Smokey Blue.

An accumulation of grotesque emotions, throttling anxieties, and darkening expectations has built up inside of me over the period of time in between now and the day in early December that my Mama was diagnosed with terminal cancer.

The earliest days of her treatment were nightmarish; the febrile pneumonia, C-Diff and drop in her blood oxygen level that nearly killed her and kept in the hospital under intensive care over the off and on over the holiday season of the 2016-2017 threshold was an experience that left me in motional shock. My initial intentions of being a staunch ally to my mom were tested and tried (and continue to be worked hard on a daily basis).

An emotional earthquake and subsequent spiritual tsunami have occurred in my soul and mind and heart throughout the best and worst of the newly defined existence shared between her and me, leaving perpetual aftershocks and a flooded wasteland in its wake. The inside of my own eyelids seem unrecognizable to me these days, so hideously changed has the world become since the diagnosis. I am 110% detached from my attachments, withdrawn and withered into a defensive ball colored dark blue to mirror my soul.

I am living inside of a new loop right now:

I long to spend as much time with my mom while I have the chance;

yet, she is so broken down and different from the default mom I still somehow envision and recall, that spending time with her is not pleasant and/or fulfilling in the ways I seek out;

This fact makes me feel guilty and awful, so I typically spend time with her whether it helps or hurts my own state of being, which causes the visits to be those of a highly forgettable, even regrettable strain.

The moments passing by feel like torturous slashes and slices; the time feels as if it is laughing in my face. I know that after she is gone, I will hate myself for all of the things I am doing wrong or not doing at all with/for her; I know that I am letting too many opportunities slip by, but I am can’t do any differently than what I am doing. I don’t have any control over her illness, I couldn’t keep her from starting to smoke again either – which has also become huge tension between us, as it symbolizes things to me that she seem blind to.

I don’t have the heart to tell her that going anywhere with her has become something that my anxiety ridden, ADHD, PTSD brain has to build up to being to do because it is always SUCH an ordeal to go ANYWHERE. And anywhere we do get to, we are unfailingly in the way because of an absolutely and obnoxiously un-foldable walker thing with a seat and handbrakes. She has become resentful towards my aunt and uncle (who have been beyond good to her and taken her into their home immediate family, and daily life. Nothing she does is enjoyable to her for the most part; she told me over the phone the other day that she is ready to die.

This statement hurt me deeply, though I didn’t say anything to that affect. The gist was that despite the grueling and miserable months that I have sacrificed to my mom, and regardless of how many things I hold back and suck up in attempt to ease her reality, she still feels alone and burdensome enough to disregard the miracle of her ongoing existence at present (if that makes any sense).

 

 

Monstrosity.

Sacrificially inseminated,
strung across a radar’s rim,
a sported trophy limb for limb;
artificially accumulated,
with the seed of what’s human,
however, unrecognizable to them;
insignificantly appreciated,
straddled astride the old confines,
mirroring through space and time;
purportedly uneventful,
no changes made to our story-line,
ancient wisdom of the senile mind;
Thunderously silent,
across every galaxy in the sky,
expand the Universe to erase the naked eye;
sheepishly obnoxious,
can’t help but to wonder why,
we encourage each other to wither and die;
Elated taciturnity,
the mad dash at being first in line,
flocked together on the doorstep of the divine,
suppressed transparency,
receptive to carbon-based humankind,
an immaculate conception that’s been streamlined .

Anonymous.

“Anxiety is the hand maiden of creativity.”

~ T. S. Eliot

I believe
that so it goes:
the gift of humanity
is bestowed,
to souls with empathy,
and only those,
a carrot hanging,
a step ahead of me,
ever-dangling,
before my nose;
and not just mine,
but anyone,
from the assembly line,
from which I come,
we’re made to ache,
to hurt – to burn,
from day one,
to ride the wake,
to bend and break in turn,
until our last words,
to be heard,
have finally come;
the world is cruel,
unless you’re blind,
it’s a flea-ridden fool,
that succeeds the unkind,
it constantly bleeds,
sucks up my energy,
drains the tide pools,
swallows the sunshine;
for those like us,
nothing is anonymous,
nothing can ever be fine,
no peace,
as we sleep,
only the fire,
from the front-line.

