the very first time i realized that there might be something different about me happened during the first grade, when we’d just moved to missouri, and my new classmates and i were asked to get up, get in line, and go to pe (physical education). i didn’t understand what was happening at first. in the first grade class in colorado, we’d made lines to go places in a very egalitarian fashion, with any given place in the line being as good as another. in this classroom in missouri, i received my first taste of the human drive to be competitive, to be first, to indicate to one’s fellow man that you are above him in a list of importance. i found myself, age six, standing next to last in line with one of the really slow, quiet girls, after getting pushed to the back by both boys and girls who in no uncertain terms let me know that it was not cool to cut once an order had been established by the swiftest and the strongest.
i continued to see the world through non-hierarchical lenses, though, as i clearly remember thinking that the bus driver, my father, my dentist, teachers, the president, my sunday school teacher, etc. were all of pretty much the same importance in terms of how smart they were and what they did for a living. you weren’t any better than the school bus driver if you were a doctor, you just decided you liked being a doctor better, and so you did it. unfortunately for me, i don’t think these lenses were completely removed until i was several years out of college and struggling to make something better of myself out of nothing more than a ba in english (with absolutely zero relEt work experience at internships, and no outstanding papers written and published).
i still don’t completely understand the fascination with a single human being, like all these crazy obama nuts, or the ron paul whackos. what these men are capable of is not even remotely close to what is needed to fix all the problems in the world. seeing obama the first time he came to austin left me feeling like i was watching a man skating on the very thin ice of his carefully crafted veneer. you could see him faltering, stumbling, uncertain, and being a human beneath the deity the rest of the crowd seemed to be caught up in. my public speaking teacher really had it right. it’s not about you, it’s about them. if two people in a crowd of two hundred see you for the sweaty ignoramus that you are, and the remaining 198 see you as God, then you are God in that moment.
for anyone expecting to arrive at conclusions about this reality that approach the Truth, it is useful to consider studying the crowd participating in the magic, the magic itself, the magicians as magicians, the magicians unmasked, and everything that lies between and outside of this. you might perform a reading of history where you take what is written at face value, accepting what was written as the truth. then, you will think yourself clever by realizing that the original recorder of that history had bias and motives for telling it a certain way. but, beyond this, you might also wonder if the plutarchs and plinys were magicians or just literate members of the crowd. the same could be asked of, say, bush, obama or a radio personality.
naturally, you are going to see these “magicians as crowd members” as being participants in something akin to a mlm scheme, a pyramid plan, an illuminati or panopticon-like structure. it’s easy to find examples of many groups in human culture structured this way, and conclude that all that encompasses the Truth is set up similarly. however, you might also wake up one morning to find that your ascent up the pyramid, your travels through the tunnel toward the light, were merely you running toward an infinitely reflected mirror of you.
the Truth is suddenly everywhere, embracing you, moving throughout you, and the anti-Truth, distilled to its most exquisite essence, is simply you chasing your own damn tail.
zero and less would be Hell itself, me lost for eternity to perdition.
one would be me tossed in prison, wrongly accused, and tortured for decades in unimaginable ways.
two would be me tossed in prison, wrongly accused, and tortured for five-ten years in unimaginable ways.
three would be losing almost all ability to control limbs, or limbs themselves, losing most senses, having my face burned off in a horrible car or plane crash, forced to essentially live as a nigh-vegetable, but still of sound mind and able to write shit like this.
four would be losing my sight, or two limbs.
five would be losing a limb, or having my father die on me in the next five years, but otherwise retaining my health and job as is.
six would be losing my job and having to declare bankruptcy, but otherwise retaining my health and my father lives.
seven would be for the next twelve months to go pretty much the same as the last twelve months.
eight would be for the next twelve months to go pretty much the same as the last twelve months, and i start dating someone i can really love, but she’s not smoking hot or my first choice in girlfriends.
nine would be a new and surprising infusion of cash that gets me out of debt (like my paintings suddenly become superultrahipandcool in the art world or someone takes note of an iah video i produced and wants to actually pay me real video production money to create a video or film for them), but i date nobody OR i date a smoking hottie and we fall madly in love with each other, but my financial situation stays the same.
ten would be a surprising infusion of cash, plus the hottie.
in instances nine and ten, my health would also improve with my circumstances, or stay the same, but not get worse in anyway, and no other bad things would happen. such a disclaimer is necessary when dreaming like this or you’ll end up getting everything you asked for in, say ten, as well as four, which would, in my estimation, just be a four.
the smoking hottie would be esther cunningham, a relatively new iah person, who i got to work closely with this morning. she talked at length with me back in june when we had one of our community outreach events, and i thought maybe she was so keen on talking to me for so long because i was wearing reflective sunglasses. esther said she had just bought a house with her boyfriend. she is impossibly out of my league, but if you are going to dream a ten situation, then you should provide a worthy and concrete example, rather than say, scarlet johannson, who is closer to being an entirely imaginary girlfriend. esther is prettier than scarlet, anyway.
