself) at the first screening on opening day, in the entire theatre ; that's when I knew for sure that there was a guaranteed apocalypse on they way for this movies box office (in Australia at least). Edgar Wright is an outstanding film maker. He gave us Shaun of the Dead, and Hot Fuzz. So what went wrong? Trying to compress over 1000 pages of comic book awesomeness into 2 hours might have had something to do with it, many of the 'characters' are hardly worthy of that distinction. Don't get me wrong the film's got great visuals, it's just missing a heart. Oh, and let's not forget, because I only mentioned it 5 sentences ago, Michael there's-an-emasculation-in-my-pants-and-everyones-invited Cera, is the lead. Hooray for us.**

THE LAST AIR-BENDER: Why Shyamalan? Why!?! After seeing Lady in the Water (the most torturous movie of all time) why am I even asking this question? *

I can't go on...

(except)

AND NOW, BY WAY OF ANNOUNCEMENT

If you want to hear awesome podcasts about movies check these out:

Chillpak Hollywood Hour

Filmspotting

on the way home (again)

2010-08-23T21:24:00.010+10:00

I was listening to Bill Bryson today, while preparing to move out of my flat. It was A Short History of Nearly Everything, specifically. I'm looking for a place that I'll call home #6 in about a year and a half of being on the Gold Coast. This almost nomadic-like house hopping is made possible, because, In The Beginning, there was a Big Bang (at least that's generally the consensus on the best way to start the story). Sometimes I genuinely feel the need "to be still and know" that there's something much bigger than myself out there. Some people call it God, I call it the universe. Thanks Bill.

An unfathomable amount of unlikely events have transpired since time has been steadily unfolding at one second per second. One of the unlikely, almost miraculous, results of this combinatorial explosion of possibilities is my existence. Well, pretty much the existence of everything is nigh on miraculous. It all conjures up that age old question: why is there something instead of nothing? Scientists, usually the most ardent supporters of Occham's razor, have a strange and somewhat unexpected answer (if you can call it that). There are infinitely many universes of which ours just happens to be one, and a rare one at that. In our particular permutation, all the elements in play found a delicate balance, such that life was able to emerge. Do not multiply entities unnecessarily, except in the case of universes, I suppose. But back to me ;) Of all the universes in all of the multiverse, of all the atoms in existence, of all the people who ever had sex at one point or another, somehow I won the consciousness lottery (along with 6 billion others and their ancestors). It's amazing. Ahh *pause* and here I am ... Alive.

The reason why this comes as a mildly exultant epiphany at this particular time is because I am concerned that if this truly is the only chance I get -- no doubt my atoms will take on some other form, only without my memories, at the point of my extinction -- then I should probably start enjoying things just a tad more; this is all well and good, but it has come to my attention that I have certain issues that need processing that are, at present, inhibiting my ability to do so. I am a bitter ex-Mormon, with a raging hard-on for atheism. Now there's nothing wrong with the latter part of that statement, except possibly the word choice, but I feel the ex-Mormon part needs some addressing.

I was under the impression that I had already easily negotiated all 5 stages of grief and even Fowler's 6 stages of faith in less than 3.5 seconds (but maybe in regards to the grief, I've been stuck in 1st the entire time: Denial). Given the vastness of my intellect, which by the way, is rivaled only by the immensity of space itself, and my considerably more limited emotional range, I thought that I could put the tragic little episode, popularly known as my Crisis of Faith, behind me, for good, like an unremarkable piece of refuse flushed away and forgotten forever. But I was wrong. Shocking, I know. A good friend of mine from New Zealand, now living in Korea, yes you Justin, has been in contact with me recently over this very blog and the results have been mixed, but usually bad. Bad, because somewhere deep in the recesses of my dark soul, an as yet untapped vein of pent up animosity has been revealed and I haven't handled it well, instead I've started mining. It turns out I'm pissed off, so sometimes I write stupid things like the last post I did (I still held back quite a bit, can't let Mr. ID completely out of the cage. Yet). Call it writing as therapy.

I really thought I was over this. I didn't want this blog to be one of those angry apostate ones. I'm an enlightened individual, above the common pettiness of mere mortals, or so I thought. Perhaps, I somehow managed to ignore the very real pain left in the wake of the upheaval of my entire world. Even convinced myself it wasn't there for a while. I'm good at masking pain (we'll get into that another day), but this time I've really out done myself. If the catholic church has taught me anything it's that when you suppress certain aspects of your humanity that probably should be expressed, sometimes they manifest themselves anyway in unwanted and very repulsive ways (there I go, being offensive again). Somebody get me a fixer. It might be time that I start dealing with my little problem directly, although I'm not sure what that means yet. So, beware as I get all introspective up in this public space, things could get ugly. I guess I just need to be patient and as excruciating as it is humble, as I try to find a new home (in more ways than one), a new way, a greater peace. Shalom.

holy ghost, the friendly ghost

2010-08-22T17:48:00.015+10:00

Once in a while I'll sit down and furrow my brow with stoic intensity as we philosophical types are want to do, and think profoundly deep thoughts. And by think, I mean rearrange my prejudices, and by rearrange, I mean leave things ostensibly as they are, and then wax poetic afterward about the resplendent feng shui that I'm able to achieve dealing primarily with mere abstractions. The mind boggles.

Among the scattered deck chairs that adorn the Titanic that is my brain, one is always set aside in honour of my dearly departed imaginary friend the Holy Ghost. That bodyless ephemeral bronze medalist of 'the Trinity' fame. He is one enigmatic character, even after you get to know him. Some of his closest allies can barely make heads or tales of the fellow, but they'll blow his trumpet like a whore auditioning for the world's harmonic orchestra, with nothing but a trouser snake and a dogged (bordering on scary) pay-me-now determination (ladies and gentlemen, we have a new candidate for most outstanding example of a terrible mixed up metaphor for 2010).

What's that sign? Memory lane. Oh... I sit in YSA Sunday school class (did the tense change in here?). Someone asks the second most popular question you're likey to hear at this type of setting (the first being: Eternal marriage, again, really?): "How can I tell the difference between the Holy Ghost and my own emotions?" It's as if young David himself has slung a psychological pebble directly between my eyes. Bullseye. It rouses me from my slumber. I know this one. Umm, we can't. That's it. We can't. I don't actually voice this. The teacher begins with what will inevitably be an entertaining, depending on how you look at it, foray into obfuscation. "Well, through the Holy Ghost the truth is woven into the very fibre and sinews of the body, so it cannot be forgotten. So, blah, blah, blah, etc." Strangely in the following weeks and years the same question keeps coming up.

... Back to the present. I see now, again, The Holy Ghost a.k.a Disco Inferno, let's burn baby burn all up and and down in your bosoms baby, is so astonishingly powerful that an experience with him is memorable enough to barely be indistinguishable from everyday emotion. Wow (I've had shits that have left a longer lasting impression than this guy). He's so convincing that people leave the church all the time. Impressive. I shake my head "Still never heard a decent explanation for that one, old friend." I look over at the Holy Ghost's empty deck chair, and then up at the bow. I see a large iceberg approaching on the horizon.

p.s. one alternate explanation for the the HG

inspiration for the clinically depressed

2010-08-19T20:20:00.006+10:00

Ahh, what should I write about today?

I am currently embroiled in a minor financial, and major existential crisis. Unfortunately, I can foresee neither a benevolent government nor god stepping in to offer a blank cheque bail out on my behalf (Ozomahtli! Why hast thou forsaken me? Please grant me this one request, and if not, then the hell with you!). Sure, there's repentance, its closest religious equivalent, but that's such a messy business, with blood and sacrifice and other undesirable imaginary requirements. Life as a globe trotting master thief is an equally unappealing option. Too, much effort. No, it's just me the world, the problem of other minds and a thousand other considerations. But back to the initial twin burdens, they are chronic conditions, not at all acute, unless it's a particularly bad day. I don't even know what today was. Hmm, Apathy is that you? Not helping things.