Right.

So, I guess I am NOT safe to post my own stuff on my own blog, out of fear of triggering some psychopathic stranger across the country with MY OWN PERSONAL content…people are truly despicable, aren’t they?

When my mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer, but still somewhat herself, and I decided that I was committing myself to her treatment schedule with her, I was in the process of “getting to know” this person from afar. This person and I had, up until that time, been quite compatible for the most part; we had been growing rather close and spending at least 3 hours on the phone each day. This person had begun to show some alarming behavior just prior to mom’s diagnosis i.e. openly planning to move to my state, getting my name tattooed on his arm, and other things like asking me the question of:

 

“What would you do if I just showed up on your doorstep one day?”

 

And, opting to be overly butt-hurt when I responded negatively to such a disturbing query, to boot. I don’t think he ever quite grasped why such a question made me squirm, either, somehow. He began interrogating me regularly, based on old posts he would obsess over on my blog; he began to constantly swing between hating me and calling me horribly inappropriate names and being madly in love with me and promising he’d love me no matter what I was going through. Then, my mom was diagnosed.

This is the same person who called me “staggeringly cruel” for opting to focus on my mother’s health issues, in his trademark passive-aggressive way, and then back-peddling all over when he realized how fucking out of line it was to do such a lowly thing.

For me, it all died right then and there.

During the initial days of the diagnosis, amid the shock and associated dysfunction on my part, this person found it necessary to blow up my phone with cruel and hateful messages regularly, in spite of his awareness of what I was dealing with. The selfishness and cruelty of this person shone through brightly, to put it simply. Everything and anything that had come before between us went out the window.

He continued to comb through my entire blog daily, as a creeper without ever liking anything or letting his presence be seen anymore; he literally wiped clean every single sentiment he ever dedicated to me prior to that, too, like a light switch. He obviously wasn’t able to see beyond his own neediness and immaturity to NOT internalize the things that were happening in my life. People can be so unbelievably blind when it serves them to be.

Next, someone pointed out to me how this person was coat-tailing my readers, I didn’t and still don’t give two fucks about this. Then, someone else talked to me about the new direction that this person online presence had taken (a charity case), and I still didn’t really care too much – – – it’s none of my business what this person does. Go for it, dude. Right? Wrong.

Yesterday, I posted a poem that I wrote several months ago about someone I know in real time (many of my long-time readers can likely piece together who it might have been written about, I’m sure). I can’t write anything fresh at present due to my total lack of attention span (note: all the recent re-blogs in place of newly written content). Somehow this person completely took my post out of context and once again mastered the art of making MY PERSONAL CONTENT all about HIM, somehow; he then proceeded to totaling attacking me and striking out at me (totally out of nowhere in my own perception, mind you). Basically, just more of this person behaving like the buffoon that he so obviously is at heart. He again chose the route of sending me paragraph-long text messages insulting me in every possible fashion and acting all holier than thou.  He did this knowing that I was sitting in the fucking ICU with my mother as she circles the drain (he even said, “don’t try to give me a guilt trip…” when I reminded him of my location and circumstances. His accusations and self-projections made absolutely NO SENSE AT ALL. Why would I write a poem about him at all, much less – right now, so many weeks after my feelings changed for him? If I wanted to talk shit about him and what he’s doing, why would I start now? Why wouldn’t I have done it already like when his cruelty still stung? Right, I wouldn’t. I have REAL problems to deal with. Why should I care if he wants to be sponsored by some anonymous strangers online? For the record, and for ALL to read: I DON’T.

 

Ditch the Flock.

