It is not remarkable that Donald Trump has the same patriotism in 2019 that he had in 1980. Only the names of the countries that were 'ripping off our nation" have changed. In 1980 he mentions Japan and Saudi Arabia. In 2019 it is Iran and China. The message is the same.
As I'm watching various YouTube recommended interviews with Donald Trump from the 80s, 90s and 2000s, I'm becoming more and more appalled with these bullshit Impeachment hearings.
Trump's speeches and interviews through the years leading to his run and election is proof upon proof upon proof that he has always loved his country, and wanted for her a strong leader.
There wasn't. So he ran. And won.
The Democrats don't want him to succeed because it makes their policies look bad. Instead they are wasting his time on political nonsense and forcing him to be distracted. They are failing to distract and obstruct him, and they are failing their constituents that don't vote based simply on irrational hatred of our president.
Of course I don't feel sorry for Donald Trump; quite the opposite. He enjoys this. He doesn't shy away from calling out these annoying attempts by Democrats to smear him before the election, and he is probably somewhat satisfied knowing that it is their Hail Mary attempt. Trump knows that the Democrats know they can't beat him fairly in an election, and they are choosing to destroy the country's integrity to try to cling to power instead.
The Democrats are doing exactly what they warned us Donald Trump would do.
Donald Trump is doing the job he was always meant to do.
Now it is time for him to do the work; he has trade deals to make.
Friday, October 25, 2019
Wednesday, October 23, 2019
Been Noveling
Ok, ok, ok
I’ve unfortunately neglected this blog, and taken a real good big stab at The Novel instead.
It was never supposed to be ‘instead.’ This blog was supposed to be an ‘also,’ but my brain still isn’t big enough, and my time not managed enough, for both. There’s that little big distraction called YouTube that keeps me from focusing for long periods of time. Or any amount of time.
And then next month is National Novel Writing Month. Another excuse to stab The Novel to death….to bring it to life? The metaphor is now completely nonsensical.
This is my 10th attempt, my 10th year. Yikes. (This doesn’t help me not worry about my mortality. Or how I don’t use it.)
I’ll use that challenge to push me to finish The Novel’s draft. Then comes the new year with all the editing, and….maybe I’ll switch over to medium.com….blogspot is so 2005, and that was officially a long time ago, though the music is timeless.
Apologies for the placeholder apology post, better than nothing. (I also blocked twitter to keep myself focused; ironically no one will see this apology post.)
I’ve unfortunately neglected this blog, and taken a real good big stab at The Novel instead.
It was never supposed to be ‘instead.’ This blog was supposed to be an ‘also,’ but my brain still isn’t big enough, and my time not managed enough, for both. There’s that little big distraction called YouTube that keeps me from focusing for long periods of time. Or any amount of time.
And then next month is National Novel Writing Month. Another excuse to stab The Novel to death….to bring it to life? The metaphor is now completely nonsensical.
This is my 10th attempt, my 10th year. Yikes. (This doesn’t help me not worry about my mortality. Or how I don’t use it.)
I’ll use that challenge to push me to finish The Novel’s draft. Then comes the new year with all the editing, and….maybe I’ll switch over to medium.com….blogspot is so 2005, and that was officially a long time ago, though the music is timeless.
Apologies for the placeholder apology post, better than nothing. (I also blocked twitter to keep myself focused; ironically no one will see this apology post.)
Monday, October 7, 2019
Paper Boy Prince Album Release Party Review
Paper Boy Prince of the Suburbs blasts his speakers in front of the Popeye's that is directly below the subway station at Myrtle Broadway, nationally known as K2 corner. He performs on roller blades for hours, defying exhaustion and defining endurance, his shows free for the passersby. His get up is a glittering cloak and tentacled red and yellow du rag, and his songs are about Math and Spaghetti.
Friday was his Andrew Yang for President themed album release party at a bar/coffee shop/venue near K2 corner called ‘Jones Beach.’ The website mentioned a $10 cover, but when I arrived it was ‘by donation,’ so I gave them all the money in my wallet: $8. (I really like to support Paper Boy Prince of the Suburbs and am indifferent to Andrew Yang. I was already registered to vote.)
I squished myself into the corner of the bar to people watch because I was alone. I eavesdropped on a dork in shorts with the same name as yours truly as he introduced himself to Paper Boy (I wanted to do that!) to talk about why Andrew Yang is so great. Paper Boy’s hair was short, and the top was bleached blond with ‘$1,000’ written in white, representing Andrew Yang’s silly, but cute promise to give each American $1,000/month.
A man talking to my namesake after Paper Boy left screamed without warning, "I don't have a girlfriend!" I knew how he felt but wanted him to shut the fuck up. He was embarrassing himself. And me.
Another guy with slicked back hair and handsome, bulging eyes bought his entire crew a drink as his two friends had an inane, drunken conversation about how they don't have conversations that they shouldn't have. I did not understand this, but I liked trying.
Jones Beach is a hallway with a bar in it, which leads to a smaller hallway with a bathroom closet and an actual closet at the end of that hallway, where shows are hosted. The room was empty before Paper Boy was ready to perform, and a band that wasn't about to perform unnecessarily filled the room with their amps and a drum kit. Known to many as the rapper from in front of the Popeye's on K2 corner, Paper Boy is otherwise very good, and draws crowds accordingly. The place was a fire hazard for everyone--including an unfit old couple in the audience--and an honor to Paper Boy.
Paper Boy was starting, and I was in the corner, comfortably nestled uncomfortably beside a new couple that was unnecessarily making out, while Paper Boy let some no-name losers from the crowd freestyle. He is a very generous person to give up his valuable time to the talent less, rhythmically speaking incomprehensible phrases over a bad mic. The crowd still managed to laugh and ooh and aah at lyrics that I doubt were legitimately funny. It all sounded garbled to me.
The couple left after the freestyles and before Paper By performed. They never came back and stayed for the worst part so they probably went to have sex.
Paper Boy knows that listeners today want simple, catchy hooks about spaghetti and math. Money and misogyny are so 2000s, and the fashionable lyrical topic of depression is overplayed. Paper Boy is not depressed, nor does he fake it for clout, so he doesn’t need a face tattoo and relies on creativity alone.
When Paper Boy finally performed his hit song ‘Math’ he was in the midst of the crowd and only had a tiny circle of space around him. He really knew how to work the crowd. The man without the girlfriend thrashed around excitedly in Paper Boy’s small circle, “celebrating” selfishly and blocking my only good angle to record 'Math' for my math teacher roommate. By choice Paper Boy took to standing on the band’s amp so people in the back could see him, opting to move a little less. He was very generous.
After his 15 minute set Paper Boy took a break and a girl dressed as a penis took his spot on the amp.
“I love dick!!” She screamed, and the crowd screamed with her. “I love dick pics!!!” The crowd roared. “Dressing up like this, I know what it is like to have unjustified privilege!” I rolled my fucking eyes. It used to be that a girl could just dress up like a penis and sing songs about dicks. Now, everything has to be socio-sexual-political.
She had more than one song about the topic of dicks, and dick pics. It was lowbrow, and worse, it was unfunny. I took the opportunity to finally talk to Paper Boy, now shirtless.