Am I an extreme pessimist? It seems so. Delving into my psyche I have come to realize that if I were a character from the Winnie the Pooh universe I'd most definitely be Eeyore. This is disappointing for a number of reasons, first of all Winnie Pooh is a castrato , you can tell because he doesn't wear underwear and by the way he talks, there's a salient allegory in there somewhere, second, I've destroyed any credibility that this post may have had by an appeal to he and his compatriots, and perhaps most importantly: Eeyore sucks balls. There's nothing like a healthy dose of reality to crush the spirits of the irrationally optimistic. I have a special calling in life. I'm not complaining. Not any more than usual. We've all got our jobs to do. Authenticity is the new destiny. I'm just living up to my potential.

But where was I? Money, fame, meaning. It's hopeless isn't it? Striving for something that is in all probability impossible. Dieing would be much easier than all of this. But who wants to do that? I wage a constant war of attrition with myself. Fight or flight? Do I look my demons in the eye and laugh them to scorn or do I bend like bamboo in the wind and live to see another day? This is bordering on bad poetry. Death, the final frontier, the undiscovered country, live long and prosper that you may never meet what's his face with the scythe thingy. Death that is the answer isn't it? At least according to Steve Jobs and he knows everything.

I have a grave stone sitting on my dresser inscribed: Loren T N Hopkins, Handsome Jerk, 1979 - . It is a constant reminder that I'm handsome, a jerk and that one day I'll probably die. When I first started going bald, that's when I knew I was mortal (that line never gets old). Gradually my invincibility began to deteriorate along with my hairline, as if I were a nazarite for the 21st century. Like Sampson before me the loss of locks meant no more mojo. Tragically, my fate would be his, for I am incapable of living up to the vow that they of olden time made: I cannot avoid corpses, because I am becoming one. This is a breath of fresh air.

Jobs. Explain yourself: "Almost everything--all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure--these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart." Holy shit I'm going to die. Time do something. And thus it is amen.

happiness, meaning, or eating

2010-08-13T20:03:00.003+10:00

Here's a nice false trichotomy. Happiness, that's what it's all about right? Not so fast poncho. Eventually this would be a wonderful side effect to the activities that I choose to engage in, but for me it's not the decisive factor. I could go on being miserable for the rest of my life and feel reasonably satisfied when the end comes, yes, maybe even happy about it. Of course this is dependent on being miserable over the right types of things.

I hit the pavement, and run the streets; I repeatedly get punched in the face; I move ponderous amounts of iron; I sit down then make up some errand to distract myself, sit down again, and after much tribulation, and mental anguish force myself to write some story, or draw some picture. None of these activities are particularly pleasurable, but there is deep a sense of meaning and satisfaction surrounding each of them for me. I don't know where the meaning originates from, but it's there calling to me, always beckoning me back, even when I feel that I've had enough.

Unfortunately, I see no monetary reward in the near or even distant future by following my passions. Eating is always a priority. Do I resign myself to a life of quiet desperation and eek out an existence in the current manner, using my philosophy degree to think deep thoughts as I go about my labors, doing for work what convicts in the past were consigned to as punishment for their crimes (I'm a laborer at the minute)? Man cannot live by bread alone, but without bread man can't live at all. I've got to pay the bills somehow.

What if it were possible though, to do something that brought me meaning as well as money so I could eat? Well, then I think I could say that I was truly happy.

can i get a witness

2010-08-10T19:49:00.003+10:00

the epic showdown continues. At the bell I fail to leave my corner. Time to retire (this thread anyway )...

To Whom It May Concern,

Further to our conversation regarding the three witnesses of the golden plates I would venture to add that while their unwavering dedication to their testimonies surrounding the events documented in the opening pages of the Book of Mormon (improper), was nothing short of exemplary; I cannot in good conscience take these men at their word, not enough to follow them to the ends of the earth or the pearly gates of heaven, or even exert more than a cursory glance over the documents regarding their story. I find nothing of any substance that would move me to esteem their special experience over that of any other subject claiming a divine visitation or ecstatic encounter. The world is filled with wondrous first hand accounts of extraordinary beings revealing themselves to lowly humans: Aliens, Allah, the Resurrected Christ, big foot, the Virgin Mary, Elvis et al. I cannot account for what these various witnesses claim, neither do I feel obligated to. I have neither the time nor the patience to embark on a exhaustive study of events and people who are of little interest to me. Their story did little to move me when I was a member in good standing, nor when I later became disaffected. I do feel an unmistakable compulsion to return to a study of Mormonism, but this would center around the two most compelling characters who were instrumental in its advent: Joseph Smith and Brigham Young. So it is written, so it shall be done.

God's speed,

The Lozinator

a fortnight's worth of profundity

2010-08-08T20:13:00.002+10:00

Weird imaginings have been transpiring at the locus of the emergent intelligent realization of my grey matter (um, in other words: my brain). My mind has been a flutter with cross pollinating possibilities. One fantasy world gives way to the next until the boundaries between them blur and I find myself wandering in a strange chimeric wasteland. A lone voice crying in the wilderness "make way, filthy heathens, for the day of Loren is nigh at hand." But what is the cause of this non-drug induced mind expansion? A number of synchronicitous moments have reshaped my now amorphous character. I'm a chameleon ready to adapt to any all circumstances. Behold the makings of a nondescript opportunist...

1. The number one ranked commenter on slimodsoc by sheer volume of words,Justin, challenges me to a duel concerning the validity of witnesses to the BoM, a dialogue that spirals wildly out of control. It however, prompts me to wonder what do I believe. The answer? Nothing.
2. The ever philosophical Andrew S, comments on a post reminding me of a long forgotten uni class I once took, where I learned how David Hume single handedly destroyed the foundations of natural philosophy.

3. I read Zen and the Art of Happiness, and The Life of Pi. By their powers combined, I'm almost convinced that the stories we tell ourselves are more important than their Truth value.
4. I watch Inception, Blade Runner and the first two seasons of Breaking Bad. I can't articulate how these reconcile with the other trans-formative points except to say they are some of the most fucking awesome things I've ever seen.

And that's the pervading theme of the last two weeks for me. Everything is marvelous and everything is bullshit. We need not get angry if some one else's bullshit smells or looks different from ours. Let them wallow in it. I am not above wallowing in it myself. In fact I welcome this prospect. Letting go of what I usually cling to has been completely liberating. Taking ownership of beliefs that I am diametrically opposed to has done wonders for my empathy. I am a comic book writer. This has been the greatest quantum leap in the craft that I have ever achieved. I can step into another persons shoes without maintaining absolute or even a little contempt for them, and sometimes I can almost convince myself that what they say makes sense on some level. Amazing.

pikachu i choose you

2010-08-03T23:00:00.003+10:00

Does being grateful make you happier? Does a deep reverence for the universe, its intricate workings and its bountiful mysteries invoke an awe that in turn fosters an all encompassing connection with all that is? There's a great big mostly empty, ever expanding balloon that we're all floating in. One day our fortunes will reverse, and it will begin to deflate and collapse in upon itself, and us. As for now, we're still here, living, breathing, this is a very nice way to be. I suppose I should be thankful.