esther is taller than the smoking hot second russian from ahmis, blonder, tanner, full of more personal warmth and charisma, possibly more intelligent, has a bigger bust size, and smiles a lot more. she’s the kind of woman you never bothered to dream up because even your wildest fantasies had to have some gritty chunks of realism marbled into them. she isn’t afraid to stand close to you, to talk to you, and she doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable by blasting you with too much intense hottie energy that knocks you out of whack.
beyond such abnormal expectations of my future, though, an eight would be perfectly nice. actually having someone to give love to, beyond my small dog, would be exceptionally wonderful. i could see myself falling in love with maria, who is also very pretty, albeit crazy and sporting two children. maria and her children would definitely be worthy of lots of love, but maria seems reluctant to receive even some of my token expressions of such, like an offer for a shoulder rub, for instance. i mean, you want to love on someone who wants love you know?
so, why haven’t i written more these past ten days? i fancied myself a painter again for awhile. i lost my wireless connection on my linux laptop, so i reinstalled the factory operating system losing all of my modifications, and i still get no wireless detected. i am two steps away from biting the bullet and buying vista. without a means of accessing the internet via wifi, this laptop becomes an overpriced hunk of junk. in short, i haven’t written as much because i lost that delicious capability of publishing any and every thought from the comfort of my bed. now i have to save what i write to my memory stick, and walk thirty feet over to my desktop computer, and upload my writing from there. or, i have to sit at my desktop and write if i want instant gratification in publishing my writing, and that means that i’m prone to waking up my roommate and having him traipse past, sticking his nose all over my screen which faces out toward the living room area.
i’ve thought about writing a lot. i’ve had some clever thoughts in my head this past week, from all the natural energy supplements i took. the rhodiola, in combination with some other natural energy substances, has given me a cleaner, clearer head to work through to the end of the day, and it has also made my dick harder when i masturbate. it’s kind of a shame that i don’t have someone right now to try out my increased potency. i wonder if viagra feels like this.
i’ve ran into and ran past gwen lilly and her sister a few times on the trail in the past week. i haven’t felt especially strong about trying to make any sort of conversation with her, though, as i could clearly see from the last email she sent me before she left the iah that she really didn’t know me all that well, making the same mistake with my name that a lot of people do when they first right me back, and don’t bother to see that all of our email address names are formatted as last name, first name. it’s the same mistake lots of teachers would make calling roll when i was in school, which is to call me by my last name, even though they were able to call every other kid by his or her first name. as someone who worked closely with me on a project, ran with me a couple times, and spoke with me at length at a couple of happy hours, i would have expected gwen to remember my first name well enough not to make that same mistake total strangers do. so, that indicates to me that i left hardly the impression i’d hoped i’d left on her, much the same way i realized when i finally got in touch with my old high school crush, susan parker, and conversed with her briefly via email, that while i might have been kept awake too many nights to count with foolish schoolboy crush fantasies for this girl, to her, i was just another medium-sized, non-descript tree standing in the forest of people she had to navigate to get through her week.
i mean, how do you make a significant, lasting impression on someone so that 1. it’s not negative and 2. the someone you do impress doesn’t turn out to be an energy drain who wants to bleed you for the rest of your life? or, how do you make the right impressions on the right people? this, i have yet to figure out. because, i’ve made more than a few successful, lasting negative impressions, i’m sure. and, i’ve significantly impressed more than a few vampire friends who i’d rather have never noticed me at all. but, i have rarely made a good impression on a person i want to keep around as a friend for a long time to come. partly, it’s because at my core, i am dead boring. i am nobody. i don’t identify myself with my occupation, with my sex, age, race, beliefs, politics, nationality, favorite sports teams, favorite gadgets, etc. other people sometimes do, but i don’t. as much as i’ve written about myself, i can’t think of anything other than Truth, Love, God and his son Jesus Christ, that i wish to identify with at my core of cores. and when i say i identify with Jesus Christ, i mean Jesus Christ, and NOT other christians.
i certainly don’t identify myself with the blob in the mirror, as much as i’ve scrutinized that blob and tried to make sense of it. the giant nose, the acne and acne scars, the big ears sticking out, the thinning, graying hair, the penetrating, questioning blue eyes that seem to set people off so easily, the weak chin, the full lips and nigh perfect teeth–all of that is just an aggregate of DNA, as much the mirror as the mirror itself.
i also don’t see the point in identifying with other men or women or dead heroes or animals, or anything else, really. what’s the point? i think maybe i’ve identified with my parents too much for my own good, but that’s to be expected since each donated half of his and her dna, and my mom donated about eighty percent of the nurture factor, so naturally, i identify with her a little more.
i think in order to make a lasting impression, you first have to define yourself, and choose who you want to identify with, and how. that gets tiresome, though. i’ve tried. i’ve tried baseball heroes, rock stars, movie stars, politicians, porn stars, athletes, bosses, dead heroes, etc. you pick a category, find the very best at that category, and seek to emulate them. tony robbins calls it modeling of behavior. you wake up one morning and wonder who the hell you are, far adrift from anything that feels like you.
is it so wrong to want to stay pure of identifying with other entities and stuff?