“Hey, what’s that song about spaghetti?” I asked him. “I love that song.”
“That is a song called Spaghetti. There is also one called Spaghetti Dessert.”
“Can you perform those songs?”
“It has not been requested yet. That is one of my lesser known songs. Now that it has been requested I will perform it next.”
“Thank you,” I said. Then Paper Boy was accosted by another ravenous fan and I went to the bar to close my tab with a shot of tequila and to escape the wretched songs of the girl in the penis costume. A large group of people gathered outside Jones Beach, and loitered there. They were not coming inside. They must not have known who Paper Boy was.
I wandered the neighborhood, reminded of the years that I wasted on these streets, then ran back inside thinking that I might miss Paper Boy perform ‘Spaghetti.’ Instead, a different artist was performing: Lexa Terrestrial. She was admittedly very tiny, and her parents were in the audience.
“I want to thank my parents for coming tonight!” She yelled and the crowd roared.
If the penis girl had any decency/decent parents, she would never perform in front of them. Therefore I took Lexa Terrestrial more seriously than the penis girl, and liked her outfit more: she wore a mini-skirt and what looked like a metallic top that was strapped with stuffed animals. I liked her, but I wanted more Paper...yeah!
She finished and it was ok. Then some kid in a boring hoodie (no costume) and a tattoo on his cheekbone came up to perform. What was this? A talent show?
“I need everyone to turn the fuck up!!” he demanded.
Friday was his Andrew Yang for President themed album release party at a bar/coffee shop/venue near K2 corner called ‘Jones Beach.’ The website mentioned a $10 cover, but when I arrived it was ‘by donation,’ so I gave them all the money in my wallet: $8. (I really like to support Paper Boy Prince of the Suburbs and am indifferent to Andrew Yang. I was already registered to vote.)
I squished myself into the corner of the bar to people watch because I was alone. I eavesdropped on a dork in shorts with the same name as yours truly as he introduced himself to Paper Boy (I wanted to do that!) to talk about why Andrew Yang is so great. Paper Boy’s hair was short, and the top was bleached blond with ‘$1,000’ written in white, representing Andrew Yang’s silly, but cute promise to give each American $1,000/month.
A man talking to my namesake after Paper Boy left screamed without warning, "I don't have a girlfriend!" I knew how he felt but wanted him to shut the fuck up. He was embarrassing himself. And me.
Another guy with slicked back hair and handsome, bulging eyes bought his entire crew a drink as his two friends had an inane, drunken conversation about how they don't have conversations that they shouldn't have. I did not understand this, but I liked trying.
Jones Beach is a hallway with a bar in it, which leads to a smaller hallway with a bathroom closet and an actual closet at the end of that hallway, where shows are hosted. The room was empty before Paper Boy was ready to perform, and a band that wasn't about to perform unnecessarily filled the room with their amps and a drum kit. Known to many as the rapper from in front of the Popeye's on K2 corner, Paper Boy is otherwise very good, and draws crowds accordingly. The place was a fire hazard for everyone--including an unfit old couple in the audience--and an honor to Paper Boy.
Paper Boy was starting, and I was in the corner, comfortably nestled uncomfortably beside a new couple that was unnecessarily making out, while Paper Boy let some no-name losers from the crowd freestyle. He is a very generous person to give up his valuable time to the talent less, rhythmically speaking incomprehensible phrases over a bad mic. The crowd still managed to laugh and ooh and aah at lyrics that I doubt were legitimately funny. It all sounded garbled to me.
The couple left after the freestyles and before Paper By performed. They never came back and stayed for the worst part so they probably went to have sex.
Paper Boy knows that listeners today want simple, catchy hooks about spaghetti and math. Money and misogyny are so 2000s, and the fashionable lyrical topic of depression is overplayed. Paper Boy is not depressed, nor does he fake it for clout, so he doesn’t need a face tattoo and relies on creativity alone.
When Paper Boy finally performed his hit song ‘Math’ he was in the midst of the crowd and only had a tiny circle of space around him. He really knew how to work the crowd. The man without the girlfriend thrashed around excitedly in Paper Boy’s small circle, “celebrating” selfishly and blocking my only good angle to record 'Math' for my math teacher roommate. By choice Paper Boy took to standing on the band’s amp so people in the back could see him, opting to move a little less. He was very generous.
After his 15 minute set Paper Boy took a break and a girl dressed as a penis took his spot on the amp.
“I love dick!!” She screamed, and the crowd screamed with her. “I love dick pics!!!” The crowd roared. “Dressing up like this, I know what it is like to have unjustified privilege!” I rolled my fucking eyes. It used to be that a girl could just dress up like a penis and sing songs about dicks. Now, everything has to be socio-sexual-political.
She had more than one song about the topic of dicks, and dick pics. It was lowbrow, and worse, it was unfunny. I took the opportunity to finally talk to Paper Boy, now shirtless.
“Hey, what’s that song about spaghetti?” I asked him. “I love that song.”
“That is a song called Spaghetti. There is also one called Spaghetti Dessert.”
“Can you perform those songs?”
“It has not been requested yet. That is one of my lesser known songs. Now that it has been requested I will perform it next.”
“Thank you,” I said. Then Paper Boy was accosted by another ravenous fan and I went to the bar to close my tab with a shot of tequila and to escape the wretched songs of the girl in the penis costume. A large group of people gathered outside Jones Beach, and loitered there. They were not coming inside. They must not have known who Paper Boy was.
I wandered the neighborhood, reminded of the years that I wasted on these streets, then ran back inside thinking that I might miss Paper Boy perform ‘Spaghetti.’ Instead, a different artist was performing: Lexa Terrestrial. She was admittedly very tiny, and her parents were in the audience.
“I want to thank my parents for coming tonight!” She yelled and the crowd roared.
If the penis girl had any decency/decent parents, she would never perform in front of them. Therefore I took Lexa Terrestrial more seriously than the penis girl, and liked her outfit more: she wore a mini-skirt and what looked like a metallic top that was strapped with stuffed animals. I liked her, but I wanted more Paper...yeah!
She finished and it was ok. Then some kid in a boring hoodie (no costume) and a tattoo on his cheekbone came up to perform. What was this? A talent show?
“I need everyone to turn the fuck up!!” he demanded.
‘You can’t demand that your audience be turned up before you start performing! You need to turn us up!’ I thought. What a wasted face….I didn’t care to remember his name, and left before Paper Boy could perform spaghetti. It was late. I was tired.
On my way out I noticed a faded sign in the window of Jones Beach listing all of the ‘types’ of people that were not welcome: racists, transphobes, bigots, homophobes etc.
‘Don't be cowards. Just say ‘No Trump supporters.’ That’s what you really mean,’ I thought.
Art is so needlessly political nowadays. Even the lovely Paper Boy, with his 'Andrew Yang for President’ album release party is guilty of politicizing his art.
However, Andrew Yang is the only acceptable candidate for Paper Boy's support because Paper Boy is as unique on the surface as Andrew Yang: an Asian, Democrat and businessman. They both defy categorization, have agreeable personality types, and aren't obsessed with sex-politics.