Let’s be like herded sheep, shall we?

and stand in line for centuries,

like in mind to the dullest ancestries,

let’s evolve without changing anything…

now, we all line up without questioning,

spend money on shit that has no meaning,

nothing to show have we “sentient beings”,

besides the bombs we can blow atomically…

we watch the World News from home on TV,

bump our gums about what we’d do differently,

but at the end of the day, that logic is shifty,

coming from a cesspool of such inactivity…

Let’s line up overnight to see a premièring movie,

then trample each other with the doors’ opening,

we each do what we like without ever considering,

how the rest of the sheep want other sheep things…

and sadly things will only become more trifling,

because sheep are too stupid to know anything,

unable to think on one’s stand-alone feet,

we are all doomed ‘til we stop acting like sheep.

 

 

 

Ancient Offspring.

How many distant stars,
have we pondered in all,
with your eye from afar,
for your mind to recall,
In search of a meaning,
When our earth is bleeding,
And it never stops seeming,
to be ready to fall,
How many soldiers attacked,
for the voided sake of it all
Desert Storm, the Gulf, Iraq,
Our veterans come home to Hell,
Walk it off with the whip’s crack,
brainwashed to think all is well,
Nobody seems to consider how,
It’s our own liberty under assail,
We like to throw our weight around,
We chase around after our tails,
Its great, a truly amazing thing:
The way our melting pot,
Has become a brew of slop,
Along the way, I think we forgot,
To keep a common identity,
Because look at us now,
Bitter and segregated
Unsure, full of hatred,
of the differences in things,
Defined in the lines between,
The Black, the Red, Brown or White,
The price of the filthy green,
Lets take back our ancient offspring,
We’ve let it slip too far from our reach,
We are supposed to be human beings,
We represent a global family,
We need to somehow learn to see,
That every face is a precious thing.

Time To Wash Our Hands.

Tried and true,

a historical truth,

a universal attitude,

that breeds,

indeed,

self-servitude,

self-plenitude,

and greed,

Godspeed,

Devil’s due,

for his advocacy,

take heed,

break bread,

with the living,

for the dead,

decrepitude,

ineptitude,

all around,

snarls and frowns,

eyes looking down,

at the phone,

or the ground,

but we’re not alone,

born of one womb,

we shared a home,

before we learned,

before we burned,

and proceeded to sever,

possibly forever,

the connective compound,

the protective playground,

but it’s all gone now,

wow, we’re not so clever,

after everything,

not now or ever,

will we come together,

to en devour to  mend,

our mother is dying,

our father stands still,

women,

and men,

every color of skin,

stand back up,

get up again,

it’s time to wash our hands.

 

 

 

Heirs of the Dismissive.

Where we’ve been,

where we’ve gone,

the air that our wishes,

were once let loose upon,

the heirs of the dismissive,

the prayers of the strong,

the prison yard politics,

to which we each belong,

but who will check the archives?

who will search when we are gone?

what craft can be created,

to out-do what we have done?

we divide ourselves,

by continental shelves,

we make war and carry on,

in a pattern of regret,

we somehow forget,

to protect the common bond,

to nurture what remains,

between every human being

we are such monstrosities,

walking, talking blasphemies,

without a thing to lean upon,

and in the end of everything,

the same ancient dust,

is deep within all of us

what we’ve evolved from

a history so long,

who will be left here,

when our time has come?

to reconstruct

so much stardust,

into solid human bone?

 

 

 

 

Chaotic.

We never love them,
those flickers of,
Life’s candlelight,
when we get them,
nano-seconds in Love,
in the present tense,
in all its fickleness,
we fail to look deeply,
beyond the warmth,
of such selfishness,
we fail to recognize,
so we sit stupidly,
as nano-seconds,
swim right on by,
like robotic drones,
it is foolishness,
how soon we forget,
our very own,
flesh and bone,
where we came from,
childhood homes,
for we are not,
not a single one,
born to those,
with voices, drowned,
neither did we,
bore the woes,
Of Royalty,
donning the crown,
of the overthrown,
in the halls of the dead,
in the heads of the gone,
we will stand as one,
to the depths,
from the heights,
stars and sun,
days and nights,
like statues set in stone.

