the ultimate city, a town like no other, packed together the masses of humanity, great volumes of smells and cultures abutting one another, where a man can pass out on a bench in a coffeeshop and he will not be harrassed, where the cops exist to help you and are not out to take off your head, where business is constant and the tongues congress, a messy riotous wonderful city this Amsterdam.
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americanifesto.com | updated Tuesday, Thursday, Sunday
16 December 2010
09 December 2010
Hale & Hearty
I am again on maneuver, and my senses are sucking in massive amounts of tiny details I otherwise normally miss. If I had the choice I would not stop moving until I had rid myself of this need to vagabond. Stay well little house and may all the Xmas dreams of the rugrats come true. - Allah, Ganesha, Pappa Legba, St. Christopherus, Hermes: please bear these passengers along their path; keep them this day frOm fate's patient wrath. Jp
07 December 2010
through the long cold dark
Times of duress are powerful; they change the way a person thinks; they change which genes are activated, sometimes altering indelibly how a person feels, acts, and speaks. There is nothing abnormal about adverse circumstance, and without it, our human race would be pitiful and nowhere near the state to which we have evolved.
Personally, I have witnessed these changes, these rites of passage, on three primary occasions.
I learned to hate myself, find myself useless and worthless, on the night my father pistol-whipped me psychologically for an adolescent infraction; only through diligent and constant effort have I reached my current stage, and gained the ability to function within a framework of relative stability and self-contentedness.
When Mother died, I lost the only person who would ever love me unconditionally; I have since come to see the strange thing we call love not as a burden or a crux, but as a pleasant but fleeting state not subject to human needs or desires, rather a beast all its own, mercurial and fleeting, neither to be grasped after nor yearned for, but allowed to blossom and whither of its own accord.
The third rite of passage occurred on a hill in Elysian Park, a stone's throw from the boundaries of Dodger Stadium, in which I was bound to the earth by tendrils of living energy and peered deep into my soul, altering it and removing my need for booze and lessening the stranglehold of the dark hidden mass that all of us, at least those of us who dare acknowledge its presence, have faced at one time or another, that holding bay of fear and anguish and hatred that boils in the dustier corners of the psyche.
Our circumstances will vary; we will all take different lessons from these events; for every one of us who makes it through the long cold dark hale, sane, and pensive, a dozen more will emerge broken and empty, shattered remnants of their former selves.
There is no way to avoid the rites save death, and such a choice would only ruin the whole fun of the matter, which is understanding how the new you, the person who has traveled to the forbidden cave, defeated the dragon, and returned with the chalice brimming with newfound abilities and wisdom, will use her new talents for the betterment of herself and the human race.
More often than not the new you will little resemble the old, and the passenger will find previously comfortable surroundings and relationships foreign and unwelcoming. Invariably, he will seek new surroundings in places unexplored, new connections with people who have shared said or similar rites, abandoning his previous commitments and casting away all he has known in the effort to shape a world more attuned to the needs of his newly expressive genetic and psychological imperative.
There is nothing abnormal or strange about this occurrence. In fact its absence should be cause for alarm, for individuals who do not undergo sufficiently challenging circumstances, who have not bent their bodies and minds to the breaking point and come back whole, will have no true idea of their role in life, of their deepest and most magnificent potential. Without the proper rites, men will not advance beyond boyhood, and women (who undergo an early and life-altering change in puberty, thereby enjoying a head-start) will be less likely to advance from under the false shelter of those who would keep them in the confinement of societal or marital bondage. (I am in no way implying that women cannot judge or decide for themselves, only that the sense prevails that they are intrinsically weaker and therefore less prone to good judgement, regardless of volumes of data to the contrary.)
In our Western society, the rites of passage have taken on farcical appearance, robbed of their strong necessity by the development of an aversion to danger and a pervasive desire to protect: we do not en mass challenge our wits in the wild; we complain incessantly about the pressures of our lives; we have supplanted true exertion with cushioned religious ceremonies and a romp in the back seat of dad's Pontiac.
Few are those who seek the hard passage, the honest exploration of inner limits and potential, and fewer still are those who dare to brave the extremes of the world with eyes wide open, their lips parted in smiling anticipation of the impending hardships.
My hat goes off to doctors, Marines, and all those who seek the edge of reason fully aware of the dangers they will face. May your hearts see you through, may your wounds heal, and may the wind be always at your fore.
Ultima Ratio Regum.
JP
Personally, I have witnessed these changes, these rites of passage, on three primary occasions.