Does mediating your experience of the sublime through a chosen deity increase your ability to transcend the banal elements of reality, allowing a greater way to reach out and grasp the divine? The godless among us have wondered "Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful, without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too." Take the world at face value, embellishment effaces its beauty. Others of the same persuasion have pointed to faulty design as proof positive that The Designer is incompetent at best, but more likely non-existent. For the atheist (and I am one of them) the world is simultaneously beautiful and ugly, and both forms of aesthetic indicate that there is no god.

In spite of this, (and many far more compelling reasons not to believe) I am still fond of the notion of worship as a means of appreciation for, and recognition that I am not the center of (I often forget), the universe. My two favorite authors -- and now we move to men who make up worlds rather than obsess over the "real" one -- Alan Moore, and Grant Morrison, are iconoclasts in the realm of beliefs. The former worships Glycon an ancient Roman hand puppet/snake god, the latter believes he was abducted by aliens and has had personal visitations from Superman. Both believe in magic. Such audacity in the face of our sometimes soul crushing modernity. I would love to try on different gods as one might a pair of shoes or other items of clothing. I'm not fond of snakes per se, but Ozomahtli, an Aztek monkey god? Now there's a definite possibility. That will do for now.

31, my tragic beard and other disappointments

2010-08-01T22:27:00.003+10:00

The potrait view almost looks passable, but don't be fooled the profile view reveals a deeply disatisfying beard. Hair folicles are sparsely distributed across the cheeks resulting in an unacceptable patchy look

For the ancient Greeks growing a full on facial beard was a right of passage. A signifier of manhood. I can't help but slouch in despondent defeat. My attempts at a beard are, prepubescent, nothing short of girlish. Wait, that's an insult to girls; I know plenty of members of the fairer sex whose razors I'm not worthy to wet. I mean these chicks can sprout thicker side burns than Elvis. Alls I'm saying is that I'm jealous. Masculinity will you forever evade my grasp?

This is the perfect metaphor for my life thus far, chalk up another sad attempt in a long line of disappointments. Honestly, I hate my life. Don't get me wrong, I turned a corner, for sure, when I disavowed my allegiance to god, the queen and country, but we're talking baby steps here people. All I ask is that everything that I hope and wish for materialize as soon as possible. Like now would be nice. Do you hear me universe? Sure, Rome wasn't built in a day, I know, but what do you expect from Italians? Between contemplating the mysteries of the universe, regular siestas and even more regular orgies, it's little wonder town planning wasn't high on the priority list.

I have a degree, a semi-stable income, a near genius IQ, abs, a raging ego. What's not to like? My job for one thing. I turned 31 today and can't grow a beard. Do you know how demoralizing that is? I'm old, free and single. Relieved of the quote unquote moral constraints of mormonism I should be living it up, but I often find myself drifting off at inopurtune times throughout the day, it's getting so bad the boys have nicknamed me gramps. Oh the humanity. I'm usually completely catatonic by 10 o'clock, I can't even make it out the door. Those ladies at the club wouldn't know what hit 'em. I could've been a contender. I'll show 'em all, I will.

Millions are starving to death worldwide and I'm lamenting the state of my facial hair. Everyday I meticulously plan my revenge on planet earth for me not being amazing. Oh, I've got plans for you all right. I desperately need to join some kind of charitable community to distract me from my constant machinations to take over the world. OK. Slow down. Breathe. It's not about the beard. It's not about the beard. It's not over yet (well the beard is, for the sake of all things holy shave that mother fucker son), I can be redeemed. I shall return. Watch this space.

faith, knowledge and the art of confusion 3

2010-07-31T19:21:00.019+10:00

part 1 and part 2

Allow me to remove my hardcore atheist hat for a moment. It fit well enough, aside from the flow of blood being cut off to my brain.

"Extreme positions are not succeeded by moderate ones, but by contrary extreme positions." Friedrich Nietzsche, you always know exactly the right thing to say. I've gone from mormon true believer to logical positivist (who harbors great sympathy for existentialism), and now traverse a middle way that is a strange extreme of its own. An opposition to oppositions. A state of being where all possibilities exist even if only in one's mind. I am a walking talking Hegelian dialectic.

The human capacity for self deception is nearly infinite. Why not exploit this fact? The grand narratives have failed us. God [the unreliable narrator] is dead. All that is left is chaos and our predilection to impose order. Indulgence of personal bias is the apotheosis of autotelic experience. Walk in a waking dream. We live in postmodernity. Everything is a construct. Everything is a power game. He who writes the rules wins the gold. We see the man behind the curtain and can joyfully embrace the world anyway (after filtering it to conform comfortably to our own specifications).

If you were sick and believed at heart that no cure existed, would you really do all in your power to reclaim your health? There is nobility in striving for the impossible. Lie to yourself, the results may be surprising. All progress through history has been driven by the discoveries of men and women who had faith in an idea that had not yet been proven. This type of unfounded belief may underpin all action that leads to any worthwhile achievement.

There is nothing more satisfying than stating matters of opinion as if they are absolute fact. I create my world one truth or lie at a time, it doesn't much matter which. "If the facts don't fit the theory change the facts." (Will you permit yet another Nietzsche quote?) "there are no truths, only interpretations." We can and do reshape the world in our image. Best then to select a philosophy robust enough to withstand the paradoxes and tensions of a dynamic mode of interface with the universe. Create axioms that need not be self evident, like: Everything that happens to me is for my best benefit. Whether they are true is not as important as if they are useful.

Umm, this is madness. Where did I put my hat?

***

Faith: inventing what is true -- Loren

faith, knowledge and the art of confusion 2

2010-07-23T20:38:00.011+10:00

part 1

Let it be known to all nations, kindreds, tongues, and people, this will read like a polemic, but it is not intended to be (overly) offensive. Unable to share my thoughts with anyone on issues that I have surrounding the church of my youth, I have resorted to talking to myself on the internet. Heaven have mercy...

Am I a Son Of Perdition? Most, except those closest to me, would argue no. Have I committed the unpardonable sin of denying the Holy Ghost? An iniquity more egregious than any combination of sex and or violence conceivable (not even virtuoso evil pricks like Stalin, Hitler, or even George Bush have achieved this level of depravity). Not yet. In the mormon cosmological model, there is a special place reserved for these SOPs, the only true and living version of hell ominously called Outer Darkness.

To qualify you have to of course deny Mr. fancy pants look-at-me-I-can-turn-into-a-dove himself. Can you feel the spirit brother? It's a Holy Ghost party up in here. Umm, yeah, the Holy Ghost there's no denying him, but to even attempt such a rash and despicable act you have to first know that the mormon church is true. Joseph Smith described this as looking at the sun (which might make you blind), and denying that it shines, or crucifying the good Lord once again, even while knowing he's the chosen Messiah. That's what it comes down to, you have a sure knowledge that Jesus is Jesus and then you go all Judas Iscariot, on his godly ass. That'll get you a one way ticket to mormon hell my friend.

Now, it's generally accepted that you have to really know, like Generally Authority know*, that the Church is true with absolute certainty to even have the opportunity to become a SOP. Like Jesus has to take a time out from his busy schedule of basking in the eternal worship of his angel sycophants, descend from his throne of glory, and confirm that your calling and election has been made sure by personally delivering your VIP pass to the celestial kingdom, while the Holy Ghost sears a powerful witness of these events into your very soul. It's no easy feat getting into outer darkness let me tell you. You've got to be worthy of heaven, if you want to go to hell.