Death Throes.

Down breaks all constraint,
dull and numbed out skulls,
talking losses and gains,
in a world over-full,
of colossus domains,
consumption of souls,
with a sickening array,
pulled from pocketful’s,
from martyrs to saints,
from diamonds to coal,
the world that we’ve made,
from the crust of its core,
elements we’ve bled,
‘til they bleed no more,
which circles back again,
to the masses of numb-skulls,
blind to it and talking shit,
being swallowed in the folds,
in an ever-sinking tar-pit,
failing all across the globe,
a state of perpetual bullshit,
encoded in the frontal lobe,
a self-renewing cesspool,
that every one of us calls “home”,
there’s no blowing through it,
it’s right beneath the nose,
submerged electrical conduit,
live wires and eyes exposed,
we have each been told this,
will come to violent close,
safe to say recent world events,
are simply Her final death throes.

Scrap.

This scrap that you’re reading here

Happens to be my first for the year

Within its lines I hope to convey

Sentiment lost from day to day

In warm recognition of a few humans beings

that helped me survive the year twenty-fifteen

A few handfuls of due notability

Posted here for the whole world to read

Those of you who may not be aware

How it helps to know of another out there

When the lights have gone out in this head of mine

I’ve been lit back up again by a “stranger” online

And, for the year that I’m happy to see fade away

A few things remain of importance to say

So this one’s from the cuff for my cyber-family

to celebrate such a vast array of what’s humanity

a nation assembled from far and wide

that draws strength as a collective tribe

sometimes when the darkness comes

such a trivial thing as a notification

can seemingly bring my attention around

to the Fact of Life that is as old as sound

even when experience tends to isolate me

and keep me alienated and in long solitary

its striking that I would eventually find

everything opposite of what I kept in mind

and have seen unfathomable depths to things

experienced through these human beings

Wasteland.

I often wander out there in the graveyard,

like some spirit longing to escape from limbo,

pacing paths in the dirt between markers,

where I’ve buried too many beloved bones;

 

Every spirit belonging to every ghost,

even those bones turned to ash,

seem to grasp and reach from between,

a far-away future and most distant past;

 

the moon beams become enlightening,

through smears of the tears in my eyes,

the metallic taste of every drop of blood,

becomes a bile slowly starting to rise;

 

I wander out there through Eternity,

as the exiled daughter of some cruel God,

I wonder at heaven’s sheer insensitivity,

and at the end, can’t help but to applaud;

 

at the vastness surrounding such emptiness,

such an ice-cold touch of our creators’ hand,

the Dead have been warmed through the passing,

and the Living remain frozen in this wasteland.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ten-Fold.

In the epic days,
and valiant ways,
of old;
were things like dignity,
and empathy,
I’m told;
there was humanity,
and human beings,
ten-fold;
was concern for,
so much more,
than gold;
was no need for,
any nuclear Holy War,
just growth;
then came humanity,
lacking all sincerity,
a joke;
tailed by the hungry beast,
swallowing good and evil things,
we know;
but we didn’t see,
what was happening,
behold;
in the world today,
perversely incensed ways,
unfold;
pedals fall away eventually,
a desperate act of dying beauty,
let go.

Anonymous.

“Anxiety is the hand maiden of creativity.”

~ T. S. Eliot

I believe
that so it goes:
the gift of humanity
is bestowed,
to souls with empathy,
and only those,
a carrot hanging,
a step ahead of me,
ever-dangling,
before my nose;
and not just mine,
but anyone,
from the assembly line,
from which I come,
we’re made to ache,
to hurt – to burn,
from day one,
to ride the wake,
to bend and break in turn,
until our last words,
to be heard,
have finally come;
the world is cruel,
unless you’re blind,
it’s a flea-ridden fool,
that succeeds the unkind,
it constantly bleeds,
sucks up my energy,
drains the tide pools,
swallows the sunshine;
for those like us,
nothing is anonymous,
nothing can ever be fine,
no peace,
as we sleep,
only the fire,
from the front-line.