Subscribe to Paper Boy Prince
On my way out I noticed a faded sign in the window of Jones Beach listing all of the ‘types’ of people that were not welcome: racists, transphobes, bigots, homophobes etc.
‘Don't be cowards. Just say ‘No Trump supporters.’ That’s what you really mean,’ I thought.
Art is so needlessly political nowadays. Even the lovely Paper Boy, with his 'Andrew Yang for President’ album release party is guilty of politicizing his art.
However, Andrew Yang is the only acceptable candidate for Paper Boy's support because Paper Boy is as unique on the surface as Andrew Yang: an Asian, Democrat and businessman. They both defy categorization, have agreeable personality types, and aren't obsessed with sex-politics.
Subscribe to Paper Boy Prince
Saturday, October 5, 2019
Xenophobe
I’m “xenophobic.”
When I see foreigners I think “go the fuck back to your own country, you fucking asshole.You don’t belong here.”
That is my gut reaction to all foreigners. No matter their accent, their skin color, their religion, their ethnicity etc etc. This is especially true for Western Europeans or Austrailians.
However:
I have a soft spot for foreigners that learned to speak English before arriving and making themselves useful to this country by marrying an American, having American children, and renouncing the citizenship of their previous nation. (Having a job in STEM also very helpful for my approval, but not mandatory.)
And I have a soft spot for foreigners that seek asylum and are granted asylum and learn to speak English before arrival or shortly after arrival. Hopefully, their children will be American, and their children’s children.
On a purely moral level I have a soft spot for actual migrants escaping cartel violence. Seeking economic reprieve is less noble morally, unless a family must be supported, and I have a moral soft spot for these people too, though it is still politically illegal. Politically, their own nation is failing them, and politically it is not America’s responsibility to take care of them. It is not America’s responsibility to take care of its own citizens either (though they are first in line if they do need assistance), but rather to protect and defend their God given rights.
American citizens are very lucky to be born in America because America was founded with these principles in mind, and traditionally upheld them. (This is why Americans are so generous. Prosperity helps.) The countries from which these migrants are escaping DO NOT protect their citizen’s natural rights. Generous Americans want to help them, but there is no feasible way to do so without causing harm to fellow Americans either by rising crime, rising taxes, etc.
The disintegration of a nation is very slow, and takes generations. For me, it doesn’t matter how useful a person can be, unless they are willing to sacrifice their citizenship, they shouldn’t be given citizenship. It’s all or nothing. That is how a country is preserved for future generations.
Until recently, most European nations enforced their borders and their culture. Then they took it too far, blew themselves up, and then they took it too far in the other direction.
That's no longer an excuse, and I have no sympathy for Europeans that come to America from nations with longstanding traditions of economic stability, ie since the end of the second world war, 70 years ago.
Stay in your own country! Make your own country great! Keep your culture and your problems to your own border! Don’t come to our country and make the competition more difficult for Americans, who already have to compete with one another for jobs!
America is not heaven. Competition for jobs still exists between average people. You fucking assholes.
I'm talking about Australians, Irish, English, Canadians especially. The ones I know that are single, young, come here on a Visa, stay for three years, then go back to Australia. It is nothing but a prolonged vacation. Why bother? They are just stealing a job that an American can otherwise work, and more so deserves to work because they were born in this country!
I’m not a ‘phobe, ok? I’m not afraid of foreigners. They are already here, in NY, there's nothing I can do about it. I'm not going to live my life in fear, that's stupid.
Another question that I will not answer here is: why are there so many foreigners--people with accents from foreign places--working for the city in public unions? I have seen nationalities from Russians, Jamaicans, Bengali working as meter maids. Just asking...seems suspicious….
And:
Am I a hypocrite because my ancestors immigrated from Italy? No, and not just because I'd still be considered 'xenophobic' had I lived as an American at the time of their arrival.
They did it legally, and with the intention of becoming American by staying in America and starting a life in America for their future generations to continue to prosper and contribute to America so that their future generations could prosper and contribute etc.
And they did that. And thus I am a proud American that is threatened by new foreigners.
Threatened. Not afraid. Fear is weakness, and "phobias" are meant to make people with legitimate concern for their jobs--and nation--sound insane and unreasonable.
It’s not a phobia. It's contempt, ok? Contempt is a sin and I’m working on that. You happy now?
When I see foreigners I think “go the fuck back to your own country, you fucking asshole.You don’t belong here.”
That is my gut reaction to all foreigners. No matter their accent, their skin color, their religion, their ethnicity etc etc. This is especially true for Western Europeans or Austrailians.
However:
I have a soft spot for foreigners that learned to speak English before arriving and making themselves useful to this country by marrying an American, having American children, and renouncing the citizenship of their previous nation. (Having a job in STEM also very helpful for my approval, but not mandatory.)
And I have a soft spot for foreigners that seek asylum and are granted asylum and learn to speak English before arrival or shortly after arrival. Hopefully, their children will be American, and their children’s children.
On a purely moral level I have a soft spot for actual migrants escaping cartel violence. Seeking economic reprieve is less noble morally, unless a family must be supported, and I have a moral soft spot for these people too, though it is still politically illegal. Politically, their own nation is failing them, and politically it is not America’s responsibility to take care of them. It is not America’s responsibility to take care of its own citizens either (though they are first in line if they do need assistance), but rather to protect and defend their God given rights.
American citizens are very lucky to be born in America because America was founded with these principles in mind, and traditionally upheld them. (This is why Americans are so generous. Prosperity helps.) The countries from which these migrants are escaping DO NOT protect their citizen’s natural rights. Generous Americans want to help them, but there is no feasible way to do so without causing harm to fellow Americans either by rising crime, rising taxes, etc.
The disintegration of a nation is very slow, and takes generations. For me, it doesn’t matter how useful a person can be, unless they are willing to sacrifice their citizenship, they shouldn’t be given citizenship. It’s all or nothing. That is how a country is preserved for future generations.
Until recently, most European nations enforced their borders and their culture. Then they took it too far, blew themselves up, and then they took it too far in the other direction.
That's no longer an excuse, and I have no sympathy for Europeans that come to America from nations with longstanding traditions of economic stability, ie since the end of the second world war, 70 years ago.
Stay in your own country! Make your own country great! Keep your culture and your problems to your own border! Don’t come to our country and make the competition more difficult for Americans, who already have to compete with one another for jobs!
America is not heaven. Competition for jobs still exists between average people. You fucking assholes.
I'm talking about Australians, Irish, English, Canadians especially. The ones I know that are single, young, come here on a Visa, stay for three years, then go back to Australia. It is nothing but a prolonged vacation. Why bother? They are just stealing a job that an American can otherwise work, and more so deserves to work because they were born in this country!
I’m not a ‘phobe, ok? I’m not afraid of foreigners. They are already here, in NY, there's nothing I can do about it. I'm not going to live my life in fear, that's stupid.
Another question that I will not answer here is: why are there so many foreigners--people with accents from foreign places--working for the city in public unions? I have seen nationalities from Russians, Jamaicans, Bengali working as meter maids. Just asking...seems suspicious….