Most of us fail to attain the aforementioned level of knowing, by which I mean really knowing. For the rank and file members (and probably the overseeing patriarchy as well, although they'd probably never openly admit it) testimony baring is a culturally acceptable form of consolation; a statement professing knowledge of the truthfulness of God, Jesus, the church, Joseph Smith etc. It's the old fake it till you make it gambit, which isn't a bad thing in and of itself. It's a perfectly acceptable form of learning. The question is how many actually make it? You know, gain a sure knowledge of the truth, enough to make them eligible to be condemned to Outer Darkness if they ever fall? Ask any honest mormon and they'll tell you not many if any. Am I a SOP? Hell, no. I only ever believed the church was true, even though I said I knew as much (possibly like everyone else? Hello, emperor, nice clothes you've got there). Belief 0r faith is not the equivalent of certainty, of that I am certain.

*General Authority n. Old mormon guy who resides in the upper echelon of the mormon hierarchy. I'm giving them the benefit of the doubt here, but Boyd K. Packer has hinted that a GAs testimony is no different than a standard members.

TBC

stranger in a strange land

2010-07-20T19:12:00.004+10:00

I have parted ways with normal society. Maybe there is no such thing as normal. I had a feeling that those bell curves were wrong all along. All those lost grades, all these weird people.

I was sitting at a friend's house the other day while they all got drunk. The friend is a friend of a cousin, that's how we became friends. The cousin was there drinking too. Everyone except me. Sometimes I think some of these people tolerate my presence only because I'm related to them. Of course, no drunk person can comprehend the sobriety of any bystander within earshot. I endured a million offers of just one drink. I deflected these proposals with the old "I'm in training, sorry, no alcohol." Brilliant.

A little less than a year ago, bolstered by my new motto "Don't do anything that Joseph Smith wouldn't do", yes, that's a double negative, I proceeded then to go on a month long drinking binge, during which time I learned that alcohol consumption is highly overrated and that beer tastes like shit. Joseph be damned, I think it'll be a long time before I ever drink again.

Back at work on Monday, many of us at the gathering, which may or may have not been termed a party, work at the same place. A depressing place, but I've said too much of my vocation already. I was asked "Did you feel like drinking with us on Saturday?" I could tell by the intonation and large smile that the expected and socially correct answer was yes. I almost nodded as I said not really. Awkward silence.

After getting a free facial a few weeks back from one of my training partners, I was asked: "were you frustrated, did just try and unleash on him?" I'm walking around with two black eyes, likely a broken nose, I was thoroughly outclassed during the sparring session where this all happened so I guess it was a fair question. This time I lied, yeah man, I was flustered, so I just went crazy, it was just so frustrating. The asker was just eating this up, but really I didn't feel any of those sensations, my thought process went more a long the lines of "wow, this guys really beating me up, damn that was a good shot, ouch. Hey I hit him, I hope that didn't hurt too much." I think I'm too nice to be a fighter, but anyway I didn't loose my cool at all, maybe I should have.

A lot of times it happens like that, I just play along cause it's easier, but there are numerous examples of this strange feeling that I'm not quite on the same frequency as everyone else. It's cool in some ways, but surely I can't be all that different, maybe they're all just pretending to be normal too.

faith, knowledge and the art of confusion 1

2010-07-19T17:23:00.009+10:00

Faith: not wanting to know what is true -- Friedrich Nietzsche

When I was young and foolish, my favorite comic book character was Daredevil: The Man Without Fear, a blind catholic vigilante. Now that I am old and foolish I have become what my younger self would have despised the most: a non-blind (in more ways than one), atheist, liberal... I am Loren: Man without Faith

Why faith?

Why is this held up as a virtue by so many people?

I sit back, sometimes, in a deeply philosophical type pose, and wonder. How did this come about, what were we thinking and why don't I think that way anymore? When I say "that way" I'm referring to faith of a religious variety. The form that steps outside the realm of standard everyday decision making and into other worldly speculation and then claims these metaphysical musings as absolute truth.

Granted we all exercise faith in varying degrees whenever we undertake a task, of that there is no doubt. It is a crucial ingredient in a crude form of empiricism that drives our actions. We make a hypothesis based on our beliefs and desires: "Girls are awesome." We test our hypothesis: "She's a terrifying monster that feeds only on the hearts of men." Sometimes things don't work out as well as we might have anticipated. No matter the result of our various experiments we can be assured of a reliable feedback loop, which will either verify, or falsify our original postulate; carry us closer to, or further from our initial goal. In the end, there is a simple way of knowing if our faith is well founded.

Contrariwise, generally religious faith for the zealot requires no such feedback loop to sustain itself. Answers to a heart felt prayer are left open to the discretion and perhaps imagination of the penitent soul who offered up the supplication. A reply may take the form of a person, a tingly sensation in the bosom, a silhouette of Jesus in a taco. There is no clear indicator as to whether or not a prayer has been definitively answered by some god-like being, only interpretations.

Sometimes people receive what they feel is an affirmative answer. Perhaps they prayed to pass an exam, studied and then passed. A miracle? It should be noted that those who study for exams greatly increase their chances of passing them. Sometimes I want it to be sunny outside and often the weather will oblige. Am I then to conclude that weather patterns are subject to my whims (even though there are times that the two do not correspond)? Or is it more sensible to conclude that the laws of nature are simply going about their usual business and that cloud formations and my desires only intermittently correlate by chance, and not by some supernatural trick of wishful thinking? We shall leave aside, for now, claims of truly miraculous answers to prayer.

On the other hand, you could pray for years for a particular result and be disappointed. Was this due to lack of faith? Was the answer no? Was the answer some kind of obscure communication that was somehow overlooked? Again, it is hard to tell. The person of faith will say if you are perceptive, open to God, you will know when the answers have come whatever they be. Why settle for this method which offers results that have the appearance of being capriciously and arbitrarily dealt out (if you believe in a god), when there is a more direct and useful course: Trying to do things yourself. When asked how it is that one "knows" that an answer has been given you may hear "the spirit told me" (translation: I feel like I got an answer). Dig a little deeper for the basis of this knowledge, question how feeling good about something guarantees truth, and you may well discover that this person has faith that they know.

This is were I become confused. In many instances in religious speech "faith" and "knowledge" are used interchangeably forming a nice foundation for circular arguments. When a person says they know that god lives, particularly in the mormon tradition, they are making a truth claim about the state of the world: There are such things as gods, they are corporeal, they/it exist(s) etc. The grounds for the veracity of this statement is that they feel it is true, therefore it must be true, independent of ever having seen or not seen said being. "Ah so you think god is real because you feel good about that prospect? Well that's more akin to faith isn't? You haven't quite verified it yet?" No, not think: know. Faith is knowing. This is a shocking form of epistemology to be sure. You can't really explain peoples experiences away, they belong to them after all and are invulnerable to intellectual scrutiny, but is it too much to ask that if we're going to communicate that we at least speak the same language first?

TBC

there's nothing like getting punched in the face

2010-07-14T20:47:00.006+10:00

I'm overrun with pet projects. "Specialization is for insects" that's what Heinlein says. I don't see myself letting up on this self imposed heavy work load of eclectic hobbies any time soon. I can't bring myself to apply a laser like focus to any one thing. It's a dilettante's life for me.

One draw back of a life dedicated to broad competency rather than singular mastery is that sometimes your skills get juxtaposed with someone who is a master (at least in comparison to yourself) and consequently you are severely schooled, flunk and get sent to detention. And your mum starts crying when she finds out.

I was doing a bit of ye olde sparring a few weeks back... I fancy myself a burly man. A throw back to the days when men were men and women were subjugated. Oh man, those were the days. (important note: I have developed an alleged sense of humour that is a little zany, a lot deadpan and sometimes inexcusably offensive, sorry ladies). I'm the strong silent type, the kind of guy that only communicates in inaudible grunts and enjoys chopping wood even though it hurts the environment, maybe for that reason... So, I was boxing against some dude who knows how to box and I was just a heavy sparring virgin. Did he go gentle 'cause it was my first time? Hell no. I got epically owned.