Death Throes.

Down break the constraints,
of numbed out skulls,
talking losses and gains,
in a world over-full,
of colossus domains,
consumption of souls,
with a sickening array,
pulled from pocketful’s,
from martyrs to saints,
from diamonds to coal,
the world that we’ve made,
from the crust of its core,
elements we’ve bled,
‘til they bleed no more,
which circles back again,
to the masses of numbskulls,
blind to it and talking shit,
being swallowed in the folds,
in an ever-sinking tar-pit,
failing all across the globe,
a state of perpetual bullshit,
encoded in the frontal lobe,
a self-renewing cesspit,
that every human undergoes,
there’s no blowing through it,
it’s right beneath the nose,
submerged electrical conduit,
live wires and lives exposed,
we have each been told this,
will come to its final close,
safe to say recent movements,
are simply our painful death throes.

Off-Stage.

How is that we…
are on again suddenly?
Because you’ve heard,
the word…
on the fucking street,
all about my baby,
of all things –
the only thing –
worth anything to me…
I find it infuriating,
that you found the time,
to slither your way,
into my fucked up day,
and presume to take,
any despair of mine…
before my now-grown,
daughter was gone,
you never cared to know,
what was going on;
and now,
that shit’s hit the fan,
you sad excuse,
for a man,
or as a “friend”,
don’t come here,
don’t pretend,
to see the situation,
and POOF!…
you suddenly care,
about what’s false,
or what might be true ,
and the traumas,
she’s running from –
and right back into,
get the fuck away,
from my overwhelming,
world of pain,
you’d never make it,
through a single day…
the shallows seep,
to water the deep,
and keep any,
reality at bay;
don’t talk to me today,
when you have,
nothing real to say,
no questions or inquiries,
of my daughter’s state…
no acting,
no faking,
get your ass off the stage.

Assailed.

The noise has grown unbearable atop a fortress’ ramparts –
ten thousand swooping pterodactyls amidst the horizon,
the bantering of all the world’s inebriated sailors setting sail –
the bellies of every monster growling in a symphony of hunger,
the swarming of every dead and gone spirit’s uprising to the heat –
a chaotic explosion from nothing at all into everything there is,
the drowning out of young giggles within meaningless adult words –
complete destruction of the calm isles veiled by smoky-blue waters,
the solitude of confinement washed out by a high pressure firehose –
the noise grows and grows like an ornery, bad weed strain,
it’s rumble and tumble tectonically taking steps towards world war –
plates shifting, funnels twisting, levees failing, babies adapting,
a species evolving to become accustomed to its deafening noise –
a breed unlike the original roots to a better humanity,
the fields became buildings, the tractors drove themselves away –
malfunctioned smart electronics that will throttle our truths,
skies changing into backdrops to a new storyline –
a scripted game played by something or things much greater,
much wiser, much more antiquated than the pawns moved around –
this is the noise, this is what it must sound like to be swallowed,
by an invisible ocean giant sperm whale, inside of space’s vacuum.

Trample.

I can’t help it – that I’m inclined to worship Hope;
it is hardwired into my spirit to either die, or believe;
they’ve always said: that I run the air in my head,
in its purest form – un-buffered and painfully…
which doesn’t always work out so well for me;
as the resigned souls grow affectedly irritated;
by the squinting of eyes against a pinprick of light,
the unknown ahead has already left their minds jaded…
there’s a reason that my heat smolders Hope eternally;
it’s a valid reason that’s simple enough to perceive;
that there was a day – thousands of days before now,
that the ember died out and my spirit ceased to believe…
and it was during my meanderings through darkness;
that I felt the searing pain and end of days for sunshine;
and so goes why every pinprick of shining light at the end,
becomes more meaningful with each new glance of mine…
very rarely does a person truly drink down the nectar;
as it drips like diamonds of dewy wisdom from our trees;
all too often, we lose sight of the teeny pinpricking lights,
and are either trampled by others, or you’re doing the trampling…
and if we aren’t careful, the tunnel blacks out once again;
the light at the end barricaded behind piles of trampled bodies;
it’s a natural response to harbor an unspoken urgency,
when everyone around you is in such a Gods damned hurry.