And:
Am I a hypocrite because my ancestors immigrated from Italy? No, and not just because I'd still be considered 'xenophobic' had I lived as an American at the time of their arrival.
They did it legally, and with the intention of becoming American by staying in America and starting a life in America for their future generations to continue to prosper and contribute to America so that their future generations could prosper and contribute etc.
And they did that. And thus I am a proud American that is threatened by new foreigners.
Threatened. Not afraid. Fear is weakness, and "phobias" are meant to make people with legitimate concern for their jobs--and nation--sound insane and unreasonable.
It’s not a phobia. It's contempt, ok? Contempt is a sin and I’m working on that. You happy now?
Sunday, September 29, 2019
“Everyone’s Everything” Trailer Review
The trailer for the Terrence Malick directed documentary about Lil’ Peep’s life, meaninglessly titled “Everybody’s Everything,” came out a few hours ago.
Despite this blog’s title, I really don’t like being merciless. Sure, I’m a critic with opinions, but I hide behind a blog and a nom de plume because being merciless makes me very uncomfortable, especially when it comes to the dead.
That being said, it’s not like the following opinion would have ever reached Lil’ Peep, and if it did, he never would have listened, or heeded its warning. He would have listened to the clout-feeding idiots that he surrounded himself with.
I have some very strong feelings about the subject of Lil’ Peep for three reasons:
1) He died of an overdose
2) I was a fan of his music when he died
3) He reminds me of myself when I was younger
Basically...
Lil’ Peep convinced himself of his “depression” to sell his image and appeal to naive fans. He did not suffer from depression, but rather, pride. “Depression” was used as a shield to hide self-destructive and hedonistic tendencies from otherwise concerned figures in his life (his mother). The claim of “depression” gave him a “reason” to abuse drugs. The actual reason: he was addicted to pleasure and fame. He was possessed by demons.
Certain types of young people suffer from the contradiction of self-conscious pride—a big reason why this music scene is popular with introspective reject types. Fans were the fuel for this self destructive fire of his SnapChat life, where his unfortunate death was viewed publicly.
Lil’ Peep made catchy music with meaningless lyrics about sadness, living to drug and alcohol induced excess like the rock star he was becoming. The trailer shows Lil’ Peep, behind the scenes, in his own words: “I’m not a trained musician, I’m just good at speaking into a microphone.”
Agreed. He had a “good” voice, but no musical talent.
His career—unlike his face tattoos—were temporary, regardless of how successful he was in the moment.
“These songs are his true feelings,” says his manager. (Idiotic and contradictory lyrics written by a stoned 19 year old.)
It all makes sense to me now that it is way, way, way too late. Being a Lil’ Peep fan was like watching pornography: receiving enjoyment from a damaged person’s self destruction. This new documentary will show the real Lil’ Peep: some stupid kid with an untrained voice and face tattoos.
My fear is that this documentary will exalt Lil’ Peep as a tortured hero, like Kurt Cobain. He is not. His story is tragic for many different reasons, and it should be told as a warning against excessive drug use, fame and pride.
I hope, for Lil’ Peep’s soul, that God is merciful because Lil’ Peep lived and died like a jackass. His “depression” is not a good excuse in my merciless opinion. He really could have benefitted from having a father, just sayin’
If I see the doc, I’ll write a review.
Despite this blog’s title, I really don’t like being merciless. Sure, I’m a critic with opinions, but I hide behind a blog and a nom de plume because being merciless makes me very uncomfortable, especially when it comes to the dead.
That being said, it’s not like the following opinion would have ever reached Lil’ Peep, and if it did, he never would have listened, or heeded its warning. He would have listened to the clout-feeding idiots that he surrounded himself with.
I have some very strong feelings about the subject of Lil’ Peep for three reasons:
1) He died of an overdose
2) I was a fan of his music when he died
3) He reminds me of myself when I was younger
Basically...
Lil’ Peep convinced himself of his “depression” to sell his image and appeal to naive fans. He did not suffer from depression, but rather, pride. “Depression” was used as a shield to hide self-destructive and hedonistic tendencies from otherwise concerned figures in his life (his mother). The claim of “depression” gave him a “reason” to abuse drugs. The actual reason: he was addicted to pleasure and fame. He was possessed by demons.
Certain types of young people suffer from the contradiction of self-conscious pride—a big reason why this music scene is popular with introspective reject types. Fans were the fuel for this self destructive fire of his SnapChat life, where his unfortunate death was viewed publicly.
Lil’ Peep made catchy music with meaningless lyrics about sadness, living to drug and alcohol induced excess like the rock star he was becoming. The trailer shows Lil’ Peep, behind the scenes, in his own words: “I’m not a trained musician, I’m just good at speaking into a microphone.”
Agreed. He had a “good” voice, but no musical talent.
His career—unlike his face tattoos—were temporary, regardless of how successful he was in the moment.
“These songs are his true feelings,” says his manager. (Idiotic and contradictory lyrics written by a stoned 19 year old.)
It all makes sense to me now that it is way, way, way too late. Being a Lil’ Peep fan was like watching pornography: receiving enjoyment from a damaged person’s self destruction. This new documentary will show the real Lil’ Peep: some stupid kid with an untrained voice and face tattoos.
My fear is that this documentary will exalt Lil’ Peep as a tortured hero, like Kurt Cobain. He is not. His story is tragic for many different reasons, and it should be told as a warning against excessive drug use, fame and pride.
I hope, for Lil’ Peep’s soul, that God is merciful because Lil’ Peep lived and died like a jackass. His “depression” is not a good excuse in my merciless opinion. He really could have benefitted from having a father, just sayin’
If I see the doc, I’ll write a review.
Saturday, September 28, 2019
Addiction-Possession Thoughts
An addict is possessed, and God can only save them through the will that he gave to them, once upon a time. The same will that the addict has slowly abandoned to his addiction.
Our physical bodies and our God given nature drives us in the direction of temptation. Our lives are a test that addicts are failing.
Our physical bodies and our God given nature drives us in the direction of temptation. Our lives are a test that addicts are failing.
Let me explain:
God created Adam and Eve. By giving them a will, God gave them the choice to sin, or not to sin. Adam and Eve disappointed God by sinning, disobeying him by eating the apple from the tree of knowledge of good and evil. This was called the fall.
After the fall, man lived naturally, as a sinner. God created us, and loves us in spite our sins. He wants us to do what is good for us, but he cannot do it for us. He gave us a will to do it ourselves.
Then, a woman named Mary lived perfectly. God chose her to carry his son, Christ Jesus. Christ was born, lived innocently and perfectly, taught God’s word, and was crucified for it. He suffered and died for the sins of man. (This basically means that man murdered the son of God because man is a sinner; man cannot be perfectly forgiving like God. Man sins. God does not. That is what separates us from God.)
We can embrace God and live like Mary and in Christ Jesus (Adam and Eve Version 2.0) and all the saints, or we can live in sin. God knows us and knows how difficult it is for us not to sin, but he is merciful. He doesn’t want us to sin, but he forgives us when we do (as long as we ask for it).