I usually look better than this. Getting punched in the face has a habit of upsetting the delicate balance of one's generally well placed features. Notice the broad swelling of the nose, the day after's double black eyes. My poor poor beautiful face.

A couple of weeks and one glute injury later, and I've slowly been working my way back into fight training. I had to admit to myself due to the undeniable arse whooping that I took previously, that I've quickly developed a phobia for getting in "the pocket" (close enough proximity so that you can hit and get hit) and mixing it up with my opponents even in lighter versions of sparring. And I'm not scared of anything except, air bourne diseases, 3 legged cats, oompa loompas and my receding hairline. Like practically nothing. And clowns. Oh and now the pocket. Pathetic really. Accepting that you've got a problem is the first step to recovery I suppose.

The temptation is to knuckle down now, train up and seek for the bitter sweet taste of revenge. Except that the guy that destroyed me is my teammate, I'm a teddy bear, don't believe in revenge and I've got a lot of other things on me agenda anyway. Looks like I'll have to get used to looking like I just ran into a brick wall for the foreseeable future. If that's the type of sacrifice it takes to be somewhat pretty decent but not remotely near the best at something, then so be it.

Fuckin' scary as hell

this little light of mine

2010-07-09T20:45:00.007+10:00

Talent breeds contempt I have discovered, not through utilizing my own, they're too meager to invoke the kind of vitriolic hatred that only ever accompanies true greatness. Whenever any mortal pries him/herself away from the herd and ascends to the pinnacle of their given vocation, somewhere in the distance you will find a vociferous minority casting stones and aspersions in the general direction of that brave individual.

LeBron James is a basketball player. Possibly and even closer to probably the best basketball player on earth. Today he decided to change teams. He played for the Cleveland Cavaliers, his home town team. He now plays for the Miami Heat, and Cleveland are none too happy about it. There's incredible public outrage (in Ohio at least, and also generally amongst most NBA fans): women sobbing in the streets, the burning of LeBron's jersey in the streets, missed days at work. Utter mayhem. It's a sad commentary on society, these tribal affiliations we develop around our sports teams, this success or failure by proxy, when we hitch the wagons of our self esteem to whether or not they win or loose (but that's a story for another day).

"The King", as he's been dubbed, gets to join his buddies Chris Bosh and Dwayne Waid, two other uber exceptional bball talents in a move that will all but guarantee several championships during the next decade. People criticized LeBron for not being able to win a title in Cleveland --his team mates there sucked--and now they'll criticize him for going to some place where he'll win many.

Some people accuse me of being Marxist. Yeah, I'm part of the proletariat, but I don't just want to overthrow the bourgeoisie, I want to be the bourgeoisie. For some reason to sports fans, sportsmen are working class heroes. Sure they get paid millions to ply their trade, but on a certain level there just like us, the common man, slaving away for The Man. Well, today I think something significant happened. The players seized power from the owners for a brief shining moment. They worked the system and found a way to stack one team with 3 of the top 10 ballers in the NBA.

I love it. My favorite part is that these are three young black men who have taken over a game run by rich middle aged white guys (when I was younger I kind of wished I was black, something I've never quite grown out of). If you look at it that way it's easy to cheer for them. This is a new and possibly the greatest victory by proxy for the working man I can think of, but let's be honest these guys are going to be the most hated team in basketball. They're just too talented, people wont stand for it.

What happens when the rebel alliance overthrows the evil empire? Do they become the empire?I don't know. Ask apple. Everyone seems to hate them these days, but hey, they still move a ton of product. Wilt Chamberlain, a former NBA star and 7'1 monster of a man, said it best "nobody roots for Goliath." I suppose we all see ourselves as underdogs and we want other underdogs to succeed because they represent us struggling through this unjust existence, if they can win out once in a while maybe we can to. Problem is if they make a habit of being too successful too often, our cheers can turn to jealousy and resentment. How dare they stand out. Hey it's not their fault they've got talent and know how to use it.

Haters are gonna hate and players gonna play. I know I'll be watching and cheering. Stick it to The Man boys, stick it to The Man.

on being a dickhead or I'm right, you're wrong and you suck

2010-07-04T16:06:00.010+10:00

One of the four horsemen of militant atheism is dying. "In the Tibetan philosophy, Sylvia Plath sense of the word, we're all dying. But you're not dying in the way [Christopher Hitchens] is dying." (YES! Another Fight Club quote!). He's got esophagus cancer. I guess that's what happens when you smoke ten thousand packets of cigarettes a day. Is this result any real surprise? If only he'd extrapolated the most logical outcome of his careless actions before it all came to this. What an idiot. Wow, being totally insensitive is fun.

OK, this is the part where I stop being a dickhead...

Christopher is probably the most witty and entertaining part of the formidable four headed atheist monster, so I like him (has anyone listened to Sam Harris? Dude, puts me in a coma). It's a sad, sad thing that he's got cancer now and I wish him a full recovery. A wish is probably as good as a prayer, which isn't very good at all, but it's the thought that counts even if counting in this case doesn't amount to much. Chris and friends probably played a small part in my born again Zen Atheist Experience, so I owe them a debt of gratitude. However, their approach often surprises and offends me. Maybe the new sickly Chris will be more gentle, more easy to be entreated, doubtful and even if he was he wouldn't look to me to point him in the right direction, but let's just pretend shall we. Here's some free advice mate:

Please stop painting every single person who believes in a god with the same brush. The Dalai Lama is not equivalent to Ayatollah Khomeini. Taking the most extreme and insidious examples of a group as an accurate representation of an entire group (especially a group as diverse as believers) is stupid. Ever heard of non-binary thinking my friends? This is stereotyping of the worst variety, some might even call it prejudice/bigotry. Feeding the homeless ≠ flying planes into buildings. Sort of the same starting point (inspired by belief in god)? Yeah. Same result? No. See this is easy.

Are you really so shocked that people accuse you of being arrogant? You shit on everything they hold dear. Your retort to the accusation is that religionists believe they have all the answers (answers which are impossible to know if you're epistemology is based on modernity), so they're the arrogant ones. Well played, but hey essentially insinuating that you're more humble than your opponents is always a self-defeating argument, you loose.

Guess what? Here's a fun fact: everyone's an idiot at some point or another, not just the 90%of people on earth who believe in some kind of god. Everyone. Stop acting like you and your ilk are hyper rational all the time. You're not, you're human, you make mistakes too, like smoking too much.

Finally, (I'm getting tired) just because you're right doesn't mean you get to be a douche. So, I should probably stop bringing up the smoking thing. Remaining humble while maintaining that you occupy a superior position of knowledge or anything else is almost impossible. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't try. No one likes a smug know-it-all asshole. You're lucky that you're funny. I think I'm right right now, so I'm elucidating my position in the hopes that I'll disabuse you of your erroneous ways. OK this is harder than I thought, I already sound like a condescending dick. Umm, good luck... Let me finish by saying that I think your world view is right, I just don't like the way you present it sometimes.

Well, I believe I've made my point. Can we all take a moment now and commit to being just a tad more humble, just like lil ol' me.

editorial without an editor

2010-07-02T21:47:00.005+10:00

At times my mind explodes, like the cosmic orgasm that brought about the conception of our universe, like Jihadi crusaders strapped and ready to cash in on 72 virgins. Boom.