Thoughts.

Theoretically, last night should have brought me the best sleep that I have had in some time, after hearing a jury’s guilty verdict of the man who ruined my daughter so long ago.
As I lay there in darkness with buds tightly squeezed into each ear playing Ben Bonetti’s “Hello Spider” meditational gig, I began to think about the Pedophile’s family (he has a wife and two children the same age as my own), and was overcome with grief.
Over the last few years, I’ve seen his wife various times in passing- on the news, and other places associated with the common denominator between us; there are ill feelings in the air during each of these instances, almost naturally. I have watched the Pedophile’s aged and decrepit mother hobble up and down three floors with her cane to trial so many times I couldn’t count them if I tried; I have seen the toll taken in the faces of his kids as they have become young adults, just like my own has; I have watched his family disintegrate into dust amidst the chaos of what he has done.
These things do not give me a sense of peace or fairness in any way…two shocked and completely torn children who stopped showing up at trial days altogether about halfway through…the jolly smile gradually fading altogether from his ancient, crippled mother’s face…the last string of hope attached to his poor wife’s perception of his innocence just falling away into nothingness…
the many scenes that would undoubtedly be enacted most dramatically for a movie; the parts in which the viewers would be pumping fists and shouting “Yeah! That’s what they get!”
But reality tells me differently now… “they” don’t deserve this at all. They have been victimized also (especially the kids) and have been also been permanently damaged and traumatized by the actions of their’ Pedophile father. His wife, who stood by her man for years before finally becoming so jaded and embittered by the proverbial “bag” that she was left to hold after her husband was arrested, she has been traumatized as well by the causes and effects of her husband’s Pedophilia; she has truly been changed in many ways by this circumstance – and I am not even someone who knows her, but it’s that apparent, even to a stranger, how heavy her burden weighs in on her back – it shows in her face, her disappointment and shame…and, that isn’t fair – she isn’t the Pedophile. Last night, I found myself wondering about her; about what she was doing in response to the news that lifted my spirits to new heights yesterday…what thoughts was she spending her night playing through her mind?
Anyway, I am obviously relieved beyond words that he has been convicted of many counts (not just Boo), but the verdict and its permanence holds many more facets to its shine that I had originally been prepared for, I guess.

Just.

Haven’t you noticed?
There’s no light on inside;
Just a pirated, drifting vessel…
On a map that is preoccupied.
Doesn’t it occur to you?
That the twinkle is gone from my eyes;
Just two dulled down, blue marbles…
Attached to nothing on their’ other sides.
Has it never bothered you?
When it’s so quiet where I once sat;
Just an empty, overstuffed recliner…
You don’t even think twice about that.
Aren’t there days when you resurface?
To realize you never left the shallow end;
Just the guilt eating, gnawing away…
And you’re too overcome to pretend.
Don’t you feel sorry every day?
That you see me without my smile;
Just an empty expression, hollow eyed…
Can’t forget the pain for even a little while.
Aren’t you aware on some level?
Of the ways that you’ve crossed over me;
Just a self-absorbed, oblivious mutant…
So clueless to the ways of TRUE humanity.
Haven’t you already seen me?
For the woman I actually am;
Just dimes of dozens, dingbat ‘play things’…
Tell me that you are, after all – no REAL man.
Didn’t you hear my warnings?
And didn’t choose to take heed to my cries;
Just stood there pretending, ignoring…
The Fucking Truth gouging out both your eyes.