I learned to hate myself, find myself useless and worthless, on the night my father pistol-whipped me psychologically for an adolescent infraction; only through diligent and constant effort have I reached my current stage, and gained the ability to function within a framework of relative stability and self-contentedness.
When Mother died, I lost the only person who would ever love me unconditionally; I have since come to see the strange thing we call love not as a burden or a crux, but as a pleasant but fleeting state not subject to human needs or desires, rather a beast all its own, mercurial and fleeting, neither to be grasped after nor yearned for, but allowed to blossom and whither of its own accord.
The third rite of passage occurred on a hill in Elysian Park, a stone's throw from the boundaries of Dodger Stadium, in which I was bound to the earth by tendrils of living energy and peered deep into my soul, altering it and removing my need for booze and lessening the stranglehold of the dark hidden mass that all of us, at least those of us who dare acknowledge its presence, have faced at one time or another, that holding bay of fear and anguish and hatred that boils in the dustier corners of the psyche.
Our circumstances will vary; we will all take different lessons from these events; for every one of us who makes it through the long cold dark hale, sane, and pensive, a dozen more will emerge broken and empty, shattered remnants of their former selves.
There is no way to avoid the rites save death, and such a choice would only ruin the whole fun of the matter, which is understanding how the new you, the person who has traveled to the forbidden cave, defeated the dragon, and returned with the chalice brimming with newfound abilities and wisdom, will use her new talents for the betterment of herself and the human race.
More often than not the new you will little resemble the old, and the passenger will find previously comfortable surroundings and relationships foreign and unwelcoming. Invariably, he will seek new surroundings in places unexplored, new connections with people who have shared said or similar rites, abandoning his previous commitments and casting away all he has known in the effort to shape a world more attuned to the needs of his newly expressive genetic and psychological imperative.
There is nothing abnormal or strange about this occurrence. In fact its absence should be cause for alarm, for individuals who do not undergo sufficiently challenging circumstances, who have not bent their bodies and minds to the breaking point and come back whole, will have no true idea of their role in life, of their deepest and most magnificent potential. Without the proper rites, men will not advance beyond boyhood, and women (who undergo an early and life-altering change in puberty, thereby enjoying a head-start) will be less likely to advance from under the false shelter of those who would keep them in the confinement of societal or marital bondage. (I am in no way implying that women cannot judge or decide for themselves, only that the sense prevails that they are intrinsically weaker and therefore less prone to good judgement, regardless of volumes of data to the contrary.)
In our Western society, the rites of passage have taken on farcical appearance, robbed of their strong necessity by the development of an aversion to danger and a pervasive desire to protect: we do not en mass challenge our wits in the wild; we complain incessantly about the pressures of our lives; we have supplanted true exertion with cushioned religious ceremonies and a romp in the back seat of dad's Pontiac.
Few are those who seek the hard passage, the honest exploration of inner limits and potential, and fewer still are those who dare to brave the extremes of the world with eyes wide open, their lips parted in smiling anticipation of the impending hardships.
My hat goes off to doctors, Marines, and all those who seek the edge of reason fully aware of the dangers they will face. May your hearts see you through, may your wounds heal, and may the wind be always at your fore.
Ultima Ratio Regum.
JP
03 December 2010
Caucasian-Americans
When in public (news)people find it necessary to use a different name for people of color, they often resort to African-Americans or Hispanic-Americans rather than blacks or Latinos. These terms alternate with nearly each sentence, thus maintaining a modicum of respect and political correctness.
Why, however, are people of European descent almost always referred to as whites, and never as Caucasian-Americans? Should this shrinking group also receive a politically correct descriptor similar to the ones bestowed upon the growing minority populations?
In an effort to be fair to all, and to clarify to perhaps uninformed listeners what is exactly meant by the term whites, the aforementioned descriptor should enter widespread and mainstream usage.
Since this is a forgotten little blog in the vast ocean of internet white noise, I fully expect it to go unread and unheeded. But still, think about it.
X
Why, however, are people of European descent almost always referred to as whites, and never as Caucasian-Americans? Should this shrinking group also receive a politically correct descriptor similar to the ones bestowed upon the growing minority populations?
In an effort to be fair to all, and to clarify to perhaps uninformed listeners what is exactly meant by the term whites, the aforementioned descriptor should enter widespread and mainstream usage.
Since this is a forgotten little blog in the vast ocean of internet white noise, I fully expect it to go unread and unheeded. But still, think about it.
X
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