It's just a little over half way through the year. Perfect. This means I can once again ruminate on my many short comings and hail the glorious dawn of a paradigm changing epoch, culminating no less in a future where I and my misfits rule the world for a thousand years with blood, horror and golden statues of Michael Jackson. Grim times indeed, but exciting, interesting ones even. Us Anglo's would have you believe that interesting times are the well wishes from some old Chinese proverb. It was more likely a curse (according to the most reliable source on earth: Wikipedia). I like the ambiguity, being in two minds is better than one.

Presently I'm extremely angry for no good reason. Is it that time of the month already? This bipolar thing is highly overrated. Can we pause for a moment? Will we allow sanity to prevail for a fleeting... no. Insanity it's your time now. "Chaos Reigns."

So I'm walking down the road, which never happens because I'm usually either in a catatonic state or busting my balls trying to reclaim my ever diminishing manhood. Walking's for pussies. But there I was against all odds, leisurely strolling to the backing track of the hustle and bustle of everyday noises: Cars, people, kids, birds, the world turning on its axis, idiots. It's a lot to deal with unless you've got nads of steel. Mine were at the repair shop, so I was feeling a little deflated.

Then it happened the clouds parted and the eyes of my understanding were opened. A vision of unparalleled awkwardness unfolded before me. My fly was down. I couldn't believe it, even alpha males like me fuck up? But not like this, not like this. First walking, then a game of peek-a-boo with my junk. Unprecedented shemanery in this context. Incase you're wondering I have been known to go commando from time to time (in honor of Arnold Schwarzenegger's greatest movie: Junior).

I've really let myself go. Now I'm angry. This shall never, for all days that I shall live, ever happen again.

{ interlude: current injuries... wrist, arse, hamstring, pelvis, nose, possible hernia. Current non-injuries... everything else. This almost makes me smile}

Here I go in the ever evolving list of my aspirations:

Create the best of all possible worlds

Keep your word

Use the bird when appropriate

& Enjoy it all godamit.

fire insurance and magic underwear

2010-06-28T19:59:00.006+10:00

I was a Mormon once. Still am, if not going counts. I even went on a mission. While there I developed an immunity to confrontational swearing Aussies, which in part might explain why I live t/here now... PTI

READER BEWARE (inside info): Mormons like me self have a cute nickname for not getting atomically scorched off the face of the earth when Jesus comes again. It's called paying your "fire insurance". For only 10% of your income each year, you can rest easy in the thought that only shouts of joy and not abject agony will be emanating from your mouth when good ol' JC finally gets around to that second coming (while your infidel friends burn to death all around you). & why would the Tiger Woods of compassion institute such a policy? Because he's God silly.

...Back to the mission. It so happened, that a group of elders and I were gathered at one of the our flats, celebrating another successful day at having annoyed a lot of people, when I felt a mildly warm sensation come over my back. Was this the legendary holy ghost of NT fame? Had he finally come to his senses and descended upon me in the form of a dove?

No. It turns out I was sitting next to an open(ish) flame gas heater and my favourite t-shirt set on fire. We all had a good laugh. Which is understandable because I was only seconds removed from almost having become a flamed grilled whopper without cheese.

"Miraculously" my temple garment, the proper term for my magical underwear (Quick PTI> inside info: Mormon garments possess special properties of protection which are activated by the wearers personal righteousness), which I wore under my t-shirt was unscathed and so was I. High fives all round.

If I were a 19th century Mormon and if they actually payed tithing back then and I knew what insurance was, I may have been wont to respond thusly: I, Loren, having been true and faithful in all things, was miraculously preserved by the hand of Lord on this day. Spared from the fiery darts of the adversary through obedience to the word of His holy prophet, the anointed mouthpiece of the Father, even Joseph Smith. Like Meshack, Shadrack, and Abednego before me, I was mercifully delivered from the flaming furnace. An honest tithe payer, I stand now as prophecy fulfilled etc, etc. That was suitably hyperbolic I think. Man that felt good.

Gentle reader was this a miracle? Mere coincidence (yep, probably) or destiny? This cost me my best t-shirt, I hope one day to figure it out.

cakewalk

2010-06-26T17:10:00.007+10:00

Mortality is staring me in the face. The obnoxious touch of it's gaze prompts me to action. Pure physical uninhibited action. But first I've got this cool manga to read... dodadodado .... Manga, awesome, kangaroos, bifurcate, cool, um, manga I should draw some. Wait a cotton picking tooting arbitrarily measured unit of change. I can't draw. I mean everyone can draw. Just like everyone can sing. That's what some one told me. I agree, but most people do these things badly. Maybe after a million, years I could learn to sing proficiently. No, even that wouldn't be long enough. There's that mortality thing too remember, I haven't got that long. You know, NBA players clock up thousands of minutes a year practicing and playing bball, and some of them still can't dunk. No, singing is out of the question. Sometimes physical limitations disqualify certain actions. Where was I, ah yes drawing, occasionally there is verisimilitude between what I see and what I draw. This is always shocking when it happens. I will never be a virtuoso. This ain't gonna be no cakewalk (bonus points for using dictionary.com's word of the day). I may just have to settle for mediocrity, but there's a long way to go before I even reach that point. Mortality I will not go down without a fight, I will scratch and claw and hustle and leave my little tags defacing the place, you'll see, but first wow what's this the internet...

my butt

2010-06-21T19:51:00.004+10:00

My left glute has been strained beyond its normal capabilities, leaving me unable to perform at mine. Consequently I have been awash in stark unpleasantness this past week. Sometimes meeting my present literal pain in the arse with good humor, but many times not. My repository for the development of sympathy and empathy for the human condition and its participants has received a healthy influx of capital. Which is of some consolation.

Suffering my constant and frequent companion you have returned to me once again. I missed you for that 0.3 microseconds of blissful desertion on your part. Upon your return, I also enjoyed all the "did you drop the soap in the shower again" jokes, I really did. Tonight though, and I don't expect that there will not be a regression at some point, but at least for now, I can sit here and type. It still hurts, but in a good way. Cheers.

a quick note on the rating system

2010-06-18T23:25:00.009+10:00

Writing about things I no longer believe in can get pretty boring or ugly boring or never mind. There are a number of my own previously held beliefs that never did, and continue still to have no bearing on reality, like not believing in premarital sex, which in spite of the fervent faith of many still happens with abandon regardless. I'm not against beliefs per se, they just seem to be a strange development along our evolutionary trajectory. Then again beliefs are similar to opinions that are just like something else that everyone has, except for my mutant cousin Bobby Sue, which make certain trajectories for him difficult. Opinions form possibly because mortality requires prioritization, otherwise we die faster than necessary. Prolonging suffering is a distinctively human trait. Beliefs help make sense of what happens during this (oft times painful*) period before we croak.

I'm glad I cleared that all up, because now we can get to the important stuff. I believe that I have failed to detail the exact nature of the rating system here at slimo. While this oversight stands as one of the most insignificant in recent memory, with public demand on par with the upcoming

View-Master movie (Hollywood just give up now please), as a man of ever increasing eccentricities and a spare 5 minutes here is the breakdown...

Remember ratings and their definitions are only opinions, which I take no responsibility for, continue reading at the risk of challenging yours (um, hyperbole much?). Or just make up your own interpretation.

Captain Planet = Utter shit.

Some people like Cpt Planet. Not me, sure it had a catchy theme song, but the rest of it was garbage. The overly simplistic villains, the lame ass lead character (who's only weakness was pollution, how hard could it possibly be to stop him?) and the overly preachy agenda turned me off. However, I continued to tune in everyday, maybe I had nothing else better to do. Ticking this box means you were there for the post, you don't know why and really wish that you'd done something else.

Voltron = Pretty f'n solid.