Because we are sinners by our nature, our physical bodies and physical minds are susceptible to the temptation of sin and pleasure. This earthly temptation is not without some deserved enjoyment, however. God knows that life is tough, especially after the fall. Earthly temptation is God’s test for our nature, just like it was for Adam and Eve, except that now, we have Christ Jesus to follow.
Like with Adam and Eve, temptation has a voice.
It can sound like our voice in our heads, but this is a demonic voice.
As children, we are innocent. Innocent souls are easier for demonic voices to prey upon, and our parents protect us if they are not preyed on—or fooled—by demonic voices themselves. Innocent souls do not yet suffer the consequences of frequent use of temptation. Their young bodies only know the pleasure of enjoyment.
Pleasure and enjoyment are not inherently sinful. For example, sex is an act of love and procreation, and extremely pleasurable. However, God has laws for sex's sacredness and our will and thirst for pleasure exclusively can help us to violate and ignore these laws. Though sex is beautiful, wonderful and meaningful, it can still be done in sin. It can be corrupted.
Temptation can corrupt anything. Thus is life before, and after, the fall.
This demonic voice begins covertly, as a subtle suggestion. One more drink couldn’t hurt, it says. One more really can’t hurt, the budding addict agrees, thinking he is agreeing with himself. He is pushing the limits his body has set for himself, and giving in to the temptation. More temporary pleasure.
The next time, the addict’s body has a higher tolerance. The demon suggests more alcohol, to feel the same pleasure they felt the first time.
The demon is a reverse salesman. He wants the addict to seek him his soul. The more an addict drinks, the more their body craves, the more of their soul they sell to the demon.
Necessities of life (sex and food) can be pleasurable, and demons latch onto thee necessities and invade the minds of men—naturally susceptible to sin—and tempt them into indulgence.
Selling a soul isn’t like selling a car. It takes 'demonyears' to successfully “buy” a soul from an unsuspecting addict. In the meantime, the addict is giving the demon years of their temporary life on Earth to feed the addiction that the demon has tempted him with.
When an addict tries to stop their addiction, they malfunction. They are trapped by the demonic voices in their head. The voices that incessantly suggest partaking in the temptation. That is the only way to quell the voices. The body doesn’t help either; the body knows the pleasure of the temptation, and influences the mind. A demon trained addict will resort to the temptation of substance abuse during any times of weakness. Their soul has been sold for the temporary pleasure of the substance.
An addict becomes fully possessed when think they cannot live without their addiction. Their mind—when it is not afflicted with the temptation—becomes a swirl of voices incessantly suggesting pain relief by substance consumption. They become a slave to the substance in their temporary life on Earth. The demons have made another sale to the devil in the afterlife.
Man can seek forgiveness from God, and remember to use his will to avoid temptation, even in moments of weakness. He can take inspiration from the saints and live virtuously. The addiction has sapped the strength of his will, but his will has the potential to be as strong as God’s if he accepts it...
Demons exist everywhere, but God is inherent in our conscience. Our conscience is our first tool for resisting demonic possession.
God created Adam and Eve. By giving them a will, God gave them the choice to sin, or not to sin. Adam and Eve disappointed God by sinning, disobeying him by eating the apple from the tree of knowledge of good and evil. This was called the fall.
After the fall, man lived naturally, as a sinner. God created us, and loves us in spite our sins. He wants us to do what is good for us, but he cannot do it for us. He gave us a will to do it ourselves.
Then, a woman named Mary lived perfectly. God chose her to carry his son, Christ Jesus. Christ was born, lived innocently and perfectly, taught God’s word, and was crucified for it. He suffered and died for the sins of man. (This basically means that man murdered the son of God because man is a sinner; man cannot be perfectly forgiving like God. Man sins. God does not. That is what separates us from God.)
We can embrace God and live like Mary and in Christ Jesus (Adam and Eve Version 2.0) and all the saints, or we can live in sin. God knows us and knows how difficult it is for us not to sin, but he is merciful. He doesn’t want us to sin, but he forgives us when we do (as long as we ask for it).
Because we are sinners by our nature, our physical bodies and physical minds are susceptible to the temptation of sin and pleasure. This earthly temptation is not without some deserved enjoyment, however. God knows that life is tough, especially after the fall. Earthly temptation is God’s test for our nature, just like it was for Adam and Eve, except that now, we have Christ Jesus to follow.
Like with Adam and Eve, temptation has a voice.
It can sound like our voice in our heads, but this is a demonic voice.
As children, we are innocent. Innocent souls are easier for demonic voices to prey upon, and our parents protect us if they are not preyed on—or fooled—by demonic voices themselves. Innocent souls do not yet suffer the consequences of frequent use of temptation. Their young bodies only know the pleasure of enjoyment.
Pleasure and enjoyment are not inherently sinful. For example, sex is an act of love and procreation, and extremely pleasurable. However, God has laws for sex's sacredness and our will and thirst for pleasure exclusively can help us to violate and ignore these laws. Though sex is beautiful, wonderful and meaningful, it can still be done in sin. It can be corrupted.
Temptation can corrupt anything. Thus is life before, and after, the fall.
This demonic voice begins covertly, as a subtle suggestion. One more drink couldn’t hurt, it says. One more really can’t hurt, the budding addict agrees, thinking he is agreeing with himself. He is pushing the limits his body has set for himself, and giving in to the temptation. More temporary pleasure.
The next time, the addict’s body has a higher tolerance. The demon suggests more alcohol, to feel the same pleasure they felt the first time.
The demon is a reverse salesman. He wants the addict to seek him his soul. The more an addict drinks, the more their body craves, the more of their soul they sell to the demon.
Necessities of life (sex and food) can be pleasurable, and demons latch onto thee necessities and invade the minds of men—naturally susceptible to sin—and tempt them into indulgence.
Selling a soul isn’t like selling a car. It takes 'demonyears' to successfully “buy” a soul from an unsuspecting addict. In the meantime, the addict is giving the demon years of their temporary life on Earth to feed the addiction that the demon has tempted him with.
When an addict tries to stop their addiction, they malfunction. They are trapped by the demonic voices in their head. The voices that incessantly suggest partaking in the temptation. That is the only way to quell the voices. The body doesn’t help either; the body knows the pleasure of the temptation, and influences the mind. A demon trained addict will resort to the temptation of substance abuse during any times of weakness. Their soul has been sold for the temporary pleasure of the substance.
An addict becomes fully possessed when think they cannot live without their addiction. Their mind—when it is not afflicted with the temptation—becomes a swirl of voices incessantly suggesting pain relief by substance consumption. They become a slave to the substance in their temporary life on Earth. The demons have made another sale to the devil in the afterlife.
Man can seek forgiveness from God, and remember to use his will to avoid temptation, even in moments of weakness. He can take inspiration from the saints and live virtuously. The addiction has sapped the strength of his will, but his will has the potential to be as strong as God’s if he accepts it...
Demons exist everywhere, but God is inherent in our conscience. Our conscience is our first tool for resisting demonic possession.