A Rare Balancing Act

Image

 

Today’s a day that the truth doesn’t hurt as much as it usually does – the sun has been high and hot today – blue skies – green trees. It’s been a day that I have felt victorious over my issues with my BAD roommate, a day that’s felt like it will be simple to move on past the plethora of things that define my disgust with my life and the people in (and NOT in) it. I don’t know if this is a form of denial or a coping mechanism I use in order to NOT spontaneously explode – or if it’s what my shrink calls “bi-polar disorder attached to the good ol’ PTSD”; all I can say is that when I wake up in the morning – every morning, any morning – I don’t ever know if today’s gonna be the day that I finally lose my mind and do something absolutely fucking astounding in its sheer stupidity, or – if it might be the day that I wash out enough nuggets of gold to buy my way into a residential library somewhere. My health has been compromised again lately, I’ve been emotionally and physically exhausted and spent, I hit a pretty low point last week as a result of the bullshit going on with the BAD roommate.

Image

 

 

 

 

 

Sucks to be him – he’s made his bed…night night, now Simple One….

 

YESTERDAY THOUGH, something happened that doesn’t happen to me – in my life, in my experience with other humans…and I am wanting to get on my podium about the GOOD as well as the many negative posts I’ve been making.

Image

The “bad” has been (for one of the only times ever) countered with the “good” in my “big picture” of life, it seems. My GOOD roommate has once more shown his true colors to me this past week: extending his truly innate kindness to me for no reason outside of being himself, doing what he does – being a very exceptional human being (when circumstances like to his own experience in life don’t typically produce kind-heated and giving grown men as a result). His humanity never ceases to amaze me somehow, and I count him as one of my biggest blessings in adult life, truly. He’s been a friend for a long time, much longer than the time we’ve been roommates – and he has ALWAYS shown me the utmost faith and support since long before he ever had any true purpose to do so. I so appreciate him as a support beam of my structure, and yet he is unaware of how deeply he has affected me with his nature and his shockingly refreshing broken mold.

 

Anyway, it’s these VERY FEW AND FAR BETWEEN instances in which another human being displays unselfishness without being prompted to do so by any other outside force, that keep me believing that my own kind nature and built-in empathy will one day be my salvation somehow – as opposed to what it’s been so far: a crippling handicap. There’s hope that it might pay off for me one day – to remain steadfast in my role as genuine and decent human being.

 

The Differences Between us

enemy

 

 

I once believed in my fellow human being – the same kind of human being as the kind that I am:  a creature that is fully capable and often willing to lay importance at the feet of anything outside of itself, genuine in the spirits of kindness and empathy. I used to have faith of embarrassing depths in the notion that most, if not all, other people I knew were hardwired to perceive something as seemingly innate as the consideration of needs belonging to those besides ourselves. I have learned in the hardest of ways, however, that the vast majority of so-called humans, are in stark contrast to the type of human being that I remain. When I use the word “remain” to describe the way I feel about the obvious differences between me and 9 out of 10 people that I know, it’s meant to convey the underlying sense that I harbor regarding the human species’ and the Darwinian theory of physiological evolution. It seems as if people, or at the very least – those whom reside in even the most subtle of urban populations, are speedily adapting to our surrounding stimuli and environmental variables, as we have historically done in social settings; there is no profound or enlightening information surrounding human ability to adapt in a wide range of extremely disparate scenarios.  The difference that I have repeatedly observed as quite an alarming implication of the future course all of humankind – one that has become increasingly prevalent and even sub-consciously celebrated in our populations worldwide – would most certainly be the way in which humankind has branched out within the parameters of those adaptations.

For example, in the Missing Link Theory of human genetics, we have perceived this Missing Link as the bridge that will explain the vast differences between the behaviors and cultures of the modern human (Homo sapien) lifestyle and those of our closest ancestors, Homo neanderthalensis i.e. “Ötzi, The Ice Man” and Homo floresiensis i.e. “Flo, The Flores Man”. Our species were separated by differences in lifestyle so vast and dumbfounding, that the only reasonable cause for such differences has been identified as evolution. This apparently random type of “leap mutation” between genetically embedded codes associated with each species, miraculously proved to be the essence of Human Evolution. There remains an unknown variable (the missing link) that was theoretically a necessary element that directly caused the effected fast-track of the human species to the top of the food chain during this evolutionary shift in power amongst our ancient ancestors and those similar in classification. Scientists cannot say for certain why it was US (humans), as opposed to the various hominid species around at that point in history (at least one class is known to have had notably larger brains than humans) – excelled in the unprecedented advancements we achieved. The sudden explosion of creative processes such as the formation and widespread use of verbal and symbolic communications, tool crafting and building, and hunting wild animals for use of meat, fur and hide, practices never before mastered by any mammalian creature, offers evidence that something physiological happened that changed the wiring in the human brain – thus, explaining the extreme adaptations to the human physique and lifestyle.