Voltron was awesome when I was like 5. One thing I could never understand though, is why he took so long to pull that damn sword out. Was he just a sadist, savoring the suffering of the villain of the week before he delivered the final death stroke? I enjoyed each episode, but sometimes I just wanted them to get to the point already. "Form Voltron Sword!"

Sponge Bob = Ridiculously good.

The ridiculous part isn't necessarily a modifier for the good part, more like the post is equal parts good and ridiculous, just like the crazy cartoon for which it is named. I savor the absurd in many ways, click away if you feel the same.

*I wrote this while my left butt cheek was possessed by a fiery demon, which may or may have not discolored my mood at the time of writing

Surveillance and the emergence of evil 2

2010-06-14T09:56:00.004+10:00

Where were we? An oppressive rigid regime run by a various minded yet strangely pedantic god i.e. a corporation sole? Yes, that's right. Under these harsh conditions the subordinates of mormondom shoulder the load of unreasonable expectation re-enforced by none other than themselves. Architects of our own demise and all that.

Faced with the age old dilemma of ostracism or conformity, many among our number fall into line. Marching to the beat of someone else's drum has never looked so boring or suffocating. Toeing the party line implicitly means big brother is always watching. Sometimes it's Brother Wilkes, other times Sister Page, each brother and sister a gatekeeper for the sanctity of some imagined bureaucratic metaphysical structure.

President Faust once said there are no such things as personal choices. The consequences leak out effecting our communities eventually. Together we have willfully erected a panopticon as residence, a great eye in the sky. Sauron would be proud. We are a congregation of whistle blowers and self-regulating crack troops. Bow down to the purveyors of rigidity or feel free to sample our fine selection of everlasting burnings.

It begins when we agree to a code that is impossible to execute, but that we than expect others to live by. The code is replicated and propagated ad nauseam wherever 2 0r 3 (or more) are gathered together in big brother's name (we all know answers but let's rehash them for 300*79^10 time). Any discussion at any of these gatherings outside of the specified parameters, is strictly verboten. No exceptions. The act of observation affects that which is observed. Each Sunday we put on our best face/mask, say the right words, carry out the right actions, and make sure everyone else does the same. The cycle continues. New members replace the old, the structure can never weaken. The people are the structure. The hegemony remains strong. We made this.

Now the bait and switch. Is this what passes for evil these days? Really? We've come a long way from torturing animals for entertainment and hangings as public spectacle. Many an anti-mormon has complained about the unnecessary guilt elicited by the ever demanding requirements of mormon culture. It's understandable. Avoiding any and all forms of judgement can be attractive, just not very productive. I like not putting myself on the line as often as possible. Sometimes though, it's good to have expectations. Would that we could all be winners, but life is mostly a zero sum game. Sometimes you loose. Who sets the terms, now there's a legitimate beef. We are each the captains of our own ship, we set the agenda. No one else. Still if surveillance in this context is evil it is an exceptionally weak variety. (do you think otherwise?)

Bait and switch 2. The only reason why I care if this or that is evil, is because I think I am. Or rather I know. I train in my free time to beat others up for sport. I wont insult your intelligence by asking whether you think this is good or bad. In November I'll be entering a cage and kicking ass, or more likely getting pummeled into oblivion. Can any good come of this? There's a little yin and yang in everything they say. At least I'm keeping fit.

So, along the road between where evil starts and evil finishes, that's where you'll find me. Watch out I'm a bad, bad man.

my 10 favourite things

2010-06-04T22:58:00.005+10:00

I voluntarily tagged myself over at Koda Think Tank which act now requires that I share with the Great and Powerful WWW my very own personal list of the 10 bestest things in the universe. And they are, in no particular order, except for the first, as follows...

1. SEX. this is strictly theoretical at the moment - I applaud my honesty here and simultaneously hang my head in abject shame, these are the fruits of Mormonism - however, I plan numerous experiments in the not too distant future. Volunteers wanted. No experience required.

2. FAMILY. I see myself as the Michael Corleone of my mob, without the scruples. The Family is all important, so watch yourself. OK maybe this should have been first on the list.

3. WANDERING. Just walking around looking for books, maybe at the library, or just in general while daydreaming fills my soul with exceedingly great joy.

4. COMIC BOOKS. I have been drawn to the funny pages since I was a child. I will die a happy man if I ever learn to draw and make some of my own.

5. HOT SHOWERS. Most enjoyable.

6. THE INTERNET. I love the complete anarchy of it all: Blogs, vlogs, status updates, illegal downloads, misinformation, a virtually limitless cornucopia of choices at your fingertips. Mmmm, Feed my brain.

7. FREEDOM. Even if it's only an illusion and it turns out that I should have been a fatalist, it still feels good.

8. LEARNING/IMPROVING. Although closely tied to 7, this little gem gets its own spot, because it's possible to choose to be a hopeless ingrate of a sloth, or to improve one's self, which takes some effort and I don't know why, but striving for something better has somehow infiltrated the human genome. I just can't help it (hmm, maybe not so 7 after all), I want to be better.

9. MANLINESS. If women get to be feminists then can't I be a first wave masculinist? Sure can. I'm Pinocchio, I want to be a real boy, er man. What makes a man? Give me chivalry, give me bushido, give me old fashioned manners and common courtesy and I'll do the same (maybe even if you don't).

10. THE MIND UNIVERSE CONNECTION. Perhaps I should've written cheating here instead, because I'm about to break the rules and go 2 for 1. These 2 things absolutely fascinate me: how the mind works; how the universe works, especially quantum physics inasmuch as I understand it, which I don't; and how they relate to one another.

honourable mentions, I wrote this list ad hoc and upon reflection some of the following should have been in the top ten: zen, food, writing, basketball, obsessing about male pattern baldness, legislated wanton acts of permissible violence, and many more.

If you read this, you've been infected. Consider yourself tagged. The only cure is to post your own top 10 list of favourites. Good luck friend.

Surveillance and the emergence of evil 1

2010-05-21T22:05:00.008+10:00

Over at Mormon Stories, mecca of the new wave of mormon apologetics (I've taken liberties with the term), which entails acknowledging that the institution designated by a title too long to type here is not exactly what it claims to be, but that that's OK; the reasons for this OKness are apparently legion, much of them depend of course on who you ask and how you and/or they are feeling at the time (and Mr Dehlin and friends have done their fair share of asking); anyway, they've been talking (a lot), this time to Daymon Smith author of The Book of Mammon. His insights are profound, fascinating, and incapable of being encapsulated by mere superlatives. I will borrow one of them to kick start this post (it went a little something like this): “The 19th century Jesus was a polygamist, communist, revolutionary…20th century Jesus wears pastel colors, holds sheep and caresses childrens hair.”

What a sound bite. To me it perfectly illustrates the current cultural climate of the church. I mean, given how we started as seer stone totting heretics, how is it that we became the most vanilla culture in the history of the world? The answers are all in the podcast, and it all comes down to the the bane of liberal Mormons everywhere: correlation. All the teachings got streamlined, all the definitions calcified, redundancies were eliminated, any so called speculative pseudo doctrines where eliminated (or rather conveniently ignored), and what we're left with is not open to debate.

Daymon explains quite nicely how we got here. As for where we are now and what that means, well that's what interests me. Mormons are mostly indoctrinated robots, almost incapable of editing their own programming. I feel comfortable making these broad metaphoric generalizations, because I was one of these people. Justification by association if you will. I'm like that guy off Nacho Libre now, I believe in science, so please feel free to indulge my abstracting away of the superfluities so we can examine the cold hard facts (I exaggerate yet again).