Saturday, September 21, 2019
Rooftop Reading Review
Bud tweeted the address and start time of the reading. I happened to see it and decided to attend because it was a 20 minute walk from my apartment.
I knew from the previous reading I attended on this rooftop—16 months prior—to arrive an hour late. When I arrived, the rooftop resembled a party without any music or dancing: clustered groups were presumably talking about mutual people they each knew.
Within 10 minutes of staring off the roof down at the neighborhood where I made my life’s biggest mistakes the reading began. Bud introduced himself and thanked everyone for coming. One by one people started to sit on the rooftop. When I was the last one standing in the back, I also decided to sit.
There would be six readers tonight, each an alumni of the 6 week writing workshop Bud ran in his Jersey City apartment. I had no expectations because I didn’t recognize any of the readers. The last time I attended this Rooftop Reading it was with the intention of meeting Sam Pink, and buying his new book.
Since then, Bud Smith has risen to de facto boss of this new lit genre, taking the reigns of significance from the published sell-out and originator of defunct “Alt Lit,” Tao Lin.
Bud Smith is self taught, and worked (works?) heavy construction, so he isn’t some soft, introspective liberal arts educated patsy. (Maybe his writing is.) He has a respectable ratio of followers on twitter and writes a long weekly essay (about his life) for Hobart Pulp, a website I don’t read. I liked his “novel” Work. I would consider reading it again, its short enough.
He is older than this new crowd of Tao Lin and Megan Boyle wannabes, and is like a supportive father figure of whatever is left of this “movement." He knows he has clout, and says nice, vague and necessary things about all of the readers, like “She is honestly one of my favorite writers. She hosts one of the best reading groups, definitely check it out.” (I will, if they ever respond to my email.) Meaningless, but well meaning. I can't blame him, what else is there to say?
The first reader read stories about food and what she thinks about it. It was funny-ish, and I chuckled a little, but it was nothing I hadn’t heard from other writers, or myself.
I knew from the previous reading I attended on this rooftop—16 months prior—to arrive an hour late. When I arrived, the rooftop resembled a party without any music or dancing: clustered groups were presumably talking about mutual people they each knew.
Within 10 minutes of staring off the roof down at the neighborhood where I made my life’s biggest mistakes the reading began. Bud introduced himself and thanked everyone for coming. One by one people started to sit on the rooftop. When I was the last one standing in the back, I also decided to sit.
There would be six readers tonight, each an alumni of the 6 week writing workshop Bud ran in his Jersey City apartment. I had no expectations because I didn’t recognize any of the readers. The last time I attended this Rooftop Reading it was with the intention of meeting Sam Pink, and buying his new book.
Since then, Bud Smith has risen to de facto boss of this new lit genre, taking the reigns of significance from the published sell-out and originator of defunct “Alt Lit,” Tao Lin.
Bud Smith is self taught, and worked (works?) heavy construction, so he isn’t some soft, introspective liberal arts educated patsy. (Maybe his writing is.) He has a respectable ratio of followers on twitter and writes a long weekly essay (about his life) for Hobart Pulp, a website I don’t read. I liked his “novel” Work. I would consider reading it again, its short enough.
He is older than this new crowd of Tao Lin and Megan Boyle wannabes, and is like a supportive father figure of whatever is left of this “movement." He knows he has clout, and says nice, vague and necessary things about all of the readers, like “She is honestly one of my favorite writers. She hosts one of the best reading groups, definitely check it out.” (I will, if they ever respond to my email.) Meaningless, but well meaning. I can't blame him, what else is there to say?
The first reader read stories about food and what she thinks about it. It was funny-ish, and I chuckled a little, but it was nothing I hadn’t heard from other writers, or myself.
The second reader, Shy Watson, a poet, wasn’t accustomed to reading longer fiction. Her piece was “20 pages, double spaced.” She self-consciously asked the audience to tell her if they wanted her to stop before the story ended.
“No, it’s good!” Someone shouted.
“Keep reading!” Shouted someone else.
“It’s awesome, I love it!” Said Bud.
Her story was about going to visit her ex-boyfriend in Philadelphia over the summer while he was working the Liberty Bell and in a band. It was cute in a forgettable way. It reminded me of the things I used to do and think way back when I also thought they were cool.
She stopped reading abruptly, shortly after she took us out of her self conscious story with her live self consciousness. Everyone clapped, and Bud thanked her for reading.
Some guy read next, and there were some planes going overhead so I couldn’t hear all of the story, but I also didn’t feel like I was missing anything. He went on vacation somewhere with his girlfriend maybe, and there was a boat called Petty Cash. It was also cute, in a quirky hipster way.
They decided to take a break, and I decided to leave. Nothing personal. I got what I wanted: my competitive spirit back.
My problem with the reading was not just that all of the stories sounded the same. They were the same. If I choose to read a memoir, it is to learn life lessons from someone who very different from anyone I know, and has accomplished much more. For example, disagree with the politics of George H.W. Bush, but that man lived an amazing life of accomplishment and his memoirs would be worth reading.
I am no longer interested in hearing the word ‘semester’ in fiction. I am no longer interested in hearing people talk about parties, or shows. I am no longer interested in cute quirk from cute quirks.
I looked at my stories (not my diary) from the fresh perspective of time, and decided to seek an audience. My stories were not a rehash of my dull lived experiences, made quirky and cute for a quirky and cute audience of hipsters. I don’t know what my stories were, but I proudly admitted that they weren’t about me. (Though they were for me.)
There was a rollerblading rapper on the sidewalk in front of the Popeyes. I’d seen him on my way to the reading, and ignored him. On my way back he got my attention with a hook about spaghetti. He hadn’t stopped rapping in the hour I was at the reading. Talk about endurance.
@paperboytheprince elicited legitimate laughter, so I tipped him $5 because he was worth it.
She stopped reading abruptly, shortly after she took us out of her self conscious story with her live self consciousness. Everyone clapped, and Bud thanked her for reading.
Some guy read next, and there were some planes going overhead so I couldn’t hear all of the story, but I also didn’t feel like I was missing anything. He went on vacation somewhere with his girlfriend maybe, and there was a boat called Petty Cash. It was also cute, in a quirky hipster way.
They decided to take a break, and I decided to leave. Nothing personal. I got what I wanted: my competitive spirit back.
My problem with the reading was not just that all of the stories sounded the same. They were the same. If I choose to read a memoir, it is to learn life lessons from someone who very different from anyone I know, and has accomplished much more. For example, disagree with the politics of George H.W. Bush, but that man lived an amazing life of accomplishment and his memoirs would be worth reading.
I am no longer interested in hearing the word ‘semester’ in fiction. I am no longer interested in hearing people talk about parties, or shows. I am no longer interested in cute quirk from cute quirks.
I looked at my stories (not my diary) from the fresh perspective of time, and decided to seek an audience. My stories were not a rehash of my dull lived experiences, made quirky and cute for a quirky and cute audience of hipsters. I don’t know what my stories were, but I proudly admitted that they weren’t about me. (Though they were for me.)
There was a rollerblading rapper on the sidewalk in front of the Popeyes. I’d seen him on my way to the reading, and ignored him. On my way back he got my attention with a hook about spaghetti. He hadn’t stopped rapping in the hour I was at the reading. Talk about endurance.