Every other hominid-family species died off shortly after our time of shared existence. The next amazing fact surrounding our exceptional evolutionary leap ahead of our counterparts – would undoubtedly be how our species not only survived the mass dying-out of our entire family of genetic kin, we seemed to have flourished throughout such an ordeal; our skills became honed and our crafts were practiced and perfected to an art. We have prevailed at the top of the food chain for centuries – on an innately hardwired quest in search of knowledge through discovery and control through dominance. The ever-more-familiar changes in human behavior (generally speaking) speak volumes to me about how deeply embedded the notion of selfishness and self-absorption truly have become in the mutants all around me – the mutated versions of would-be human beings that make up the easy majority of the national population – and most likely – the Global Population. These obnoxiously shallow creatures are the type who don’t think the rules of the world apply to them, and act accordingly in every aspect of daily life; these are the assholes who don’t feel like they should have to wait in traffic like the rest of us, so they cut in line or drive the shoulder; the very same people who steal and lie unnecessarily – in the spirit of being “control” over what doesn’t belong to them. The collective human mind has quickly become over- motivated by a tangible, tradable wealth; in place the eternally important spiritual one.

A friend of mine said the other day, “The ideology of Control has slipped behind the driver’s seat and gotten onto the highway…” to which, I replied, “I hate to rain on your Socratic Parade, but, Control was the genius that designed and built the fuckin’ car…”

The urge harbored for centuries by humankind to control is equivalent to a social poison; a toxicity to the brain that likely infected and killed off those distant genetic cousins of ours during the Great Leap era. What puzzles me more than how we humans managed to out-evolve Neanderthals known to have had larger brains than ours, is how we have subsequently , and collectively – managed to evolve this far without the genocidal response of this seemingly genetic need to control. When faced with the question of whether or not I feel assured in my fellow human being’s ability to evolve in a “civilized” and broadly acceptable manner to which decent people should naturally have a tendency to accept and abide by, it gives me pause to think. My response would be yes, I feel confident of our species’ abilities; the uncertainty that I harbor falls much closer within the areas of human willingness and desire to forge ahead – with any true or virtuous motivation.

You’re probably sitting there, wondering, what the fuck is the point of this post?

I know – so am I…

I suppose the bottom line of this rant about my fellow human being – both the mutated and non-mutated forms of it – turns out to liquid-damaged and impossible to define; surprise, surprise. All I know is that I am chewing it up and pondering heavily: the notion of another Missing Link scenario repeating itself the not-so-distant future, another point in ultimate history that can potentially later be described as the phenomenon of an apparently super-accelerated genetic branching within the human species. Think of this the next time that you are the unfortunate victim of the inconsiderate douchebag who blocks you into your parking spot at the post office simply as a means of saving his own time and energy; or the time some idiot tried to jack you for your rightful seat at a show, because everyone knows that you should totally be okay with paying for a drunken stranger to enjoy Kevin Neelan, Dennis Miller and Dana Carvey in your place.  Maybe a few of you might pick up what I’m putting down here; try and look around you and identify the differences that are becoming increasingly extreme between an old-world, empathic and considerate human being – and the more recently evolved and “refined” human being mutation – those who are unable to venture beyond the compounds of self-gratifying, self-serving and self-perseverance to a an obnoxious fault. The differences will only get more divisive over time, I would imagine; which leaves me with an anxiety hard to convey in words.

…just sayin…