What does it all mean? I don't have all the answers, but one consequence of the top-down filtration of acceptable behaviors and beliefs, is that when you buy into the game you've got no choice but to put on all the emperor's new clothes no matter how bad the fit. There is fairly limited wiggle room. They call it the straight and narrow for a reason. In the world of correlated Mormonism conformity is king. The call to strict obedience, no less than what is required of the membership (the mythical act of atonement by one J.C. acting as a buffer against the infinite failures that occur as a result of such lofty and yes, absurd expectations, else there would only be 3 people who attained Celestial Glory, President Monson, myself and um), ensures that we all need put only our best foot forward, and people who have seen my feet can understand how this could be a problem. It is probably true that no religious practice can survive a collision with reality. Masking the underlying casualties may only be possible by constructing an appropriate facade.

this post is spinning wildly out of control, to be continued...

finally: updates on revised mormon living

2010-05-07T17:20:00.015+10:00

You need to study the scriptures more. That was the impassioned plea of a dear friend of mine. I have new scriptures now, the Upanishads, Nietzsche, The War of Art, Doctor Seuss etc. This doesn't go over too well. Moving on while remaining in the same place (i.e. infrequently attending church) hasn't set the world on fire either. These are my people, but this isn't my spirituality. It feels like I'm drifting further and further toward the complete and utter self-serving/centered obnoxiousness that has come to typify many of my most recent posts. I've hoisted myself aloft as the new and improved Golden Calf for the 21st century. Is that what my new bankrupt version of The Meaning Of Life has come down to? Yeah probably, and I want to tell the world about it before Moses gets back. I'm a missionary of my own agenda, and I've found thus far the conversion rate rivals that of my LDS mission.

If that didn't make any sense maybe this will: I'm slowly grasping what form of spirituality is pertinent to my life. So, while I continue to distance myself from the institution, which may yet prove to finally institutionalize me for good, still I can't help but hold doggedly to certain aspects that were instilled in me at a young age, and as the proverb says I find that I cannot now depart from.

The Keepers:

Scripture Study and acts of faith

This was a mainstay back in the day. I was one of those people who would pipe up in class about how I could feel a discernible difference in my life by making this a daily practice. I now reserve such self-congratulatory statements for this blog. Of course I can never go back to the BoM, which after all this time, in my mind, has proven itself to be no more than chloroform in print.

The scriptures are like the placebo effect and Pygmalion effect rolled together into a nice hallucinogen inducing joint. Aren't all belief based propositions? Your faith tells you that fulfilling this obligation will lead to ostensibly favorable treatment from your preferred deity. With your attention firmly fixed on full alert for any and all corroborating evidence, minute "miracles" mysteriously materialize (overuse of alliteration: another unfortunate effect of my upbringing). Things like the notorious God helped me find my keys while millions starve in Africa story start to make sense. Dangerous territory. However, perhaps belief when directed toward less insane outcomes can still be useful.

My inertia is a greater stultifying deterrent to action than physical paralysis, performance anxiety, and the stock piling of nuclear armaments for the purposes of staving off a nuclear winter. Combined. To counteract this unfortunate condition, I need constant encouragement and an occasional kick in the pants. Enter reading material that in my limited wisdom and with dubious authority have pronounced holy. I search these things, wrestling with them to discover and at the same time create whoever and whatever the hell I am. I need this. As I (and you) do these things I testify that...blah blah blah. It helps, maybe only because I believe it does, but hey, who can argue with results even if they are only in the eye of the beholder.

Sacrament

It's an effective practice to take a moment each week to reflect and rededicate yourself to your chosen path. I am a writer, which means that my highest priorities are browsing the net, engaging in non-productive tasks like alphabetizing my wardrobe and continually challenging my laptop monitor to contests of who can look the most blank (which it routinely wins, but it's always close). I am a writer is like saying God is love. It's only part of the story. If these self-definitions were to correlate with real life output than I'm a shiter would be a more accurate statement. I'm a product of my time, my environment and any other number of factors. Kipple's always trying to get in and distract me (or gift me with raw materials for my work). Wading through the mire and focusing on what's important once in a while keeps me from taking up my true calling as a beach bum whose surfing is strictly limited to the interwebs. Heh, never mind.

Service

Speaking of what's important. The more things change the more they stay the same. Service has had more lip service sent its way than the back seat of every teenager's car, ever. Boy we'd talk this up at church. Did anyone act on it? I don't know about everyone else, but I sure didn't, not in an especially dedicated way. Zig Ziglar's favorite saying is "You can have anything you want in life, if you help enough people get what they want." Sure he loses some credibility points, because he's a salesman, but he might be on to something. It may be disconcerting that this maxim suggests that helping people is ultimately a selfish act. You know what? I can live with that. To stop thinking about myself momentarily, even if it wasn't purely motivated by charity, well, that would truly be an act of god and I'm fond of those despite my current (non) beliefs.

iron man 2: RDJ babbling like he's still on drugs

2010-05-06T22:57:00.010+10:00

Expectations are funny things. Just ask Pip. I walked into the first Iron Man after the abomination that was Ghost Rider expecting another Marvel crapfest, what I got instead was pure unadulterated awesomeness that wore Gold and Red armor and killed people to rockin' backing tracks by Black Sabbath.

With my hopes fully in their upright and secured positions (my plural placement here seems off), I boldly strutted into the sequel expecting to be blown away again. This is a lesson: always have low expectations.

Iron Man 2 is a fun movie, RDJ practically guarantees that, but I think director, John Favreau, bit off more balls than he could juggle. That was probably a candidate for the worst mixed metaphor of the year. What did I say about low expectations?

Perhaps too many sub plots, spoil the brew here. The middle drags at times, I mean are we really expected to give a fuck about Iron Man's dad and their little moment, when there was no real or effective foreshadowing that would justify us walking down that road. I don't want to walk, this is a movie. Then there's about a million other threads going on as well. Am I expected to knit too?

That said there are things I absolutely loved about this movie. Oh if you don't like spoilers you may want to leave now (although anything I reveal wont spoil the plot, because this movie barely has one).

Remember how Jeremy Irons voiced Scar in the Lion King and everyone loved it? Then he got cast as a German villain in Die Hard 3 on the strength of that performance and absolutely sucked? I thought we we're going to have that type of situation with Mickey "I've got the worst finger nails in Hollywood" Rourke. He does the Wrestler gets nominated for an Oscar, then goes Halle Berry on us and makes Cat Women or something. Boy was I wrong. I think Mickey's pushing for another Oscar. I think he thought he was acting in something other than a comic book movie. His performance is mesmerizing. I'm talking Jeremy Irons greatness here. Sometimes it's hard to tell: I'm not being sarcastic.

Scarlett Johansson. What can I say, This girl's got everything going for her except a tan. One of the coolest action pieces in the film (and there aren't enough of them) involves Scarlett performing some bizarre amalgam of yoga, Hong Kong style Kung Fu, and the Karma Sutra, it's also got a great payoff, so stay tuned. Wow, beautiful and she can kick ass. I think I'm in love. Feminists you may now proceed to eviscerate me.

Random thoughts (even more so now): did I mention Mickey's finger nails? The action scenes are cool, but the final show down is anti-climatic. I want an Iron Man brief case suit. Terrence Howard makes a better Rhodie. No Black Sabbath this time, what? Are you crazy? Mickey Rourke needs more acting gigs. Marry me Scarlett. Sam Rockwell's ex-wife scene = hilarious. Did this movie have more montage scenes than all the Rocky's combined? I'm still reeling. We've all got a little Iron Man in us, there's an obvious joke that involves my pants somewhere here. Would I watch it again: Hell Yes. Thus concludes the longest "movie review" ever.