@paperboytheprince elicited legitimate laughter, so I tipped him $5 because he was worth it.
Thursday, September 19, 2019
The Utopia Question
Sometimes, when talking about politics, a novice will ask me what laws I would enact to create my Utopia.
This is a novice's question because the premise begins as an impossibility; it is a bludgeon for pinpointing disagreement, and anyone seriously considering the topic of Utopia after living in nature for five minutes should understand it's pointlessness.
A human cannot 'design' a Utopia because a human is flawed and can never create a 'perfect society.' To create a utopia a designer must be perfect and intelligent: God. (Utopia already exists by the way, and it is called Heaven. Because of nature, it can never exist in this reality.)
Truthfully, my answer is a cop out:
In my perfect world the law wouldn't matter because people would behave in respect to the Natural Law; thus, man made laws would be unnecessary to create or enforce.
Ok, let's say that people are going to behave like regular people in this Utopia. Sometimes they will break the law. What laws would you enact to create this Utopia?
1.This is not Utopia
2.Natural Law
It wasn't my law, and will never be a law of my creation because I didn't design creation. It is God's law. I can't ever create laws that are more perfect than God's, who designed our very bodies to follow His law.
By nature man violates God's Natural Law with sin, and therefore, man can never create a utopia. Asking the utopia question is a flaw in itself.
Any law I would create under the inspiration of Natural Law would be tyrannical to somebody's free will somewhere, and therefore my Utopia would become tyrannical--and not utopia--because it wouldn't be "perfect" for everybody. Utopia is supposed to be perfect for everyone. It cannot exist so long as sin exists. It isn't worth talking about politically because politics is about governing what does exist in reality.
We couldn't learn to love each other's differences in a Utopia anyway. That is the exact purpose for the type of non-utopian existence God gave us.
This is a novice's question because the premise begins as an impossibility; it is a bludgeon for pinpointing disagreement, and anyone seriously considering the topic of Utopia after living in nature for five minutes should understand it's pointlessness.
A human cannot 'design' a Utopia because a human is flawed and can never create a 'perfect society.' To create a utopia a designer must be perfect and intelligent: God. (Utopia already exists by the way, and it is called Heaven. Because of nature, it can never exist in this reality.)
Truthfully, my answer is a cop out:
In my perfect world the law wouldn't matter because people would behave in respect to the Natural Law; thus, man made laws would be unnecessary to create or enforce.
Ok, let's say that people are going to behave like regular people in this Utopia. Sometimes they will break the law. What laws would you enact to create this Utopia?
1.This is not Utopia
2.Natural Law
It wasn't my law, and will never be a law of my creation because I didn't design creation. It is God's law. I can't ever create laws that are more perfect than God's, who designed our very bodies to follow His law.
By nature man violates God's Natural Law with sin, and therefore, man can never create a utopia. Asking the utopia question is a flaw in itself.
Any law I would create under the inspiration of Natural Law would be tyrannical to somebody's free will somewhere, and therefore my Utopia would become tyrannical--and not utopia--because it wouldn't be "perfect" for everybody. Utopia is supposed to be perfect for everyone. It cannot exist so long as sin exists. It isn't worth talking about politically because politics is about governing what does exist in reality.
We couldn't learn to love each other's differences in a Utopia anyway. That is the exact purpose for the type of non-utopian existence God gave us.
Wednesday, September 18, 2019
some thoughts on Personality, Behavior, Emotions
Psychology is not a discipline that necessarily needs to be studied in the classroom; it can be understood given enough retrospective interaction with many different kinds of people. Without getting too personal, what follows is my attempt at understanding the impact of emotions on personality types.
Only behavior changes, not personality. An introverted child that is very shy can learn to overcome their shyness by adulthood, and introduce themselves to strangers. Though it still might make them uncomfortable, this is natural maturation: practicing good social behavior, despite lingering feelings of slight unease.
A combination of time, experience and effective parenting can change behavior, even if the personality trait (shyness) remains the same.
Habitual behavior is a little harder to change, and requires the ability of the individual to first acknowledge their bad habit, and then train themselves out of it. Other people can help, but the onus is on the person with the bad habit.
With work, patience and time, a bad habit can change, but a personality will always remain the same. The same temptations will always trigger that personality. With habitual training each unique personality has individual tools to resist those bad habits.
Emotionally inspired actions are controllable, even when we feel like they control us. Emotional distress fades as emotions fade and fluctuate—-with time. Negative emotions eventually fade allowing people to stabilize their moods and function again.
Only behavior changes, not personality. An introverted child that is very shy can learn to overcome their shyness by adulthood, and introduce themselves to strangers. Though it still might make them uncomfortable, this is natural maturation: practicing good social behavior, despite lingering feelings of slight unease.
A combination of time, experience and effective parenting can change behavior, even if the personality trait (shyness) remains the same.
Habitual behavior is a little harder to change, and requires the ability of the individual to first acknowledge their bad habit, and then train themselves out of it. Other people can help, but the onus is on the person with the bad habit.
With work, patience and time, a bad habit can change, but a personality will always remain the same. The same temptations will always trigger that personality. With habitual training each unique personality has individual tools to resist those bad habits.
Emotionally inspired actions are controllable, even when we feel like they control us. Emotional distress fades as emotions fade and fluctuate—-with time. Negative emotions eventually fade allowing people to stabilize their moods and function again.
A person can still be reminded of emotional distress, and that can cause emotions to rise unpredictably. How and what causes these emotions to rise within us is due to personality.
People with personality disorders might need the help of prescriptions that can help to emotionally stabilize them. Medication mutes the voices of paranoia, suicide, depression...thoughts that average people might only ever experience emotionally, ie not seriously ie in passing due to extremely emotional events, not everyday experiences.
Otherwise sane people can become overwhelmed by their emotions and commit rash, illogical, sometimes violent acts called 'Crimes of Passion.’
Example:
I normally wouldn't murder another man unless I was physically attacked or defending someone I love. But—if I discovered my girlfriend cheating on me, I could understand the wellspring of emotions that could cause me to murder the man she cheated on me with, in addition to breaking up with her. My emotions would have clouded my better judgement, and I would have committed a horrific crime that would destroy families and lives. I would know that I was committing a horrific crime while I was doing it, but I could not ‘control’ my passion. Thankfully, I do not suffer from personality disorder; I suffer from heartbreak and betrayal. In the moment, heartbreak and betrayal can inspire overwhelming emotions, influencing behavior that an average person understands to be hurtful and wrong. Yet even they feel powerless to stop it in moments of emotional crisis.
Example:
I normally wouldn't murder another man unless I was physically attacked or defending someone I love. But—if I discovered my girlfriend cheating on me, I could understand the wellspring of emotions that could cause me to murder the man she cheated on me with, in addition to breaking up with her. My emotions would have clouded my better judgement, and I would have committed a horrific crime that would destroy families and lives. I would know that I was committing a horrific crime while I was doing it, but I could not ‘control’ my passion. Thankfully, I do not suffer from personality disorder; I suffer from heartbreak and betrayal. In the moment, heartbreak and betrayal can inspire overwhelming emotions, influencing behavior that an average person understands to be hurtful and wrong. Yet even they feel powerless to stop it in moments of emotional crisis.
Only time can differentiate between disturbed personality behavior and disturbed emotional behavior. One is incessant, the other is temporary, even if it lasts for weeks.
Psychiatrists step in to diagnose (and medicate) those people with personality disorders who suffer from more than temporary emotional distress. It is only not bullshit when psychiatrists are helping people to better understand and cope with the symptoms of their disorder.
However! This doesn't give mentally unstable people an excuse to behave like an asshole and hide behind their pathology...Unless they have low functioning autism and don’t recognize social norms.
A personality disorder is pathological, and it might change with work over time, and medication, though there is always the chance that a person’s “demons” will resurface as what triggers their negative emotions are what makes them unstable. But behavior can change. A person might see how their behavior disturbs others, and make the effort to change for themselves and their loved ones in spite of their triggers. This takes time and patience on behalf of the person and their loved ones, and is a lifelong effort, like dealing with addiction.
Even balanced people are susceptible to the push and pull of emotions. Emotions can make them feel weak, and in their weakness they can resort to substance abuse to quickly ease the pain and fill the void. Likewise, people with personality disorders can also turn to substance abuse to silence the voices in their heads.
People with disordered personalities don’t have to have disordered behavior, and people with ordered, yet still flawed, personalities don’t have to have ordered behavior. In any case, it is vastly important to love and appreciate the people that are there to support you through emotionally trying times.
Monday, September 9, 2019
Old Blog Thoughts
I once had a blog that I started for the same reasons as this one: to help me better remember the key points of topics I had a casual interest in, and to express my opinions of those topics.
That initial purpose faded as the drama of my life became a more interesting topic. As much as I tried, I could not be as interested by news about people I didn't know in places I never went than by what affected me personally. Personal disturbances linger and demand reflection. News stories inspire flashes of outrage. I believe that the more news a person consumes the more outrage metastasizes in a combination of activism, or hatred.
But I digress. Girlfriends and jobs can cause stress. I needed a place to process that stress, and my old blog became a diary that was updated frequently with these processes.
The old blog was public until it was only diary and had to be hidden to protect myself and the people I wrote about. The posts were too personal for 'public' consumption.
I aired out my deepest, most personal thoughts on that blog during periods of emotional upheaval, then slowly stopped updating it a few months ago to give myself space from the thoughts of my life. I tried silent reflection.
Having had some time away from my past to focus on the present has made my old blog useful in deciphering my thoughts of the events of my immediate past. At first I was reluctant to be blunt. It was not supposed to be a diary. The bluntness was useful. I can now see some wrongness in those posts that I couldn't see while I was writing them because: Time + Honesty = Clarity
Using recent insights, I noticed some negative thought patterns in the old entries. To begin writing an entry I needed to be dissatisfied with myself for not writing first. Almost every entry would start with self dissatisfaction and self disappointment. Then I would use that new motivation to write about the topic that I liked/disliked, usually further developing an argument following a contentious disagreement with someone. (Sound familiar?) I would end by making empty promises to change my habits, not make the desired changes, and start the next entry with the same narcissistic disappointment.
I complained about myself and was disappointed in myself in some new way in every entry because I wanted to improve myself. Hahahaha! By those same standards I would be SO disappointed in my present day-to-day! I have less possessions today than I did last year! And waste my time 10x more!! Even after everything, I didn't know how to appreciate what I did have. I needed to be humbled more.
Reading through these old memories reminded me of my forgotten thought processes and forgotten obsessions. You know, the ones that are so frequent for a short period of time that they run in the background. These processes change little by little until they are gone, replaced by new thought patterns that seem innate. Time, honest documentation and reading theology helped give me the resources to read between the lines of my diaries.
Asking myself the right questions was one of the answers:
Have I stopped caring about myself or have I stopped nitpicking myself? Why did God allow me to suffer? I will always have problems, how does my thinking help me solve these problems?
Obviously I can't read my future diary...only living in the present having learned from the past can give me the clues to the future, as only good actions in the present can create my future.
Therefore, I have to focus and work on the things that make my life instead of destroying what I built and starting over. Patience is a virtue and pride is a creep.
Deciphering my life's history from my present point of view inflicts good pain, thoughtful pain, hopeful pain. That's a good reason to write a diary, and a good reason to take a break.
That initial purpose faded as the drama of my life became a more interesting topic. As much as I tried, I could not be as interested by news about people I didn't know in places I never went than by what affected me personally. Personal disturbances linger and demand reflection. News stories inspire flashes of outrage. I believe that the more news a person consumes the more outrage metastasizes in a combination of activism, or hatred.
But I digress. Girlfriends and jobs can cause stress. I needed a place to process that stress, and my old blog became a diary that was updated frequently with these processes.
The old blog was public until it was only diary and had to be hidden to protect myself and the people I wrote about. The posts were too personal for 'public' consumption.
I aired out my deepest, most personal thoughts on that blog during periods of emotional upheaval, then slowly stopped updating it a few months ago to give myself space from the thoughts of my life. I tried silent reflection.
Having had some time away from my past to focus on the present has made my old blog useful in deciphering my thoughts of the events of my immediate past. At first I was reluctant to be blunt. It was not supposed to be a diary. The bluntness was useful. I can now see some wrongness in those posts that I couldn't see while I was writing them because: Time + Honesty = Clarity
Using recent insights, I noticed some negative thought patterns in the old entries. To begin writing an entry I needed to be dissatisfied with myself for not writing first. Almost every entry would start with self dissatisfaction and self disappointment. Then I would use that new motivation to write about the topic that I liked/disliked, usually further developing an argument following a contentious disagreement with someone. (Sound familiar?) I would end by making empty promises to change my habits, not make the desired changes, and start the next entry with the same narcissistic disappointment.
I complained about myself and was disappointed in myself in some new way in every entry because I wanted to improve myself. Hahahaha! By those same standards I would be SO disappointed in my present day-to-day! I have less possessions today than I did last year! And waste my time 10x more!! Even after everything, I didn't know how to appreciate what I did have. I needed to be humbled more.
Reading through these old memories reminded me of my forgotten thought processes and forgotten obsessions. You know, the ones that are so frequent for a short period of time that they run in the background. These processes change little by little until they are gone, replaced by new thought patterns that seem innate. Time, honest documentation and reading theology helped give me the resources to read between the lines of my diaries.
Asking myself the right questions was one of the answers:
Have I stopped caring about myself or have I stopped nitpicking myself? Why did God allow me to suffer? I will always have problems, how does my thinking help me solve these problems?
Obviously I can't read my future diary...only living in the present having learned from the past can give me the clues to the future, as only good actions in the present can create my future.
Therefore, I have to focus and work on the things that make my life instead of destroying what I built and starting over. Patience is a virtue and pride is a creep.
Deciphering my life's history from my present point of view inflicts good pain, thoughtful pain, hopeful pain. That's a good reason to write a diary, and a good reason to take a break.
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